Sunday, January 30, 2005

Dad is a Fairy

“You are the tooth fairy! I have proof.”

Collie stood in the kitchen, arms folded, very satisfied with himself. Lillie stood behind, arms folded, grinning like a cat with a canary in its mouth.

Uh oh, busted.

I was making dinner. I resorted to the first response on being accused of a crime one has committed: deny it and ascertain the prosecution’s evidence.

“Me, the tooth fairy? Ha!” I laughed. “Why would you say that?”

Collie produced a piece of paper. It was a note I had helped him write last year:

To the Tooth Faire,

My first tooth lost.

Love, Collie.

He had written the words and drawn the hearts. I had drawn a tooth that he outlined in colored pencil.

“How nice,” I vamped. “The tooth fairy left this note for us as a souvenier.”

“Nice try, Dad,” Collie gloated.

“Yeah, nice try!” Lillie echoed.

They went back to their game of “spy.” I returned the note to its hiding place in my closet, but on a higher shelf.

I looked down at my secret stash of porn videos and DVDs. Time for a better hiding place, I thought.

A nightmare scenario: Collie presenting me with a plain black video tape of “Cunt Hunt Nine,” and asking “Nine sequels? It’s that good?

Saturday, January 29, 2005


“Dad? Daaaad?”

Lillie was shouting for me over the noise of “Fairly Odd Parents.”

The kids know not to shout for me. Unless they are vomiting or bleeding, they should walk to where I am.

At that particular moment, I was sitting on the toilet. “I’m in the bathroom,” I replied.

“Daaaad?” Lillie’s voice grew louder as she walked around the apartment, moving further from the bathroom. “Daaaaad?”

I leaned forward to lock the door, anticipating the next moment.

“Dad?” Lillie jiggled the bathroom doorknob.

“I’ll be out in a moment and I would like some privacy, please.”

“Dad, I’m hungry.”

“I’ll make breakfast in just a moment.”

“But I’m hungry now.”

“I can’t help you right this second, but I will make breakfast in a moment.”

Pause. “What are you going to make?”

“Lillie, can I have some privacy, please?”

“Okay . . .” She sat on the floor, tapping the door with her finger.

I remember crossing a threshold as a parent a few years back: sitting on the toilet, holding a sleeping infant in a Snuggly while conversing with the toddler standing in the doorway.

Parents learn a lot about shit when their kids are in diapers.


Does Dad get enough respect?

This question seems to be much on the mind of my son Jason.

His mother tells me that Jason, at age eleven, can be an unresponsive, eye-rolling, “I’m not LIS-sen-NNINGG” tween.

I don’t get much of that. With me, he is a very sweet and chatty boy. He talks about his friends. He talks about school. He talks about GameCube. He sits in my lap to watch Peter Jennings and “The NewsHour.” We talk about the Iraqi elections, favorite bands, sports . . .

The boy is chewing my ear off.

This week, he has taken to chiding his siblings for being disrespectful. I’m more laissez faire than their mom, and so certain family strictures are less rigidly enforced at this home than at their other home.

At the same time, I was raised to be a good Southern boy. My manners are irreversibly impeccable. I open every door. I smile “howdy” at everyone, respectfully. All of my “betters and elders” will always and forever be addressed by me as “sir” and “ma’am.”

Jason picks up on that, and mimics it. Every meal ends with him asking if I am finished eating. Then he clears his plate, commenting that dinner was very good. Thanks, Dad.

By contrast, his feral siblings bicker at the table, eat little, ask about candy and then vanish, leaving behind a plate of uneaten food. As I wash the dishes, they return, begging for junky snacks.

Tonight, Jason proposed we have a family meeting on manners. I concurred. The two youngest know better than to behave so.

It is Friday, and so I let the children stay up late. They fed their new and curious addiction to “Full House” on Nickelodeon.

I never watched this program when it was originally broadcast—dude, I was too busy banging my head to punk bands!—so I do not relate.

I sat to watch part of an episode with them. It involves a teddy bear that was inadvertently thrown out, and a magic trick gone awry.

I surmise that “Full House” was a saccharine sitcom about a single dad with young daughters, doing his best to be wise with the help of male roommates who are apparently not his lovers.

I get the idea. Single dads and kids. Okay, so they identify with that.

The kids don’t seem to realize that the show is at least fifteen years old. Lillie likes that it is funny and all the kids are girls. Jason likes that it is a morality play. Collie gets bored and prefers GameCube.

Bed time arrives. The sitcom is over. Jason and Collie bicker about the game. Their voices are brittle and much too loud.

“Shh, shh, shh!,” I admonish. “Neighbors are sleeping!’ Collie continues his rant as though I am not speaking.

“Collie. Collie!! Collie!!” I say, never raising my voice. He doesn’t respond. I turn off his game. “You are being inappropriate. The game is over—it’s done for tonight. You can not make this kind of noise at this hour.”

We heard the wail of my neighbor’s infant son.

I speak very quietly. “It’s a privilege to stay up late. But you have to remember that there are other people around us. Your bickering has woken the baby next door. That is not acceptable behavior.

Brush your teeth and get ready for bed.”

I tuck them in, kissing them each good night. “I love you,” I say to each. I tell Collie I am sorry we had an argument at bedtime, but we do have to be considerate and respect others.

They drift to sleep as the baby next door cries.

Friday, January 28, 2005


My birthday week of wall-to-wall sex officially ended on Monday. But apparently, I didn’t pull the plug firmly enough.

On Wednesday, there was the happy surprise of finally meeting Kat.

On Thursday, Anna called to see if we could get together for some lunchtime loving.

Sure, I said, let’s log a couple of hours.

She arrived as I was into my fourth cup of coffee, eyes deep into work, music much too loud. It was frigid cold out, and she was layered in clothes.

I put aside the work. She performed a comical striptease, slow and to the beat. With her wearing so many layers, one could grow old waiting for the finale. I feigned great indifference.

Finally reduced to her bra and panties—matching and pink, no less—she produced the coupe de grace of her performance: a bagel with cream cheese. Which she ate, slowly—and with no napkin!

We kissed as she ate. I licked away stray cream cheese. I unhooked the bra, and played with her nipples.

With the bagel so erotically consumed, I took her to bed. We undressed and warmed her body under the covers.

She was fast to sit on me, kissing me and massaging my cock with her wet pussy.

I pulled on a condom, and was in her. I was flat on my back, with my hands all over her body, licking her nipples.

“You really do have nice breasts,” I said.

“Aren’t they nice?” She agreed.

They really are. They are large for her frame, and perfectly even. She has pink nipples like pencil erasers.

I pushed them together to get both nipples in my mouth. I thought, let’s make this all about her tits.

I licked and tugged her breasts as she rode me. She came very quickly.

I kissed her as she let that orgasm pass. I resumed my fondling of her tits, and she promptly came again.

All right, I thought. We are off to a good start. I like to get her off, over and again, before I even think of my own orgasm. We had plenty of time for that.

She climbed off me and began to suck my cock. She worked me with her hands, sucking furiously.

This is what she does when she wants me to cum.

That felt great, but I wasn’t nearly finished fucking her. I’d have to stop her soon and get back at it.

She didn’t let me stop her.

I came, convulsing as I shot on my chest, shoulders and belly. “Damn boy, get a tape measure,” she said. “I think we set a long distance record this time.”

“Why did you make me cum so soon?” I panted. “You haven’t been sufficiently fucked.”

“You need to stop worrying about getting me off, and cum yourself now and then,” she said. “It turns me on to make you cum.”

Oh there’s a first: a woman who prefers my orgasm to more of her own.

She washed me off. I tossed her back on the pillows. I wasn’t letting her get away with only two orgasms.

I massaged her g-spot as her pussy expanded to my touch. Slowly at first then faster . . . she came.

I set my mouth to her clit, licking her firmly, sucking . . . she came.

I fingered her again, two fingers from each hand, alternating rhythms . . . she came.

A few more and she called it quits. We lay together talking, our voices low and relaxed.

We made up songs about one another’s bodies, in the cadences of Rodgers and Hart.

Celebrity Skin

After dropping the kids at school, I passed a cameraman trying to interview passers-by for “Regis and Kelly.” Apparently they wanted New Yorkers to talk about how cold it is.

It’s too cold for that. I hurried past, huddled in my coat and hat.

Yesterday, the kids and I passed Howard Stern on the street.

Celebrity spotting is a favorite pastime in this city. They are all over the place.

Kind of makes you wonder: would it be possible for me to cultivate a famous lover?

My ex Lucy is ahead of me on this. Among her new beaus is an up-and-coming singer-songwriter familiar to those who listen to college radio. One of our last dates was a concert of his. They apparently hooked up at his next show in town.

May sometimes gets together with another performer who is really famous. You would think he might be gay, as he’s handsome and stylish, but in fact, he’s had very few encounters with men. He actually has very little sex—while he is a heartthrob, he’s also something of a hermit.

He liked calling May to have her describe sex with me. We made some videos to show him how we went at it.

There was much talk of a threesome. When Marcus caught wind of this, he wanted in. He’s a big fan, so he felt he was more deserving of this threesome. Fine, I said. If the opportunity comes along, take the first plunge.

One night, he and May got together with the pop star. It was a bit of a disaster. Afterward, they drove three hours to New York to fuck me and get it out of their system.

If I were to have a celebrity lover, who would it be?

For now, I can only cling to a lost opportunity.

I gave a talk at a symposium a few years ago. Next up on stage was Rufus Wainwright.

At a reception afterwards, he came up to tell me how much he enjoyed my talk. I told him I was a fan of his. We fell into a fine conversation.

Soon we had someone at our elbows—a former Prime Minister of Canada. She’s a big Gershwin fan, and the three of us were soon on that topic.

Two young women came up, pulling at Rufus to come on, let’s go, let’s go!

“Nice talking with you,” he said, looking in my eyes. “I’m off to get high.”

I was left to chat with the Prime Minister. I couldn’t just ditch her to get stoned with Rufus Wainwright.

Anyway, I was married then. Last thing I needed was a cute famous boyfriend.

I recently read an interview in which Rufus revealed that he hates doing dishes but loves to do laundry. You know what? I am exactly the opposite.

Perhaps we are fated for one another?

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Rest in Peace

A moment’s silence, please, for all my fuck buddies who have recently passed on to the other side—monogamy.

Perhaps because it is winter, and a cuddly bed partner sounds awfully cozy, or perhaps it is just a stage in life. But several sluts of my acquaintance are settling down.

It began with lovely Amanda, who was one of the most beloved swinger girls out there. She was a centerpiece at my gatherings—often at the center of many bodies—and loads of fun one on one. She met a fine young man, determined to bring him into the fold of bi group sex. Alas, he was more convincing, and so he lured her to contented monogamy.

Dear Geri was introduced to me by the fourth man she had ever had a sex with. A threesome later, and I was number five. She joined our gatherings and quickly worked her way into the double digits, also beginning a new column for women she had bedded. She was happily crunching the numbers when she met “the one.” She went monogamous of her own accord—he wasn’t even asking for that commitment. Get this: she wanted it!

Klaus and I met a year ago. He is tall, blonde, and exceptionally handsome, like a Depression era film star. We had great sex. I told him about my gatherings, and he expressed interest in attending. He’s gay and had never slept with a woman; I watched him lose his virginity. He fast became very popular—all the boys and girls loved Klaus. One day, he announced his retirement. He had enjoyed women, but he was back to a diet of men only. We did more male parties together, and then, just like in the movies, the star met Mister Right. Roll credits.

My soul sister Elena broke a year long stretch without sex—and four without men—when we got naked together. After being pursued by a number of women who just weren’t good fits, the world’s most femme girl met the cutest butch girl ever. Now they are throwing around the L Word—and no, I don’t mean lezzie.

Thomas—our aficionado of the she-males—has been on a few dates with a woman of the genetic variety whom he thinks may be just the one to make a straight boy out of him.

Celia is seeing her therapist—or is she seeing her therapist? —and decided to be exclusive.

And now Marla finds that the local talent she picked up a few weeks ago is becoming pretty steady company. She even woke the other morning to find that he was no longer in her bed; he was cleaning her kitchen. Once someone is cleaning your kitchen, it’s time to pick out a china pattern. Oh no, says Marla. I am not settling down. That’s good to hear, I said, as we made a date for sex.

That evening is fine, she said as we compared calendars. But I’d like to try to be home by nine; the local talent will be calling me.

Only a matter of time. I’ve told her that when she calls to say she is going monogamous, I am sticking my fingers in my ears and not listening.

Of course, I wish them well. I hope that things work out, if this is what they want. And I wonder: if the monogamy bug ever bites me again—big if!—will I regret the ones who got away?

Getting Offline

About six months ago, I met Kat online.

She had posted a note saying she was bored and up for a few instant messages. I had the kids in bed, and was too tired to work, so that was about my speed. She had a slutty screen name, which I assumed was purely for this post.

I responded that I was happy to talk with her about anything other than sex.

She replied, and she was very funny. I liked her wit. She liked mine. We had a great chat, and when we were done, we were done.

I liked that. We talked just to have a conversation.

She popped up online now and then. Perhaps just to find me, perhaps not, but we talked whenever we were both online and had the time.

We talked about dating, life and such. Neither of us made a move to trade photos or to meet in person. The conversation was fine.

We were chatting once after I started this blog. I saw no harm in sharing it. After a very light and breezy conversation, she went off to read it.

When she came back, she was practically panting.

You really did that? Yes, it’s all true, I said, but what did you like?

She liked my tale of roping down my Celia.

I told her yes, that was true. She wanted to know if I could do that to her.

So my online friend had a submissive side. Sure, I could help with that.

We talked about meeting in person. I had one request: let’s not trade photos. We had no idea what the other looked like, and yet we were hot for each other. Let’s preserve that mystery.

She liked the idea.

When I decided to give myself a birthday week of wall-to-wall sex, I phoned and told her she was short listed for booty calls. Alas, we could not make it happen that week. I was calling her in the afternoons, she was calling me in the middle of the night.

Yesterday we found each other online. We decided to make a date. We set it, and each got back to work.

Soon there was an instant message. She couldn’t focus on work now; she was too turned on by the thought of our date. Could I come over for an hour?

No less than an hour and a half, I haggled. She agreed. We would skip lunch so we could finally consummate this lust.

“I am very nervous about this,” she said. “But very excited.”

That’s the way I want you, I replied. I packed a bag with rope and lube. Not much time for bondage, but always be prepared.

It was just after one when she opened her door. We smiled. I kissed her—and kept kissing her.

She trembled in my arms. She was very nervous.

We had only glanced one another before kissing. If I had to do so, as I kissed her, I could not have described her face.

The kiss alone was worth the cab fare.

I touched her cheek and pulled back. “Oh good,” I said. “You are pretty.”

“You too,” she replied. “Whew.”

She was cute. Chestnut hair, smooth skin, pink lips, somewhere in her mid-twenties.

“Are you going to take my coat?” I asked. She apologized and took it.

I sat in a chair. “Would you remove my boots, please?” I asked. Of course, she said. She squatted before me, her hands shaking as she untied my laces.

She was wearing a short skirt. Her position offered me a clear view of her naked shaved pussy.

When she had removed my boots, I asked her to stand. I kissed her, running my hand up her legs to her ass.

“No panties?” I asked.


“Slut. Take off your clothes.”

I watched as she did as instructed. Her willingness to do as told had me very hard. Her body was nice too—full and ripe, with large breasts.

I reached out squeeze a nipple and brought it to my mouth. “You’re pretty nervous, huh?” I asked.


“Here,” I offered, unbuckling my belt. “Maybe sucking some cock will calm you down.”

She got on her knees and took me in her mouth. Deep from the beginning. Nice.

I stood, keeping my cock in her mouth. “Take off my clothes,” I directed. She sucked me as she tugged down my pants. Soon I was nude, fucking her face in her living room.

I looked around. Nice place. Lots of windows.

“Show me your bed. I want to fuck you there.” She stood and walked down the hall. I followed.

She had a four-poster bed facing a mirrored wall. Her mattress was level with a window. This would be a great place to rope her down. Perhaps next time.

I went down on her, and got acquainted with the sounds she makes during sex—panting with a gutteral sound, deep in her throat, that is very unique.

She reads this blog, so she knows how much I enjoy eating pussy. But she allowed little time for our first meeting, and the cost of that was coming out of time spent giving her head.

She pulled a condom from a drawer. I pushed her legs back and slipped my dick in her. She has a very nice pink pussy, but honestly, it looked better with my cock in it.

Certainly she seemed happier. She spread her legs wide and took a good hard round.

I checked the clock. 1:25pm. We had first laid eyes on each other less than half an hour ago, and she was taking a really fine fuck. Good slut.

I fell to kissing her, slowing so she could just focus on the feeling of my cock inside her. “When we have more time,” I said, “You’ll get a good long fucking.” She liked that idea. “But now you need to suck cock.” She agreed—she did actually need to suck cock.

I sat back to watch her work. She gives a wet sloppy blowjob, keeping her lips firm on it as her drool covered me. She pulled it out now and then to jerk in good, solid strokes.

It’s nice that she knows her way around a cock so well. I commended her for her ability.

“So you think I’m blog worthy?” she laughed.

“We’ll see,” I said. “Why isn’t that dick in your mouth?”

I checked the time. Fifteen minutes more.

Time to get serious about this. I stood up on her bed, bracing myself against the posts. I fucked her face, and she took it.

I pulled out and shot on her tits.

We lay down for a moment, talking, as she trailed her fingers through the cum on her body. It was sweet talking, as we so often have. Next time, I said, let’s nap.

We showered. I dressed. I put on my boots and picked up my bag of ropes. We kissed at the door.

It was almost time to pick up the kids from school, a two-mile walk from her place. I decided to stretch my legs.

Zelda called. She really enjoyed fucking Shelby and me, she said. Could she get together with me, alone, tonight?

I can’t fuck you tonight as I have my kids, I said, but maybe in a couple of days.

That would be great! She said. Thanks!

At an intersection, a man leaned from the window of his van. “Hey,” he called to me. “Great hair cut!”

Really, I must be doing something right.

Whattya Working On?

“Whattya working on?”

This is the way we greet each other in my biz. The correct response is to have a few smart sentences ready so you can turn the tables and ask, “So that’s me, how about you—whattya working on?”

I was at a swank soiree the other night, at a millionaire’s penthouse apartment.

This doesn’t happen often, but in my line of work, it happens now and then. Rich people like to have bookish folk around as conversation pieces. We poor church mice will go anywhere there is free food.

The rich and their in-house intellectuals—it’s a time-honored system of interdependence.

This was a catered affair, with a nice dinner preceded by cocktails and appetizers served by ultra-gorgeous caterer waiters.

I was chatting with a legendary historian—a brilliant old queen—when across the room, I noticed that one of the waiters was the most gorgeous black man I have ever seen in my life.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I need to kiss that handsome man—and now.”

Which I did. I gave him a wet kiss that would put curls in your hair.

My conversation partner was impressed by my verve. The waiter was impressed with my kiss.

Of course, I’ve been kissing him hello for years. We used to work together. What the hell was he doing here?

He was surprised to see me in this context. He was fine, and very happy. As we talked, he said his new gigs at parties had freed his schedule to focus on his real work as an actor.

It’s New York. We do what we have to do. So I asked: “Whattya working on?”

He is all over the place, doing regional theater, local stuff, modeling. Someone plucked a salmon cake from his tray. I let him work the room.

I had an editor at my elbow. When was I going to write for her again? Whattya working on?

I considered the answer I can’t give. I have a super secret sex blog. I am trying to come up with literate ways to describe Shelby’s skin. I came to this party after blogging about sex in front of a voyeur.

If we were to talk about the writer’s craft, I would say: struggle as I might, I can’t come up with better words that “hard” and “wet” in describing sex. Gutter words make you forget about language and think about getting laid.

I can’t talk about that in this context. Instead, I effused about an artist I want to write about. She nodded, drinking white wine. I asked, “So, whattya working on?”

I ended the evening in the kitchen with my friend and the caterer. They sent me home toasted on the host’s booze and loaded with doggie bags for my kids.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Showing Off

My birthday week of wall-to-wall sex officially ended on Monday with a spot of exhibitionism.

Marla and I were comparing notes on how hot it is to be watched as we go at it. We thought, why not share the joy and find a voyeur? We put up a post, and sure enough, a lot of folks expressed an interest in watching us.

We chose a young guy who looked like a football player. He was interested in watching but no more, as he is married and did not want to cheat.

We set simple ground rules. He was not allowed to touch us. We could talk, but we would not take direction. It was fine for him to jerk off. He agreed.

Marla and I agreed that we would give him no more than an hour of the best we had.

Marla and I were having drinks when he arrived. He was a very genial sort, and we fell into an easy conversation. We decided to hop to action.

Marla and I kissed as he undressed and sat in a chair. We undressed one another, kissing and fondling. I took a breast in my mouth.

I moved down to lick her pussy. She moaned as I went at her, moving her piercing around my mouth. He walked around to get a look, stroking his cock.

I put on a condom and started fucking her. She watched me and the man who was watching us. She came very quickly.

He sat down again, and she excused herself to the bathroom, leaving the two us alone for a moment.

“You two are smoking hot,” he said, stroking. He was staring at my cock.

“We like that you are watching,” I told him. I stood very close to him, stroking my cock near his face.

He came instantly.

Marla returned. “Did I miss something?” she smiled, her arm on my waist. Yeah, our pal came, I said, kissing her.

We sent him to wash up. He dressed and was on his way. He had lasted about half an hour.

Marla and I went back to fucking. We were soon interrupted by a knock at the door. I dressed and went to answer it.

It was a delivery from the liquor store. His and her bottles of bourbon, courtesy of our new acquaintance.


The blizzard that hit the Northeast this weekend wrecked a fine plan for my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.

My lesbian soul sister arranged a scheme that involved her and her new girlfriend sleeping over and forcing a straight male submissive do their bidding.

Two lesbians and a straight boy? How does this involve sex for me, I asked?

Oh, you leave the driving to us, she replied.

Alas, it was too snowy to drive, and so her best-laid plans were postponed.

The thought of a using a submissive stuck with me, though. And so I braved the storm to pay a visit to my foot fetishist.

It’s hard to believe I ever got along without one.

He had a fire going when I arrived. I took off my snow boots and padded to a large cozy chair near the fireplace. He lay on the floor, and I propped up my stocking feet on his face. I smoked his weed and relaxed.

My fetishist is a good-looking Italian man, who lives in a beautiful brownstone apartment. I regretted I had not brought a book; this could be a nice way to pass a snowy evening.

He removed my socks. I ground my naked feet into his cheeks, massaging his forehead as he sucked my toes.

I told him about the basketball I keep under my desk. It helps me think when I keep my feet moving. I rubbed his head like my basketball.

Marcus called. He had read the blog and had a few questions about people we know in common.

We chatted as I mashed my feet on the fetishist’s face. I told Marcus he should try out my footstool—it’s very relaxing. The sub was happy to hear me offering his face to my friend.

Marcus and I talked a while longer, about this and that, and then he had to go.

The footstool was doing wonders for my feet. It was a nice turn on. I unzipped and pulled out my cock, leisurely jerking off as he worked.

He was such a good footstool, I decided to let him suck my dick. He gives really terrific head—lots of pressure with his lips and tongue.

After I came, I told him to bring me my snow boots. He obeyed and put them on me.

That set my mind right. I left, heading back to my desk. My feet relaxed on my basketball.

Monday, January 24, 2005

L Word

As Zelda left, Shelby curled contentedly on the couch. She was fed, fucked and blissed. I wrapped myself in her arms, and we kissed.

There is a special something between us. We clicked immediately when we met, and our sexual relationship was only part of that.

Over the autumn, as we kissed or fucked or talked, I found I was saying things like “you are just so lovely,” “I’m so lucky we met,” “this is really special,” and so on. My heart was welling up for her.

Finally, as we lay in bed one night, I took a daring step.

“Look,” I said. I coughed, as my voice had cracked. “I suppose you notice how I can’t stop myself from trying to find ways to express my feelings to you. There’s a word for how I feel. So I want you to know that in a way entirely appropriate to our relationship, and in a way that is not at all scary, I do love you. You mean a lot to me.”

Shelby smiled. “It’s mutual. I dig you. In a way that is nonexclusive and noncommittal, and it’s okay.”

She added, “I never say the L Word though.”

Love sometimes comes with a few caveats.

That L Word chokes some folks. My pal Dacia can’t say it to save her life, so I miss no opportunity to tell her how much I love her. She always says, “Yes, I know.”

I don’t use charged words carelessly. But I have to tell people I love that I love them. It’s just honest.

I do take care with my heart, and those of my friends. Dacia knows that my love is that unconditional kind that doesn’t infringe upon her life in any bad ways.

Shelby knows that love is a part of our care for one another. Neither of us wants an exclusive relationship. Can’t help how you feel, though. And love ain’t bad.

And now, as we lay in one another’s arms after some time apart, it was clear we still had it.

We had just sent Zelda packing, so a nap for Shelby would be nice. But our cuddling soon led to her blowing me. This led to me sitting on her, jerking off as she watched and touched me.

I retrieved a vibrator. It has two small eggs that really do the trick for Shelby. I massaged her anus as I went down on her. I put a condom on the vibrating egg and slipped it into her ass. *

I turned up the speed. I could hear it whirring through her belly as I licked her.

“Oh God,” she said. “That is so good. I bet you could really feel that vibrate if your dick was in me.” Let’s find out.

It’s true, I really could. All along my shaft and at the base of my cock.

I fucked her for a while. I had to have her in my mouth again.

She came, over and again.

Now she was really spent.

“Can I get you off?” she asked.

“You can’t move, honey, and I just came with Zelda. Get some rest.” I put her in bed and did some work.

After a nap, she stumbled back to my couch. “You want that blowjob now?” she asked. Why, sure!

Afterwards, we went out for a couple of drinks. We were pretty beat.

Back at home, we zoned to some television, talking through any program we tried to watch. It was late, and I was sleepy. She was sure she would be up for a while.

I relaxed in her arms. She said she might have another fuck in her.

Climb on your lazy man, I said. You can ride me.

She’s still getting the hang of being on top of me. It’s her new favorite thing. She know I like it, as I can get may hands and mouth all over her.

She sat up on me, her face and body warmed by the candle on the night table.

“I love you, pretty thing.”

She smiled. “Yeah, it’s mutual.”

We went at it, tender and firm, until she was ready to sleep.

*Thanks Jane, for the tip!

Blowjobs 101

Winter break has ended, affecting the schedules of my school-bound friends. Scarlet is out of commission, Dacia is available for more dinners, and Celia is back in town—for what the latter may prove to be worth.

She is no longer “my” Celia, after all.

The new semester also puts things back on track with Shelby. We were derailed by the holidays and her semester break, which had her back home in the Midwest. Things between us had been hot and heavy in autumn, when she arrived in town to begin her second year of college.

We were eager to resume. We planned to meet during my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.

I smiled to see her face at my door. She dropped her backpack. “Baby, it is so good to see you.” We held each other close.

We talked, catching up even though we had chatted so many nights online. I twirled her dark hair in my fingers; she rested a hand on my thigh. We were thrilled to be finally back together.

We kissed and lost our clothes.

In bed, we were reacquainted with one another’s bodies. Our mouths were locked in kisses as my hands roamed her smooth skin, her small breasts, her waist and soft hips. She flicked her fingers on my sensitive nipples, knowing I could scarcely take it.

“I have another woman on stand by, ready to join us today, but I have never met her,” I said. Do tell, Shelby said, propping herself up.

Zelda had contacted me about the gatherings. She had little experience with multiple partners, but a recent foursome had left her curious for more. She was bi and twenty-three. In her photos she had long dark hair and a shy smile, and she described herself as a quiet Jewish girl who needed to break out of her shell.

What did you like about the foursome, I asked? The rough sex.

Do you like restraints? Yes—how did you know?

I thought: young, bisexual, newly experienced, likes rough sex and bondage . . . . why, she is in the same shoes as my dear Shelby! Maybe they should meet.

Yeah, call her up, Shelby encouraged. Zelda was glad we summoned her. She would be over in about a half hour.

Shelby and I fell back to kissing. I put on a condom and entered her. We fucked slowly, kissing and talking.

As instructed, Zelda called when she was a few blocks away. We continued to fuck until there was a knock at the door. I dressed and went to the door; Shelby remained in bed.

Zelda was bundled in a coat, trembling. “Welcome,” I said. “May I take your coat?”

Yes, she said, please. Her hands trembled as she struggled with the zipper on her coat.

“Here,” I offered, “Let me.” I unzipped her coat, taking it and her scarf. She began to remove a sweater, which caught on her shirt. I fixed the snag and removed her sweater.

“I would like you to meet Shelby,” I said, taking a cold hand that trembled in mine. She smiled, averting her eyes as she followed.

Shelby leaned on an elbow, nude under the duvet. “Hey there,” she said. I invited Zelda to sit on the bed.

“Have you ever met strangers for sex?” I asked, removing Zelda’s shoes and socks. No, she said. It was her first time.

I pulled Zelda’s shirt over her head. I unhooked her bra, exposing her breasts.

“This will be fun,” Shelby said.

I turned Zelda to lay her down. As Shelby touched her skin, I removed her pants and underwear. Zelda covered her body with her arms and snuggled close to Shelby.

I undressed and got into bed. I covered Zelda’s small shivering body with my own, bringing her into my embrace of Shelby. I caressed Shelby as we talked. Shelby and I were relaxed and easy, warming Zelda’s body between us.

Zelda stole kisses of Shelby’s shoulder.

I kissed Shelby’s nipples, encouraging Zelda to join me. Aren’t they tender and soft in your mouth, I asked? Mmmmmf, Zelda replied.

I moved to lick Shelby’s clean-shaven pussy. It’s a very pretty pussy, a slit that opens into coral labia, with a pink bubble of a clit.

“Oh wow,” Zelda asked. “Is he good at that?”

Shelby allowed that I was very good. Zelda wanted to know if she could try. Enjoy! Shelby replied.

I traded positions with Zelda. She tucked her long hair behind her ears and gingerly tongued Shelby’s clit.

Shelby took my cock into her mouth. I fingered Zelda’s pussy, already wet. Her skin was still cold from the outdoors.

“Can I watch you suck him?” Zelda asked. Sure! I liked that she was so polite and inquisitive. I lay back on the pillows, and Shelby put back her hair. She began to suck me, deep.

“Is she very good at that?” Oh yes, I said. Very much so. Shelby is the best natural born cocksucker you would ever want to meet.

“I wish I was that good,” Zelda said. “May I ask, what are you doing that is so good?”

Shelby took my cock from her mouth, and showed how she rubbed her tongue on the underside of my shaft, near the head. She showed how she plunged it deep in her throat. She showed how she lapped her tongue at the base.

I sat back and watched the demonstration. She didn’t need any interjections from me; Shelby knows my dick as well as I do. Zelda wanted to see more. We obliged.

“Do you suck much cock, Zelda?” I asked. No, she said, so it helps to see how well Shelby does it.

Girl needs cocksucking experience. I filed that away.

I went down on Zelda, who asked Shelby to sit on her face. “Is it okay if I put a finger in you?” she asked. Just one? Shelby replied. Give me what you got.

I put on a condom and pushed back Zelda’s legs. I fucked her, leaning on Shelby’s warm, beautiful back.

After a while, I flipped Shelby and entered her. I suggested that Zelda lick her clit as I fucked her. She set herself to the task, as Shelby fingered Zelda’s pussy. She moved her body to straddle Shelby’s face.

In time, I retreated to let the women go at each other.

I pulled out rope.

I lashed Zelda’s arms to Shelby’s thighs, and secured Shelby’s ankles to the bed so that her legs were open wide. Zelda’s legs were similarly tied to the opposite end of the bed. I left Shelby’s hands free, as she used them to hold Zelda’s pussy in her mouth.

Zelda was fully ours.

I grabbed her hair, and lifted her face from Shelby’s clit. I fed my cock to her. She took it deep, but clumsily. She gagged in a few thrusts. “Shhh, baby,” I admonished. “Take it slow and easy.” I pushed her head up and down my cock to give her the idea.

I took my cock from her, and gave her mouth back to Shelby. I fucked Shelby as she licked us.

I moved to the other side of the bed. Shelby smiled at me from under Zelda’s pussy.

Such a sweet smile, such a pretty face. I put my cock in her mouth.

I fucked Zelda as Shelby licked her clit and my shaft. Zelda moaned into Shelby’s pussy.

I grabbed her hips and fucked hard. I took hold of the skin on her thin body to get better traction. She pushed back into me. I spanked her ass, firmly. It was soon red with my handprints.

Shelby smiled. “Yeah!” She was enjoying her view of the show.

I pulled out, and put my dick back in Shelby’s sweet mouth. I put a finger into Zelda, then three. I gave it to her hard. With my free hand, I grabbed her ass and moved it into my thrusts. She’s small and easy to move around.

I untied Zelda, and turned her body to face Shelby. They kissed, and rubbed their pussies together.

I washed my hands. I came back, and slipped my fingers into Shelby. I put my cock in Zelda.

Shelby was getting off, and now Zelda was in my way. I pulled out and lifted her off my sweet Shelby. I went down on her, focused on her orgasms. I asked Zelda to bite her nipples, hard.

Shelby came, several times. She stopped me. I climbed her body to hold her. I rolled over; our legs entwined as we lay on our backs.

“It is so nice to watch you two,” Zelda said. “You are so into each other.” It’s true. We are.

“Hey Zelda, would you suck my cock, please?” I asked. I was very curious about her abilities as a cocksucker. Sure, she said.

She put her hair behind her ears and swallowed my cock. Shelby kissed me.

Zelda took me very deep and wet. Her drool pooled in my pubic hair. Her eyes were on me, then off to one side. Her brow was furrowed.

“Zelda honey, what’s on your mind?”

“I’m trying to remember the things Shelby told me.” Just relax, I suggested. Shelby took my cock to remind her of the basics. Blowjobs 101, she called it. Zelda thanked her and went back to it.

I took her hair in my hands, to focus her. I encouraged her to make eye contact.

“Zelda, have you ever made a man cum from a blowjob?” She shook her head no. “I’m going to cum for you, then.” She nodded yes. “You are doing a very good job.” Mmmmf.

I focused on her tongue, the wetness of her mouth. I wanted her to feel proud of this blowjob.

I pulled out, about to blow. “Can I watch you cum?” she asked.

A few tugs on my cock, wet with her drool, and I came. “Oh!,” she exclaimed. “Oh my God, it spurts!”

Did it ever! She held my cock, watching it cum over her hands.

“Zelda honey, have you ever seen a man cum before?” She had not.

We talked and I encouraged her to wash up. She noted that some jism had hot my sheets. “Oh no, does that stain?” she asked.

Shelby smiled at me.

I made something to eat. Shelby and I ate nude, Zelda in her panties and t-shirt. We liked getting to know her.

After lunch, I thanked Zelda for joining us. It was time for her to go so I could be alone with my Shelby. We had been too long apart.

“See you next time,” Zelda said, as we kissed good-bye.

Sunday, January 23, 2005

At Present

On the Thursday of my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex, I worked and parented. I did not have sex.

I received an email from Celia, apologizing that she had left on Tuesday without saying good-bye, but I had looked busy.

No problem, Celia. Sorry we didn’t have more time together. Would you be interested in joining me for a party this weekend? It’s an art party, not sex party, and it is close to your place.

She replied:

Regretfully, I won't be able to join you that evening though I'd love to join you for future parties. You should know, though, that I am involved in a monogamous relationship at present.

Well, that’s about the best way to put that. Short and to the point. Perhaps she is seeing a Svengali therapist.

My response was lame. How could it be otherwise?

Egads! Monogamy? That's a very big step!

I hope you enjoy monogamy as well as I did, when I did. It has its rewards.

It's Shaun White, isn't it? I knew that snow boarding thing was going to come between us.

I'm sorry you can't make it to the art party this weekend, but we will make another. I'm happy to spend time with you, sex or no.

I'll keep you in the loop for the gatherings too. You can hang out with us even if you aren't fucking us. Bring your friend.

Yeah, right. Like Celia the boy is going to hang out with me when she’s got a hot new lover.

Now is Good

I woke early on the morning after the orgy to get some work done. Dacia slept in, as she didn’t have a class until afternoon.

I found an instant message from May. She was eager to set a weekend we could be together. Her move to California is not so imminent as she thought, and she would like to reconsider the instant message break up she initiated.

I worked for a while before Dacia awoke. She came to my work area and we talked for a while. She was still nude from the night before.

Dacia’s body caught the morning light. We are happy when our friends are hot: Dacia is a stone fox. A month’s hike in Europe this summer had put her in top form, accentuating her large breasts and hour-glass figure.

She went to shower and dress. Afterwards, we compared notes about the evening and ate a full breakfast—with bacon, of course.

I suffered the sex hangover that often followed a gathering; after so much sex, I would really love to get laid.

Alas, Dacia and I only have sex together if there is a person between us.

After sending her off to school, I checked my email again. There was this note in response to an ad I had posted for the parties.

She: Your parties sound hot. Barbara.

I replied,

He: Thanks! They are hot. We had a great time last night. We are on again in two weeks.

Tell me about yourself.

She: Bi black woman; 43; 5'4" 150lbs; nice body; what else would you like to know?

He: Sounds nice, Barbara. If you are free to talk, here’s my number.

She did sound nice. But before I went into any detail, I wanted to confirm by voice that she was a woman. She phoned immediately.

He: Hi Barbara. Well, I’m sorry we didn’t hear from you before last night. It was fun.

She: Me too! I could really use some sex.

He: Can you come over now? I’ll fuck you.

She: Sure, I can take a lunch break. What’s the address?

I gave her the address. She said she would see me in twenty minutes. We hung up.

I don’t think we had exchanged one hundred words. We had not exchanged photos. But I would very soon be fucking her.

What was her name again? Oh yeah, Barbara.

She was wearing a conservative blue business suit. Her hair was close cropped and topped by salt and pepper. She had a nice figure. And sensible shoes.

I kissed her hello and offered her a seat. I sat close nearby.

Making conversation, she asked me questions about the parties. She wanted to know the usual stuff: how many people, is everyone bi, are the people attractive, etc.

I found that she had only discovered Craig’s List the week before, and she was hoping to find opportunities like this.

I noted that she was on a tight schedule. Perhaps we should undress. She agreed.

I led her to my room. She undressed in one corner, I undressed in another.

Nude, I walked to her and kissed her. She removed her bra and kissed me, standing close, her naked skin pressed to mine.

We kissed for a nice long while. She had a soft and searching mouth.

I pulled her to the bed, and we continued to kiss. I tugged on her nipples , soon sinking my teeth into them. I massaged her breasts softly, then rougher.

My mouth made its way to her pussy, her legs opening for me. I held tight to her hips.

She asked me to fuck her. I put on a condom and obliged. Slow at first then getting faster.

She squirmed and grunted. She commended my stamina.

“We’ve only been fucking ten minutes,” I said, my eye on the clock to keep on her schedule. Which means, I suppose, that we had met about twenty minutes before.

We had about then more minutes. “We have to end this,” she sighed.

“We’ve had a splendid first time,” I said. I pulled out and jerked off on her tits.

She washed up, dressed and left. We had agreed that more of this would be very good.

I showered, did a little more work, and left to pick up the kids.


Nadia was incredibly loud, cumming as Raven worked her pussy. I put my hand over Nadia’s mouth. “Shush, you,” I reprimanded. “Think of the neighbors.” I kept my hand in place until she was done.

Jen was crouched over Mark, topless, moving back and forth over his nude body as her husband Yoshi watched.

She was so lovely to look at. I reached around her waist, unbuckled her white belt, and tugged off her pants. She wore a cute spaghetti thong that accentuated her slender torso. I could leave that on, but . . . nah.

I put a condom on Mark’s cock as I licked her pussy. She was good and wet. I slipped Mark into her. She eased back onto his cock.

Alice was blowing Jake, who sat in a chair watching the action on the bed. Everyone was loosening up.

I needed to find someone to fuck. I went in search of my Celia, before she got too busy.

I looked around the apartment, and didn’t find her anywhere. Odd.

Alexandra was lying in bed, stripped to her panties as she fondled one of the ladies.

“Say, have you seen Celia?” I asked.

“She had to go,” Alexandra said. “She’s seeing her therapist.”

“She had a therapy appointment at this hour?”

“No, love, she’s seeing her therapist.”

“She’s fucking her therapist?”

“Dunno. I only know she’s seeing her therapist.”

Was she dating a therapist, or dating her therapist?

I could fall hard for a girl who fucks her therapist, even.

Nothing to do, really, but to remove Alexandra’s panties.

My mouth fell to her tender rosebud breasts. I found her mouth and we kissed. I licked her crooked teeth. Our eyes were open and watching one another.

We held each other, roaming our hands over each other’s bodies, rubbing our hard cocks against one another.

I asked if I could fuck her. “No, love, I don’t think I am up for that.”

So I sucked her cock. She turned to suck mine.

“There! You see?” Raven was at the door with Dacia, pointing at us as we blew one another on the bed. “Hot boy-on-boy action!”

“Yeah, but Alexandra is a girl,” Dacia whined. Still, she stayed to watch.

Alice moved in on Alexandra, so I sat back to let them go at it. Soon, I made the rounds to see how things were in the other room.

The bed was full. Jen was kissing her husband. I wanted time with that pretty woman. I went down on her, fingering her g-spot as I licked.

She responded, her body undulating nicely. I put on a condom and started fucking her, licking her small breasts, kissing her. Yoshi held her hand as Raven blew him.

Jake soon stood at my elbow, his huge cock sheathed in a condom. Bad form, really, cutting in mid-fuck. But I know we all wanted a turn with the hot new woman, so I gave way.

He climbed on her, and started his engine full throttle. I took Jen’s hair in my hands and put my cock in her mouth. I fucked her face as hard as Jake worked her cunt.

Yoshi came, his eyes never leaving the sight of his beautiful wife being roughly taken by two men he had just met.

Soon I was fucking Mark. Dacia missed it, however, as she had fallen asleep. I had tucked her in a while ago.

Girl’s got the worst luck for watching hot boy-on-boy action.

The party ended late. I had to peel Alice off Alexandra to get rid of them. I knew Alexandra had a long way to go, so I invited her to sleep over. “Next time, love,” she kissed me.

With the guests gone, I put out candles, changed the sheets and went to bed.


As Dacia and I ate sushi, I reflected that my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex was off to a rollicking good start.

The previous evening had been a bed-breaking male gang bang. This morning I had wrecked a man’s four-year stretch of monogamy. We had just done a pleasant fivesome. And now we were poised for an orgy.

Icing on the cake: tonight would mark the return of my Celia, after a month away.

I’m still very hot for her, the muse who inspired the beginning of this blog. I am clinging to the optimistic hope that she will find space to put me into her regular rotation of fuck mates. Her dance card would put even mine to shame.

The first to arrive—and the winner of the night’s “greatest distance traveled” award—was Nadia. She and Dacia had met before, but this was our first encounter. Nadia also has the distinction of being the second woman, after Scarlet, to have come to my place for sex because of this blog.

The blog that my Celia inspired.

I cued up music for the evening, most of it ambient, but starting with the Scissor Sisters. We’re all big fans. Now that we play the band at my gatherings, Jake says he has Pavlovian erection every time he hears them.

Raven arrived and prepared prosciutto and cantaloupe. She also brought a birthday gift: coasters to keep my bed from rolling across the room when we fuck. This is really a gift for yourself, I thanked her, as this is only a problem when you are on the bed.

Dacia complained to Raven about Donny’s hasty retreat during our pre-orgy sex date. Don’t you worry, Raven assured her. We’ll make the boys play tonight. You will finally see boy-on-boy action.

As other guests arrived, Dacia, Raven and Nadia gave the coasters a test drive. Alas, as soon as they jumped on the bed, it scooted away.

Giggles wafted into the living room, where I chatted with the guests, a mix of regulars and new people. The three women on my bed were getting started.

Jake was clearly poised to join in, but he was being a good date to his friend Alice, who was at her first party and not quite ready to dive in.

A young couple had joined us, Yoshi and Jen. Both were Japanese American and really adorable. He was slender with long hair, a pleasant demeanor, and the sad misfortune of being straight. His wife was about as cute as they come, with shoulder length black hair and hip-hugging jeans that screamed “hands on, please.”

Two of our fav stags arrived. The much admired and always reliable Mark was followed by Nate, whom we haven’t seen since school started. He’s a kindergarten teacher, wary of late school nights, and we have often kept him up until nearly sunrise.

Nate had first come to the gatherings at the behest of his friend Raven. When she told me about him, I was unenthused: he’s a straight boy who was uncomfortable being nude and he had no experience with group sex. What good was he to us, I asked? But Raven liked him, and his sexual education was her pet project, and so I relented.

Turned out he is the world’s sweetest man.

He was a cheerleader for those of us who were, as he saw it, sexual dynamos. He picked me to be the first man he played with. Afterwards, he kissed me, saying he adored me but he was sure he was straight. That’s fine, I said, so long as we keep having sex. We woke up in one another’s arms the next morning. He held me close and necked me.

Soon after Nate arrived at this gathering, Raven summoned him to join the ladies in the bedroom.

My Celia knocked. I finally saw her after so long.

She had brought Alexandra, a young male-to-female pre-op transsexual schoolmate. Alexandra was dressed as a boy, with bleached blonde hair and a New Zealand accent.

I kissed my Celia. “I have missed you,” I said. She looked sheepish, almost embarrassed. She asked for a bourbon.

I provided that, as Jake made a grasshopper for Alexandra. I introduced them to those in the living room.

I took them to the bedroom to meet the others.

Raven was eating Dacia. Nadia was riding Nate. Dacia had left the lights on. They were all pink and panting on my bed, in the warm room.

The sheets were already soaked with girl juice.

I pointed to each and said their names. I introduced Celia and Alexandra as I cracked a window to let in some air. Our presence barely registered.

We went back to the living room.

In a few moments, we would all be in my bedroom.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Black Cloud

Dacia arrived around four on Tuesday, prepared for our pre-orgy date with Isaac and Laura.

She had just settled in when there was a knock at the door.

“Why, look who it is!” I exclaimed. “It’s our pal Donny!”

Dacia beamed.

Donny wanted to get fucked as Dacia watched, and so he invited himself over. We were now poised for a pre-pre-orgy date boy-on-boy event.

About time too, because Dacia has still not seen boys have sex.

We talked for a bit, and Isaac and Laura arrived. There was a general consensus that times a-wastin’, so we raced each other to get naked.

Laura won. She’s light skinned black girl, mid twenties, a zaftig cutie with curly hair. The first word that comes to mind when I see her is “juicy.”

Her boyfriend—or rather, Isaac, as she often refers to another guy as her “other boyfriend”—is tall and gangly, with brown hair and glasses. He’s the kind of guy I think of as rather bland looking, but girls really like as that nerdy type.

Isaac went down on Laura as Dacia sucked Donny’s cock and fingered his ass. Interesting, I thought—he’s playing with her . . .

I made my way to Laura’s tits.

Dacia asked Donny to fuck. He declined, saying he only wanted to get fucked by me.

Dacia is not used to being turned down for sex, but she’s a sport. She lifted his legs and called me over. “Donny wants you to fuck him.” She had a big grin. She was finally going to see a boy get fucked.

Or was she? Donny slid a condom onto my cock, which was hard and ready to go. But at the critical moment, it kind of folded over. Hmmmm.

Donny bent over. I got it in him, and . . . nope, I wasn’t ready.

Dacia resumed blowing Donny, as I sucked his balls. Soon I was eating Dacia’s pussy. This was getting me good and stiff. Let’s try again.

Donny excused himself for a moment, and when he returned said, “Uh, sorry, but I have to go work.”

“But . . . but . . .” sputtered Dacia. “You are leaving AGAIN?”

“I have to work,” he said, dressing. “I just noticed the time.”

“You suck,” Dacia sulked.

After he left, I teased Dacia about the black cloud over her head—she kills hot boy-on-boy action. Because of her and this curse, I lost my opportunity to fuck a really pretty man, not once but twice!

Dacia took solace in a glass of bourbon. The four of us sat in bed, talking and drinking, enjoying our nudity and clever banter. It’s always fun getting naked with sexy brainiacs.

Laura had a swim class to attend. She had to leave in a few minutes. “Oh sex fairy,” she intoned. “What can we do in so short a time?”

Dacia and I work for the sex fairy. She dove into licking Laura’s pussy, as I fed her my cock. Laura took it well, so I fucked her hard.

I put on a condom, and pushed Dacia aside. I fucked Laura intensely, pushing hard and kissing deep. Dacia spread her legs for Isaac’s cock.

We stopped at 7:15 and made them go.

We had forty-five minutes until the orgy commenced. Dacia ordered sushi for us, and paid for it as a birthday gift to me. She paid with money she earned on her first porn shoot last weekend.

“Nothing is better than sushi I paid for with my ass,” she smiled.

“Only one thing beats that,” I replied. “Free sushi, paid for by someone else’s ass.”

Last Train

Isaac and Laura came to one of my gatherings. I liked them. They were cute and dweebie. We sat on the floor talking about common grammatical errors.

Now, that just gets me going.

They are very new to group sex, and mostly watched that night. They asked if I could set up something smaller, as they get used to the idea.

We aim to please. Dacia had been in on the grammar conversation, so I asked: want to play with the cute dweebs just before the next orgy?

She was in. No arm-twisting there. We decided to meet them at five on Tuesday, before the main event started at eight.

I also got a call from Donny.

I have previously posted on my subspecialty: straight boys who need to get fucked. Donny is at the front of that line.

I have been fucking him for well over a year. He is a bodybuilder and model, who picks up extra change as a bartender. He is over six feet tall, mid-20s and gorgeous. He resembles Marky Mark with his baby face and superhuman body.

He usually calls when he’s free and needs to get plowed. If I can make it work, I do. Sometimes, that has meant fucking him in front of other people who may be here for sex. Invariably, whatever the situation, he has taken his fucking and declined to play with any of the girls I have had over.

Sounds odd, but it makes sense to me. He’s just not into playing around. He fucks his own girls, and uses me for the thing they can’t provide.

A few months ago, he called as I was making dinner for Dacia. I asked her if she wanted to watch me fuck a very cute boy.

Dacia had never seen boy-on-boy action. She was ready.

She was all the more excited when she saw Donny.

He came to us from a party where he had posed as an Oscar statuette. He still had gold in his ears and crevices.

He scrubbed up in my shower soon after he arrived. Dacia and I took our drinks along to watch.

We talked as the water cascaded around his perfect body. He was shaven for the job. He was smooth and sculpted like a statue.

As he toweled off, Dacia took his hand and led him to the bedroom. Soon they were making out, and he was undressing her.

Wow, I thought, Donny likes her. I stripped and joined him as he licked her tits.

There were unspoken boundaries. Dacia and I don’t fuck, and this was the first time we had fooled around. So we would have to see how comfortable we would be.

Mind you, Dacia was very turned on. I spread her thighs and sucked her pussy as she played with Donny’s large cock. She came in no time.

We took a short breather. I was rock hard. I wondered what happened next—do I fuck him or is he going to break down and fuck her?

Donny noticed the time. He had twenty minutes to make the last train home. He started to dress.

“But . . . but . . . you can’t go!” Dacia sputtered. Yes, you must stay over! I cried.

He did have to go, he could not stay. We followed him to the door and let him out.

Dacia pouted and looked at me. “We’re naked. We don’t get naked.”

We quickly put on pajamas and poured more bourbons. We sat in bed bemoaning the loss of boy-on-boy action, and toasting the fact that we had gotten naked and that, at least, had not been too weird.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005


I woke up Tuesday morning and looked under the bed. Yep, the frame is shot. All night, my body had gravitated to the middle of my now sagging bed.

Bad timing, as I had another orgy that night, featuring the regular biweekly gathering of boys and girls, replete with the usual suspects of bed breakers.

This was also only the beginning of my birthday gift to myself: a week of wall-to-wall sex.

Next up: auditioning my role as the other woman.

I had answered an ad posted by a gay man involved in a monogamous relationship, four years strong.

Have you heard this joke? There’s a magazine called Gay Monogamy. You can get it in month-by-month subscriptions.

It’s a stereotype, sure, but my fellow was pretty committed in a way that defies the stereotype. Four years, no affairs and a house in the suburbs at age thirty.

And now I was poised to become the homewrecker.

I agreed to meet him at lunch on Tuesday. We met at my place.

He was Latino, slight and handsome. As we talked, it was pretty clear that the physical attraction was there. He liked that I was blonde and masculine.

(I thought, you have to be pretty femme to think that I’m masculine. But maybe that is part of my charm—gay men assume I am straight, straight women assume I am gay. I disrupt everyone’s gaydar.)

In his quest, he had met with two men, both married. He had met each for coffee, and it didn’t work out. They had nowhere to fuck, the chemistry wasn’t there, whatever.

But he liked me.

So get naked, I suggested.

He climbed on me and kissed me.

Naked, I said.

He stripped. He had a nice gym body, very smooth. He undressed me. We went to my bed.

I sat back as he sucked me. His preferred mode was deep throat, and very wet. He drooled all over my pubes.

“Don’t cum,” he entreated. In the words of the poet Bugs Bunny: she don’t know me very well, do she?

“Just suck me,” I instructed. “I’ll take care of that.”

After a while, I pushed him back and went to work on his tits. He was nicely worked out, and very sensitive. He liked my hands on his skin. I tugged and bit his flesh—leaving no marks, of course.

He’s a married man. I am the other woman.

He wanted to ride my cock. He put a condom on me and climbed on top. His lithe body rode me as I held his thighs aloft. My tongue found his tits.

I flipped him and fucked. Don’t cum, he moaned. I want more, I want more . . .

He came in moments.

Wow, he said. I’m used to my boyfriend cumming so fast.

I’m not your boyfriend, I said. You want to suck me off, or watch me jerk off?

Please, he said, the latter.

I sat back and jerked. He was still covered in his own cum.

I was very hard. I jerked and gave myself over to his eyes. My body lurched and twitched. I jerked harder. My legs were shaking. I was going to cum.

I stopped.

I felt my heart race. I felt the waves of pleasure rush through me. I was breathless.

But no money shot.

He caressed my legs, my feet.

I brought myself to the edge again. And again,

“Three times,” he said. “You came but you didn’t cum?”

Yeah, I said, out of breath. Shooting is hot. But man, this is great: getting myself to that point and letting go—it’s like cumming so many times.

He was fascinated to watch.

Four times was enough. We talked. I told him he needed to leave, and he got dressed.

He sent me a sweet note.

I’m going to pass.

I broke his record. He’s cheated with me, so goal accomplished. I don’t think I want to be his other woman.


After my birthday breakfast in bed—and after cleaning up from the bacon and egg breakfast I had subsequently prepared for the kids—I instant messaged William.

Please tell me you are better.

He was. He had slept most of the weekend, but he had been free of the fever for over a day. We were on.

It was freezing out, but the kids wanted to play basketball. We were at the park when Lucy arrived to take them for her days of single parenting.

This ended my days as a single parent, and began my days as a single man.

I had two hours before William arrived. I cleaned the apartment, put out candles and the “sex sheets,” and prepared for his gang bang.

William was nervous when he arrived. We talked and I offered the encouragement that he had done very well with as many as five guys; why gosh, this was only twice that many.

With no other bottoms. And all of the men ready to fuck.

We were both curious about Marc, a very hot looking guy we had meet on Craig’s List. He was a real chunk of young beefcake, and very well hung. Who knew if he would show, we thought. But damn if he wasn’t fine.

The first of the men arrived early as William showered. He was a twenty-year-old string bean who had just had his first threesome two days earlier. This would be his first gang bang.

He was early, and he was chatty. I had hoped to fuck William at the beginning and keep throwing men at him as they arrived, but oh well. We talked.

Other men arrived, all from Craig’s List. The men we already knew had phoned to say they would be running late.

William was still nervous, and conversation is not brilliant with strangers expecting a gang bang. He went into the bedroom and stripped, trying to relax.

I followed and kissed him. You are going to do fine, I said. I will be here for you.

One of the men followed up, and stripped as we talked. He came over and put his dick in William’s mouth. William flopped on his belly and sucked away.

I didn’t have to worry about this boy.

The string bean came in and undressed. I went back to the living room to tend to the others. I dimmed the lights.

One fellow had left. Not his speed, I guess. Jake arrived, nodded to the men on the couch and headed to the bedroom. No sense learning names, he knows. He was here for William.

A handsome couple arrived. “Hi, we’re friends of Marc’s,” said one. “Is he here?” Marc: the porn gorgeous kid we had put on the list. Nope, no sign of him, I said.

The couple had made numerous dates to meet him, and none had worked out. I ventured a guess that he wouldn’t be here tonight. Someone that hot very likely fields numerous offers, taking the one he likes best on a whim. If he is real at all.

Oh no, they said. We’ve talked to Marc. He’s real.

Enjoy the dream, I thought.

I liked the couple. We talked. The sounds of sex came from the next room.

I had twelve men, three dressed on my couch, the rest in my bedroom. I excused myself and went to the bedroom.

Jake was in his skivvies. William was sucking one boy, as others jerked off or blew one another. String bean had just fucked William.

Two more arrivals. John came in, stripped in the living room, and headed to the bedroom. A Craig’s Lister named Marlon followed suit: he was a tall, well built black kid, 23, with dreadlocks. I liked the way he looked.

I dropped my clothes.

Marlon had already bent over one of the other men, and was fucking him slowly. William was under a pile of men. I rubbed his face: you okay, hon?

Mmmfff, he replied, stuffing a cock deeper into his throat.

Someone came. I’ve been to enough gay parties to know: we’d soon hear more of that.

Guys started getting off. William retreated to the bathroom between fuckings, to clean up and compose himself.

As the crowd thinned, I took my turn at William. He bent over and I corrected him. No baby, on your back. I want see your pretty face. I slipped into him, and put my fingers into his mouth.

I gave it to him slow and sensuous. I kept myself in him deep.

No one else around. They vanished in my periphery. Just me and my boy, my eyes on his.

Jake stood nearby. I passed the baton, giving up William’s ass. I took a chair to watch. Across the room, Marlon was jerking and watching.

Another big dick, I noticed. My parties are magnets for them.

Jake flipped William and pulled his ass up. He was in him, and started pounding. John positioned himself at William’s face. Marlon stood nearby.

My boy had monster cock in both ends, and one to spare.

Jake shifted into a faster gear.


Everyone on the bed dropped a few inches.

They had broken the bed frame.

“Whoops,” Jake said.

“Should we get off the bed?” asked John.

“Not until that boy is done,” I said.

That bed frame is less than a year old. My sex life has wrecked it.

We fucked until it was just the old hands—Jake, John, William and I. Before Marlon left, I confirmed his contact info.

“Any chance you like girls too?” Oh yes, he replied.

I want him for my boy/girl parties. He will do well.

After a good round of sex, the boys sat around my room. William fretted: was he a lousy lay? Did he do well?

He had just been fucked by at least ten men.

We all agreed he was a fine fuck. Top notch.

He had not cum. Did he want us to get him off? He thought it over. He decided he was too worn out.

Jake had offered to take me to dinner for my birthday. We walked William to his car. John hitched a ride.

Jake and I opted for burgers and beer. I was feeling in a mood for something meaty and simple.

Back at home, I found William online. He was dazed. I was dazed. He had left his cigarettes on my table. He craved a smoke. I don’t smoke, but I lit one for him.

Birthday Party

Monday was my birthday, so I threw a party for someone else.

I met William online a while back for some pick-up sex. We traded instant messages, and I liked that he was so quick witted. He had the stupidest photo I had ever seen: he was holding a three-foot dildo over his head, like a trophy boa constrictor.

After some back and forth, he instant messaged: “Wanna fuck?” Yes, I did. Could I find some guys to join us? I could try. I made a few calls.

He was much cuter in person than his photo. He’s 24, a tad over six feet tall, with curly black hair and dark eyes. He smiles a lot, showing beautiful white teeth.

I had arranged for two other guys to join us. They were good looking, and the sex was fine. But William and I had eyes only for each other.

Literally—as I fucked him, he locked his eyes on mine. Those dark eyes, looking up at me, his lips open as he breathed. I kissed him, and his mouth was alive and sensuous.

I felt that swelling in my heart that says: buy a house and make him yours.

I gripped his thick long cock as I fucked him.

He came, bucking his body as he covered his belly and chest.

William went to clean up. I was fucking one of the other guys when he returned and started to dress.

“What gives, you’re leaving?” I asked.

“It’s what I do,” he said. “I cum, I go.”

“We need to break you of that very bad habit,” I admonished.

We’ve been together several times since then. He has learned to stick around after sex. But if he ever slept over, I would have to assume we were engaged.

I eventually learned that he is a celebrity of the downtown demimonde. I see him now and then in gay social magazines, smiling with John Cameron Mitchell or Sweetie, a famed drag queen and mistress of ceremonies.

I have no business fucking someone as cute and hip as William. But until he figures that out, his ass is mine.

We’ve had numerous group sex experiences, and he had been clamoring for his first gang bang. Just him and maybe ten tops. So for my birthday, I decided to make his dream come true.

“No other bottoms?” I asked. “None?”

“No. Maybe a versatile guy, but only one.”

“Okay, but I’m getting a fluffer.”

“No fluffers! I don’t want any competition!”

“It’s your party, baby. But you only have two holes, and that’s a lot of horny cock.”

He wanted it his way. He started the guest list with some men we had been with before, including Jake and John.

Sweet guys. Monster cocks.

“Oh, you want ten guys AND you want huge dicks?” He did. Jake and John agree that William is as cute as they come, so they were easy to sign up.

We posted a few ads on Craig’s List. We had a blast vetting the applicants.

Two days before the big event, William reported that he had a fever.

Would I need an understudy?

Monday, January 17, 2005

Bacon Birthday

Today is my birthday.

The kids woke me with breakfast in bed. Buttered toast, orange juice and enough cereal to choke a horse. They laughed and danced around my bedroom—they had pulled off a surprise! And the toast was perfect!

Lillie gave me a present: a toothbrush she had bought with her own money. I promised to use it right after my delicious breakfast.

They asked, so when is our breakfast? Are you making bacon and eggs?

We love bacon. Bacon has become a big part of my life, a symbol of my new freedom.

During my marriage, there was no bacon. Lucy and I did not eat beef or pork, and turkey bacon was a poor substitute for the real thing.

Shortly after our break up, about the time I was waking up to sex, I began to order bacon with my breakfast. God, what was I thinking in giving that up? Bacon is just so damn good.

Bacon, sex and freedom.

My friends know my thing for bacon.

This morning, as I was preparing to make breakfast for the kids, there was a knock at the door. A delivery from Lobel’s, the great Upper East Side butcher.

Two pounds of bacon, with a card: happy birthday from Jessica.

She is so good with the meat and potatoes of life.

Such great serendipity augurs well for the day. I made bacon, eggs and cheese grits. We gorged on a giant breakfast.

The kids go back to their mom this evening.

I have arranged a few very good birthday gifts to myself, and my friends have arranged others.

I am going to have incredible wall-to-wall sex this week.

Money Shot

I had just removed my coat when Anna was at my door. She brought champagne. I opened the bottle and poured two flutes. It was nearly midnight.

We sat talking. We both changed into pajamas, and talked some more. The champagne held out for a long time. Anna and the champagne washed away memories of the boorish dinner conversation.

It was three when we went to bed. I fell asleep quickly; she sat up reading in my bed.

My cock was hard and in a wet swirl. I lifted my eye lids. A gray morning light came in the window. I was disconcerted at first—who is that? Oh, Anna . . . Anna was nude, sucking my cock. I stroked her hair.

She was giving it her full force. “I want you to cum,” she said.

“No,” I murmured. “Not before I fuck you. Let me enjoy this for now.” She sucked me, slow, long, deep. My body began to wake to her.

She kissed me, mounting my body, sliding her pussy against my cock. She gets so wet. She slipped back and forth on me; I pushed up and back, feeling her soak me.

She opened a condom, and put it in her lips. She rolled it on to me with her mouth and tongue. She was on me again, and I was in her.

I kissed her, and took her full breasts in my hands. My mouth wanted those full nipples, and took them.

She worked her taunt vaginal muscles on me. She is a dancer, with great muscle control. In sex, she opens and closes her vaginal walls at will, as easily as you might pucker or blow.

She wanted me to take her. I put her back on my pillows, holding her wrists back over her head. I kissed her as I entered again. Slow kisses, slow deep fucking.

Harder. She lifted back her legs, with her full limber extension. I pulled up to watch her pussy take my cock, to see the muscles in her belly contract.

Her pubic hair naturally grows in a form that other women wax and strive toward. There is a small tuft just on her pubis, with the skin around her labia smooth and clean, revealing her very pink slit and clit.

She came. I wanted it.

I licked her, sucking her pussy of its juices. Two fingers went into her. Her vagina bloomed full. I gave her two more fingers from the other hand, licking and sucking her clit. She came again. And again.

She panted. “Now will you cum, please?” she asked. She pushed me back, and took my dick in her mouth.

She went at it hard and fast, alternating a rigorous hand job, her eyes on me. “Let it go,” she whispered. She thinks that I have a hard time letting go of control, and that if I would give myself up to her, she could make me feel so good.

I thought: baby, just relax. You will get me there. This is just right.

I felt it coming. My body was twitching and undulating. She knew I was close, and kept on me with a deep tight sucking.

I was about to cum. She suddenly shifted her mouth, opening it wide so that it was looser on me. No no, I thought, don’t change now . . . keep going as you were . . .

Ah, okay. I was going to cum, no stopping. She wrapped her fist around the head of my cock, to stem the flow. I shot and moaned, twisting, fighting to get her fist off my shaft, to let me blow. She wasn’t budging. I came so hard in her hand, bursting between her fingers.

“I like that even more than you do,” she said, kissing my check. “Your body is multiorgasmic. You cum before you cum.”

Yes, yes, baby. Uh huh. I could only assent, breathing.

We stayed in bed a while, then dressed. I walked her out. The kids would be back soon, and I was completely out of snacks.


Last weekend was supposed to be my weekend with the kids, but Lucy took them when I was unexpectedly hospitalized. That meant our weekends were now swapped, and the kids were to be with me this weekend.

Only one problem: when this was originally scheduled as my weekend without the kids, I had made plans for a work-related dinner on Saturday that I could not get out of. Lucy agreed to take the kids overnight.

That saved the day: I could attend the dinner. It also opened a window of opportunity for a sleepover date after the dinner.

I called Anna. She’s been glum that we haven’t been together in a little while. She was glad this opportunity had presented itself, and she would meet me at my place once my dinner was over.

That afternoon, the kids and I played basketball and soccer. We had the park to ourselves, as it was pretty cold. Once they were off with their mom, I went to my dinner engagement.

It started well. I was seated opposite a woman who was opening a business with her husband. She was full of infectious enthusiasm and energy about it.

To my right was a blowhard lawyer who came to dominate the conversation. As he talked, I realized that he was stoned off his gourd. Being so stoned in this context is very déclassé . This was an art party, and at these, you sometimes encounter people with money who assume that being among artsy folk means they can be “bohemian”—to the detriment of good manners.

His spouse was shunted to a far corner, apparently unwilling to talk much.

He chose me as his foil, and so throughout dinner, he offered tedious and facile opinions about art, my area of expertise. I didn’t care to get engaged. He said MoMA’s new architecture was awful. It’s disappointing, I concurred. Too few very good artists are recognized, he pontificated. It’s a hard field, I agreed.

The conversation shifted to politics, and really, in polite society, it just shouldn’t have. But what can you do? The Bush inauguration is days away, and people are thinking about it.

My elbow mate posited the opinion that Ralph Nader had been on the payroll of the conservatives in a conspiracy to steal the election from the Democrats. Oh no, I corrected. While it is true that some conservative groups feigned support of Nader in the hope that his candidacy would divide the opposition, it was preposterous to believe that Nader was in on some conspiracy to steal the election for Bush.

Oh, he was quite sure of this. Nader was in cahoots with Bush.

I saw that he was positioning me. For the sake of impressing the table, in his mind, we would have a debate. He would stake the position of agile thinking: all ideas should be considered plausible unless proven untenable. Thus, unless it could be proven otherwise, Nader’s presumed complicity with the Bush administration was at least possible.

I would be painted as an unrepentant lefty, stubbornly defending Nader against any suggestion of his selfish interest. I was supposed to maintain that Nader was pure good, Bush was pure evil, and ne’er the twain shall meet.

How could I be sure, he argued, that Nader was not in the pocket of the conservative right? Didn’t his candidacy work against that of Kerry, and thus in support of Bush? Wasn’t the theory worth consideration?

I checked my watch. Jesus, nearly eleven.

Some theories don’t need to be debated, I said. They can be dismissed out of hand, being based on profoundly stupid assumptions. No one else cared to take up his theory, so that topic was mercifully cut short.

I was mentally checked out and I made it clear: if this is the level of dinner conversation, I have other places to be.

The check came. I paid my respects to the host, got my coat and walked briskly to Houston Street to grab a cab. I phoned Anna; I’ll be at my place soon.

Saturday, January 15, 2005

Bonjour Tristresse

The hospital misadventure screwed up most of my week. This interfered with many things—including my final date with Scarlet.

When she first came into my life a few weeks ago, we knew our time was limited. She had found my blog and decided to use her winter break from school, as she put it, “to get better sex than I can get in my home town.”

The two of us hit it off well, and she made the most of the opportunity to take part in two of the biweekly orgies I host with my friends.

She met new friends through the parties. She was going to be back in the city now and then, and would see a few of them. But now that school was starting back, the two of us would have to end out torrid affair. She had her job and classes, I had work and kids, and our schedules just didn’t fit.

Maybe another time, we hoped.

On Friday, I put aside work, and she made the trip into the city so that we could have a few final hours together.

I met her at the train. We were already old sweethearts with this routine. We talked and held hands as we took the subway to my neighborhood. It was gray and rainy, unseasonably warm—the kind of weather that is too cold to go without scarves, and too warm for winter coats. Neither here nor there.

I didn’t have time to shower before getting the kids off to school, so I shaved and took a long shower when we returned to my place. I needed something to settle my body temperature, and to wash off the feeling of unattractiveness that clung to me after the recent deformity of my neck.

I wrapped myself in a towel and went to her. We kissed. Come to bed, I said.

I put aside my towel and got under the covers. She undressed and cuddled next to me. The feel of our skin together, after so much longing, was electric.

We kissed and held one another. I was alive with the desire to be touching her, craving to be in her. We had time to enjoy this, to feel our want for one another, to let that happen.

I was divided between desire and hunger, grateful to cup my palm on her breast, gentle and tender, even as I wanted to bite open her flesh and live inside her, forever and always.

I wanted her so badly.

She was under me, kissing me so easily, our bodies becoming relentless in need for one another. I put on a condom, just to be in her as we kissed.

That helped.

We kissed, still gentle and slow, hungry, as we fucked. Our bodies seized the moment to take over for us.

I held her face, her head, her hair, firm. Her eyes were closed, her mouth searching. She was mine. I was hers. It got elemental like that, very fast. I want her. I want her to be mine. She is mine. I am hers.

These are not the kinds of thoughts I ever think. These are the instincts that take over when the frontal lobes are disregarded, when heart and flesh are in control.

Caveman brain.

She was gasping, giving over. I wanted her on top of me. I wanted my hands on her.

I pulled her over. She lubed my cock, very wet, and sat back to fuck it. I took a nipple in my mouth and held her hips.

I put a finger in her mouth. She latched on. I soon had four fingers in her mouth, tugging her chin in synch with our fucking as I bit her nipple.

I took those fingers from her mouth, and gave her my other hand. My fingers, wet from her mouth, massaged her anus. Her body went into full attention, like an animal ready for the hunt. To be hunted.

I whirled my fingers around on her, as my cock fucked up into her, set in motion, regular and sure. My teeth were on her nipple, biting firm. My hand was in her mouth, pulling her jaw.

We knew each other so well.

We panted and grinded, everything right, every button pushed, but . . . we lost it. She didn’t cum.

I tossed her over. My mouth sought her tits. My hands pushed them together, forcibly, as my tongue worked between them.

I wanted her pussy on my mouth. Her body was mine to take.

I opted for ropes.

I bound her wrists, my cock in her mouth as I worked the knots. These were secured to the bed frame. Her left ankle was similarly bound, her right free so that I could move her leg as needed.

I fed her more cock, fingering her nipples behind my back.

I pulled out a length of rope to bind her tits. I pulled her breasts together and wrapped them tight, leaving her plump nipples exposed and in close proximity to one another.

My mouth went to her pearl clit. I lapped it in greeting: it’s me, your mouth, the one you know.

I kissed and sucked her, as her torso gave over to twitches I already knew well.

I was hard as I focused on her pussy. My right hand reached over and lubed a butt plug; it was slowly, gently in her ass.

Two fingers massaged her g-spot as I worked her with my mouth. Two more were in her, from a different hand, pressing down as the other pressed up.

She came for me, twitching, turning, pushing into my mouth. She came for me a few times, panting, her voice squeaky and exhaling like air leaving a helium balloon—“That’s it, don’t stop, don’t stop . . . . !”

In time, she was exhausted.

I talked with her, eventually untying the ropes as we spoke. I was so keyed up for her touch. I was so aroused by getting her off. She sucked my cock as I freed her wrists.

Craving her so much, wanting to feel her as she came down from her orgasms . . . her mouth plunged and pulled, and I came for her as well.

We lay together in each other’s arms. We had very little time left together. It felt fine. We were together. Close.

We had so little time. We needed to eat.

Scarlet eats bagels all the time, but—to the pity—she had never had a real New York bagel. I had picked up some H&H Bagels for lunch.

(I try not to be a snob, but this is a fact: elsewhere, so-called bagels are microwaved buns with holes in the middle. Here, they are boiled fresh. Boiled, not baked or microwaved.)

We curled under a blanket, listening to music, and ate bagels—hers with cream cheese, mine with whitefish salad. Our legs were interlocked. The sky outside was gray, and it rained. We felt very content, very much just in our skins.

Our bellies full, she lay against my chest. We talked about our time together—not just today, but our previous dates. It would be hard to let go of what we had found together.

It was time to get dressed.

We walked together to the subway. She felt confident to make her way to the train home alone. I let her go.

We kissed goodbye.

I pulled up my collar as I walked away.

We had been together for her first orgasms from oral, vaginal and anal sex; two orgies; her first black man, some lesbian sex; and just between us, plenty of cuddling and spooning and adoration . . .

A big relationship. All over in five dates.

Boy Scouts know the rule: leave the forest better than you found it. I know she is happy we met, and this was all a good thing for both of us. Our forests are much better off for our having met.

I can assign that rule to this situation. But still, I think: I’m lucky to get out of this one with my heart intact.

I can only hope I will see her again.

C’est au revoir, je dit. Pas adieu.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Free Lunch

I was released from the hospital late on Monday afternoon, armed with prescriptions for oral medications. My neck looked almost normal. I still had a sore tight knot.

What I had was a necrotic lymph node, which I understood to be an infection of my lymph glands. Ten days of antibiotics should bring that under control, I was told; a follow up visit would determine if minor surgery would be needed.

"Necrotic" was going to be my word of the week. It sounded like there was something dead and nasty in me.

I walked home to dive head first into email and work. A good night’s sleep, and I was back into it on Tuesday. I had a lot to do before Wednesday, when I would once again have the kids. Parenting would then take over my life through the long weekend.

I despaired about sex. It had been a week since the most recent orgy, and I had spent several days of that time in the hospital. With so much time lost for work, and with the kids to be with me all weekend, I was looking at a long dry spell.

Two weeks. From one orgy until the next. Would there be time for sex in the interim?

As I worked, I got an instant message from Marla. She’s been busy most nights with a new boy in her neighborhood. He’s good, she tells me, but lacking in oral skills and not really one for restraining her as she likes. Could I fit her in for lunch?

Just what the doctor ordered.

A few moments later, she emailed: could she bring a surprise?

I do not look a gift horse in the mouth.

She shows up at my door—with Jake. And about a half hour for sex before she has to be back at her office.

There’s only one rub. Jake is in my neighborhood fresh from a doctor’s appointment. He’s been tested for STIs and allergies, and this has left him feeling that he wants a good dose of abstinence. He had self-prescribed a twenty-four hour sexual detox, never realizing he would wind up on my doorstep with Marla.

Jake is true to his resolutions. He sits by as I undress Marla, drop my clothes, and get to work on her pussy. I let her clit hood piercing rattle against my teeth as I lick and tug and suck, getting her off.

But the clock had been running.

“I’m going to owe you, because I have to run,” she said. Go, go, I said: don’t be late. We don’t want to ruin our quickies. She pulled on her clothes, checked her make up, kissed us both and trotted off.

“So,” Jake said, when she was gone. “Can I take you to lunch?”

Girlfriend Gaff

Lucy and the kids returned for another visit on Sunday. May called during the visit, again using the hospital line. I told her I would call her back after they left.

That morning, a doctor told me that she had ordered a new CAT scan. No word on when they would send for me, but I had nothing but time to kill. I read and watched my IV drip.

Anna visited around six. She took off her coat, kissed me and sat on the bed. She was just examining my neck when a nurse showed up with a wheelchair. My CAT scan called.

I told Anna I would be back soon.

I was returned to my room about a half hour later. Anna was in her coat and holding her hat in her hands. She sat as erect as Mary Poppins. “How did it go?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said. “Do you have to go?”

“Yes,” she replied. “The phone rang while you were away. Your girlfriend called.”

May was still referring to herself as my girlfriend. Anna got to hear that.

This put Anna and me in the position of having that conversation we so often have. Yes, I am seeing other women. No, I don’t have a girlfriend. No, I don’t want a girlfriend. She asks the questions, I offer succinct answers.

I offered the further elaboration that this “girlfriend” now lived in California and we were not seeing each other. I felt like some lying jerk in a movie.

I offered to walk Anna to the elevator. She was capable of walking by herself, thanks.

I sat for a few minutes, stewing. A nurse hooked me up to my IV.

I returned May’s call. Another hour of news about life and new job.

I phoned Anna to apologize. It’s no problem, she said. We understand each other. Just get better—I want to see you away from that hospital.

Sick Bed

Nothing will get attention from friends and family like an unexpected hospitalization.

Dacia and Jane stopped by on Saturday, bearing chocolate-chip banana bread and a stack of books. John Rechy, J T LeRoy, Michelle Tea, Phoebe Gloeckner . . . all first person sex narratives! Yes, dear reader, your favorite sex bloggers really do their research, all for you.

The ladies agreed that I looked pretty gender-bendy now that I had a breast growing out of my neck. Jane photographed me in bed, looking as sick as I could manage. “That picture is for the obituary,” Dacia said.

We gossiped for a while until Lucy stopped by with the kids. Never one to be subtle, Lucy asked the ladies to leave. They set out in search of brunch while the kids got acquainted with the gears and buttons of my hospital bed.

Lucy had stopped by my apartment to pick up pajamas, toothpaste, my cell charger and a few other essentials. Her eyes avoided my IV; she has a terrible aversion to medical procedures. Just being in a hospital meant summoning a reservoir of courage. She did it, though, for me and for the kids.

It helped the kids to see that Dad was not in dire straights. The swelling in my neck had begun to subside, and I was in good spirits. This was especially comforting to our youngest son, who had cried when a schoolmate explained that hospitals are where people go to die.

We passed the afternoon, eating Dacia’s banana bread and my bland lunch as a football playoff alternated with “Rugrats” on television.

After their visit, I recharged my cell and made a few calls. Mom, Rachel, Jennifer, Marcus, Scarlet . . . Anna offered some cooing sex talk as evening settled. Lucy called, and we talked for a long time.

The day’s longest conversation, though, had occurred before visiting hours. I had not spoken with May since her instant message break up. I really couldn’t sit in the hospital without letting her know what had happened to me.

I didn’t have much juice on my cell when I called, but I gave her the run down on my condition. She was certain that I had the same thing she been recuperating from, but that was unlikely: we had not seen each other in five weeks or so, and the symptoms were so different.

There was no way to avoid the subject of our break up. She brought it up.

You might think that my being hospitalized would trump May’s appetite for break up drama, but apparently not. I had time to kill and the cell wasn’t going to last long, so I let it go.

She was very sad that things had gone so badly lately. I reiterated that I had assumed things were okay until she let me know otherwise.

She complained about her job, and how miserable her life has been lately. She began to cry. I consoled her. How are things going with the job opportunity in California, I asked?

“Oh,” she brightened, “I’m there now!”

“You’re in California now?”

Yes, she was. She told me about her interview for the job, her salary negotiations, her plans to share an apartment with an old friend. “I’ll be back and forth for a month or so,” she said. “But it looks very good here.”

“I’m glad it’s working out for you,” I said.

“Me too! I needed to feel happy and optimistic about this.” Her depression of a few minutes before had been replaced by a cheery mania. “I’m just sorry about things with us. We’re still friends, right?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I want to see you when I am on the east coast again—maybe next weekend?”

I averred that my weekend plans were up in the air, given my hospitalization and all, but we could talk about it once I was out.

About that time, the cell phone gave out. Our conversation had pretty much ended anyway, after nearly an hour.

After twenty minutes or so, the phone on my night table rang. It was May. It took me some time to find you, she said. I forgot the name of your hospital, so I had to call all the ones beginning with “Saint.”

I wondered how many dozens of those there must be. May went on talking about her new job for the next hour or so.