Cybersex

Condom and candy wrappers are the bane of my housekeeping efforts.

On my days as a single slut, I find little bits of condom foils under my bed, behind the nightstand, under the rugs . . .

On my days as a single dad, I find the kids are still pilfering from never-depleted stashes of Halloween candy, tucking the wrappers behind cushions, inside closets, and, occasionally, on the floor near a trash can.

The weekend was too cold for much time outdoors, and the kids were too raucous for me to work, so I saw a golden opportunity to clean house. I keep things tidy, but have not given the place a thorough scouring since the holidays.

What with the parade of children, friends and orgies that tramp through my apartment, a good cleaning was overdue.

But it’s tough to do that with my three children underfoot. Make that four children, as my eldest son had a sleepover.

I tried to do the nastiest stuff when my daughter was preoccupied, so she would not offer to “help.” When she asked to please scrub the toilet, I put her in charge of washing mirrors.

As I cleaned, I noticed Celia’s toothbrush by the bathroom sink. I tossed it out.

At the end of a day of cleaning, the kitchen and bathroom were spotless, and everything was dusted. The floor was littered with toys, clothes, popcorn and candy wrappers.

This was very discouraging.

After the kids were in bed, I poured a bourbon and retrieved my book. I heard the familiar whistle of an instant message from my new online girlfriend.

We had been chatting for a couple of weeks. Early on, we traded photos. She was cute, and she liked my pic. She was flirtatious and it looked as if we might meet. She expressed interest in my gatherings.

By this time, I had met a few women through this blog, so I thought: why not share it with her?

This was a mistake. She did not like the descriptions of bondage, group sex, and other activities that struck her as too extreme. She no longer wanted to meet, much less attend a party.

But she continued to instant message me.

Her decision that my activities seemed too much for her was fair enough—they are a bit much! I was happy to chat; she was funny and clever. Still, I did not want to get involved with cybersexing her.

You may wonder: if I enjoy writing about sex, why not cyber a cute young woman?

I do enjoy writing about sex, but that activity is more fun when writing about sex one has had or may yet have. It would only be frustrating to cyber someone who was not interested in me.

Besides, I have enough on my plate—and enough actual girl friends, thank you very much—to get distracted by the online variety.

Over the course of our chats, I got to know her better, and she began to see me as someone other than a dom and slut.

I had my bourbon and book at the ready when she instant messaged.

She: I need sex.

He: I wish I could help you. It’s tough to be horny and alone.

I changed the subject, saying I had a date with my book.

She: I’m touching myself.

He: Enjoy!

Long pause. I flipped to my chapter.

She: What would you do if I were to come there now?

He: I’d tell you to shush, as the kids are asleep and I’m reading.

She: Please, come on. Talk naughty to me. I have my vibrator in me.

She pleaded and I relented. Tell me when you cum, I wrote, and began to describe a scenario in which I walked into her door, and wordlessly go down on her.

I would kiss her neck. Hold her breasts in my hands. Suck and lick a nipple . . .

I wrote in short quick phrases. I would only go so far as cybereating her pussy. No point going all the way on a first cyberdate.

She: Done.

He: Nice!

She: Check your mail.

She had sent me three very sexy pictures of her body.

He: These are very nice. I want your address.

She gave it to me.

He: Phone number?

It was provided.

He: Cell phone?

She typed the numbers.

He: When can I see you?

She: Tuesday.

We now had a date.