Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Secret Boyfriend

How simple.

My new lover was a secret. No one asked me about her. No one wanted to meet her. No one was jealous of her.

Our relationship concerned no one but the two of us.

How refreshing.

It was inevitable that this situation would not last for long. I wanted to savor the intimacy of our secret while it was possible.

Emma reads my blog, and she was keen to try some of the sexual situations I describe. She told me, “I’d like for you to be in charge of my sex education. You set things up, and I’ll do them.”

That was a sweet and somewhat daunting proposition.

There is pretty much nothing I can’t do when paired with an attractive young woman with a craving for sexual adventure. Still, I would have to draw up a curriculum that would open her horizons, and that would take creativity.

Not that she required much guidance from me. Shortly after she appointed me her tutor, she took another boyfriend to a swing club.

The master would have to struggle to keep up with the pupil.

One Sunday afternoon, I was feeling blue.

I had been in touch with a woman who wanted to find a boyfriend for her husband. He was curious about bisexuality, but, she feared, he would never take the plunge without a gentle nudge. So she undertook to find the right man.

I fit the bill. Her husband and I share an interest in architecture and history. She liked that I was blonde, like him. She thought it would be great to watch him lose his “boy virginity” with me.

She sent me his photograph. He was handsome, no question.

She and I talked on the phone a few times. We really hit it off. She told me they were in my neighborhood a good deal, though they live in a town up the Hudson.

We planned to meet in the park that weekend. We would pack wine and a picnic.

I began to dream of telling my friends, “Sorry, I’m busy this weekend. I’m spending it with my boyfriend and his wife.” I imagined us laughing by the fire, my arm over his shoulders, sipping cocoa after a hike through the autumn leaves.

But Sunday came, and they didn’t call.

I guess he got cold feet. I guess she didn’t think to let me know.

Oh well.

I camped at my computer, desolately waiting for the call that wasn’t coming.

I distracted myself by trading emails with Jacob.

Jacob was a straight boy who was turned on by my blog. He had always wanted to try sex with a man. He thought I might be the man.

His emails were amusing, and he typed in complete sentences.

His photo was cute. It showed him on a hike—he had dropped his pants and used his erection as a hat rack for his cap, the oldest vulgar joke in erotica.

Well, this was a salutary development.

I lost one virgin, but here was another.

I thought of Emma. If I were going to bring other people into our private tutorial, I would have to look beyond my circle of friends and lovers, or else the cat would be out of the bag.

Jacob provided a learning opprotunity.

This might prove a fine time to give Emma some man-on-man action. I wondered if she would like to see me take on a virgin.

I dropped Emma a line, coyly asking, “Say, have you ever seen two men have sex?”

She replied, “Not since Thursday. Why?”

So much for the advantage of experience.

I told her about Jacob. She said she would enjoy witnessing his deflowering.

I dropped a line to Jacob. “Time to fish or cut bait, friend. You are having sex with a man today. And I’ve invited a pretty girl to watch.”

He replied, “What, you mean now?”

“It’s your lucky day, Jacob.”

I told him the pretty girl was off limits to him. But if he did well, I might let him watch me fuck her.

He said he would be at my place in an hour.

Emma beat him to my door.

We kissed and I began to undress her. This had become our ritual greeting. I always stripped her immediately upon arrival.

We were fucking a moment later.

“Thanks for coming to watch Jacob lose it,” I said, pushing my hips into hers.

“Pleasure is all mine,” she smiled, her hands on my shoulders.

Jacob was running late. Dusk was settling.

We continued to fuck.

The phone rang. Jacob was downstairs.

“He’s here,” I told Emma, resting my cock in her body. “Now, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to answer the door nude.”


“Yes. Answer the door nude and bring him to me, here in the bedroom.”

“Okay.” She grinned.

I heard a knock.

“That’s him,” I kissed her, pulling out. “Remember to check the peep hole. If you don’t see a tall boy in glasses, let me know.”

She went to the door.

I pulled on pajamas and sat by the window.

Emma returned, followed by Jacob. He was indeed tall, with curly hair and a broad grin.

I took his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jacob.”

“Same here, Jefferson.”

“And you met the pretty girl?” I said, indicating Emma on the bed.

“Yes, yes, she was kind enough to let me in.”

“Good. She has a name, but that’s not relevant to our purposes here, so we’ll let it pass.” I sized him up. “So again, welcome.”


I smiled at Jacob, then back to Emma. “So I was just telling the pretty girl that you have never been with a man. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“So you’ve never, for example, kissed a man?”

“No, never.”

“Huh.” I leaned forward and took his face in my hands. I put my lips to his and kissed. My tongue parted his lips and drew out his. His tongue followed mine back into my mouth.

His hands rested on my hips, then fell.

I felt my stubble scrape against his.

My fingers lightly traced his clothes.

I felt his erection against his jeans.

We each drew deep breaths through our nostrils.

I made sure his first kiss was long, slow and memorable.

I pulled back.

“Well,” I drew a breath and exhaled. “I guess you can’t say that anymore.”

“No, uh . . . I guess I can’t.”

“And no man has ever touched your body?”


I unbuttoned his shirt.

“Undress me, Jacob.”

We tangled and untangled limbs as he removed my t-shirt and pushed down my pajamas, as I removed his shirt and unfastened his pants.

I was nude.

He was in dark underwear.

My hands roamed the hairs of his chest. His shoulders buckled as I neared his nipples.

I smiled at his response, and looked up.

He stared into my eyes, a little bewildered.

I anchored him in our kiss.

Remember this, I whispered telepathically. Stay in this kiss, and you won’t get lost.

He pushed me back on the bed.

I laughed.

“He’s so eager!” I said to Emma. “But he needs to lose his underwear to be on my bed.”

He stepped out of his shorts.

His cock was hard, of course, and very thick.

“No man has ever touched your cock, and you have touched no man’s?”

He nodded, swallowing.

I held up my hand and waved him forward.

“Come kiss me.”

He lowered his body onto mine.

He sighed loudly.

“That’s it, baby,” I said, caressing his cheek. “Make love with me.”

He lowered his soft, full lips to mine.

My mouth was so inviting.

Emma caressed my hair, never speaking.

Jacob bolted upright.

He removed his glasses, and placed them on my nightstand.

He looked down to me.

His mouth dove down to my chest.

I fingered his hair. “That’s it, baby, I’m yours.”

His tongue and lips raced quickly around my torso, his nostrils feeding at my scent.

My flesh, his feast.

He arrived at my cock.

He had told me how much he longed to suck cock. He had practice on his fingers and dildos, masturbating as he imagined the reality.

The reality that was now his.

He touched me lightly with fingers.

Hesitant, he lowered his lips to my shaft.

He kiss my head, so sweetly.

I stroked his face with the back of my hand, against the grain of his beard.

He opened his mouth, and lowered it to take me.

“Good baby, that feels so good,” I said.

I smiled at Emma.

She looked down at me and smiled. She looked so radiant in the fading dusk.

I drew her to kiss me.

His sucking intensified.

His hunger led him to be greedy, like a starving man at a banquet.

I felt the joy of his mouth, finally tasting what it had craved for so long, finally knowing the sensation of his tongue on soft warm flesh, that flesh moving against the hardness it sheathed.

The pleasure he could give a man. That man, me.

I fucked up into his face. He took it, moaning in the back of his throat. He drooled.

“Okay, baby,” my hand returned to his cheek. “Enough.”

He pulled up and squinted towards me. Panting, he asked, “Is it okay?”

“It’s a beautiful, splendid blowjob, Jacob. But now, I want to suck your cock.”

He smiled.

I stood and he reclined back in the spot I vacated. He took care not to touch Emma, not even by accident.

Jacob was a very good boy.

I hovered over his cock.

He reached for his glasses and put them on.

That’s it, I thought. Watch.

The truth is, I don’t suck as much cock as I should. I’m far more often at the receiving end of a blowjob.

That said, I am very good at it. And when I decide to suck someone, I want it to be my level best.

“Look at this gorgeous cock,” I said to Emma. I held if forward. “So thick and large. Are you always this hard, Jacob? I mean, when you are hard?”

“I guess . . . “

“It’s like granite, Jacob.”

I lowered my mouth to the granite cock in my hands, my eyes on his. I glanced at Emma.

And I plunged him deep into me.

“Unh!” he jolted.

It was almost cruel.

I let him grow accustomed to the sensation, gently taking him in and out of my mouth.

He calmed.

I flickered my tongue up and down the tender underside of his cock, looking for his sweet spot.

Another jolt.

Found it.

I flickered and teased my new target as my lips contracted and released him.

My fingers found his perineum and ass.

His moans found new volume.

I was in top form. I was glad Emma was there to see it.

Wait—I was sidetracked with the realization that Emma had never blown me. That was for another time, not now, but how could that be?


I got back to task.

My hands moved along his lower torso. He undulated under my touch.

I pulled back. His cock, released from my lips, floundered in space, searching for me.

But I was already gone.

I crawled up his body.

“Take off your glasses, Jacob.”

He fumbled to do so as I crawled closer.

The glasses landed on the nightstand just as my lips landed on his.

My kiss already familiar.

I pressed our bodies together.

Our cocks together.

I fucked into his hips.

He pressed back into my thrusts, kissing me more firmly.

“Jacob,” I said, my lips to his. “You don’t have to do everything the first time. But do you want me to fuck you?”

His eyes scanned to one side.

“No,” he said. “I mean, I do, but I think I’d be overwhelmed.”

“Understandable. But I wanted to offer.”


“You’re welcome. Now, suck my cock.”

“Okay, should I . . . ?”

“You’re fine where you are.”

I pulled up and lowered my cock into his mouth.

He took it, in this new position, and kept it deep.

I looked down at him, fucking gently.

“Doesn’t he look happy, Emma?”

She nodded.

“Come here and kiss me, Emma.”

She sat up on her knees and brought her lips to mine.

Jacob watched as we kissed, as my hand gently touched her body.

My fingers caressed her pubic hair.

Emma adjusted her stance, spreading her legs slightly. In doing so, she brought her thigh into contact with Jacob’s arm.

He moaned.

My fingers traveled around Emma’s soft locks, touching the tender skin of her labia, coaxing until she grew wet at my touch.

Her wetness aroused me even more. I gave my cock to Jacob in longer thrusts.

I wanted to fuck Emma.

I looked at her, then down at Jacob.

“Jacob, in twenty minutes you will need to get the fuck out of my apartment. The pretty girl and I have other plans tonight.”

(I omitted the fact that that our plans were not with one another—we each had dates to fuck others.)

He nodded.

“I’m going to suck your cock again. And this time, you are going to cum. Got it?”

He nodded.

“Good.” I took my cock from his mouth.

I returned to my granite friend, still searching for me.

Here I am, baby, I thought. Come to me.

I sucked him gently, then ferociously.

My hands now knew all about his ass.

He moved and moaned, but the pressure was on.

The clock was ticking. He had to cum and get the fuck out.

My mouth was unrelenting.

He raised his hands over his head.

He imagined he was bound.

He closed his eyes.

Emma saw the conflict in his face.

She lightly traced patterns on the underside of his forearm. Gently, just the tips of her fingers.

My demanding mouth. Her encouraging touch.

It was the first time he had ever been touched by two people.

“I’m going to cum,” he sighed.

Of course you are.

One more deep plunge, and I pulled back.

He exploded.

His body buckled as he shot great loops, to the wall over his shoulder, to his face, to his chest and torso.

He panted as his senses returned.

I caressed his legs. Emma touched his arms.

“Nicely done, Jacob.”

“Thanks,” he breathed. “I know, I need to go. Can I use your restroom to wash up?”

“Of course. Down the hall to your left.”


He stood, falling slightly.

“God,” he whispered to himself.

Emma and I were fucking when he returned.

He watched silently as he dressed.

When he was back in his clothes, he stood.

“Well, Jefferson. Nice to meet you.”

“Very nice to meet you too.” I sat up, extending a hand.

He took it.

“Nice to meet you too,” he said to Emma. He leaned to kiss her cheek.

“Pleasure,” she said, as I thrust into her lightly.

“You mind showing yourself out?” I asked.

“Sure,” he laughed.

“Great. Feel free to take a bottle of water from the dining room.”

“Thanks,” he smiled.

He waved from the door of my bedroom.

We smiled back.

I never saw him again.

We trade notes now and then, but never manage to meet.

“Does that bother you?” Emma asks.

I shrug. “It’s my luck with boys. I change their lives with the best sex ever, and that’s that.”

“Poor baby,” she kisses me. “That’s how boys are, Jefferson.”

Emma knows my frustrated search for a boyfriend.

I don’t ask for much, just someone smarter and better looking than me, someone who will trade books with me, nap beside me in the park, teach me to cook something I don’t already cook, and have sex with me and my friends.

Emma dropped me a note.

She reminded me that she is smarter and better looking than me.

She said she has lots of books and she likes to nap.

She could teach me to make sushi.

And she would be glad to have sex with my friends, whenever I was ready.

Emma offered to be my boyfriend.


A man I could count on.

I now had a secret boyfriend.

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Blonde on Blonde

“Jefferson? Hi, I’m Emma.”

“Hi, Emma.” I kissed her cheek. “Come in, come in.”

I closed the door and turned back to her for a second look.

Oh good, I thought.

She’s pretty.

Emma and I were meeting through rather unusual circumstances.

Last summer, I met her son Carl at one of my male orgies.

Carl and I fooled around at the party. Afterwards, we went out to dinner with a few of the guys.

Carl was handsome and sensual. He also turned out to be smart, with a fine quiet wit. I thought it would be great to spend more time with him. I told him about my bisexual parties, and invited him to check one out.

“Oh, thanks, but I don’t that’s for me,” he said. “This was my first sex party, and it was great, but I don’t know if I’ll make a habit of it. I’m not into girls, anyway, and besides, I’m about to go to Paris for five months.”

“Darn, all the good ones get away.”

He laughed. “Actually, you know, my mom might be into your parties.”

I winced. “You want to send your mother to my orgies, Carl?”

“No, she not really my mom. She’s more like one of my best friends. She just refers to herself as my mom. Long story.”

He put me in touch with Emma. I sent her to my blog.

As the two of us traded emails, it was pretty clear that she was just as smart as her “son.” Her notes were also fun and flirtatious, the sort of thing that keeps you whistling while you work.

I kept up my end of the flirtation. Eventually, I was emboldened to suggest we meet.

I was very direct. With no indication that I was interested in a date, I simply asked, “What time next Tuesday shall we meet?”

She didn’t blink an eye. “I get off work at seven,” she replied.

She was evidently the unflappable sort.

I proposed that she drop by my place after work. I would mix up some margaritas and we could walk to the river and watch the sun set.

It was an inspired suggestion, I thought.

A gentleman doesn’t simply ask a lady he has never met to his apartment. But if we met there, and strolled to a nearby romantic setting, we could always return if things went that way.

Besides, I really had no idea what she looked like.

We had traded photos, as correspondents will. She received a bright color photograph of my smiling face. I received a blurry black and white photograph of her, bundled in a heavy coat, scarf, and hat, dwarfed by a view of Avignon.

One assumes a poor photograph disguises unpleasant features.

No matter, I wanted to meet anyway.

Her notes were that good. Carl’s recommendation didn’t hurt.

That Tuesday, Emma’s office was busier than she expected. She didn’t get out until eight or so. By the time she showed up at my place, the sun had already set.

I was open to going out anyway, but then again . . . she was very, very pretty.

Emma was twenty-two, with wavy blonde hair, blue eyes and a sweet smile. She had a fine figure, and . . . well, um . . .

Okay, there’s no other way to say it. Her tits were to die.

As we made our first greetings, I took care to keep eye contact. But my peripheral vision was rewarded by glimpses of her creamy smooth—and ample—cleavage.

“Well,” I said. “You are later than we thought, but no problems. I stand by my offer of margaritas by the river, or, if you prefer, we can just take them here, on my terrace.”

Emma looked around. “Here is nice.”

I smiled. “Great. Two margaritas, coming up. Please, take a seat on the terrace. I’ll be right out.”

As I busied myself at the blender, I resolved that under no circumstances was I going to flirt with Emma.

Here was an attractive, smart young woman, alone with me in my apartment, sharing drinks and getting acquainted after a witty correspondence. She knew I had fooled around with her gay friend, she had read my blog and she knew I hosted orgies.

Still, I wasn’t going to flirt.


Well, obviously. Sex was very much in the air between us. She knew it, and I knew it. If she wanted, she could indicate her interest.

She would get no pressure from me.

I would focus on getting to know her.

Mind you, I did light candles on the terrace.

And okay, I also put on Ray Charles and Betty Carter.

As we drank our margaritas, I made her the subject of our conversation.

I asked about her friend Carl.

She told me she referred to him as her “son” because she was so proud of his accomplishments, she was forever boasting of him. She decided to adopt him as the son she may one day have.

I detected her Virginia accent. I know the area of her hometown, and so we talked about that.

She talked a bit about her family. He mother is European and her father Middle Eastern. As a consequence, she is very well traveled.

I talked about my travels.

We wound up talking about film.

I began to forget that she was so pretty.

Appearances aside, Emma was at once sophisticated and easy going, as though everyone is just as cool as she is, so what’s the big deal?

She was the kind of person who makes you feel you must be smart yourself if you are keeping her attention.

Despite my resolution, I couldn’t leave her looks alone.

“So, I have to point out the obvious: not only are we both blonde and Southern, we look enough alike to be related.”

“Maybe we are,” she drawled, sipping her drink. “Of course, since we’re Southern, that doesn’t matter.”

“Are you ever told that you resemble a certain celebrity? Maybe you get the same ones I do. Like, are you ever told you look like Richard Chamberlain or Sting?”

“Well, since they are old or dead men, that’s not likely. I don’t hear too many celebrity comparisons, but since I was twelve, my family has joked that I look like a Vermeer.”

“Oh, yeah? I can see that, I suppose. Which one, ‘The Girl With the Pearl Earring?’”

“No, that would be obvious. They say I look like ‘The Girl With a Turban.’”

“Aren’t those two alternative titles for the same painting?”

“Yes, but I mean, that would be the obvious thing to say, as that’s the name of the book and the movie. They use the least famous name.”

I studied her face as my mind flashed though art history slides.

I could see the resemblance.

Not that it mattered.

Once she started dropping alternative titles for Dutch portraits, I would’ve dropped trou even if she looked like Frans Hals’ “Barmaid.”

The talk flowed easily. I was increasingly glad that sex was a given shared interest.

In time, Emma looked down at her empty glass.

“Hmmm, all gone.”

“Would you like another?”

“I can’t say. I’m twenty-something and drunk, so I take no responsibility for my actions.”

She wasn’t drunk.

She was inviting me to make a move.

But I had my resolution.

She had been with me for all of one margarita. I thought it was too soon to pounce on her. I wanted to be a gentleman.

“I wonder how irresponsible you will be after a second drink.”

“ I don’t know,” she said, rising. “But I have to go to the bathroom. If another drink were to magically appear in my absence, I suppose we might find out.”

“Aim for the door at the end of the hall.”

She sauntered off.

I will be God damned, I thought.

She was seducing me—and faster than I could seduce her.

So much for my resolution.

I had to keep up.

When she returned, another drink was waiting.

“Look,” she smiled, sitting. “As if by magic.”

“I have no idea what you are referring to,” I sipped.

“Of course you don’t,” she said, lifting the glass.

We talked as the candles burned.

In time, she looked at her glass.

“Hmmm, all gone.”

“So it seems.” I took a gulp and swallowed. “Hmmm, mine too.”

“Now I am really no longer responsible for my actions.”

That’s it.

“Perhaps I should take charge of them, then.” I stood and took her hand.

“Oh, would you?”

“Yes. But I detect a chill in the night air. Perhaps we’d be more comfortable indoors . . . in my bedroom?”

“If you say so.”

“Follow me, please, Emma.”

“Of course.”

She looked around the apartment as I lead to my room. She stood still, looking about, as we held hands next to my bed.

“You have a nice place,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said.

I took her face in my hands, and drew myself into our first kiss.

Our mouth was warm, her lips soft, her tongue gentle to mine.

Her body was still, her arms by her side.

I pulled back and looked into her eyes.

She looked back into mine. You wanted to be in charge, they seemed to say. So now what?

I tugged at her sweater, answering the unasked question.

“Let me undress you.”


I tugged the sweater over her breasts. She raised her arms to assist.

The sweater removed, I could better see her smooth skin.

And, uh, her tits. My God, her tits.

I reached around to fumble with the bra clasp.

“I’m glad you said ‘okay,’ as I enjoy undressing you.”

“Too bad you don’t seem to be very good at it.”

I held her closely, fingers tugging behind her back. “I know, I have never mastered the suave removal of a woman’s bra.”

“Are you better with men’s bras?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Do you need me to help?”

“No, I’d prefer to have the practice.” I walked behind her to get a look at the mechanisms. Three hooks. I unclasped them, one by one.

Her bra fell forward.

“Ah, I am smooth.”

“Yes, you did very well, Jefferson.”

I returned to face her. Again, I kissed her.

I removed the bra, and tossed it aside.

I stood back to see the breasts I uncovered.

Pale, very light pink nipples.

I caressed her shoulders, arms, breasts.

“You must drive boys crazy,” I said.

“Well, I do like to tease,” she smiled.

“And you are very pretty,” I said, unfastening her jeans. “You must enjoy being worshipped.”

“I’m not averse to it,” she said.

My hands went into her pants, separating them from her thighs. I left the panties in place.

“Teasing, though, I don’t know about that. I much prefer gratification.”

I dropped to my knees, lowering her pants. My eyes never left hers.

“But don’t you see,” she smiled down to me, her hair in her face. “Gratification after teasing is so much more . . . gratifying.”

I lifted each foot through a pants leg.

I lowered my eyes over her body.

“Cute panties. Did you wear these for me?”

“I often wear cute underwear for no reason at all.”

“Well, they look great, but I have no patience for panties this evening.”

I took the red thongs in my fingers, and gently lowered them to her feet.

She stepped away from them.

I put my hand on my knee.

“Okay, now we have you naked.”

“Yes, and you still have clothes on. Is that fair?”

“Fair, well, what’s fair, really?” I stood. I kissed her again.

She opened her mouth easily, taking my kisses as delivered.

I cupped my palm at the base of her skull.

Her hair was soft.

I pulled back a little. “Would you lay back on the bed, please?”

She smiled. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because it will result in a more satisfying pussy licking.”

“Well, that is a good reason.”

She sat on my bed. I kissed her, pushing her back to recline. My legs wrapped hers, still hanging from the bed.

I kissed my way down her body.

Her eyes closed.

We were through talking.

I wanted to know that cunt I had only glimpsed.

I spread her thighs, leaving kisses like markers on the trail to my destination.

Her body lay before me, lit by a nearby lamp.

My eyes took in her pussy.

Short, blonde curls. Light pink labia.


I took a long, slow lick.

She squirmed.


I licked again.


She squirmed again.

I was going to enjoy this.

My tongue opened her slit as my hands enjoyed the soft flesh surrounding my face.

I probed inside, returning again to her clit.

I listened to her breathing. I looked up to her flared nostrils.

She grew wet quickly, my saliva mixing with her juices.

I wanted more of that.

I lifted back her legs, resting my forearms on her thighs. I stood in low crouch.

“You comfortable?” I asked.

She nodded.

I took note of her silence. Not so chatty now, are you, tease?

I lowered my mouth to her pussy.

I burrowed in deep.

I took myself to that place where time is irrelevant, and all that matters in this life is your lover’s continued orgasms.

Only thing was, this woman was new to me. And suddenly so quiet.

Were those shudders and sighs orgasms? Was she cumming that much, or was I just edging her close?

I needed to know more.

“I’m going to finger your g-spot.”


“But first, I want to wash my hands.”

“Oh, thanks.”

I took her forearms, and crossed them behind her knees. “I very much like you in this position. Can you hold it until I return?”


“Good. Don’t move, y’hear?”

“I won’t.”

“Good girl.”

I went into the bathroom, and closed the door.

I washed my hands.

They weren’t dirty, of course. I had washed them while mixing drinks.

I dried my hands.

I sat on the toilet lid.

I checked my nails. They were fine.

I waited.

I wanted to see how Emma did with this little test.

She had been so docile as I undressed her. She went limp when I took her neck in hand, and she was so quiet as I ferociously ate her pussy.

Was she, possibly, a potential submissive?

After a few moments elapsed, I stood and flushed the toilet. I ran water.

I returned to my bedroom.

Emma was exactly as I had left her, arms folded behind her knees, her pussy and ass lifted and lit by the lamp.

“Thank you for not moving,” I commended.

“No problem.”

I inserted a finger into her. Her arousal had constricted her pussy, which was evidently already rather tight when relaxed.

I curved up and found it.

Her face dropped to one side.

I added another finger. This would be all I could do for now.

I fingered her g-spot, toying with her clit with my thumb.

I soon confirmed my suspicion—Emma’s orgasms were quiet, but plentiful.

She went limp as I finished taking another one.

“You cum so softly.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

I leaned over to kiss her. “No, I like it very much.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’m very quiet too.”

She laughed. “Oh, okay,” she whispered.

“Shhhhh.” I raised a finger to my lips. “ Now Emma, I’m going to fuck you.”

“You haven’t even taken off your clothes.”

“All things in time,” I smiled, reaching for a condom.

I returned to my place at her raised ass.

I removed my shirt, and lowered my pants.

I put on the condom.

I’m not sure she was looking, but her upraised legs hide me from view anyway.

I placed a palm on her buttock.

I placed the head of my cock on her labia, teasing.

I entered her.

Her body twisted as I pushed in and out, but still, she held her legs in place.

I reached to her forearms, and released her from the position.

Her legs fell to my sides. She looked down.

A cock she still had not seen was inside her.

I fucked her slow, fingering her honey-colored pubic hair, watching as it mingled with my own, its identical continuation on another body.

I imagined braiding us together, so that we would be unable to see where one of us began and the other ended.

We fucked for over an hour, the lights blazing.

I turned off the lamp as we drifted to sleep.

I woke in the dark, under the covers, spooning her.

Her ass flexed, pushing forward and back against my erection.

Side by side, we fucked with our legs interlocked.

She gave me more of her orgasms, and took one of mine.

I exploded over my chest, moaning loudly.

“I thought you were so quiet,” she said.

“I thought I was,” I panted.

We slept.

I awoke, holding her shoulder.

I was hard. I wanted her.

I rolled her on her back.

She woke, slightly.

I entered her.

She woke more fully as I gently rocked her.

She rolled over on me.

I took a breast in my mouth as she hovered over my cock.

I waited.

“Why aren’t you fucking me?” I murmured.

She held my cock against her pussy.

“I told you,” she smiled in the darkness. “I like to tease . . .”

“No, please, don’t tease me . . .”

I pushed upwards.

She lifted her pussy away.

“Oh God, Emma, this is torture.”

“Wait, you’ll get what you want. Just, not yet.”

I took her breast.

She took it away.

“Emma, please,” I begged. “Please.”

“Well, since you said ‘please’ . . .”

She lowered herself, and in that gesture, my cock was plunged deep into her, my face full of her skin.

I held her hips firm to prevent her from leaving me.

I devoured her nipples.

Her alarm went off at seven.

We were asleep side-by-side, not touching.

Without speaking, we began to fuck once more.

Half an hour into it, she stopped.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said this,” she said. “But I think I’ve reached my limit.”

I grinned. “Wimp.”

We showered and she dressed for work.

We took coffee onto the terrace where, less than twelve hours earlier, we had first conversed.

Now, I felt I had known her for so long.

“This is dangerous,” she said. “Staying with you could make me late for work.”

“I will always help you to get to work on time. I want you to know you can see me and still be responsible.”

We spoke as if seeing one another again was a foregone conclusion.

I kissed her as she left.

I took my coffee to my desk.

It was a bright morning. I felt content and very well sexed.

I began to write about Emma for my blog.

Then, I thought better of it.

Why report everything? Maybe this time, I’ll just see where it goes. This time, I’ll keep Emma to myself.

I moved on to other tasks, smiling to myself.

I had a secret.

Thursday, February 16, 2006


“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, Lillie.”

“Hey Dad, I made a new friend in school today.”

“That’s great, sweetheart. Watch out for that puddle, please—here, step across on this snow bank. Take my hand, please.”

“Okay, hey Dad, so my new friend? It’s Sara.”

“Sara, huh? Is she—Collie, wait at the corner please!—is she a new kid in your class?”

“No, she’s been there, I just wasn’t her friend before.”

“And now you are her friend? That’s nice. Why now?”

“Well, we were in the yard and she wasn’t doing anything so I asked her why and she said because she didn’t have any friends. It was so sad! So I told her to be my friend.”

“That was very sweet of you, Lillie. What did you do with your new friend?”

“We made friends.”

“I know, but after you were friends, what did you do?”

“We made more friends.”

“And how did you do that?”

“Well, after we were friends, Constance’s class came to the yard. And she’s my best friend. So I told her to be friends with Sara, and she did.”

“How nice.”

“Yes, but not best friends, because I’m her best friend.”


“So then Constance and I made Sara come with us to see Christina and Sasha. We told them to be friends too, because Sara was sad because she had no friends.”

“But now, it seems she has a lot of friends, thanks to you.”

“Yes, now she has . . . well, one is me, two is Constance, three is Christina, four is Sasha. Four. Four friends. All girls who are friends.”

“No boys, huh?”

“No, boys hate Sara.”

“Why do you say that, Lillie?”

“Because you know how girls go up to boys and say ‘mwah, now we are married, you may kiss the bride?’”

“I guess I do.”

“Well, Sara does that so the boys all think she’s weird. Isn’t that so sad?”

“I can see why that might be sad. Maybe she should do less of that if it bothers people.”

“It just bothers the boys, the girls think its funny.”

“Do you think its funny?”

“Dad, hello? I’m a girl.”


“Sara was also sad because she doesn’t have a dad, just a mom.”

“She told you this?”

“Yes. So I told her good news.”

“What’s the good news?”

“I told her that I have a mom and a dad, but my mom stopped loving my dad, and my dad is sad.”

“Oh, well, Lillie . . .”

“And I said my dad doesn’t have any friends, so he can be her mom’s friend. I said you should meet . . . meet . . . meet . . .”

“What, why are you putting your hands together like that when you say ‘meet?’”

“Do you know what I mean? Not ‘meat’ like you eat, but 'meet,' like this.”

“Like two hands pressed together.”

“Yeah, you should meet.”

“That’s nice, I’m sure it would be nice to meet Sara and her mom. But you know, Lillie, I do have lots of friends. I’m not so sad.”

“Dad, I mean a girlfriend? You can meet? You don’t have that.”

“Okay, well, let’s see about that. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Yeah, it made Sara laugh.”

“That’s nice. You are a good friend to Sara. Now, do me a favor.”


“When we get home, show me Sara in the class picture.”


I’ve certainly made my share of odd requests of Shelby.

“It would mean so much to me if you would just let me massage your feet—you know, with my face.”


“Okay, that’s my entire hand. Now, let me sneak the vibrator in there . . .”


“All right, I’ve got my cock in her throat. You can start dripping the wax on her ass.”

But you could’ve knocked me over with a feather when Shelby made the most bizarre request yet.

She wanted me to meet her mother.

“Sweetie, your mother hates me,” I protested. “Remember how she found my blog? Remember when she told you I was evil?”

“Meh, that was a long time ago. She doesn’t hate you anymore. She doesn’t even read your blog.”

“Uh huh . . .”

“Anyway, she says she wants to meet you. Look, do it or don’t do it, its no skin off my ass.”

I promised to think about it.

Shelby’s mother doesn’t come to New York very often. But her sweet daughter, knowing how much the holiday means to her, arranged for the two of them to see the Radio City Christmas Spectacular.

That, at least, I would forgo.

I did agree to meet them for dinner afterwards—though I had my reservations.

“Maybe it would be better to meet for drinks,” I suggested. “You know, it’s over fast and there are fewer things to throw.”

“No drinks,” she said. “Just dinner. We’ll go out, we’ll eat and then I’ll take her back home.”

“Okay, dinner,” I bartered. “But let’s make it pasta. Nothing that requires much prep time.”

“Fine, pasta,” Shelby grinned.

We settled on Patsy’s.

I was the first to arrive. I sat at the bar, pondering possible conversation topics.

Shelby’s mother is only four years older than me. Surely we would have some things in common.

Shared memories of Grand Funk Railroad or Donnie and Marie, perhaps? Wistful recollections of rotary pay phones?

Shelby smiled from the door when she saw me.

Behind her stood another version of Shelby, plump with middle age.

“Oh my goodness, you look just like your mother,” I said, kissing Shelby on the cheek.

“Hee-hee, I know,” she smiled. “Mom, this is Jefferson.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Winston,” I replied, taking her hand and bending to kiss her cheek. I noted the dark hair, pale skin and small brown eyes behind narrow glasses. “It truly is a remarkable resemblance.”

“You should see my sisters,” Shelby said. “We all look alike. They are just fat.”

“Oh, stop!” her mother scolded.

“And stupid.”

Cute banter, I thought. “Shall we take a table?”

As we looked over the menu, I asked about the show.

“There were camels in it!” Shelby exclaimed. “Real live frigging camels!”

“We had great seats,” her mother said, reaching for her camera. She handed it to me. “See, look at these pictures; we were very near the orchestra.”

“Yeah, those guys get some volume,” Shelby said. She turned to me. “What do we usually get here, honey?”

“Oh,” I placed the camera on the table and returned to the menu. “I think you like the fettuccini Alfredo best. Why don’t we get that, family style? And shall we get a salad, or pizza?”

“You have to try the pizza, Mom. It’s so much better than what we get at home. It’s like, real pizza.”

“Whatever you two decide is fine with me. I don’t live in New York.”

Shelby dropped her menu. “Mom, you don’t have to live in New York to know what you like on a pizza.”

“Well, it comes with cheese and basil,” I interjected. “Shall we keep it simple—maybe have pepperoni?”


“That’s fine with me, whatever you two decide.”

The order was placed. Iced teas were brought out.

“The pictures look great, Mrs. Winston. Oh, this is a good one of the storefront. And what’s this, a reflection of the Radio City sign?”

“Yes, didn’t that one turn out good?”

“Happy accident?”

“Well, Mom is taking a photography class.”

“Oh, you are? Is it film or all digital?”

“Jefferson knows about photography.”

“Oh, it’s digital. I use this camera, actually.”

The pasta arrived, with the pizza in hot pursuit.

So far, so good, I thought. We’re eating and the conversation is nice and safe.

“Do you want more of this bread, Mom?”

“No, I’m not that hungry. But that’s great bread.”

“I ruv ip,” Shelby said, chewing.

“So, I was saying, if you like history, Jefferson, you should visit our town. It’s one of the oldest settlements around there.”

“Really? Well, I would enjoy that. Are there many nineteenth-century structures?”

“Yes, and some even older.”

“You’d like it, honey,” Shelby added. “And it’s so frigging quiet, not like here.”

“Yes, New York is so noisy. I don’t see how you stand it.”

“I’m used to it now,” Shelby said. “Though the fire trucks at night still piss me off. And this one snores!” She punched me.

I shot a glance to Shelby’s mother.

Was she imagining me in my bed with her little girl, snoring as sirens wailed outside the window?

Did that thought flash her mind forward to things she has read in my blog, envisioning her daughter tied down or eating pussy or blowing men or . . .

“Well, I think the noise would send me over the edge.”

Good; maybe Shelby’s mother isn’t cursed with an overheated imagination.

After dinner, I walked them to the corner to catch a cab. Shelby hailed one right away.

“Goodbye, sweet, nice to see you, however briefly,” I kissed her. “And you too, Mrs. Winston.” I bussed her mother’s check.

“Bye, baby,” Shelby called, stepping into the cab behind her mother. “And thanks.”

I waved a hand. “It’s nothing, it was fun.”

I waved as the cab drove off.

How funny, I thought, crossing the street. Age proved to be a smaller barrier than the traditional one guiding manners when meeting a friend’s parents.

My mama raised me to refer to my “betters and elders” as “Mister” or “Missus,” and in this context, I deferred to Shelby’s mom as being in that category.

At that table, Shelby and I were the kids. Her mom was the mama.

In the cab, Shelby’s mother turned and asked, “Why did he keep kissing my cheek?”

“Mom,” Shelby laughed. “It’s a New York thing.”

Meeting Shelby’s mother put a human face on the older pervert her daughter dates. She could see that, all evidence to the contrary, her daughter was seeing a fairly normal fellow.

And he has become the longest dating relationship in her young life.

Just before the holidays, Shelby turned twenty-one.

A few weeks later, we celebrated our first anniversary.

My jailbait girlfriend is legal.

This marks the beginning of the final year in which she will be half my age. From now on, she’s gaining on me.

We marked the occasion with a movie and dinner out. She had saved “Memoirs of a Geisha” for me. I finally found a place with crepes she likes.

That night, we came home and stripped. We made drinks.

I had a bourbon, of course. Shelby found Ketel One in the freezer.

“Baby,” she called from the kitchen. “What do you have to go with vodka?”

“I’m afraid I’m out of juice, but there’s tonic water.”

She poked her head out the door. “That’s fizzy and tastes like ass.”

“I don’t know what else I have, honey.”

She scrunched her face, and looked back into the kitchen. “Meh, I’ll find something.”

Cabinets opened and closed. “Ah ha!” she called.

I listened to her mix a drink.

She emerged with a tall glass of bright red liquid.

“What did you find?” I asked.

“Vodka and Kool Aid,” she sipped. “Tropical punch flavor.”

I smiled and raised my glass. “Cheers, Shelby.”

“Cheers, baby.”

Come Owen

Shelby: Ya there?

Jefferson: Yam.

Shelby: Just got back from the doctor.

Jefferson: And?

Shelby: Bring it.

Jefferson: Hot diggity!

Shelby: : P

It had been a long wait.

Shelby had undergone a medical procedure that took intercourse off our list of favorite activities for two months. And while there are plenty of things to do with our privates that don’t entail placing the one inside the other, the whole ordeal and its side effects had put the kibosh on Shelby’s mojo.

Now, it seemed, all systems were go.

But even if the plumbing were in order, would Shelby’s libido flow?

Shelby arrived for her weekly sleepover, a little sheepish at the door.

She ditched her clothes in favor of pajamas.

“I don’t have to wear underwear anymore, thank God,” she said, tugging her jeans down over her bare hips.

“Yeah, I missed your free range pussy.”

“Yeah, well, it’s too damned cold to walk around naked,” she said, tossing her pants on the chair she designates as hers when she is with me. She crossed the room to my drawers, and took the pajama bottoms she has claimed as her own.

A glance of my nude Shelby, at ease in her skin.

In a moment, her familiar smooth pudendum was again tucked away.

Such a pretty pale curve. I watched as she steered her Love Bug into another garage.

That afternoon was spent doing as we do. We hung out. She tapped on her laptop, I wrote at my computer.

The cocktail hour rolled around. We talked.

We made dinner. I washed the dishes.

We undressed for bed.

I have to confess, I was feeling shy.

She seemed reserved as well.

Here I was with Shelby—the big-city pervert with his jailbait girlfriend, the monkey-screaming ass-eating hog-tying cocksucking shitkicker I know and love—and we were acting like it was a first date.

In a sense, I guess it was.

I held her close under the sheets, wrapping my limbs around hers, feeling our flesh close and cool.

I kissed her cheek. She turned, sending my lips to her neck.

I nuzzled her as my cock responded to her touch and scent.

I raised my face to smile at her. Her eyes were closed.

I cupped a small breast in my hand, and took the nipple in my mouth. My tongue flicked it into a tiny firm knob, resisting me as I pushed it one way, then another.

My hand left her other breast, crossing her soft belly, fingers dancing.

I opened her legs. Shelby was passive and silent, allowing me to take my time with her body.

I sat up to look at her in repose. She always allows me to look, to take in the sight of her pale skin and dark hair on my sheets.

I spread her perfect slit, lightly touching her pearly clit. My fingertips, moist with saliva, circled in. Shelby moved slightly, signaling her approval.

As I fingered her, I stroked myself in long gestures.

This foreplay of ours can be exquisite torture.

I knew she wouldn’t cum—not yet. She knows my craving for her gets intense, and how I refrain from rushing to act on my longing to be inside her.

She knows my hunger for her borders on the cannibalistic.

I breathed deeply. Easy boy . . . easy.

When I couldn’t take it any longer, I announced my intention to fuck her.

“Do it,” she said, her voice calm and steady. She remained still, her eyes closed to me.

I quietly opened a drawer and took a condom. I closed the drawer.

Her ears were attentive to the sound of the drawer’s hardware as its casings slid easily across one another. She heard the gentle thud as it closed, the crinkle of a package being opened, the elastic snap of latex rolling across flesh.

She could anticipate each sound, watching the scene unfold in her mind’s eye. This moment has passed countless times between us.

She was docile, placid.

I entered her.

She rolled her head and sighed.

I kissed her neck again.

I took her shoulders in my arms, holding her close and tight. I moved within her gently, slowly.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here,” I whispered.

She lifted her head onto my shoulder.

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” I said.

Shelby began to chase her orgasm. She pressed her body down onto me. Her breathing picked up.

I steeled myself. Hold on to her, I thought. Let her do this.

And as I held Shelby so close, as my body moved within hers, I could feel my cock wilting.

No, damn it, stay hard. Let this girl get off, for crying out loud. It’s been too long.

My cock does not respond well to anxious orders.

I knew, in my mind, that I wasn't going to hurt her. She was healed. But my body didn't get the message.

I was determined to give Shelby great sex, to make up for all she missed.

I put more pressure on myself.

I pulled back to push from another angle, one that would keep my semi-erect cock from slipping out of her. I fucked with renewed resolve, working to bring my cock back to its full girth.

Shelby’s fingers moved to her clit.

I watched her take that sweet spot she knows.

I kept my speed steady and my cock deep, as she likes.

I watched as my cock moved in and out of her, spongy and elastic.

I know her body. Shelby’s pussy is very tight. If I didn’t pull out too much, her muscles would hold me in.

Please girl, cum for me.

I squeezed a nipple, hard.

Sweat fell off my forehead.

She twisted her back. Her index finger plucked at her clit.

“Come on!” she barked, annoyed.

She wasn’t talking to me. I was fine. She was pissed at that elusive orgasm.

She wanted to nail that motherfucker.

I focused on her voice, her accent, the way it sounded as if she had said, “come Owen.”

I kept at her steady.

Please, please, cock, don’t fall out, please, back, don’t break.

Shelby circled back around for another pass.

“Go get it, baby,” I whispered.

She growled.

She yelped.

Her body contorted around the axis of her finger, her clit, my cock.

She howled.

“Yes, baby, yes!” I called, fucking her through it. “You got it, you got it!”

She screamed, her body buckling under me.

She stiffened and drew a breath. I could feel her pulse racing against my body.

I parked my cock inside her, and released her nipple.

She opened her eyes.

“Shit, baby,” I smiled.

“Yeah, no shit,” she laughed. She sniffed her shoulder, then pushed against my chest. “Ew, I smell like man. Get off me!”

I pulled out, and flopped beside her.

I had no problem staying hard the next time.

Monday, February 13, 2006

Your Husband Three

Your Husband, posted here last week, continues to generate a great many responses.

I’ve asked one respondent to allow me to share her views.


I've started reading your blog last Monday under strange circumstances.

I thought I would continue to quietly read your blog, but I decided to write to you. It was so very painful to read the post “Your Husband,” given my current situation with my husband.

My world came crashing down on me three weeks ago. My life changed in one moment.

I accidentally found out what my husband has been doing on the web while I was researching Paris, where we planned to celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary in February.

I found out that my husband spent hours and hours on gay porn sites. He Googled male models and male actors' nude pictures. He visited m4m personals.

I went blank—I thought something hit me so hard that I could not breath.

I called our couple’s therapist (we have been seeing him for five years, on unrelated matters) and tried to tell him what I saw. I was probably not making any sense because he did not understand me at all. I hung up the phone frustrated. I was not able to communicate with him.

Thirty minutes later, I called my husband at work and told him that we would not be going to Paris. I cancelled everything.

I added, "Oh, by the way, I found out you have been looking at gay porn on web sites.” My husband came home right away and denied everything. He said all of the web visit history has been erased, so how do I know what he was really doing (?!). I told him not to insult my intelligence. I know what I saw and disputing the facts is meaningless to me.

The next day at our therapist's office, he admitted what he has been doing (up to a point—I think I still do not know the whole truth). He also admitted attraction toward men since he was a teenager. He always wondered whether he is bisexual or not as he is equally attracted to women. Our therapist said that this explains my husband's depression (which he refuses to recognize to this date). My husband has been keeping this big secret for so long . . . that is probably why he was not actively participating in our marriage.

I have nothing against gay or bisexual people. But I do mind if my husband is gay or bi and had not told me so and has been leading a secret life.

I was angry with him because he hid this secret so long and deceived me. He robbed our marriage. If he were honest with me about his feelings, I would have had a chance to decide whether to continue our marriage or not at a much younger age (I'm forty two). My reproductive years are over. He took away our (or my) chance of happiness. All I wanted was a happy family with children (well, I actually wanted more: I have to be honest).

At my request, my husband moved out few days later after this incident. He is now seeing psychiatrist individually as well as our couple’s therapist. He is trying to come to terms with himself.

Since then, I have been trying to understand my husband. I started reading Straight Spouse Network, Married Gay Men, among other sites (there are many).

I eventually ended up with your blog through various links.

Your blog intrigued me. Yes, it is essentially a sex blog, but you offer something more. Firstly you are a great writer. But more importantly, you posses great qualities as a person. You are a wonderful father. Your love for your children is undeniable. You also deeply care your friends . . . you are also an accomplished professional, a great cook (I think?), etc. I can feel and admire your humanity.

As a single man, you are now focused on pursuing your sexual desires to be fulfilled in every way. But it was very assuring for me to read that while you were married, in spite of the difficulties in your marriage, you were committed to your wife and you stayed monogamous.

I understand that you are now living out your dream that was not fulfilled while you were married. Nothing is wrong with that.

But why do you have to have sex with MARRIED men?

I thought that you respected the institution of marriage. So why do you risk destroying someone's marriage by facilitating his fantasy come true? Do you know what kind of pain his wife has to experience? Am I so thick or naïve that I am not seeing something very obvious to everyone?

While I do not know whether my husband and I will stay married, my husband insists he will do anything to repair our marriage and gain back my trust. I thought, from reading your blog, that my husband might have the fantasy of living like you. But he says he would not act out his fantasy if we decided to stay married . . . just like when you were married you stayed monogamous.

I think I have to open my mind: a bisexual man can be committed to his wife and have a traditional marriage. After all, I loved my husband for over twenty years.

So with this background (sorry – it was very long one), I was confused and hurt when I read your blog. It seemed your action was contradictory to your principle belief in traditional marriage. I know I cannot project my husband on you, but when I read your post I felt that I was betrayed by my husband again.


I was floored.

A writer can never be certain how his words will impact readers. I assumed that some readers might object to my posting about sex with married partners. (Bridget, for example, gave me an earful!)

But a note such as Edna’s was completely unexpected.

My blog opened a window into her own fears about her husband’s activities. And it struck a very raw nerve—four weeks ago, Edna’s life was much as it had been for twenty years. Now, everything is changed.

I was moved by her story, and by her eloquence.

She gave me a lot to think about. I replied quickly.

Thank you so much for your note--and for sharing your situation. That is all so fresh, Edna, and still unfolding so fast for you. My heart goes out to you.

I'm glad that you found insight in my blog, and that you connected to our shared horror at having a marriage damaged by the other partner. It is a devastating feeling, as if the world has been torn out from under you.

But I'm sorry that my post was upsetting.

I don't know if I can, or should, defend my actions in knowingly meeting married men. In some respects, I know that in doing so, I am working out my own frustrations--I feel I was burned by remaining monogamous, and by sacrificing my sex life, only to see my marriage stolen away. I wonder: if I could go back, would I have acted differently? Would I have pursued a secret life?

I'm glad, though, that I can look back knowing I didn't.

I know how difficult it is to remain faithful to one woman when one is also attracted to men. But essentially, it is the same problem of being faithful when one is attracted to other women—that is understood in the marriage contract.

I'm momentarily at a loss for what to say to your very insightful note. I would be happy to continue our correspondence if you feel my insights are useful.

I'm very glad you had an established relationship with a couple's therapist you both trust. I'm not a therapist, obviously, but I've been in couple’s therapy, and I know it can help.

You are in my thoughts.


Edna was quick to reply.

Hi Jefferson,

Thank you very much for your note. I was surprised that you actually wrote me back.

I have not been able to speak about our true situation to anybody except with our therapist. Our friends and family know that I asked my husband to move out. But they only know the half (or quarter) truth; my husband told them he is addicted to porn, and that is why I'm upset.

He left out that the porn was gay, and he left out the other related activities.

So, almost everyone thinks that I am overreacting to the situation. They tell me stop acting prudish. They ask me why I am acting like a virgin. I don't even know how to respond to these people so I keep quiet.

I felt sense of relief when I decided to write to you – thank you for letting me speak about what I am going through. I am having a difficult time reconciling my feeling toward my husband. Even after such devastating event, I know I still love him. And that makes me angry with myself. I feel incredibly stupid.

We married very young and virtually all my entire adult memories, either good or bad, involve my husband. If we were to end our marriage, I feel that my past would become a phantom life.

Regarding your post, in my heart, I knew you are not to blame; these married men sought you out. If they had not met you, they would have had such affairs with different men anyway.

But I just did not understand why a decent person like you would participate in poisoning other people's life. From reading your response I think I understand your action. And I am very sorry to learn that even after two years, you are still hurting and going through the suffering. This really is a devastating experience.

My husband possesses the same wonderful qualities that you have. That is why I fell in love with him and I think that is the part of the reason why I find your blog intriguing. I'm afraid that I'm thinking as if your blog was written by my husband; this explains why your post hurt me so much. Of course, you did not have to defend your action. Who am I to ask such questions? But I appreciate you sharing your insight. That was helpful to me.

Please do know that my feeling was lifted when I read your comment about how you lead your married life and you are glad that you did not choose to have a secret life. You don't know how much that meant to me.

And thank you for your kind offer to correspond with me – yes, I would be grateful if we can do so from time to time.

Best regards,

I’m grateful to Edna for allowing me to share her story here. She reads the blog, of course, and will follow your comments. Anyone wishing to correspond with her privately may do so by sending your notes to me; I will forward them on your behalf.

My correspondence with her will continue offblog. If trading notes with me helps her through this, then she just got herself a new best friend.

Edna’s second note reiterates a point in her first: she truly loves her husband. That she says so now, when she is in a world of hurt and betrayal, speaks volumes about her character—and to her capacity to survive this blow.

It makes me think that while this is a devastating moment in their relationship, Edna and her husband are very lucky people.

Friday, February 10, 2006

Your Husband Two

The previous post has generated some interesting responses, including the following, written by the husband whose encounter with me was the basis for my post.

This was as unsolicited submission, written of his own volition. It arrived in my inbox just after I posted, before he had read my post.

He wanted it posted here.

I found out about Jefferson's blog by seeing references to it in other blogs.

I contacted him I think just to make a connection with a man coming to terms with his bisexuality. But after some amazingly erotic correspondence, I knew that I wanted to meet him.

We set a time during the day and I was able to sneak out of work for a couple of hours.

Jefferson and I shook hands and I expressed that I was a bit nervous. He was reassuring and friendly, and we sat down on his couch to talk. We had a good conversation about his blog and his lifestyle, which, I must say, I'm starting to envy. He talked about how he started his blog and how it developed into what it is today.

He was casual, wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. I was in my dress pants and button-down corporate look.

I told him about the situation with my wife. She has almost no libido and we, consequently, have almost no sex. Jefferson related the experience of his own marriage, which sounded similar to mine.

Aside from the lack of sexual connection in my marriage or perhaps because of it, I had developed an attraction to sex with men. Another consequence I mentioned is that my wife doesn't like to stimulate my nipples or finger my ass, both of which I adore.

In terms of my sexual identity, I described how I am completely attracted to women and think about them all the time, yet I have an undeniable attraction to men also.

I have met a few men here and there on Craig’s List, but I don't feel comfortable going that route. You never know what to expect. Once I agreed to meet a man at his apartment and found when I got there that he had lied in his emails about his age. Instead of being in his forties, he was actually in his seventies. He wanted me to perform some kind of dance for him. Needless to say, I got out of there as fast as I could.

As I was talking to Jefferson, I couldn't help but notice how fit he was. He definitely has a magnetism about him.

I love the male body. I love taking a man's penis in my hands and feeling it harden. I love looking at it and feeling it change. More than that, I love putting it in my mouth and trying to give as much pleasure as I possible can.

I wanted to be naked with Jefferson.

Jefferson suggested we go to his bedroom. I loved the art on his walls and all the books on his shelves. I was still a little nervous, but he showed that he would take charge.

He unbuttoned my shirt and took it off. He pulled off my t-shirt. He moved behind me and put his arms around me. I felt his face and beard rub against my shoulders and neck. His hands moved up my belly and over my chest. He teased my nipples and I started to gasp and breathe heavily.

I asked him to be gentle with me.

He replied, Of course.

He unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned my pants. He slid his hand down my belly into my underwear and found my penis. It was pulsing and hardening. He whispered how good it is to feel someone just holding your penis. I agreed. I would have agreed to anything then.

I leaned back into him and felt his erection. I bent over to untie my shoes, take them and my socks off, and he was pressing against my ass. He pushed my pants down, maneuvered the waistband of my boxer briefs over my erection and pushed them down my legs.

My penis was hard and dripping. He started squeezing and stroking it.

I needed him to lead me and he did. He sat me down on the bed, then climbed astride me, pushing me onto my back. He held my arms above my hand and down against the bed. This was what I needed.

Jefferson began to feast on my nipples, licking, sucking, biting.

The feeling was exquisite. My nipples have a direct neural connection to my balls. He wouldn't stop. I moaned.

He asked if I want to suck his cock. God, did I want to suck his cock! I watched him stroke it a bit. I placed my hands underneath and cupped his balls. They were heavy in my hand. He gave me a condom to put onto him. It was difficult at first, as the condom was barely large enough to fit over the head. It finally went and I rolled it down the shaft. Finally, I could show him some pleasure.

As I held his semi-hard penis in my hand, Jefferson sat back to watch. I began by kissing along the shaft. I looked up to see how he was reacting. His eyes were closed and his face looked peaceful, so I guessed I was doing well so far. Finally I took the head into my mouth and sucked on it like it was a large strawberry.

Soon his hips started to thrust and I started to move my head up and down to take him in and out of my mouth. It was fully hard now and standing straight up. I repositioned myself to accept his thrusting and he began to fuck my mouth in earnest.

I felt his hands hold my head in place as he pushed all the way in and held it there. My lips were pressed against his abdomen. He was all the way inside my mouth, all the way into my throat. Then he started thrusting fast and powerfully. I started to gag at one point but recovered quickly. I got used to the sensation and he was able to fuck away.

Jefferson has enormous control and he was able to stop without coming. He couldn't come now, he explained, as he had a date that night.

I asked him to fuck me, but he declined.

However, he did agree to satisfy my need to be fucked by getting out his little box of toys. He had all kinds of things in there! He selected a remote-controlled, vibrating egg to start with.

I got on my knees and bent over, pressing my face against the bed. It almost made me come just knowing that he was behind me looking closely at my ass.

He lubed up the egg and inserted it carefully into my anus. Once it was all the way in, he started the vibration. I felt it vibrating deep in my balls.

This was nice, I told him, but I really wanted something that would go in and out. I told him I have a very sensitive anus. No problem, he said, and found a handled dildo that had a special prostate stimulator. He lubed that up and pushed it inside me.

Yes, this was what I needed. I asked him to pull it almost all the way out, then press it in again. He did this, teasing me a little, then pressed it deep inside.

He started going faster and faster. I love how it felt.

All the while, my penis was dripping beneath me. He alternately cupped my aching balls or stroked my penis as he fucked me with the dildo.

I gradually became aware that I really needed to come.

I wanted to come on Jefferson.

I sat facing him, and he lubed up his hand and put our penises together, stroking them against each other.

Then I took over my own stroking. He pinched my nipple and cupped my balls as I stroked faster and faster.

My orgasm started deep in my balls and traveled forward.

I stopped stroking abruptly and squeezed.

I almost fainted as I ejaculated on his pubic hair and belly.

He held me up as I thrashed and pulsed.

I hope I can meet Jefferson again soon. I hope next time he'll bend me over and fuck me.

I want to make an appeal to all the women in Jefferson's NYC circle of sex.

My all time favorite fantasy is to have a threesome with another man and a woman. I'd like the man to be Jefferson.

Are any of you out there interested in watching me suck Jefferson's cock? Would you like to be near as he fucks me in the ass?

I'd love to see a woman sitting nearby, her legs open, masturbating as she watches us lick each other's nipples, stroke each other's cock.

You and I could take turns pleasuring him. Jefferson and I could turn our attention to your body as well.

And if I were to have the pleasure of putting my face between a woman's legs as Jefferson fucks me, I would be happy to have that memory for the rest of my life.

Your Husband

I fucked your husband.

I forget which one he was.

Was he the tall athletic red head, who enjoys skiing? Late thirties, handsome?

The husky Italian, the one with the sensitive nipples?

The black man—I think he works in finance—who asked me to beat him but begged me to leave no marks? Glasses, well built?

Your husband found me because I make myself easy to find.

I chose him because I liked the way he looked. I liked the way he wrote. And I understood how badly he needed to meet someone.

I chose him because I was horny. He was horny.

And we knew it would be simple.

He came to my place during his lunch break. He had about an hour, but that was really all the time we needed.

We sat on my couch and talked, drinking water.

He talked about you a little bit, fingering his wedding band.

He said that you don’t have that much sex, but he loves you and the marriage is working, so, you know, that’s just how it is.

I understood.

I asked why he wanted to be with me, or any man.

He said being with another woman would be too complicated, and too much like cheating. This was easier.

I understood.

I pressed for more: is there anything special you want from a man, that you don’t get from your wife?

He was shy about this, but he told me.

He likes to suck cock.

And he wants to get fucked.

I understood.

I told him a little about myself. I’m bisexual, I say, and always have been. But I was married for a long time, and lived as a monogamous heterosexual.

I understand that marriage is about more that sexual satisfaction, but I also understand how frustrating it can be when your sexual pleasure is limited to long showers alone.

And I know what it is to want to be with a man, when that just isn’t possible.

He nodded. Yeah, he said, that’s it.

I assured him I am discreet, and clean. He could relax and enjoy himself. I asked if he wanted another glass of water.

He said thanks. He was fine.

Good, I told him. Then let’s get naked.

Good, he smiled.

I led him to my bedroom.

His eyes scanned the room, taking in the books, the chairs, the bed.

Stand here, I said. I want to undress you.

Okay, he replied.

I began to unbutton his shirt.

He was trembling a little.

I was calm, commenting on his nice smell, his pretty eyes.

I reached down and unbuttoned his cuff.

I walked behind him and took his shirt. I tossed it on a chair.

I stood very close to his back, listening to him breath.

I wrapped my arms around his shoulder, pressing close.

I kissed his neck.

He looked ahead, unable to see me.

Are you comfortable with kissing on the mouth?

Uh, no, not really, he replied. Is that okay?

Of course it’s okay. Just do what feels comfortable.


Does it feel good when I hold you like this?


Good. I’m going to remove your undershirt.


I lifted it over his head. It joined his shirt in the chair.

I pressed close again. I was fully dressed, but he could feel the skin of my bare forearms as my warm hands slowly caressed his torso.

He flinched with pleasure.

You like that?


Good. I like it too. I like the feel of your skin on mine.

As I spoke, my hands roamed to his belt.

I smelled the back of his neck as my hand unfastened his belt.

I unhooked a clasp.

I unzipped his pants.

I didn’t touch his cock, not yet. No need. I know how a hard on feels in your hands.

Or, in my hands, rather. I don’t know where your hands were at that moment.

Mine were pulling down your husband’s pants.

Mine were rubbing along his thigh.

Mine were inside the waistband of his underwear.

When he was fully nude, I pressed against his back, fully dressed.

I held him close to me.

He could not see me.

I pulled back for a moment. I removed my clothes, tossing them into his line of vision.

He knew I was nude.

He didn’t know if he was supposed to look.

I pressed against his back, my arms returning to his waist.

He gasped at the sensation.

Warm, tender flesh holding him close.

Such a simple thing, really.

My cock settling between his cheeks.

The cock he craved, the cock he had not yet seen.

I turned him to face me. Our eyes were close.

Too bad he doesn’t kiss, I thought. I caressed his cheek.

I took a step forward.

Instinctively, he stepped back.

I took another step, and smiled.

He stepped back, grinning nervously.

I pushed him on the bed.

I followed, keeping my body low and feline.

He had still not seen me nude.

I hovered above him, then lowered my body to his.

Another gasp.

I moved and undulated against his torso, pining back his arms. He could feel the strength in my hands as I held him down. He could feel the gentleness in my body as I rubbed so lightly against him.

I looked him in the eyes. I knelt on his hips.

He felt my cock against his.

I sat up.

I looked down at him as his eyes, finally, hungrily, took in my body.

Jesus, he said.

I released his hands.

You can touch me, I said.

Your cock is so gorgeous, he whispered, lightly fingering it.


I took his cock and mine in one firm grip, rubbing them against one another.

He was so hard.

I kept my body moving as he watched, now and then pressing my ass down onto his balls.

I fell back on my pillows, my legs resting on his torso. He was still pinned.

I watched his eyes as he watched me stroke.

You like my cock, huh?

I do, he said.

Are you ready to suck it?



I released his body.

He turned his body as if his mouth were a pivot, ready to join with its target.

I let him suck me for a long time, as I relaxed and watched.

I fucked his face a bit.

I held him close, forcing him to swallow my shaft.

He gagged.

Sorry, sorry, he said, pulling away. I’m just nervous.

That’s okay, I smiled. You enjoy your cock.

Your husband was eager for me to fuck him, but I begged off. I didn’t think we had time for that.

Or maybe your husband was the one who wanted it pretty badly, but just couldn’t relax. It’s been too long, he said, and you are too big.

Or maybe your husband was the one who moaned that he was my bitch as I worked deeper into his hole.

Either way, he wanted me to cum on him.

I declined, saying I had a date later.

But I wanted him to cum on me.

He nodded.

I lay back. He sat on his knees between my legs.

I wrapped my thighs tight around his waist.

I stroked him until he was close.

I stroked my own cock, for him to watch.

Our two cocks, touching as my hands worked.

He jolted. Wait, wait, he said.


Oh, I’m going to cum, he said.

Do it.

His eyes closed.

His mouth opened.

His shoulders dropped.

Do it.

He exhaled as his body gave way.

I milked him until my belly was covered.

He pulled up, opening his eyes.

He looked at me.

Nice work, I commended.

Thanks, he panted. He smiled.

But I knew what he was thinking. It was on his face immediately.


I would give him a moment to recover. I offered to fetch a washcloth.

Thanks, he said.

I walked to the bathroom to wash up. I took my time.

I soaked a washcloth in warm water. I gave it to him.



He cleaned himself.

Where do I . . . ? he asked, holding the cloth.

Toss it on the floor, I said. I’ll get it later.

I have so many washcloths.

We dressed together.

I made light conversation as the sexy man in my bed became, once more, the working man who came home to you that night.

I offered him a bottle of water to go. He accepted.

He shook hands at the door.

Thanks a lot, he said. That was really great.

Oh sure, I said, my hand on the doorknob. You know where to find me.


I locked the door.

I made a sandwich and returned to work.

Elapsed time, about forty-five minutes.

I only fucked your husband once or twice.

Maybe that’s because he got it out of his system for now. Or maybe he found someone else when I was unavailable.

That’s normal.

But every now and then, a few months will pass, and I will get another email.

Hey bud, what are you doing for lunch?

Thursday, February 09, 2006


“Do you want bubbles, sweet?”

“Yes, please,” replied a voice inside Lillie’s shirt. Her face was stuck in the collar as she pulled the sleeves over her head.

“You okay in there?”

The shirt came off with a grin. “No, I can’t breath, I can’t breath!”

“You one silly girl, Miss Thing.”

I sat by the tub. I took a bottle shaped like Hello Kitty and twisted off the cap. I poured a stream into the running water, producing frothy pink suds.

“Yeah! I have to get my Hello Kitties from their house!”

Lillie opened the bathroom door and ran naked into the living room.

“Lillie, please,” Collie glanced from his book. “No one wants to see you naked.”

“I don’t care!” she laughed. She wiggled her hips. “Shake your booty! Shake your booty!”

Collie rolled his eyes. “Dad!”

“Lillie!” I called from the bathroom. “Get your kitties and come back to the bath. And just the plastic ones!”


Lillie stooped by a dollhouse and took up her charges, one by one.

“Time for your bath, Fashion Kitty. You too, Teacher Kitty. And Mommy Kitty, and Flower Kitty, and . . .”


“Come on, Lillie, the bubbles are waiting!”

“I don’t care!” She picked up the remaining cats without listing their names, and stood. She began to run to the bathroom, then stopped and looked at her brother.

“Shake your booty, shake your booty . . .”


“Lillie, please, let’s get this going!”

“Coming!” she ran down the hall.

“Well, did you get all the kitties?” I asked.

“No, just the ones that needed a bath.”

Lillie emptied her arms into the tub. The toys rained down, vanishing into the foam before clunking at the bottom.

“Okay Lillie. Get in and I will wash your hair, then you can play.”

I doused her hair with water and then scrubbed in shampoo. I worked it to the ends, especially the parts she puts in her mouth.

I nodded to a plastic tray attached to the tile wall.

“Do you see that?” I asked. “That’s a new toy. Bath tub crayons!”

“Bath tub crayons?” She looked around. “Is there bath tub paper?”

“No, you can use these to write on the walls, or even on yourself.” I shook the shampoo from my fingers and filled the cup. “They wash off with water.”


“Yeah cool, right? I tried them myself. They are nifty. Now, look up while I rinse your hair.”

“Towel! Towel!”

“I didn’t even wet your face, you big baby!” I teased, gently patting her eyes with a dry washcloth.

She blinked open her eyes. She looked at the crayons.

“Really? On the wall and on me?”

“Really—but just those crayons and just in the bath.” I stood. “Okay, I’m going to finish the dishes. Don’t drown when I’m gone.”

“Dad . . . don’t say that every time.”

“Have fun with the crayons. Knock yourself out.” I peeked around the door. “Oh, and Lillie?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

“Beware . . . “

“Dad . . .”

“Bee-waare . . .” My left hand appeared above my head, the fingers wiggling.

“Dad, that’s your hand!”

“What hand?” I looked up. My eyes bulged. “Oh no, not the . . .” The hand descended on my mouth. My cries were muffled as I was slowly lead away.

“Dad, I know that’s you.”

I popped my head back. “Thank you, thank you. Shows every hour on the hour.”

She giggled.

I returned to my dishes.

I’d have to tell Shelby about this. The crayons had been a Christmas gift to the kids she knows through my stories about them.

“They’ll like these,” Shelby said, giving me a small package to unwrap.

I looked at the box. “Why thank you, sweet Shelby. ‘Bath crayons,’ huh? Never heard of them.”

“They’re awesome, man,” Shelby smiled. “I loved ‘em as a kid. Damn, I still do.”

I smiled.

There are times when it is especially good to have a girlfriend who was so recently a kid herself. So many fun things have come along since I was coming along.

After a few minutes of washing dishes, I came back to check on my daughter.

I could hear her talking to herself as I opened the door.

“Lillie . . .”

“Ah!” she jumped. “You scared me.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Oh my goodness, Lillie!”

“You said I could write on the walls.”

“I know, it’s fine, but . . . my goodness!”

Lillie had covered the tiles with drawings and words. Her limbs were decorated like Goldie Hawn in her "Laugh In" bikini.

On the walls, I detected a theme.

A brown circle containing black dots was labeled “cookie.”

A brown oval was labeled “poop.”

Underneath was written, “See the difference.”

“That’s very handy,” I said, snapping my fingers. “Now people will know the difference between cookies and poop.”

“I know!” she laughed. “And did you read my beautiful, beautiful poem?”

She held out an arm, indicating a stream of sentences written in brown. I read it out loud.

O Poop
By Lillie

O poop

O poop

How I love you poop

Poop is good for you

The poop


“Well, it’s a splendid poem, honey. And it’s sure full of poop.”

She guffawed, then stopped. “Wait, you are.” She laughed again.

“All right, funny girl, let’s get you toweled off. It’s time for Collie’s shower.”

“Okay, but make him leave my poem.”

“Okay, up you go.”

I held up a towel. Lillie stood and stepped from the tub into it.

She chatted and chatted as I brushed her hair, listening and listening.

Collie was not amused by the poem, but he let it stay.

It remained intact for a few days. Finally, it had to go.

“Lillie, I have to clean the bathroom, so come say goodbye to ‘Poop.’”

“It’s ‘O Poop,’ not ‘Poop.’ Wait, I want to write it down.”

Lillie took a paper and pencil from my desk. She hurried down the hall.

She kneeled on the bathroom floor. Using the side of the tub as her desk, she looked up and copied the poem onto paper.

Her tongue flicked at her teeth as she wrote.

“Okay, I’m done,” she said. “Now I have to save it.”

She rushed to her closet, and pulled down a box.

Inside the box was a purple doll’s purse.

She put everything on the bed. With great care, she folded the paper again and again, until it could fit in the purse. She placed the purse inside the box, and returned the box to her closet.

She tucked it under her t-shirts.

“That looks safe, all right,” I said.

“I have to hide it,” she said. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Mom doesn’t let me say ‘poop.’”

“Oh,” I whispered back. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Dad?” she whispered.


“Why are we whispering?” she laughed.

Tonight, after Lillie’s bath, I discovered two texts on my bathroom walls, mostly in lower case and with Lillie’s characteristic backwards “s.”

Each word was limited to one tile. The words were in red and blue.

On one wall, she had written:

hi boys

and we love

kissing and unacorns and

pink we love girls

and cute stuf

On the adjacent wall, there was this:

we love Hello Kitty

and hate boy stuf

and in love with girls

and really hate boys

this is by Lillie

No mention of poop.

I thought I might leave it on the walls for a bit.

Collie thought otherwise. It did not survive his shower.

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

Fan Fiction Four

Well, whattya know?

I no sooner send a shout out to Aliza than she responds with a nice surprise.

Along with my weekly shipment of erotic self-portraits—including some doozies of her puss and boots, to which I must now masturbate, per our agreement—Aliza sent along a scorching piece of fan fiction.

(Fan fictions, for those who don’t know, are stories submitted by readers in which they imagine meeting me and/or my friends.)

Get out your flash bulbs, friends, as you’ll want to make these memories last.

And say, does anyone have any spare frequent flyer miles about? Bring Aliza to New York, and we’ll let you hold the camera.

I arrived at Jefferson’s apartment wearing tall, black, leather boots and a long winter coat.

His door opens and our eyes meet for the first time.

The sexual energy is electric.

“Aliza! Welcome!”

Stepping into his home and hearing the door click behind me makes my heart skip a beat.

I unfastened my coat, revealing sexy lingerie, frilly French knickers and a cute peek-a-boo bra from which protrude my hard dark red nipples.

Jefferson reaches round my waist and gives a deep passionate kiss that sets my body on fire.

I slip my coat off, letting it drop on the floor behind me. Jefferson steps back, his eyes drinking in my curves.

I feel so exposed. Having my body examined so closely is such a turn on. I could hardly wait to show him more.

I turn, bending over to show him my ass and pussy while I get my camera out. I set-up my tripod and camera and get everything ready to record events.

I turn back, delighted to find that Jefferson has undressed.

I walk over and kiss him, his hands on my soft skin, my hands stroke his hard cock.


I take a photo of us with my remote.

I smile, content. I so enjoy the thrill of being on show.

He takes one of my erect nipples in his teeth, teasing it with his tongue.

I kiss his neck, suck his earlobe, tongue his ear, nibble and bite my way down his chest.

I linger at his nipples, stopping to lick and suck them. I love feeling them go hard in my mouth.

I drop to my knees and take the head of his cock in my mouth. Our eyes meet. I’m sure he can see how much I’ve been looking forward to this.

I pause to take a few more photos *click*. I get such a rush off capturing the moment. I feel so sexy thinking about what I look like here on my knees before him.

I sigh as his cock fills my mouth again.

I suck and nibble the head before letting his length fill my mouth and throat. I moan in satisfaction of the feeling of him so deep inside me.

He pulls my hair, grabbing big handfuls, roughly yanking on it. I groan with delight, my pussy is dripping wet…

Suddenly there is a knock at the door. I regretfully disengage.

Jefferson puts on a robe and, checking the spy hole first to see who it is, answers the door. In walk a couple, some friends of Jefferson’s.

My first reaction is embarrassment. They are strangers to me, I’m only wearing underwear and a second ago Jefferson’s cock was in my mouth. Hmmm kiss, kiss, can they smell him on my breath?

After we get chatting I begin to relax and enjoy their company.

Jefferson asks to speak to me in his bedroom. As the door closes, my body is alert with anticipation. Jefferson strokes the back of my neck and softly kisses me.

“Would you like it if we put on a little sex show for our guests?”

His question is a surprise; I can feel my throbbing pussy answering for me.

“I’d like that very much Jefferson. Maybe they could take some special photos of us?”

Jefferson fetches our spectators, They sit near the bed.

Jefferson asks me to bend over as he approaches me from behind.

He pulls my knickers down to my knees.

I’m anxious. I’ve never had sex in front of an audience before. It’s always been a fantasy.

My body feels so responsive and alive. I’m buzzing with sexuality.

I’m so turned on by the idea of people watching me.

I am aware of putting on a show.

I turn my ass to point towards the couple.

I turn and see the camera and smile as a photo is taken *click*. I feel so free and liberated.

I wait, unsure what is going to happen next. Then I feel Jefferson’s hot breath on my pussy, his tongue probing me, the feeling of his nose pressed against my ass. I’m so horny, my fists grab at the sheets, my body wriggling in ecstasy.

He steps back. *Click*. More photos. My cunt drips in response. I hear a condom wrapper being torn open. I’m so excited about feeling his cock inside me soon.

The energy in the room is so hot, so sexual, I enjoy imagining how turned on everyone is. I look across at the couple, they certainly seem to be enjoying the show.

They are both masturbating.

Jefferson comes up behind me and presses his cock against me. He teases me by sliding his cock up and down. I’m so hungry to have him inside me now, I’m begging him.

“Please Jefferson, fuck me.”

He slides all the way inside me, deep down for the first time.

I cry out. I want more.

As he slides all the way out and all the way in again he also grabs at my ass, slapping it, pinching it, teasing me.

I noticed the other couple has taken off their clothes. The woman has the most gorgeous lean body. Jefferson catches me looking at her and calls her over.

“Tell us what you would like to do with her, Aliza?”

Desire overcoming any remains of shyness I reply,

“I’d like her to come lie under me so I can suck her pussy while you continue fucking me.”

She positions herself under me, stopping to let me kiss her mouth and suck her nipples. As she leans back I lean forward pulling her knees up and burying my head between her legs. I start by licking her outer lips, letting her smell fill my senses.

With Jefferson still fucking me doggie style I taste my first other woman, she tastes so sweet. I find her clit and tease it with my tongue. I suck it, flick it, nibble while pausing to dart with my tongue deep into her lush wet hole.

I squeezed her ass while I felt Jefferson squeeze mine as well. I reach up and fondled her breast and continue to enjoy stimulating this sexy woman. I felt Jefferson reaching for something. I swallow with excitement.

His lubed fingers messaged my rosebud. I groan so loudly, pleading with him for more.

The vibrations of my groans excite her even more, I think she’s going to cum soon. I fingers slid into her and start massaging her g-spot.

I feel Jefferson begin to push a dildo into my ass. I relax and take it, my throbbing hot hole easily eating it up.

I was in heaven, making a woman groan and being fucked in both holes. I turned to see the other man masturbating at the image and taking photos.


All I needed to complete this fantasy was to feel his cum spray all over by boobs, which he did . . .

. . . followed by a photo.