Thursday, March 30, 2006

MySpace MyOrgy

At Madeline’s suggestion, I’ve started an orgy over at MySpace.

Tell your friends and meet me in the hot tub.

“Congratulations,” Shelby says. “You’re a MySpace whore.”

‘bout damn time.

And don’t forget, the Spring Fling Contest is still open.

Monday, March 27, 2006


Meg’s narrative of this weekend begins here.

Anna left a little after ten, saying she was meeting “someone” at the Museum of Modern Art.

She said it in a pointed way, to be sure I didn’t miss that she wasn’t going alone, and she didn’t care to invite me, as she already had plans with “someone.”

I kissed her goodbye and refrained from telling her to have fun with the new boyfriend.

The course of the morning encouraged Anna to assert her new-found “polyamory” as a woman with two boyfriends. She was put out when the glow of our first weekend sleepover had been tainted by her investigation of my bathroom.

That morning, I woke early and made my way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, drifting to the memory of fucking Anna as she slept.

I remembered that Anna had a toothbrush in my medicine cabinet. Feeling sweet on her, I took down her toothbrush and lay it next to mine.

Of course, I had chosen the wrong toothbrush.

Of course, she had to point out this egregious mistake.

She called me to the bathroom.

After several questions established that the toothbrush belonged to neither my children nor their father, Anna said I must have confused her with someone else. She wanted me to see her toothbrush to avoid future confusion. She opened my medicine cabinet.

She saw that I have many toothbrushes.

“This one is mine,” she said, fishing a toothbrush from the tangle. She held it before my face. “I’m the pink one.”

“Got it,” I said. “The dancer gets the pink one.”

“Huh,” she said, squeezing toothpaste. “So I guess I’m the only dancer?”

“Who knows, really,” I yawned. “Who can keep track of details with so many women? I should make you all wear name tags.”

Anna punched my arm. “Don’t tempt me,” she mumbled through fluorinated suds.

After rinsing, she noticed Lillie’s Hello Kitty hairbrush. This prompted questions about Lillie’s hair and advice on different ways to keep it from her eyes.

I sat on the toilet, nodding and listening.

I was full of useful grooming tips by the time she departed for her appointment with “someone.”

I locked the door behind her. I warmed a plate of leftover scallops.

All was still as I awaited my fate.

My fate was just then hurtling north on the New Jersey Turnpike at over seventy miles an hour.

Shelby was kidnapping me. She had recruited Meg as her accomplice.

Every week, Shelby trained to the city to spend the night with me. She is no fan of cities, and often suggested that one day, I should trek down to her quiet corner of New Jersey.

That “one day” was now. Her birthday gift to me would be a tour of her hometown, and of her life as she lives it when we are apart.

She was driving up to fetch me.

She had never driven in Manhattan.

She wasn't happy about doing so.

“You just make sure your ass is ready to go when we get there,” she instructed me. “No way am I parking or driving around that fucking island. I’m going through the tunnel, getting your ass, and turning around to get the fuck out.”

My tramp bag waited by the door.

When the girls arrived, I kissed them both and tossed my bag into the backseat. I sat next to it and buckled in.

“You aren’t allowed to make fun of Shelby’s driving,” Meg warned as she flipped through her iPod.

“Yeah, or I’ll make you drive—and these other drivers will eat your pansy ass.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said, grasping a door handle as Shelby swerved across two lanes.

“Assholes, man, they need to learn to fucking drive.”

Meg turned to me. “You’ll get used to it. She hasn’t killed anyone yet.”

“Comforting thought,” I smiled wanly.

“Wait, turn this up!” Shelby ordered. “This song, you know it?”

“Touch-ing yoo-ooooo-ooou . . . .” Meg sang.

“Touch-ing me-eeee-eeee . . .,” Shelby joined. They chased the singer’s voice through a rapid-fire falsetto. “I believe in a thing called love . . . just listen to the rhythm of my heart . . .”

“Man, you kids need to get hep to glam rock,” I shouted. “See, back in my day . . .”

They were too far gone to hear me.

Several hours, one cup of coffee, and two pits stops later, we were in Shelby’s hometown. We picked up some essentials, including vodka for the girls and bourbon for boy—the latter being Meg’s treat, as it was my birthday week. We also needed a few items from the local supplier of sado-masochist paraphernalia.

The hardware aisle at Wal Mart.

“We’re going to hogtie Meg,” Shelby matter-of-factly asserted as she dug through bins of clothesline. “Which do we want? Fifty feet or a hundred?”

“Wait, we’re hogtying me?” Meg asked.

“Well, let’s think about that,” I mused. “Fifty should be sufficient, but it pays to be prepared.”

“I’m getting hogtied?”

“Yeah, it costs about the same, so I’m getting the longer one,” Shelby decided, tossing the rope into her basket. “Now, what about clothespins?”

“Clothespins?” Meg asked.

“Oh, the big bag,” I said. “One hundred gives us a lot to play with.”


“I’m getting two big bags,” Shelby said. “You need some back in the city.”

“Oh, thank you sweetheart, that’s very thoughtful.”

“And I think Meg has candles, so we should be set for hot wax.”

“Wait,” Meg said. “Wax?”

As we walked though the store, Shelby slipped her hand into mine. Her town is small, and she is well known as her mother’s daughter. Still, she was not concerned to be seen showing affection with the much older man she loved, a stranger to all the natives.

“Fuck ‘em,” she said. “I need to shake this place up, man.”

“Whatever you like,” I said, kissing the back of her hand.

The sky was streaked with purple and grey as we drove to Meg’s place, where we would be bedding for the night.

“You know, Jefferson,” Meg said. “It was almost a year ago we met.”

“Fuck, that’s right,” I agreed. “It was Valentine’s Day.

“Yeah, my best friend has been fucking my boyfriend for almost a year,” Shelby laughed.

Ours was not a conventional romance.

We unloaded the car, changed to pajamas and poured drinks.

We had everything we needed for two days and nights of raucous shenanigans.

I was three days into my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.

But first, we had to satisfy a basic requirement of Meg and Shelby’s Sunday nights together.

We had to eat pizza and watch “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.”

And smoke some very fine weed.

Friday, March 24, 2006


Spring Fling 2006

Daffodils are coloring, birds are nesting and squirrels are pairing off.

It’s springtime in New York.

Can’t you feel the stir in the air? That little something that makes you long for a spring fling?

This contest is for you. Maybe you could be Jefferson’s sweetheart.

Two winners—one female, one male—will be chosen. For three whirlwind weeks this spring, each of these lucky winners will be treated to all the fine loving Jefferson can muster.

You want long walks, quiet conversation and sweet kisses? Say the word.

Need to feel the lash now and then? It’s yours.

Hungry for the flesh buffet of an orgy? Help yourself.

You decide what you want. Jefferson will take care of what you need.

To be considered, send the following to

1. A recent photograph.

2. A description of yourself, including experiences and interests.

3. A brief text outlining why you should be chosen as Jefferson’s spring fling.

Remember: you can’t win if you don’t apply.

Good luck!

Contest remains open until winners are announced. Must be eighteen or older to enter. Winners must live in the New York City region, or relocate at their own expense. Previous winners need not apply. Void where prohibited.

Many will enter, few will win.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Perverts' Saloon

You read our blogs. Aren’t you curious to see us in the flesh?

A number of New York City sex bloggers will be taking part in our first-ever public reading, organized by redoubtable stalwarts Audacia Ray and Selina Fire.

And yes, your very own Jefferson will be among the participants. It’s a great group of folks—and I’ve only seen about half of them naked.

So far, that is.

Stop by to say howdy, won’t you?

As many in our cohort are up all manner of activities—such as Dacia’s curatorial smash Sex Worker Visions, opening March 29 at the LGBT Community Center—Viviane has created a special blog just to highlight news and events.

The Perverts’ Saloon

Here’s the low down on our hotter-than-hell hootenanny.

70 North 6th street, Williamsburg. L to Bedford Ave

(Directions to Galapagos)
Time: 8-10 pm; Doors open at 7:30 PM

A family of strangers are New York City's Sex Bloggers - online writers, telling tales of their sex lives in this City. Parents in their 40's, sex workers in their 20's, professionals with 9 - 5 jobs or stay-at-home dads - male, female, straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual - these writers' narratives have one thing in common: they are sexually explicit. You'll find stories that twist real-life narratives together: parents helping their kids with homework, then later, deflowering a stranger of his anal virginity; tensions on the train to work, then helping a friend's wife to orgasm. Their tangled tales of exploration and conquest, freedom, exhibition and love will be told aloud and in person for the first time when the bloggers show their faces and read from their work at the New York City Peverts' Saloon.

Readers: Audacia Ray, Tony Comstock, Viviane, Lex Konrad, Jefferson, Selina Fire, Chelsea Girl, Cherry Bomb, Tess, Charlie Bucket

(Flyer design by J, maleslut NYC)

Watching the Detective

I stripped the beds and made them with fresh sheets. I put out clean towels.

I swept and emptied the trashcans. I bagged the garbage and took it to the chute.

I did the dishes, taking care to leave only one cup, one plate and one glass in the dish rack.

I had to hide the evidence.

Anna was coming for a sleepover.

My on again/off again girlfriend was back on.

I knew our most recent break up was mended when she stopped over with a contrived game in which we could embrace only by asking permission to touch.

The next time she came over, she treated me to a slow strip tease.

A week later, I was in her bedroom reddening her ass with a riding crop.

She can’t give up the good sex.

She had offered to cook dinner for my birthday. She also wanted to give me a blowjob in my new desk chair.

I checked my calendar and offered a Saturday night.

“Really?” she replied archly. “Do you know that in the two years we’ve been seeing one another, you’ve never slept with me on a weekend night?”

“Is that right?” I asked.

“That’s right,” she asserted.

I’m sure she was right. She keeps track of things like that.

“Huh,” I said.

I guess I am more likely to spend weekends with people who don’t dump me every four months.

Now, I was a little nervous about having her at my place overnight. Anna is an incorrigible snoop. She can’t seem to help but notice small details that lead her to infer big things about my secret life with other women.

She knows I date others. I spare her the details.

I did my best to put everything in order.

There was no evidence of the Nubian orgy the night before. There was no evidence of the threesome that preceded it. No evidence of the threesome that transpired that morning.

I paced the apartment, looking under furniture, around planters, on shelves. I saw nothing one wouldn’t expect to find in the home of a single father with three children.

Anna arrived late, as usual, and loaded with grocery bags.

I reached to help her. “Are you making dinner or moving in? Gee, this weighs a ton.”

“Well,” she began. “I wasn’t sure you would have everything I needed.” She hefted her bags to the table. She pulled a carton from one. “Like, no one has parchment paper.”

“I think I do, actually.” I kissed her cheek. “But one can never have too much parchment paper. Can I take your coat, baby?”

I held out my hand.

As she unbuttoned her coat, her eyes drifted to my piles of mail. She stopped mid-button.

“Jefferson, who’s Viviane?” Her eyes never left the mail.

“Huh?” My hands continued to wait for her coat. “Oh, Viviane is a friend of mine. Why?”

“Because her name is on this envelope.” She fiddled with her button.

My eyes followed her to the mail. “Yes, I can see that. My friend Viviane gave me something in an envelope. Your coat, please?”

She looked at me as if to surmise the veracity of my explanation. Apparently satisfied, she continued to unbutton her coat.

How stupid of me to have mail, I thought.

I hung her coat. “Would you like some wine?” I offered.

She sat on the couch. “Yes, please. I’ll start cooking once I recover from the walk over.”

“Take your time, dear. Relax. I’ll be right back.” I went to the kitchen to open the wine. “What are you cooking anyway?” I called.

“Scallops,” she called back.

“Oh, yum,” I said, cutting the foil from the wine. “You know, I haven’t had scallops in a while.”

“I’m right here, you don’t have to shout,” she said, suddenly at the door. “Are you applying to law school?”

My brow furrowed as I held the corkscrew. “Uh, no I am not applying to law school.”

“Oh.” She motioned towards the next room. “I saw the envelope from a law school and thought . . .”

“My neighbor gave me some papers in that envelope,” I said. I took down two wine glasses. “I think her husband is a lawyer. I am not applying to law school. Can you just sit on the couch while I get your wine?”

She returned to the couch. I soon joined her with two glasses.

I raised my glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” smiled, clinking glasses. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks.” As we sipped, my eyes scanned the room. Did I miss anything that might lead Anna to think that Viviane and I are eloping to law school?

I relaxed as we cooked. I offered myself as sou chef, chopping leeks and assorted vegetables as she washed the scallops. We drifted into a conversation about my children.

A song came on the radio.

“Ugh,” I moaned. “Here’s that annoying Ben Lee tune.”

“Come again?”

“’Catch my Disease.’ I’m sure you’ve heard me rant about it.”

“No, you’ve never mentioned this song to me.”

“Oh. Well, it’s not awful or anything, it’s just so cloying and cutesy, with the baby piano and the ‘na na na.’”

She turned off the water. “I’ve never heard you talk about this song.”

“Okay, well, that’s all I have to say about it really.”

“Hmmm. I’ve never heard this song before. I don’t know who Ben Lee is.”

“Ah, well.”

“You must be confusing me with someone else.”

“Maybe, whatever.”

She cut a few sheets of parchment paper. The song continued.

“Yeah, I’ve never heard this song. You never mentioned it to me. Must be someone else you are thinking about.”

I reached for another leek. Her comment lingered in the air.

Detective Anna was hot on the trail.

No doubt, this Viviane and I would soon be in our dorm room at law school, reveling in our shared dislike of Ben Lee.

I set the table as the scallops cooked. I lit candles. I poured more wine.

I replaced the radio with Sarah Vaughan. Don’t talk about Sarah Vaughan, I told myself.

As we ate, something seemed to be weighing on Anna’s mind.

“Jefferson, I have something to tell you.” She rested her fork on the edge of her plate.

I pulled my fork from my mouth. “What?” I chewed. “Anything wrong?”

“I guess you’ll have to be the judge of that.” She drew a breath, and then exhaled. “There’s nothing to do but just come out with it. I’m seeing someone else.”

I wiped a napkin on my lips. “You are?”

“Yes. His name is William. He’s a veterinarian.”

I took a sip of wine then sat back. “I see. Have you been seeing him long?”

“No, we just meet two weeks ago, on New Year’s Eve. I had asked you out, but you were busy. So I went dancing with friends. I met him on the dance floor.”

I got the subtext—it was my own fault she had met him.

“Well, that sounds like a romantic way to meet,” I smiled.

“It was. We spent the weekend together.”

“That’s pretty hot and heavy,” I nodded. I skewered a scallop and popped it in my mouth.

“You aren’t upset?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” I chewed. “You are free to date anyone you like.”

“I’m glad.” Anna picked up her fork. She moved food around her plate. “I guess now I’m polyamorous too.”

“Something like that.”

I hoped she wasn’t disappointed that I took the news so well. I wasn’t upset in the least.

If anything, I was relieved.

I think anyone who dates me should have at least one other boyfriend. I would prefer not to be anyone’s sole sexual outlet. That’s just too much responsibility.

I listened to her talk about her new boyfriend in halting terms, apparently concerned about saying something that might wound me. I smiled and made it clear that I was glad she was enjoying herself.

I hoped that she would notice something now and in the future.

I wasn’t pressing for details.

If she wanted to talk, I was happy to listen. But her relationship with him was her affair and not mine. She can share it or not depending on her preferences.

Perhaps in this way, I could lead by example. I don’t nose in your privacy. Please don’t nose in mine.

Or, as Brother Hank put it, if you mind your own business, then you won’t be minding mine.

Likewise, I could let it go that she considered this situation to be polyamorous. I wasn’t going to parse words, but I hardly think its polyamorous to date two people at once. That’s what single people do, right? Play the field. Hedge their bets.

As for me, I’m not really involved in anything I’d define as polyamorous. That requires the same commitment as monogamy.

I’m more of a slut, really.

Not that I was going to argue that point with Anna.

After supper, I cleared the table. She had cooked, so I assumed I would do the dishes.

As I ran the water, she called my name.

“Jefferson? Can you come here, please?”

“I’m just rinsing the dishes, I’ll be out in a moment.”

“I’d prefer not to wait.”


I turned off the water and dried my hands.

I found Anna kneeling on a pillow in front of my chair.

She had stripped to pale blue hot pants panties and a white bra.

She sat very erect, smiling at me. She patted the seat of my chair.

“The dishes can wait,” she told me.

“Yes, I believe they can,” I said, tugging my shirt over my head.

My pants melted to the floor like butter on hot scallops.

Anna moved aside as I settled into my chair.

“Dinner was great,” I smiled. “And so simple.”

She wriggled her shoulders coquettishly, taking my cock in hand.

“I have a great many talents,” she said.

With that, she leaned forward and took me into her mouth.

I stroked her hair. “That you do,” I agreed. “That you do.”

She worked her mouth on me slowly, keeping her eyes on mine. She held my cock, gently turning her grip in contradistinction to the movements of her mouth.

Such a dancer. She was choreographing a blowjob.

If I could have read her mind, I am sure I would have heard her voice repeating: “One and two and turn and three and four and turn.”

I kept my eyes on her face, on her eyes on mine.

I closed my eyes, letting the time pass.

“This is so good,” I sighed. “And the chair is so comfortable.” I leaned back.

She licked the length of my shaft. “You certainly look comfortable.”

“You should try it sometime.”

“Perhaps I will.”

For the moment, though, she preferred to tease me with her hand job. Her hands alternated in a fluid movement, pulling my cock away from my body, firm but gentle, one hand after the other.

Closing my eyes, I could not tell where one gesture ended and the next began. It all blurred into a continuous wave, as if she were extending my cock as an endless supply of flesh and filament.

Once she had reeled out a few feet of cock. she alternated her gestures, pushing it all back into my body. Handful after handful, slowly, she guided it all into place.

When I opened my eyes, my cock was back to its normal size—or rather, only slightly larger than usual.

She began to take me back into her mouth.

I held her cheeks.

“No, not so fast,” I clucked. “You must sit in the chair.”

“I’m fine here. On my knees. At your feet.”

“I’m not fine. I want you in the chair.” I stood.

“Well, I would like to try the chair,” she began, standing.

Her ass turned before me. She lowered herself to sit.

“Hmm, yes, this is comfortable.”

“Isn’t it?” I pushed down on the armrests. “See how well it leans forward?”

I offered my cock to her mouth. She took it.

“And see how well it leans back?” I pushed the headrest. The chair fell back.

Her mouth opened and her legs lifted as she instinctively braced for a fall.

I took her thighs and lifted. I dropped to her abandoned pillow, lifting her ass high.

I removed her panties.

She tossed her bra across the room, panting and disoriented.

I thought to say something clever, but instead put my tongue to better use.

I plunged it into her cunt. She jumped at the sensation.

I opened my mouth wide as my tongue entered and retreated, fucking her fast. My upper lip grazed her clit.

I fell into sucking her soft smooth skin, burying my nose into her small tuft of hair. My tongue stayed on its target until she came.

My fingers joined, pressing against the contractions of the taut muscles inside her body. Her cunt opened and closed, gasping for breath, farting as she pushed against me.

Just two more orgasms, I said to myself, and then I’m fucking her.

Moments later, we were fucking.

Three hours later, we were asleep.

Six hours later, I woke.

She lay next to me, on her back, an arm resting on her hair. The duvet covered her from the waist down.

She had not moved since I pulled out of her as she drifted to sleep.

She breathed softly, deep in her sleep. I watched her breasts rise and fall as she breathed.

She looked so content.

Anna is often frustrated by our relationship. She most wants in life to meet someone, to settle down and to raise a family.

That hasn’t happened. It’s not happening with me.

I’m often frustrated too, if only by the bad timing of it all.

If I had met Anna just after college, when I was starting to date Lucy, life might have taken a different turn.

If there had been a moment in my youth when Lucy and Anna told me I had to choose one or the other, I would’ve looked at them though my long hair and pondered.

Both women are challenging, and more than a little overwrought. Much as that rubs against my grain, I am apparently drawn to women who push me.

Both are attractive and smart. They both read. They both want families.

Anna cares about art. Lucy doesn’t. Lucy tolerated sex. Anna loves it.

If we had met at another time, in another place, I might have been able to give Anna what she most wants to be happy.

Now, in this time and place, I can only offer what she needs to get by.

I reached for a condom and lube.

I parted her thighs slightly.

I entered her slowly. She was moist from her dreams.

I kept my body apart from hers, so as not to disturb her sleep.

Her breathing quickened. She turned her head.

“Unh,” she began, not opening her eyes. “Jefferson, wha . . what are you doing?”

“Shhh,” I kissed her lightly. “I’m making love to you. Go back to sleep, baby.”

She rubbed her face, eyes tight. “I can’t . . . I can’t sleep if you are fucking me.”

I stilled myself in her body. I cradled her neck in my arms.

I kissed her hair.

She slept, and dreamed.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Balancing Acts

Mitzi and Emma pulled on underwear, jeans, bras and tops. I reached for a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt.

For the moment, we traded nudity for propriety.

We preferred to be dressed as Apollo’s orgy assembled.

It was already past ten, and we knew people would begin to arrive within the hour. We could leave Apollo to greet his guests. It was his responsibility to put people at ease and make introductions. It was his job to encourage his friends to initiate the party by retreating to the bedrooms.

That’s our agreement. He recruits and supervises his biweekly party of black and Latin couples. I provide the place and help to supervise.

Apollo and I both participate.

But for now, the girls and I had a little time to relax on the terrace. Mitzi craved a cigarette. I offered bourbons.

Emma sent us ahead, saying she would join us shortly; first, she wanted to chat a bit with Apollo.

It was the Friday before my birthday, just a couple of hours into my week of wall-to-wall sex. Already, Mitzi and Emma had gone from being strangers to sex partners to pals.

Along the way, Emma had dommed her first woman.

Not a bad start, I thought.

“Are you smarting?” I asked Mitzi as she took her drink.

“A little,” she said, exhaling smoke. She nodded towards Emma in the other room. “There’s no way that was the first beating she’s given.”

“She says it was,” I smiled, stealing a cigarette from her package.

“I dunno, Jefferson. She’s too good to be new to this.”

“Well then, she is a natural talent, either as a dom or as a liar.”

“Are you talking about me?” Emma said from the doorway.

I looked around. “You think you are the God damned center of the universe,” I chided, blowing smoke in her direction.

“I just know when I am the most interesting person in a room,” she replied. She nodded to Mitzi. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“Of course,” Mitzi nodded back, with mannered courtesy.

I was more than happy to be the shared target of their barbs.

Yet Mitzi was not content to enjoy jokes at my expense. She had done that plenty of times in the past. She would have ample time for that in the future.

She now had new quarry.

Emma, now here in the flesh, could corroborate or dispute the veracity of my telling of the times I had been with her.

“So, Emma, how do you know Jefferson?”

Emma told her how I had met her “son” Carl at a male orgy at my place. That chance encounter had led Emma and I to correspond and then, to meet.

“Ah, yes, I believe Jefferson has told me that story,” Mitzi nodded, smiling. “And so the two of you got together.”

Emma nodded. Her gaze fell to the street below.

“That Jefferson can be pretty persuasive!” Mitzi laughed.

“Yes, it was like pulling teeth,” I interjected. I took another drag.

Mitzi knows she skates on thin ice with her interrogations. I don’t enjoy having my facts checked.

Still, as a writer, I am accustomed to the process of editorial inquiry. If I strive to be honest and transparent, then I open myself to scrutiny.

I can endure it—to a point.

“I gather you two have had some fun . . .” Mitzi began.

Emma smiled. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Did you really pick up boys for a bukkake party?” Mitzi asked.

“Hmm mmm. Well, Jefferson found the boys.”

“I dunno,” Mitzi said, flicking her ashes. “I always think I might like that, but then I chicken out. Were you into it?”

Emma looked at me. “Yeah, the boys were pretty hot. I was surprised they all came at once, though.”

“Yeah, me too,” I nodded. I took another drag, catching Mitzi’s eyes. “And hell yeah, the boys were fucking cute. What’s the point otherwise?”

“Yes, and not obnoxious, like Navy boy,” Emma said.

“I know,” I winced. “Sorry about that one. He was handsome, though.”

“Yeah, if you like obnoxious Navy boys.”

“I found his machismo rather amusing . . .,” I began.

“Wait, what is this story?” Mitzi sat forward.

“Well . . .,” I began.

“No, I was asking Emma,” Mitzi said, putting a hand on my knee.

I looked at Emma. She caught my eye. I took another drag.

My lips were sealed. It was her tale to tell.

Emma looked ahead. “Well, I think it started because I told Jefferson I like to be a tease. He claimed he wasn’t into that. ‘Cause he’s a liar!” Emma hit me on the foot.

“Be nice,” I admonished.

“Go on,” Mitzi said, stamping out her cigarette stub. She reached for another.

“So, anyway, Jefferson had this idea that he would watch me tease a boy. We would tie him to a chair, so he couldn’t do anything.”

“He was nude, of course,” I added. “We all were.”

“Wait, who’s ‘we all?,’” Mitzi asked, shaking her hand to extinguish a match.

“Well, the Navy guy and me, and Shelby and Jefferson,” Emma said.

“Wait, you met Shelby?” Mitzi said.

“Yes, she was there,” Emma said, looking at me.

Mitzi slapped my knee.

She sat back suddenly, and looked down at the street.

“Go on,” she said.

Emma kept my eye.

“This wasn’t the original plan, of course,” I began, “As Shelby is over the whole group sex thing . . .”

“I was asking Emma,” Mitzi said, her brown eyes glowering in my direction.

“Well,” Emma began a little carefully. She allowed her drawl to slow, so that she could weigh the impact of her words. “That’s true, I think she came early that night, and we started late.”

“There was an unintended overlap,” I nodded.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “Though she kinda jumped in.”

“Or she was pulled in,” I said. “She says I encouraged her when she was reticent. She had only planned to watch.”

“That sounds right,” Emma said.

“Watch what?” Mitzi asked.

“Oh, watch me tease the Navy guy, you know, tied to his chair.”

“But other things happened?” Mitzi asked.

“Sure!” Emma laughed. “I mean, the three of us fooled around.”

“And not the Navy guy?” Mitzi asked, puffing.

“No, we made him watch. No one wanted to touch him, really.”

Mitzi slapped my leg again, hard.

“Hey, watch it!” I said. “That fucking hurt.”

“Good!” Mitzi said. She tossed her hair and took a moment to compose herself. “Why don’t I already know this?”

Emma stared at the street below.

“Because it was a secret,” I taunted.

“Asshole,” Mitzi snarled, just over a whisper.

I shrugged. “Look, I just haven’t got around to telling you everything, okay? It’s no mystery I do these things. I just can’t always report them in a timely way—not that I am required to do so.”

“Look, Jefferson,” Mitzi began. “You know that isn’t the issue. I don’t care who you fuck. It’s just . . . “ Mitzi clenched her fists. “Urgh!”

I knew the issue. We’d certainly talked about it many times before.

Every relationship has its balancing acts.

All of my relationships are grounded in a basic understanding: I am bisexual and I have sex with other people—lots and lots of other people.

I am not ashamed to be the easiest lay in Manhattan.

For some, that is not acceptable. So it’s good they know upfront that I am not for them. I bid them farewell.

For some, that’s fine, but they don’t want the details. I spare the details.

For some, that’s not only fine, it’s hot as hell. They want in. I bring them in.

For some on the inside, God is in the details. They want to know everything, and they want to know it first. They don’t want to read about it in a blog or to hear about it through the grapevine.

Mitzi falls square in the final category. She wants to be there for the good stuff, and if she isn’t, she wants to hear all about it from me.

She gets miffed when that is not the case.

I know this. She knows this.

It wasn’t a fight we needed to have in front of Emma.

“Well, I feel rude,” I said, standing. I kissed Mitzi’s cheek. She turned away. “Let’s talk about this later. We should check on the progress of this orgy. Shall we?”

“Jefferson . . . ,” Mitzi began.

“Later, okay?”

“Fine, I’ll finish this cigarette and join you.” Mitzi avoided my eyes.

“Mind if I borrow one?” Emma asked.

“Of course,” Mitzi smiled. “Help yourself. Here, take Jefferson’s seat, next to me.” She turned to me. “Ta ta, Jefferson.”

Emma and Mitzi settled in for girl talk.

I hadn’t anticipated that maneuver.

Damn, that Emma was smart. Every bit as smart as Mitzi.

“See you inside,” I smiled.

I swear to God, I thought. Mitzi collects all the evidence.

She will be a goldmine to my future biographer.

Inside, the living room was dark, reduced to a few candles. Couples were paired up in low conversation. Usher was playing on the stereo, a little too loudly. I turned it down.

I strolled to the bedrooms.

One couple fucked as a dressed man watched, stroking his exposed cock.

The real action unfolded in the other bedroom.

A pile of bodies rubbed one another in various stages of undress. A few people stood, watching as a fully dressed woman went down on another woman, wearing only a t-shirt.

I leaned against a wall and watched for a while before feeling hands around my waist.

“Jefferson, I’m sorry,” Mitzi whispered in my ear.

“Shhh,” I rested my hand on hers. “You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry you had to hear that story from someone else.”

“Yeah, I hate that. I always want to know from you.”

“I know, and that’s fair.” I took her hand to my lips. “It’s just that, you know, there’s just so much to tell . . .”

She slapped my chest. “Don’t be an asshole.”

I turned. “I’m teasing, I know. I am sorry. It’s hard to stay ahead of things, you know.” I kissed her. “My bad.”

She kissed me. “I want to break up with you,” she whispered.

“You should,” I whispered back.


“Yes, Mitzi?”

She looked over my shoulder. “Are there Nubian lesbians in that room?”

I looked back. “Hmm, I’m afraid so. It’s a big pile up.”

“Jefferson, I want to watch that with you.”

“It’s a good show,” I nodded. “But I want to check on Emma before we get too involved.”

“I just left her,” Mitzi said, looking back. “She’s fine.”

“ I know, but it’s her first party at my place. I want to be responsible.”

“Jefferson . . . ,” she began.

I kissed her. “And then we’ll come back for the Nubian lesbians, I promise.”

I took Mitzi’s hand and led her to the kitchen. We stopped at the door.

Emma was kissing a tall handsome man I had never seen before.

Her eyes were closed.

The man withdrew, spinning her in his large hands.

She complied with the guidance of his touch.

His hands roamed her torso, fixated on the prize breasts beneath her top. He lowered his face to touch them with his cheek.

“She’s fine,” Mitzi said, tugging my hand. “Let’s go.”

“Shh.” I put a finger to my lips.

Emma was deep inside her eyelids as the man lifted her shirt over her head.

He unclasped her bra effortlessly with one hand, allowing it to fall to the floor.

Emma lifted her neck slightly. He lowered his lips to her nipples.

Another woman entered the kitchen. Apparently indifferent to the necking couple, she walked to the counter and began to mix a drink.

Without looking up from Emma’s breasts, the man reached back and took the passing woman into his grip. She was unfazed, pouring as he fondled her thighs through her jeans.

“Well, hot damn,” I murmured. “I suppose Emma is doing just fine.”

“Evidently. So can we please see the Nubian lesbians?” Mitzi cooed, her cheek finding my shoulder. “Please?”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” I agreed. My eyes left Emma as the man unfastened her pants.

In the bedroom, we found things much as we left them. Only the positions had changed.

The clothed woman was kneeling on the floor, her mouth locked on pussy. Her hands held her quarry’s hips high in place. The woman in the t-shirt rested on her shoulders.

“Rested” is not the right word. She squirmed and moaned loudly as her cunt was expertly turned inside out and handed back to her as an origami swan.

I spotted a free space on the futon.

“Come here,” I whispered to Mitzi, tugging her hand. I undressed. Mitzi followed suit.

We were the only nude people in the room.

Funny thing about the Nubians. The sex is very hot, but generally only partly nude. The men, in particular, are quick to zip up once business is concluded.

I once watched a fellow fuck the shit out of his girlfriend. I was nude, resting between rounds.

Once he came, he pulled up his pants and glanced my way.

“You crazy, man,” he laughed. “Sitting there naked and shit.”

He had just torn a new hole in his girlfriend’s colon in a room full of people, and I was crazy for being nude.

Different strokes.

If I was going to watch a hot lesbian scene with Mitzi, of course I wanted us nude.

The clothed woman moved in for the kill, pushing down on as she devoured the woman in the t-shirt. She burrowed her on the floor against the bed frame.

I leaned forward and whispered to the hapless victim, “Do you want a pillow?”

She was out of her mind with ecstasy.

“Huh?” She never opened her eyes.

I gently slid my hand under her neck. I lifted.

“Here, baby.”

She lifted her head. I slid a pillow into place.

“Thank yo . . . uh!” she grunted.

“Of course.” I pecked her cheek.

I leaned next to Mitzi. “That is so sweet,” I whispered.

“That is so hot,” she replied. “They were doing this before we checked on Emma, and we’ve been back, like, twenty minutes. Does that woman breath?”

“Circular breathing, that’s the trick,” I whispered in response. “Good for playing brass and eating pussy. Speaking of, bend over that railing and let me fuck you.”

Mitzi nodded, almost absentmindedly as she watched. “Sure, Jefferson,” she said, her eyes on the carpet munching transpiring on my floor. She leaned forward and raised her ass to me.

I rolled a condom on my cock and pressed a palm into her lower back.

I guided myself into her familiar passage.

She pushed back into me as I dove in deep.

The feeling of myself inside Mitzi—this improved the view considerably.

Emma appeared at the door for a moment, wearing only her jeans. She peered into the darkness and spotted a section of unclaimed bed. Stepping over the lesbian limbs, she made her way to sit.

She was soon sucking Apollo and his cousin, Miller.

They both wore t-shirts. Miller wore his prescription sunglasses. He was blind in a room with candles, but he sure looked cool.

Across the room, a man had opened his trousers to allow his girlfriend to blow him.

He noticed the lovely brunette at the end of my cock, moaning as she took a slow pounding, her eyes on marathon pussy eating.

He pulled out from his girlfriend without a glance and made his way to Mitzi’s face.

He shoved his cock at her mouth.

She turned away.

He moved.

She turned.

“She’s not into it, friend,” I said, spelling out the obvious.

He stood for a moment, jerking as we fucked, then returned to his girlfriend’s mouth.

I slapped Mitzi’s ass. She turned to me and smiled.

I rolled my eyes. Some people, huh? I thought.

She nodded, then gave her eyes back to the lesbians.

I began to wish we were timing them. There must be a world record for eating pussy, and our girls must be pushing the envelope.

All those blowjobs among the spectators had me wanting one as well. I spanked Mitzi again, then pulled out.

I fell back on the pillows and tore off the condom.

Mitzi looked over at me.

She knew what I wanted.

But she also knew what she wanted.

She shook her head, teasing me, as she turned and lowered her pussy to my thigh.

She wanted to “high school” me.

Back when Mitzi was seventeen, she got off by rubbing her clit on her boyfriend’s thigh. It was safe and effective, and worked whether or not there were clothes involved.

She calls this “high schooling,” and it remains her failsafe.

As she rubbed one off on my leg, I toyed with her hair and smiled into her eyes.

Emma came over and sat near my shoulder.

We looked up and grinned at her. It was nice to check in with our solo voyager.

I pulled Emma’s face into a kiss.

My fingers pinched a nipple.

I could feel Mitzi ramp up her grinding as she watched.

I also felt a mouth on my cock.

I pulled back from Emma and looked down.

Consuela was blowing me.

I didn’t even know she had arrived. But here she was, naked, like us, and sucking my cock by way of greeting.

I grinned and took Emma’s breast into my mouth.

My evening began with a threesome with Emma and Mitzi. Now here I was with them and Consuela as well.

Happy birthday to me.

Mitzi came, nice and loud.

Emma was soon distracted by Miller, back for more on his blowjob.

I pet Mitzi, and looked at Consuela.

“Well, hi there,” I said.

“Oh,” she smiled, taking my cock from her mouth. “You noticed I was here.”

“Yes, you do know how to get a boy’s attention. How’ve you been, you?”

“Pretty good, busy with the holidays, but the usual.” She stroked my cock as we spoke.

Mitzi watched, grinding my thigh slowly.

“Yeah, I hear you,” I nodded. “Hey, you want to eat Mitzi while I fuck you?”

Mitzi suppressed a giggle.

Consuela looked at her. “Yeah, I’d like that. About damn time I got laid—this is the first time since the new year.”

“That’s two weeks,” I exclaimed, sitting up. Emma dropped her hand from my chest. “And that’s a crying shame.”

“Don’t I know it,” Consuela agreed.

I excused myself as I took my leg from Mitzi.

She lay back on my pillows.

Consuela moved forward to crouch over the pussy she was preparing to lick. She looked back as I took position behind her, opening a condom package.

“You been okay?” she asked.

“Me? Sure, I’m fine.” I rested one hand on her ass as the other guided my cock into her. I thrust gently in and back. “Life’s pretty good.”

“Ummm, that’s good,” she sighed. “Really good.” Consuela turned to focus her attentions on Mitzi’s clit.

I enjoyed my cock in her, the feel of her soft, dark flesh, the strength of her body.

Mitzi had her eyes on mine as I dug in on Consuela. I know that she likes it fast and hard, good and solid, big on delivery, spare the sentiment.

Miller and Emma watched as Mitzi groaned.

Consuela licks pussy as well as the next girl, especially when she is taking a sound fucking. I’m sure Mitzi enjoyed that.

But I knew she also got off watching me fuck Consuela.

Every relationship has its balancing acts.

Mitzi likes sharing hot sexual situations with me, even as she wrestles with the green-eyed monster when that means sharing me with others.

Earlier that night, she was uncomfortable watching me with Emma. She knows I see Emma one on one. She knows I like Emma. She couldn’t help but be jealous.

Now, she watched me fuck Consuela. It got her hot.

Of course, I like Consuela, and she likes me fine. But I don’t see her one on one. We check in with one another at parties and we fuck.

It’s social.

And that’s different.

Later that night, we came across Consuela treating a man to a lap dance. He was in his boxers, jerking under the waistband. When she tried to touch his cock, he brushed her off, saying he was “sensitive.” I suppose he was afraid of premature ejaculation.

“You look like you are having fun,” I said, kissing her as she wiggled her ass above his thighs.

“Hmm mmmm, very much.” She leaned forward to suck my cock.

I looked at Mitzi and shrugged. “Here we go.”

She grinned.

I tapped Consuela on the shoulder and twirled my finger in the air, suggesting she turn around.

She did so, pivoting her body at the hips, and lowering her tits to the man’s face.

I fingered her wet clit, slipping in a finger.

My thumb went to her asshole.

She took it with ease.

I put my fingers in deep, squeezing them together inside her.

No complaints from Consuela; she was content with my efforts either way.

Fine then, I thought, tearing open a condom. I guess I’ll fuck her ass.

I lubed her hole and my shaft. She opened her stance and raised her ass, still focused on the lap dance she gave to her sensitive man.

I stood on my toes, holding my head to her hole.

She lifted up into me.

I pressed down.

I passed her sphincter, shallow at first.

She pushed back.

I was in.

I’m a very considerate ass fucker. I’ve been fucked. I know it can be intense.

But Consuela pushed back on me like a prison bitch in heat.

She pounded her ass back on my cock like it was the last taste of heaven she would get before the brimstone.

I was still on my toes.

I grabbed her hips and pounded down, deep and hard.

She pushed back, as if to ask: that’s all you got?

I rammed deeper, harder.

I gritted my teeth.

I fucked that damned ass.

She wriggled. She moaned a bit.

I looked at Mitzi.

She likes to see my “mean fuck face,” as she puts it. She likes to watch me go all out.

“God damn . . . ,” I said.

“That’s hot, Jefferson.”

“Yeah, it is . . .” I began.

I grabbed hands full of flesh.

I pulled Consuela’s body to mine. My rhythm, my time. I fucked her tough and without remorse. I fucked her the way doms do when they mean to say: this ass is mine.

My eyesight narrowed to pinholes.

She pushed back, dancing on my cock. This ass is yours, her body told me. Is this the best you can do with it?

I fucked up a cold hard sweat, then pulled out.

I staggered back, then stepped forward to backhand her ass. Two times, hard.

I pulled off the condom and threw it at her feet.

She never looked back.

“Come on, Mitzi, let’s take a break,” I said, beaten by a strong-willed ass.

As we walked away, Mitzi admired my disdainful slaps at the end. “That was so hot, the way you swatted her,” she began.

“She barely noticed,” I said, wiping my neck. “I was fucking her ass, you know. She took like a hot knife in butter.”

“Were you really?” Mitzi tittered, slipping a hand in my arm. “I had no idea you were in her ass.”

“I’d like to think she noticed,” I replied.

We caught up with Emma.

“It’s so frustrating,” she said. “Here I am at my first sex party at your place, and on my period, so I can’t do anything.”

“Not do anything?” I teased. “I saw you giving, like, what? Five blowjobs? And I wasn’t always looking.”

She shrugged.

“That counts, Emma,” I said.

“Yeah, well, I only fucked Jefferson,” Mitzi commiserated. “So I guess we both had a slow night.”

“Yeah, and how many times did you cum tonight? Never mind our threesome earlier?”

Mitzi shrugged. “I dunno, twelve?”

I laughed. “Give me a slow night any time.”

I circulated with the other partygoers as things wound down.

I realized that the woman in the t-shirt, who took history’s longest pussy licking, was Chocolate. (Don’t blame me, it’s her self-chosen nom de partouse.) She is a Nubian regular; I was surprised I didn’t recognize her.

“Well, I have these new extensions,” she twirled her hair, smiling. That was all it took. I’d know that smile anywhere.

I smiled back. “That was some serious pussy licking you took, Chocolate.”

“Pretty serious, I guess so,” she laughed, prancing on her naked legs. She was like a filly at a hootenanny. “She was just, ummmm, so good.”

I always like talking with her.

She is a straight girl with a boyfriend, she tells me. She gets all the dick she wants at home.

She comes to this party to get some girls.

She’s a beauty. She always gets her girls.

Never any sign of the boyfriend.

I ran into Miller, loading up on bourbon at the bar.

“How’s it going, Miller? We didn’t have much of a chance to talk.”

“Yeah.” He took a deep gulp.

I paused.

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” he repeated. His eyes were ciphers behind his sunglasses.

“Well, good to see you, as always,” I said, patting his shoulder.

“Yeah, I got to get to work,” he said, swallowing another glass. It was like he was forcing back his medicine.

“What, at this hour? What do you do?”

He took another gulp. “Cab driver.”

“Well,” I winced into his shades. “Be careful out there.”

He raised his glass and downed another shot.

I met Apollo at the door.

“Nice party,” I said.

“Yeah, it was a good one,” he nodded. “You and Mitzi, you are looking good.”

“Oh, thanks,” I grinned.

“And damn, that girl Emily is the shit, man.”

“Emily?” I looked around. “Wow, did I meet her?”

Apollo laughed. “You were all up in that shit when I got here, man.”

“Oh, Emma!” I pointed a finger. “You need to learn the names of the girls you put your dick in, Apollo.”

“Yeah, Emma. So she has my four one one.”

“Hopefully she has your name right too, stud. Take care of Miller, okay?”

“Yeah, he’s my ride, we’re cool.”


Everyone was gone.

The cleaning could wait until tomorrow.

I gave Emma blankets and kissed her good night.

Mitzi changed the sheets on my bed.

It was after three as Emma fell asleep to the sound of Mitzi’s orgasms in the next room.

Monday, March 13, 2006

. . . Go

Mitzi and Emma sat on the couch.

I sat in a nearby chair, my feet in Mitzi's lap.

We exchanged pleasantries over drinks.

Emma was funny, finding a punch line to every thread of conversation.

I was laughing.

As I traded joke with Emma, my eyes were on Mitzi's.

She laughed at all the right places, but she was clearly wrestling with trepidations.

Mitzi was curious to meet Emma. She wanted to uncover the mystery of my secret boyfriend.

Now she was seated between the two of us. She could see that Emma was attractive, charming and funny. I laughed at all her jokes. I clearly liked her.

I know Mitzi's mind.

What's not to like about this girl, she was thinking.

Mitzi had to worry: would her boyfriend's secret boyfriend become his new girlfriend?

I wanted to set her mind at ease.

I wanted her to relax.

After all, Emma was here as much for her as for me.

"Well," I said, glancing at the clock. "We have about an hour and a half before the orgy begins. I think we need to get Mitzi naked."

Over Mitzi's shoulder, Emma nodded enthusiastically.

"I'm not sure," Mitzi hedged, looking back at Emma. "Would it be okay if I just, you know . . . watched the two of you first?"

I looked at Emma.

"I have no problem with that," I said.

"Oh, me either," Emma smiled.

“Let’s move to the bedroom then, shall we?” I suggested, standing.

Mitzi may have noticed how confidently Emma led the way.

I followed, holding Mitzi’s hand.

“I’m scared, Jefferson,” she whispered.

“I’ll take care of you,” I replied, squeezing lightly.

Emma stood beside her bed, as she had on the night we met . . .

“Mitzi, why don’t you take a seat by the window?” I offered, “While I unwrap Emma.”

Mitzi sat, her eyes on mine.

I smiled at her, then took my eyes away.

I turned to face Emma.

Our blue eyes.

I kissed her gently, languishing in the texture of her lips against mine.

My hands held her hair, so soft and fine.

I could feel Mitzi’s eyes calling to me, wishing for me to look back at her, to reassure her.

But not yet.

I pulled back and began to tug at Emma’s shirt.

She raised her arms. “You think you can handle the bra strap, Jefferson, or do you need me to do it?”

“I really think I need the experience, Emma,” I said, pulling her shirt free. I tossed it aside. “But thank you for the offer.”

“Anytime,” she said, dropping her arms to her side.

I reached around her.

I stuck my tongue in my cheek.

“Okay, now let me see,” I said, my fingers fumbling with the clasps. “Okay, there’s one . . “

“You are pathetic,” she teased.

“No, wait, that’s two . . .”

“Do you need me to . . . “

“Ha! Three! I did it!”

“Yeah, Jefferson, you’ve got mad skills.”

I pulled her bra forward and away from her body. It joined her shirt on the floor.

I cupped her large breasts in my hands. I hefted each in turn.

“You know, if I were a tit man, I’d really admire these,” I said.

“If you were any kind of man at all, you would know my tits are awesome,” she retorted.

My lips were too busy on a nipple to sustain our repartee.

My tongue traced the soft flesh of her belly. I fought the impulse to move quickly, as my ardor was building.

We were, after all, putting on a show for a private audience.

I dropped to my knees. I licked the seam of her jeans.

I made a note to spend some time on her jeans at some point. I recalled a girlfriend in high school who only gradually, after months of foreplay, allowed me to removed her jeans to lick her pussy.

All those months, I had licked and chewed her jeans until she came.

The night she relented, I unzipped her with my teeth.

No time for that on this night, however. The orgy was due to begin soon.

I took the waistband in my fingers. I raised my eyes to Emma’s as I kneeled before her.

Her face was still, but I knew she was thinking of our secret.

Only we knew that she was dominating me behind closed doors.

I unfastened her jeans.

I lowered them to her thighs, then tugged them town to her feet.

I held her hand to steady her as she stepped out of her pants.

I pushed them to the side.

I bent to kiss her calves, kissing my way to her thighs.

Gentle butterflies for a pretty girl.

I arrived to her panties, small and dark black against her pale skin.

I tongued her crotch.

“I wish I didn’t have my period,” she said, her fingers in my hair. “Because I would love to fuck your face, little girl.”

Careful, I thought to her. Don’t let that slip.

I stood. “Let’s leave the panties on, then.”

I kissed her again, once more long, once more languid.

Two brown eyes silently calling my name.

Not yet.

Kissing Emma, I pulled at my shirt.

I released her lips long enough to take the shirt over my head.

I tossed it aside and returned to her lips hungry, as if we’d been denied to one another for an age.

I pulled at my pajama bottoms.

They fell to the floor.

I kicked them aside.

I pressed my cock hard into her as I grabbed her up in my arms.

My hands pressed her to me.

Closer, God damn it, Emma, my mind screamed to hers. I fucking want you close to me.

I’m scared, Jefferson, the brown eyes pleaded.

Not yet.

“Let’s move to the bed, Emma,” I whispered into her mouth.

“Okay,” she whispered into mine.

I lingered, unable to give up her kiss.

“Jefferson . . . “

“Just . . . wait, okay?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” she smiled, taking in my kiss.

My forearms pressed into her back.

It was frustrating how far away she seemed.

The only way to get her closer was to be on top of her.

I stepped back one long step.

“Okay, get on the bed, please.” I pointed to her target, irritated, impatient.

“Finally,” she sighed. The bed was a step away.

She took her sweet time covering that distance in a slow sashay.

You are fucking playing with fire, Emma, I thought to her.

Now, please, the brown eyes begged.

Not yet.



I gently lowered my body onto Emma.

I stroked the blonde strands away from her face.

I smiled into her eyes.

I ran a finger across her full, pink lips. My lips followed the path of my finger.

My hips pressed into hers.

My cock moved against her labia, pressing cotton into her body.

We were so at ease with one another, our rapport, our touches, our feel, the way we could, to put it plainly, make love.


I turned to the brown eyes.

Mitzi was sunk into her chair.

I’ve seen a picture of her as a young girl.

She was sitting on a very large chair in her parent’s home. She was holding a thick blue blanket, sucking her thumb.

I saw an adorable dark-haired cherub.

“Look,” she had said. “I have the proof: I was an ugly baby.”

“That is not an ugly baby,” I said, surprised by her sudden sadness.

“Are you kidding? Look at those thick brows, those fat cheeks.”

“How old are you in this picture, Mitzi? Three?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Too young to get my eyebrows threaded.”

“Your mama sure did a number on you,” I said, handing back the photo.

“Yep, she sure did.”

As I lay across the warm voluptuousness of pretty Emma, I looked to the chair and saw that scared little girl, ugly, alone, frightened.

Now, brown eyes.


I rolled over, and with surprising grace-for one never knows how these things will go-I landed in a crouch at Mitzi’s feet.

I rested a hand on her knee. I put my chin on my hand.

I smiled.

“No, Jefferson.” She shook her head. “No.”

I nodded. “Yes, Mitzi. Yes.”

I had driven to the very limits of her insecurities, her jealousy, her self doubt.

It was cruel, intentionally so.

Now, I had to drive her back.

Once she learns that path, she can walk it on her own.

I stood and took her hand.

I raised her into my kiss.

I ran my fingers through her thick black locks, that gorgeous tangle that frames her soulful face.

I took her velvety cheek in my palm.

I inhaled deeply, absorbing the rich vanilla of her skin, bringing her into my body.

Keeping her there.

Blue eyes watched us, taking notes.

My hand caressed her body through her clothes.

“I want these off,” I said.

“Yes, Jefferson.” Mitzi smiled a little.

“I want them off now, Mitzi.” I let a hint of sternness enter my voice.

“Yes, Jefferson.” She pulled her arms into her sleeves.

“All of it, now.” My voice was rising.

“Yes, Jefferson.” She moved more rapidly.

“I’m losing interest,” I said sharply. “I can easily return to Emma.”

“I’m hurrying, Jefferson . . . “ She trembled as she unfastened her jeans.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered.

Mitzi lowered her pants and hurried kicked aside the jeans.

She stood.

I put my hands on my hips.

She wriggled free of her panties, dropping them with her pants.

She stood again.

I smiled.

“Fuck, finally,” I scowled. “A man could grow a long beard waiting. Now, get on the bed, ass high.”

Mitzi suppressed a giggle. “Yes, Jefferson.”

Emma slide aside to make room.

“Actually, Emma,” I said, my voice now dripping with honey. “You should stand up and join me at the foot of the bed.”

“Oh, okay.”

She sat up, then stood beside me.

“This,” I said, my palms firm on Mitzi’s hips. “This is Mitzi’s ass.”

“So I see,” Emma grinned.

“Mitzi’s ass, this is Emma.”

“Pleased to meet you, Emma,” Mitzi squeaked.

“Now, we are going to beat Mitzi’s ass. But first, I need to give you a little tutorial. Remember what we learned in beat up class, Mitzi?”

“I sure do.”

“’Beat up class?’” Emma asked.

“Yes, ‘beat up class.’ That’s what Mitzi calls the session on BDSM we took at Babeland University. They called it ‘SM 101.’”

“Actually, ‘SM 201,’ Jefferson,” Mitzi corrected. “We got advanced placement.”

“Shut your fucking face!” I slapped her ass. “Shoot your mouth off and I’ll show you what that hole is for.”

Mitzi wriggled. “Yes, Jefferson.”

I spanked her again. “Don’t you fucking interrupt me.” Another slap.

Mitzi pulled her shoulders close. “Yes, Jefferson.”

“Good.” I rubbed her ass.

It was warming.

“Now, as I was saying,” I turned to Emma, again talking sweetly. “Here’s what you need to remember about Mitzi’s ass. Here, on her buttocks, is a fine place to spank. Go ahead, give her a spank.”

Emma raised a hand and landed it with a firm slap.

“Nice,” I nodded. “Again.”

Another slap.

“Unh,” Mitzi groaned.

I had to watch that response-I had more to say before we sent Mitzi off into the La La Land of subspace.

“Okay, Emma, very good. Now, here, just above Mitzi’s ass, is forbidden territory. You can’t strike here, as you might damage vital organs.”

“Oh, okay.” Emma’s brow was furrowed as she studied.

“Now, up here, on Mitzi’s shoulders, that’s a good strike zone. Nothing too hard up here, no strong blows, as it can hurt, but some well-placed whacks can really accentuate the main thrust of your beating.”

“Okay, that’s good to know.”

“All right. Now, before, when we spanked her, we went in hard and fast. That’s really not the best way to do it. Instead, you should tenderize the flesh. Give her light slaps, in quick succession. This brings the blood to the surface, which helps to spread the sensation and prevent undue bruises.”

“Hmm, maybe I should take notes.”

“No, Emma, that’s enough to get you started. Why don’t you tenderize Mitzi while I retrieve the arsenal.”

“What are you going to use, Jefferson?” Mitzi asked, raising up a bit.

I put my face in hers. “You fucking shut the fuck up, you God damned fuck hole!”

She pulled back, a little shocked. She breathed a moment and calmed.

“Yes, Jefferson.”

“You hear me?”

“Yes, Jefferson.”

I had done a fine job of putting her down. I needed to keep her down for the beating.

“Now, Emma,” I said, practically singing her name. “We’re going to use two implements. Here, this is a light whip, good for starting things up.” I lay it on the bed, handle toward Emma. I lifted another item.

“And this monster is a braided cat o’ nine tails.”

“You really hit her with that?”

“Yes Emma, I really do. Keep spanking, please.”

“Oh, right.” Emma returned to slapping Mitzi’s ass.

“Great work. You okay, Mitzi?”

“Yes, Jefferson.”

“Good. Then lets take this up a notch. Excuse me, Emma, let me take your place.” Emma moved aside. I stood perpendicular to Mitzi’s ass in a batter’s stance. “See how my feet are positioned? A good posture helps to deliver a firm blow. Like this.”

The slap echoed off the walls.




We could move faster now.

“Got that, Emma?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. You try it.”

Emma stood in place, and looked down at her feet. She adjusted her stance.

“Good, Emma.”

She raised her arm high, as I had done.


She lowered it fast, delivering a strong wallop.


“Good! Again.”


This time, Emma got an echo.

“Excellent work, Emma, good listening. Now, step aside. I’m going to use the whip. And as I do so, I’ll be going faster and talking less. I want to focus on Mitzi’s ass. So watch closely.”

“Okay, Jefferson.” Emma stood aside.

I stood in place. Emma peered over my elbow at my target.

I looked back at her. “Honey, I need more room than that.”

“Oh, sorry.” She stepped back.


I picked up the small whip. I rubbed Mitzi’s back with my hands, warming her to my touch.

I caressed her ass as the whip lightly thrashed her back.

The whip chased my hand around her back, across her ass, to her shoulders. I make surprise forays to her forearm.

Mitzi breathed deeply.

I stood back, assuming my batter’s stance. I raised the whip high.

I looked at Emma. Her eyes met mine. I nodded.

Down came the whip.


Three times more, one blow after another.


I flourished the whip in the air, whooshing it back to her ass.


Again, this time to the left.


The right.


I brought the whipping to a crescendo and then, without warning, stopped.

Mitzi shuddered.

I dropped the whip to the bed.

My hands caressed Mitzi’s ass.

I held her back, lowering my cheek to her shoulders.

“You okay, baby?”

I listened to her breathing. “Yes, Jefferson.”

“Good baby.”

I stood up.

“You need to check in regularly,” I said quietly to Emma.


“It’s all about trust,” I said, picking up the cat o’ nine tails.

“Yes, I can see that.”

I lightly traced the cat along Mitzi’s back, again using my hand to guide the sensation.

I dropped the braids heavily onto her skin, allowing her to learn the feel of their knotty leather.

“I will only give a few strokes with this,” I said.

“Yes, Jefferson,” Mitzi breathed.

I took the stance. I raised my arm.

I looked at Emma. Her eyes were on mine.

I nodded.

The cat landed. Mitzi fell forward with a groan.

I touched her hips.

She breathed and returned to position.

The cat landed again. She stayed in place.

I waited as the sting subsided, as the blood rushed to her skin.

Then again. Again.

More blows followed, sure and steady.

And then I stopped.

I dropped the cat.

I caressed and kissed Mitzi's body.

I murmured soothing words.

I listened to her breathing calm.

The room was quiet.

I stood.


“Yes, Jefferson?”

I looked at Emma. “I want the pretty girl to beat you.”

Emma nodded.

Mitzi adjusted her hips, as if they were making the decision for her.

She began to breath heavily. “Yes, Jefferson.”

“Good girl” I patted Mitzi’s ass.

“Nothing fancy,” I said to Emma quietly. “Just focus on Mitzi and her ass.”

I sat at the head of the bed. I leaned forward and kissed Mitzi’s hair. I stretched my legs along the sides of her body.

“I’ll be supervising from here,” I said to Emma. I took a fistful of Mitzi’s hair and yanked, raising her head. She gasped. “I’ll be watching as Mitzi sucks my cock.”

Mitzi’s surprise gave way to a smile

“Yes . . . Jefferson.”

I smiled at her. Such a pretty face she has. Especially now, radiant in her bliss.

I smiled as I shoved my cock in her mouth.

I was already aroused, yet my cock grew still larger on her tongue.

Her nostrils flared.

I nodded to Emma.

Emma's face was serious and focused as she took up the whip. She rubbed her hands on Mitzi's ass, getting intimate with her new subject.

I heard the first blow sound. Mitzi jumped forward, taking me deep.

"Nice," I said. "Again."

Emma delivered another blow. Mitzi opened her lips to breath around my cock.

I took another fistful of her hair.

"Let it go, let it go," I whispered. I looked up. "Now, Emma."

"Now" was just a word, just something to connect us all to the moment.

It was the last word I would utter for a while.

Emma drew deep into concentration, her vision constricted to the power of her hands and the responses of Mitzi's ass.

Mitzi's brown eyes were closed, as she fell inward, surrendering to the blows and the stimulation in her mouth.

I was drawn into pleasure rushing from my cock to my skull.

Mitzi had sucked my cock for nearly a year by this time, and she always had a fine blowjob. Lately, though, her throat has relaxed more, opening to me.

That night, I was deeper than ever, my head registering the ridges of her esophagus.

The three of us had slipped into a place where we were each connected to the other, yet each absorbed in our own bodies and minds.

We stayed there as long as we could.

We began to slip away as Mitzi's ass reached it's limits.

Emma put down her weapons and caressed the flesh she had reddened.

She slipped her fingers to feel Mitzi's wetness.

Mitzi opned her eyes, sighing into my cock.

I pet her hair, welcoming her back.

Emma was watching me fuck Mitzi, our lips tight on on another, when we heard a shout from the door.

"Yo, Jefferson, you back there?," Apollo called.

"Yeah, we're in the bedroom," I replied.

Apollo smiled as he stood in the door. "Course you are, man, you are all up in it."

On orgy nights, I leave the door open for Apollo. I'm usually involved in some pre-game activity.

"Hi, Apollo," Mitzi cooed. "So nice to see you."

"Nice to see you too," he replied, leaning in to kiss the woman I was fucking. He patted my back. "You doing well, Jefferson?"

"As well as can be expected," I allowed. "Apollo, this is Emma. Emma, Apollo organizes the Nubian parties, and tonight is a Nubian party."

Emma sat up and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Apollo. I've only heard good things."

"Yeah, well, I hope it's all good." He took her hand and kissed her cheek. His hand dropped to feel her hips. "So Jefferson, I'm going to set up for the party. Anything need doing?"

"I already have the candles and such out," I replied, still pushing my cock in and out of Mitzi. "But you may want to check on ice, and get the music going."

"Yeah, I burned some new CDs. Okay, let me get that going." He looked back at the door. "Y'all stay busy."

We laughed.

Emma's eyes followed Apollo to the door, taking in his athletic build.

She looked at us as he left.

"You know," she said, "Maybe I will stay for the party."

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Ready, Set . . .

On a Friday evening in mid-January, I sat at my computer, passing time until the orgy that would launch my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.

The apartment was clean and the sex sheets were in place. Candles and toilet paper had been replenished. Condoms and lube were placed at convenient locations in the bedrooms.

Nothing to do but wait for the bodies to arrive.

Mitzi planned to be at the party, and to spend the night afterwards.

We traded instant messages.

Mitzi: I’m so excited about the orgy tonight, Jefferson.

Jefferson: Me too! It looks like a good one.

Mitzi: Will you fuck girls while I watch, Jefferson?

Jefferson: I may indeed.

Mitzi: I’m masturbating to that right now. Time me!

Jefferson: Save some for the rest of us, darling.

Just then, Emma checked in.

Emma: Our server crashed, yet here I sit.

Jefferson: Friday, early evening, and yet you are at your office, looking after broken machines.

Emma: My lot. Do you have a party tonight?

Jefferson: Yes—the Nubians!

Emma: Oh, that’s nice. I’d join you, but I’m on my period.

Jefferson: I didn’t invite you. When you come to my sex parties, I want you to start with the other one, with my bisexual friends.

Emma: Whatever you say, hun. That’s your decision.

A ping sent me back to another message. Mitzi had rubbed one off.

Mitzi: Okay, time?

Jefferson: Um, just under fourteen seconds.

Mitzi: Yeah, that one took too long. I’ll try again.

Jefferson: What was your trigger?

Mitzi: I imagined walking into your apartment and finding you already fucking someone.

Jefferson: Well, wish I could help you, but I can’t offer that this evening. You’ll just have to wait until the Nubians arrive to watch me fuck.


Emma: Any of your non-Nubian friends coming tonight?

Jefferson: Yes, Mitzi will be here.

Emma: So when will I meet Mitzi? You told me I could whip her. I’ve never whipped anyone. Some tutor you are.

Oh, right.

Mitzi was salivating about the prospect of meeting Emma, the pretty girl I kept secret.

Emma was keen to get going on her dominant side, She wanted Mitzi under her whip.

I checked the time.

Just before seven. I had an orgy at ten.


Jefferson: Would you like to beat Mitzi this evening?

Emma: Well, it’s either that or study.

Jefferson: Either way, it’s all about your education.

Emma: I suppose that’s true.

Okay, one down.

Jefferson: I’m sorry I can’t offer you a sex show tonight. But I do have a consolation prize.

Mitzi: How so?

Jefferson: Emma and I are going to beat you up at eight.

Mitzi: Are you shitting me?!

Jefferson: Nope. Don’t keep us waiting.

Mitzi: I’m walking my dog and catching a cab.

Jefferson: Go. Bring the slapper.

It’s so sweet when she jumps.

Jefferson: Well, looks like you are studying Mitzi’s ass tonight.

Emma: Oh?

Jefferson: Yes, she’ll be here in about half an hour.

Emma: Huh . . . maybe this office can sit in the dark all by itself.

Jefferson: See you in a few.

I signed off.

I pulled out the arsenal of whips, cats and cane.

I took a shower.

I poured a bourbon.

I waited.

Program Notes

Today is Mitzi’s twenty-seventh birthday.

She’s feeling ancient. “I’m not in my mid-twenties anymore,” she laments. “I’m in my late twenties now—that’s almost thirty!”

“Poor kid,” I laugh.

Of course, I offer what consolation I can.

Last night marked the last orgasm of her mid-twenties. This morning, the first of the thousand-day slide into her third decade.

And the second. And the third. And . . .

Gentle readers, show an old lady some kindnesses, won’t you?

And, if you like, revisit the blindfolded gangbang I gave her for her last birthday. All those boys, and still she made time for her first taste of pussy.

They grow up so fast.

Also, thanks to those of you who expressed concern about the apparent demise of my blog on Sunday. There was some snafu at Blogger which murdered One Life, Take Two.

As Blogger announced that everything was back to normal, I fretted that my beautiful blog remained invisible.

“Did you try republishing?” Viviane asked.


More evidence that being Jefferson is too large a task for one man.

Speaking of birthdays, shall we catch up on the activities of my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex?

It all begins with the next post.


It was only a matter of time.

Someone would uncover my secret boyfriend.

I have so many lovers, and most of them read my blog. I like that my life is as honest and transparent as it can be.

Still, I value my privacy. I like to keep some things private, or at least to reveal them on a timetable of my choosing.

So long as no one knew about my secret boyfriend Emma, she and I could get to know one another without anyone looking over our shoulders.

I was particularly glad that my not-so-secret boyfriend Marcus did not know.

Not because he would be jealous, as he’s always happy when I am happy.

Not because he might make a move on Emma. They will surely meet, and when they do, they will surely have sex. After all, Marcus fucks all my friends. That’s fine by me—they each deserve to have sex as good as the other has to offer.

No, I was glad Marcus didn’t know because he would immediately see something I was trying to reconcile in my mind.

With her smooth skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, youth and soft Virginia accent, Emma is the spitting image of my teenage daughter Rachel.

Now mind you, I wasn’t attracted to Emma by this coincidence.

I really had no idea what Emma looked like prior to our first meeting. I had never heard her voice.

That first summer night we met, chatting over margaritas with the promise of sex clinging to the humid night air, I had to ask myself: was the resemblance too eerie to press forward?

Could I really say to her, look Emma, you’re nice and all, but you look too much like my daughter for me to put my dick in you?

I mean, that wasn’t Emma’s problem. It was mine. She can’t help it if she looks so much like the little girl whose face is framed on my desk.

I decided I could manage this revelation.

But if she ever took to calling me “daddy,” I’d have to make her cut it out.

Marcus would make the connection immediately—and tease me about it no end—but no one else was likely to notice.

And anyway, for the time being, no one knew about Emma. I had time to get to know her, and to push aside the comparison to Rachel.

Even if it did fuel my narcissism to be fucking a pretty female version of myself.

At any rate, I didn’t have to worry too much about Marcus. He would be amused by my situation, but he would only know about it when I told him.

He doesn’t snoop.

And because he respects my privacy, I tell him everything.

That’s how my honesty fetish works. The more open I can be with a person, the deeper my affections. The more I have to hide, or dissemble, or gloss, the less content I am.

Invasions of privacy appall me.

And yet, they happen. The more some people know, the more they need to know.

Inevitably, someone would uncover my secret.

Not surprisingly, that someone was Mitzi.

Mitzi is a sharp-eyed sleuth, and congenitally curious to know more about my activities.

If I were ever lost, I would call Mitzi. She always knows where I am.

One evening, I was showing her something on my computer.

As I pointed out a website, she glanced at my desktop and saw a file marked “Emma.jpg.”

Her eyes fell to my open calendar. She saw the name “Emma” penciled in for Sunday.

“Jefferson, who is Emma?”

I was talking about something else, and surprised by her question.

“Emma? Why do you ask?”

“You have her photo and her name is on your calendar. Are you fucking this Emma?”

“I can fuck anyone I want, Mitzi.”

She punched my arm.

“Asshole. How long have you been fucking her?”

“I don’t want to talk about Emma.”

“I find out you’ve got a secret girlfriend? You better start talking, mister.”

I shrugged. “Well, actually, she’s a secret boyfriend, but . . . okay, yes, I have been seeing a woman named Emma. You’ll meet her eventually. She wants to come to the parties.”

Mitzi cocked her head. “She does?”

I steered Mitzi’s curiosity from jealous ire to lesbian desire. She likes fresh meat as much as the next girl.

“Yes, she does. I’m sure you will like her. She’s very cool, gets lezzie, and no, I’m not courting her for marriage.”

Mitzi sighed. “You really are a cad.”

“I know, I really am.”

“I hate you.”

“I know, and rightly so.”

“I want to break up with you.”

“That’s probably wise.”

That night, as I pinned Mitzi under my arms and fucked her, she called my name.


“What?” I was fucking hard and did not alter my pace.

Mitzi looked into my eyes. “So when do I get to watch you fuck Emma?”

I kissed her softly.

“Very soon, Mitzi.”

“I’d like that,” she cooed.

She soon came.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Deep Vanilla

“ . . . and here is the dining room,” the innkeeper said, sweeping her hand in the air. “Tea and coffee are always available, as well as our homemade cookies. Breakfast is served six thirty until eight, or you can have a tray brought to your room.”

“Oh, we’ll be taking breakfast in bed,” Bridget said. She squeezed my hand.

“I’ll make a note of that,” the innkeeper smiled.

Bridget had grown impatient with my schedule, so filled with work, children and “the harem,” as she refers to the women in my life. She decided to exercise her rights as chief concubine by commandeering my calendar.

“That weekend,” she said, “You are mine. I’m taking you to Buck’s County. I want to stay at a bed and breakfast, and I want you to boink me.”

I could not refuse.

Bridget doesn’t really take “no” for an answer.

I was late meeting her for the drive to the country, and I looked like hell. I had been up late fucking and drinking, as usual, allowing too little time for sleep.

I packed my hangover, but forgot a few things.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I kissed her as I got into the passenger seat. “I’m a shitty boyfriend. I also realize I forgot to pack condoms.”

“You really are tempting fate,” Bridget said over her sunglasses. She wheeled into traffic. “We’ll pick some up on the way, ‘cause I am waaaay due for some serious boinking.”

“Yes ma’am,” I nodded. I turned up the music. She was listening to Madonna.

As if anyone still listens to Madonna.

Bridget was eager for time with my cock, but she wasn’t exactly lacking for sex. She had recently taken on a new boy who couldn’t get enough of her.

He was very cute, pretty much my opposite in appearance, with short dark hair.

He was also enthralled.

He had never met a woman who enjoyed porn, sex toys and kink.

He spent five hundred dollars on toys to bring to their first date.

“Finally,” she teased me. “Someone to give me kinky sex.”

I laughed because it’s true.

Bridget and Jefferson are deep into vanilla.

We lunched and strolled the town.

We were queers among the quaint.

There were two sex shops along the way.

We stopped at one for condoms.

I toyed with the t-shirts and gag gifts.

“Hey, are you American Indian?” asked the woman behind the counter.

“Um, no, Filipino,” Bridget replied. “But I get that now and then.”

“Yes, maybe it’s that long hair—it’s really nice.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Bridget handed me the bag as we left, and took my hand as we crossed the street.

“Fucking dykes,” I muttered. “Always moving in on my women.”

“Now, Snooks, try to control your jealousy. It’s a hazard of being with cute girls like me.”

The second sex shop was much better stocked.

We picked up a sweet little whip.

“It’s funny that you think you can use that on me,” she scoffed.

I shrugged. “One can dream. Give me your forearm.”

She extended her arm.

I whipped her flesh. “You like?”

“Uh, no. That hurt!”

I sighed. “That’s sort of the idea, honey.”

Bridget had booked us into a lovely Colonial stone inn, perched on a hill. In the back, sheep dotted the lawn.

After a dinner of lamp chops and steaks, we retired to our room.

Along the way, I perused the inn’s music library. Norah Jones, Madeline Peyroux, Van Morrison . . . all that romantic stuff we girls love. I picked a few.

I put on some music.

Bridget flipped a switch, and a fire roared to life in our fireplace.

I lit candles.

“This is ridiculously romantic,” I said.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

We stood kissing, swaying slightly.

She held my hips.

My hands left her arms to take her soft cheeks.

“Let’s, uh, try this bed,” she suggested.

“Why you gotta talk so God damned much?” I asked.

We stripped and met on the bed.

“Holy Jesus!”

“Oh my God . . .”

“Can you . . . do you feel that?”

“Are you kidding? I’m in heaven.”

It was, without question, the most comfortable bed I have ever encountered.

I lay there for a moment, staring up at the canopy.

It pained me to lift myself from it.

I lowered myself onto Bridget, grateful that there are other comforts.

I fucked her gently, but firmly, until she screamed her first orgasm.

I fingered her through several more.

I bit her flesh, intent on leaving greeting cards to her new boy.

“Yes!” she shouted. “Mark me! Owwwwwn me!”

Bridget is the loudest woman I’ve ever fucked.

The only way to shut her up is to fill her mouth with cock.

I sat on her chest, shutting her up good and deep.

She likes her blowjobs to last a long time.

I am always happy to oblige.

Afterwards, we might have drifted to sleep in the world’s most comfortable bed, had we not been lured by the large Jacuzzi situated under a window.

I pondered the architecture, wondering how the inn had managed to provide such an amenity in a Colonial structure. One usually expects low ceilings and small bedrooms, yet here we were running hot water into a large tub in a big room.

“I dunno,” Bridget said, turning on the jets. “I think it’s always been the best room in the inn.”

Of course.

Bridget always goes to the top.

She settled into the bath. I lowered myself in, wrapping my legs around her wide belly.

I sipped bourbon as we talked, late into the night.

We left the fire going as we went to bed.

Her snores came first. Mine followed.

I slept, deep and rich, against her soft flesh.

We managed a long leisurely fuck the next morning before breakfast arrived.

We let it digest as we soaked in another bath.

As we drove home, Bridget took the scenic route, following the course of the Delaware River.

I watched the river’s current broken by the trees passing my window.

“Oh, we’ve come a long way since we met in college,” I sighed.

“Yes, Snooks. Remember dancing with the gay boys at that club?”

“I do indeed. We loved that place.”

“With the outdoor volleyball court?”

“Yes, and the three dance floors.”

She took my hand.

I smiled.

I love our false history.

I mean, no one has to know we meet on Craig’s List two years ago.

Friday, March 03, 2006


I was having a pretty wretched day when I found a letter from my parents in the mailbox.

My mother’s neat cursive handwriting read:

We have been thinking about you and thought you might like to see how smart you are.

We love you
Mom & Dad

Inside the envelope was a letter.

June 21, 1985

Dear Jefferson,

I am writing to congratulate you on achieving a perfect academic record for Spring 1985. As you may know, this outstanding accomplishment qualifies you for inclusion on the Presidential Honor Roll for that term.

Your academic performance is indicative of both diligence and ability, characteristics which will serve you well in all your future endeavors.

Your perfect academic record for Spring 1985 is a source of pride for all members of the administration, faculty and staff.

Please accept my personal congratulations on qualifying for the Presidential Honor Roll. This is indeed a significant achievement.


T. William DeBardeleban, Ph.D.

Also enclosed was a transcript from a time in my life when I knew far more than I now know about German Literature, Trigonometry and Roman Art.

Back when my future was so bright, I had to wear shades.

I sent my folks an email telling them how much I love them.

Where on earth did they keep this letter for twenty years, through four changes of address, four children, ten grandchildren and eight dogs?

I wish I knew how to get in touch with President DeBardeleban.