Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Bus Stop

We were in line for the bus when Lillie noticed an advertisement on the bus stop.

“Dad, why is that lady wearing a chain?”



She’s wearing a chain, honey, so that Daddy won’t think about Daniel Craig quite so often.

Fratmen



Kai

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Last Call

Jimmy exchanged words with the late arrival in the doorway, pointing now and then in my direction.

Randall pulled aside his winter coat and sat on the arm of the couch. “Who’s that?” he leaned to me.

“My next husband,” John replied.

Carlos finished buttoning his shirt, then turned to have a look.

The late arrival strode across the room and stuck out his hand. “So this is your place, eh? I’m Harry, like the prince. Otherwise, not that ‘hairy’ at all, really.”

“Hi, Harry,” I smiled, taking his hand. “Nice to have you here. This is John, and this is Randall.”

John stood and shook Harry’s hand. “Pleasure.”

“Right, nice to meet you as well.”

Randall leaned forward to buss Harry’s cheek. “Hey, sexy.”

“Oh, that’s right nice, innit?” Harry looked around. “So what, I hear I missed the party?”

“Yes, unfortunately . . .” John began.

I put a hand on his thigh. “Yes, unfortunately you missed the rehearsal. The main event is just about to begin.”

Harry laughed.

Randall looked him over. “You know, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“Yeah, I talk fast. That and the accent. East London. Here on business. Telecom.” Harry looked around. “So, what? Do I just undress and we get going? Wham bam, like that, right?”

Carlos appeared by Harry’s side, unbuttoning the shirt he had just put on. “If you’d like, I can give you the tour.”

“Yeah, mate, that’d be great, thanks,” Harry smiled.

Carlos led Harry toward the bedrooms.

Jimmy’s eyes followed. “I see Carlos is making himself right at home.”

“Yeah,” I said, looking after. “Carlos has never been here before, right? I swear, these parties—one minute I’m blowing someone whose name I don’t know, the next we’re making introductions in a shower, and before you know it, he’s moving in with John’s fiancé.”

“That’s the biz, doll,” Jimmy shrugged. “I’m sorry I let that kid in so late, but I thought you and John would enjoy him. He’s cute and all twinky-twink, like you like.”

“Yeah, he so-oo cute,” John agreed.

I looked at him and smiled.

John is the only fellow who regularly attends both my boys-only party and my mixed bisexual party. While his attendance has always been smooth sailing at the mixed party, we initially encountered a little elbow-jabbing at the boy party.

The conflict was a classic one: when it comes to boys, John and I go for the same type. Put us in a room full of attractive, naked, available men, and we’ll hone in on the same one—the smooth bottom twink.

We each like many flavors, but this one melts in our respective mouths.

Over the course of our years of shared orgies, John and I have achieved a kind of natural balance derived from our complementary personalities.

I tend to be outgoing, so I am likely to be the first to get together with a boy we are both eying. I chat him up and bend him over, giving him a good run to his finish line.

John, by contrast, is more retiring. He begins most parties as a wallflower, keeping his boxers in place as he surveys the first rounds of activity. I used to encourage him to jump in, but he would just quietly shake his head. I came to realize that he wasn’t shy; he simply preferred to study a situation before diving in.

Eventually, though, he would show up in the tangle of bodies, nude and revealing his secret—for John possesses a monster cock. It is long and thick and utterly unexpected, as John is otherwise of average build. His delayed presentation is always well timed, like discovering in the third reel that there’s something unusual about that mild-mannered reporter.

Just as my cute lay has recovered from my best pounding, his eyeballs will pop at the rare prospect of taking so grand a cock. I often stand by, offering encouragement and prepared to finish the job when John shoots his load.

When I follow John in fucking someone, I often crack that I should strap a board to my ass so I don’t fall in. It’s a bit like driving a Volkswagen in the wake of a Mack truck.

John and I exchanged glances before following the boys to the bedroom.

Harry was reading titles on my bookcase by the light of candles and porn. Carlos stood smiling next to him.

“Jefferson, I’m really impressed,” Harry said. “You must read a tremendous amount.”

“It’s all décor, meant to impress people I want to get naked,” I replied, taking his arm. “Glad to see it works.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not much to judge by, am I? I get naked remarkably easily.”

“Good to know.” I pushed Harry back on the bed and unbuttoned his jeans. Another button appeared. “You wore button fly pants to an orgy? Christ, Harry, you must have all the time in the world.”

“Do you want my help, then?”

I unfastened the next button. “No, it’s fine. At least you present me with a few challenges.”

I took down his pants and his underwear, and then sat him up to tug his sweater and t-shirt over his head. He was left in a pair of ankle-high white cotton socks. I moved to pull them.

“No, wait,” he said reaching. “I want to leave my socks on, ‘cause my feet get cold.” He paused. “Well, no, that’s not true. It’s just a bit of a fetish, really.”

I smiled. “We do fetish on request. Now shut up and let me get a look at you.”

“Right, then.” He crossed his ankles, propped himself on his elbows, and let his eyes turn to the porn on my television.

I rested a finger on the toe of his sock and let my eye travel up his body. Lean, hairy calves. Runner’s thighs. Thick, uncut cock. Narrow hips. Smooth, thin torso. Long neck. Angular, boyish face. Short wavy hair.

I unfastened my shorts and lifted one of his ankles away from the other. I slowly separated his legs wide apart.

Thanks again, kharma, I thought as I took Harry’s cock in my mouth.

The other boys wasted no time. Harry blew John as he held Carlos’s cock in his hand. Randall had stripped to his white cap and sat stroking his cock at Harry’s scalp.

I closed my eyes, involuntarily. I prefer to watch sex unfold, but my mind often denies my eyes in favor of other senses.

I wrapped my hands around Harry’s waist. They could nearly meet near his middle.

I gave myself over to the cock in me.

“I think this boy wants to be fucked.” I opened my eyes to see John close to my face. I took the cock from my mouth.

“What, already?” I whispered. John nodded to Harry, who was noisily slurping Carlos. He was clearly ready to be sent over the edge.

I also noted that John was very hard.

I nodded and stood. I opened a condom package and reached for the lube. I knew our choreography: I would fuck the twink, pass him to John, then return to close the deal.

I only regretted we were moving so fast—never mind that I had set the pace.

I pulled Harry down so that his ass was curved up. I spread his cheeks as I lubed him. I entered him easily.

“Hmm, you’re tight, Harry. How’s it feel?”

He took the cock from his mouth for a moment—“Go for it, mate”—and switched to Randall’s dick.

Right, then.

I held his socks to my neck as I gave him wide swivels, pulling my hips back and pushing deep.

I was taken by Harry’s enthusiasm and looks. I watched his face as I began to thrust deeper and harder.

He took it well for a while before holding out his hand. “Ow, okay, one second, mate.”

I stopped. “Talk to me.”

“It’s just . . . you’re too big and it’s a bit much all at once.”

“Need a break?”

“Yeah, mate, sorry.”

“No worries, handsome man,” I said, pulling out. “I’m here if you need me.” I bent forward to kiss his navel before excusing myself to the bathroom.

I tore off the condom and washed my groin. I splashed water in my face. I caught a look at myself in the mirror. I was flushed and grinning.

When I returned to the bedroom, John was fucking Harry.

“Oh yeah, mate, harder!” Harry called. “Harder, man!”

I raised an eyebrow to Randall. It’s not often someone tells me I’m “too big” before moving on to John.

I reclined next to Harry, gently stroking his torso, kissing his forehead. Randall put his arm around me.

“Oh shit!” Harry threw back his body. “Shit, I’m cumming!”

John leaned forward, taking Harry’s load full in the face.

I returned to the bathroom for a round of washcloths.

As we sat on the bed coming down from sex, I noticed the time. It wasn’t yet ten. Harry had been at my place for about twenty minutes.

I reclined on a pillow next to Randall. “Don’t you have a date?” I asked.

He scratched his nose. “I think my train is delayed.”

“I hear there’s a lot of construction work,” I sympathized.

“So, how long will you be in New York?” John asked.

“About four months,” Harry said. “I’m just here for work, and, you know, this.”

“Did you say you work in television?” Randall asked.

“Telecom,” I corrected. “Like, ‘telecommunications.’”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, that’s what I said, but that isn’t actually what I do, really. Actually, I’m an escort.”

“Ah,” we replied.

I looked at John. “Think of all the money we saved by fucking Harry for free.”

“I know, now I can afford that new car,” John smiled.

“Is there much money in that?” Randall asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I do all right,” Harry said. “I mean, I’ve got a look the johns go for, don’t I, like a young boy, and in the U.K., I’m sorta famous as a porn star.”

“Ah,” we replied.

“Yeah, so some johns want to fuck the British porn star.”

“What’s your porn name?” Carlos asked.

“Same as my real name, actually. I escort and do porn under my real name. Not smart, maybe, but that’s how I started, so it’s done now.”

“Aren’t you afraid your family will find out?” Randall asked.

“Nah, fuck my family. I mean, I run away at sixteen, so they got no hold on me.”

“Wow, sixteen, that’s so young,” Randall said. “I’m twenty-one and I still live with my parents. But where are you in the U.K.? I have family over there.”

“East London.”

“Hmm, I don’t know where that is. I visited my cousins in Manchester . . .”

“Yeah, that’s not London.”

“I know, I know. I didn’t really like it, but I was in a bad mood anyway. I was engaged to be married . . .”

“You were engaged?” I asked, surprised. “I thought you had no interest in girls at all.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Randall said. “It was an arranged thing. My mother wanted me to marry one of my cousins.”

“How did you dodge that bullet?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I didn’t like her, which she didn’t like. And we were both fifteen, so they kind of had to listen to us . . .”

“You were engaged at fifteen?” Carlos asked. “That’s crazy.”

“We’re Indian,” Randall shrugged. “That’s how my family does it. Where are you from?”

“Puerto Rico. Come to think of it, my cousins married pretty young.”

“Yeah, see?” Randall said.

“Do you like girls at all?” John asked Harry. I knew what he was thinking. This guy was a character. He’d go over well at my bisexual parties.

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, no way. I fucked one once, I think, it was disgusting, but I was so high on coke . . .”

We laughed.

“Seriously, I tell you. Girls is good for one thing and one thing only—you date them to help you get really young boys.”

Randall giggled. “Oh my God.”

“It’s true,” Harry went on. “What do young boys want? To shag some girl. So if you’ve got some fancy girl, all the boys will want to shag her, right? So you say, fine, mate, you can get with her if I get to fuck you.”

We laughed. I choked slightly.

“It works, I’m telling you.”

“I don’t doubt it works,” I coughed. “I’ve just never heard that notion expressed so baldly. You’re a callous genius.”

“No, no,” he shook his head. “I just know how to get young boys.”

“Young boys . . . how old are you?” Randall asked. “You’re my age, right?”

“No, I’m older, twenty three. I just look younger. That’s fine, but I like them really, really young.”

“Like how young?” Carlos asked.

“Well, legal, of course. But that’s different in different places, innit? Here, of course, I go for eighteen year olds. That’s legal. But in the U.K., it’s sixteen, so there I fancy sixteen year olds. Younger than that, you have to go someplace like Morocco or Cuba . . .”

“Ew, you go younger than sixteen?” Randall asked.

“No, no, well, I don’t want children,” Harry said. “Just really, really young boys.”

“Hmm, yeah, well, I like older,” Randall said, stroking my hair. I kissed his ribs.

“Each his own,” Harry shrugged.

“Yeah, Morocco, never been,” Carlos mused. “Of course, Americans can’t go to Cuba.”

“Why?” Randall asked. “They don’t like us?”

I took Randall’s hand. “Baby, honey, where’ve you been?”

“Come on . . . “ he hedged. “Come on, I grew up in a village in India. I don’t know these things. Why, is it about nine eleven and that prison thing?”

I kissed his cheek. “Cuba’s a long story. I’ll tell you some time.”

Jimmy knocked on the door. “Oh, I’m so glad to see the natives are happy. Are you children okay? I’m just about to leave.”

“Yeah, right, I should get going, too,” Harry said, standing. “I’ve got a call tonight.”

“Which way are you going?” John asked. “Maybe we can take the train together.”

We traded contact information after we dressed. Everyone made sure he had Harry’s phone number.

Harry smiled and kissed us each in turn, saying he had a fine time. He assured us he would definitely arrive earlier for the next party.

A week or so later, I decided that I would relate this story on my blog. As Harry is open about his identity, I thought he might not mind being blogged under his real name; with luck, he might even send me a photo to post.

I dialed him up.

“Yeah, hello?” Harry answered in the noisy din of a bar.

“Harry, hello, this is Jefferson . . .”

“Yeah, who is this?”

“It’s Jefferson,” I said, speaking a little more loudly. “We fucked at a party at my place about a week ago.”

“Oh yeah, right! How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Listen, I have a question. I’ve got a sex blog . . .”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you, sorry, mate.”

“I’ve got a sex blog,” I said, enunciating loudly. “I write about sex, you know, real life stuff, things that have happened.”

“Oh cool, that’s great.”

“Thanks. So I’d like to write about meeting you . . .”

“Yeah? Who is this? You’re the bouncer from Wednesday, right?”

“Me? No, I’m not a bouncer. We had a sex party at my place, a private event. There were five of us in one bed, I was the blond, there was an Indian kid—ring any bells?”

Harry paused. “Sorry, when was this?”

“A little over a week ago.”

“Yeah. So anyway, go on.”

“Okay. So I write about real sex, and I usually use pseudonyms. In your case, I wondered if you would like me to use your real name, as you use it in your work.”

“My real name? Oh no, don’t do that. I’d prefer pseudonyms.”

“Okay, that’s fine. I just wanted to check.”

“Thanks.”

We paused.

“Anything else?”

“No, I guess that’s it. Hope to see you at the next party.”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Cheers!”

“Bye, now.”

At the next party, I was blowing Randall when he raised the bill of his cap to look at me.

“Hey, have you heard from Harry? Is he coming tonight?”

I looked up and took his dick from my mouth. “Sometimes, baby, people just pass through this life.” I licked his foreskin. “I’ll explain that sometime—though Cuba will be easier to comprehend.”

Monday, February 26, 2007

Falcon



Roman Heart

Kharma

John had put on his boxers so I pulled on some pajamas. I didn’t want to be the only man left naked.

We sat on the couch watching as the others opened the bags containing their clothes. Randall pulled on his high tops.

“Nine thirty,” I noted. “That’s early for us these days.”

“Yeah, it’s been going so much later,” John agreed.

For a long time, I could count on the boy parties ending somewhere around nine thirty or ten. The men would show up close to seven, undress and cruise; various spots of activity would emerge; there would be ebbs and flows, a burst of money shots, and the men would be off to get on with their evenings.

It was so dependable, I often had dates after the orgies.

But that had changed in the autumn. Jimmy, the party organizer, had felt a need for fresh meat. He revised his website. He hired cute boys to take off their shirts in nightclubs to hand out flyers. He booked porn stars, go-go dancers and escorts as party attractions.

He even laid out a fruit platter.

Jimmy’s gambit paid off. The parties grew in size, with a new crop of top-shelf talent in the mix. As a result, the guys stayed later, hopped up for more of this refreshed sex crowd.

On this particular night, I hadn’t seen much of John, as he was late to arrive. My orgy boy toy Randall had shown up early; he stripped to his underwear and white baseball cap before settling in my lap to catch up. I caressed his long smooth torso and kissed his soft mahogany skin as he talked about his week—the clubs, the job, the family that doesn’t know he’s gay.

“Who can blame them?” he said, tossing his head. “I mean, look at me. Do I look even remotely gay?”

“You are pretty queeny, princess,” I said, patting his hand.

“Yeah, right? Still, my mother is hoping to arrange a wedding.”

“You can’t get married just yet. You are not allowed to lose your virginity with women on your own; that’s my project. I can’t leave so important a task to you—you’ll only fuck it up.”

He laughed. “You still think you can get me to fuck a girl?”

“It’s not as bad as you think.” I smiled at our recurring joke.

“It’s disgusting, Jefferson. But for you, I might do it.”

“You’re good to me,” I said, kissing his shoulder. “Now come on—let’s get this party started.”

He stood from my lap and reached for my hand.

A few men stood in my bedroom, jerking their cocks and watching porn as they stole glances at one another. This is typical of cruising as a party starts. No one wants to make the first move. This hesitation is not due to shyness; the men prefer to check out the full menu before making their selections.

Me, I already knew what I craved.

“Lay on the bed, princess,” I said.

Randall lay back on the pillows, looking around the room at the eyes on him. I dropped my shorts and leaned over to kiss him.

Randall is cute, and we crush on each other a little, so I like to start him off with soft kisses and gentle touches. I want him to feel my genuine affection, and, as we show off for others, I want our audience to see that my princess is well adored and cared for.

I nuzzled my nose down his flat, smooth belly and tugged his waistband. I looked to his face. His eyes were elsewhere, distracted by the other men.

Such endearing narcissism, I thought. I pulled down his underwear. His cock sprang forward.

“Baby, you shaved.” I gently touched the smooth skin that had replaced the patch I was prepared to groom with my tongue.

Randall looked down. “Yeah,” he smiled. “Do you like it? Just trying something new. I’ve got a date later, so I thought, you know, why not?”

“It’s cute,” I said, taking his shorts down his legs. I kissed his knees and thighs, working my way back to his cock. I took its curve into my hand, and brought it to my mouth.

Randall’s cock is lean and long, like his body, and by this time, I had learned it well. I kept him full in my mouth, edged to my throat, luxuriously savoring it on my tongue.

I knew to take slow care, to allow myself the taste and feel of him. If I worked too hard or too vigorously, my princess would take his cock from me. He didn’t want to cum so soon into a party.

I could restrain myself. I wanted his skin on my tongue for as long as Randall could endure it.

As I blew him, I harbored a fantasy: perhaps one day I would ask Randall for a date, just the two of us. I would tie him to my bed and suck him off, again and again, until he was fully depleted. Then, I would kiss him and let him sleep, my eyes alert for nocturnal erections that I would promptly murder with mouth.

It might do the boy good to have his orgasm out of his control. His youthful bubble of self-absorption might pop with each spurt I took.

“Careful, careful,” Randall whispered, taking his cock from my mouth. I had lost track of myself, nearly going too far.

“Sorry,” I said. “Too close, huh?”

He nodded, his eyes returning to the room. It was growing crowded.

“Okay, then you should blow me,” I said. I tapped his thigh and raised myself. “Get up, I want that spot.”

He nodded, sitting up. He turned the bill of his cap to the back.

I pet Randall’s cap as he blew me. Now in his position, I could see why his eyes had been distracted.

There were some hot men milling about.

A cluster had formed near the door. It centered on a giant man with a shaved head, strong features and a well-sculpted body. He was statuesque as he accepted the admiration of the hands and mouths surrounding him.

Two other bald muscle boys were in the cluster. The others were all handsome, one or two in designer underwear that clung to designer bodies.

Randall looked up. He glanced over at the group. “Come on,” he said, sitting up. He reached for my hand.

I took his hand and stood to follow.

I stood behind Randall, my arms wrapped around his body as he moved close. I kissed his neck as the giant reached out to touch my princess’s chest. I prepared to relinquish Randall to the others.

The giant leaned forward. He stretched over Randall’s shoulder to kiss me, full on the lips.

He wrapped his vast arm around my back, pulling us both to him.

As the giant held us in the cocoon of his embrace, his admirers’ hands and mouths swarmed to light on our bodies. In the penumbra of our patron’s imprimatur, Randall and I were now chosen to share in the acolytes’ ravishing attentions.

My chest leapt. I hadn’t expected to be drawn in, to be made to feel so admired for something so simple, and elusive, as beauty.

I rarely lack for confidence; I am content with my appearance. Nonetheless, I would never mistake the fortune of my good looks for the trappings of the truly beautiful, the physical perfection reserved for gay men who parlay hometown handsomeness into tickets to New York, to be feted with gym memberships and Chelsea apartments, porn films and magazine spreads, weekends on Fire Island, gratis, in exchange for the sheer pleasure others gain in simply being able to fawn upon their perfection, shirtless and godlike.

The giant wanted me in the mix of these handsome men, knowing nothing of me but that I pleased his eye. He seemed prepared to hoist me and my princess onto his wide shoulders as ornaments to the pedestal on which he was placed.

I felt the swell of that potential. I could feel beauty surging from its stations in my chest and mind to my face and my body, ready to be visible, to be praised, to be admired, simply for being.

Randall’s eyes closed, ecstatic.

A sober thought chased way the drug of narcissism.

I had made a wish just weeks before, and it had come true—I had been granted all of my birthday blowjobs. It was not right that I should now be elevated to admiration. It was time for me to give something back.

I mean, fair’s fair.

I nested my head against the giant’s neck. I twisted my hair against his skin and slowly twirled my way across his broad chest and ripped torso. I dropped to my knees, gazing up at him, as I licked his cock.

I swallowed him slowly. He was too big for me to take entirely, but I took enough to show that I meant business. I reached to his ass and pulled him in, letting him know he should not hesitate to fuck my face hard.

He began to give it to me.

I reached to my right and took Randall’s cock in my hand. Another man pressed in; I took his cock in my left. I could feel other men closing against my back, pressing themselves to my skin.

I had positioned myself as the cock slut for this assembly. I would have to perform at my best.

I bobbed my face up and down the giant’s shaft, tonguing him with coaxing pulses. He quickly rewarded me by pulling out and shooting on my neck and chest. He grunted in heaves.

I smiled at him as I reached for another cock.

I alternated my mouth between three cocks now, no longer wasting much time on eye contact. I kept Randall’s cock in my right hand as my lifeline. I stroked him gently, keeping him well on edge.

Another man came for me, raining on my shoulders. I was already at work on another man.

Randall pushed close. I turned to his cock and, looking up, took him in me.

I snaked a hand between his legs and up his back. I took his wrist in my hand and brought it with me as I searched out his other. My mouth worked his cock as I pinned his wrists in my grip.

One day, I would have to tell Randall all the ways I am triggering his submission, but for now, this was my secret.

Another man stood behind my princess. He wrapped his arms through Randall’s, reaching to hold his chest.

With my free hand, I reached to pat the man’s leg, signaling my gratitude. We now had Randall locked between us.

I lowered my lips to the base of Randall’s cock, holding him in my throat. Keeping him in place, I took his thigh and lifted it onto my shoulder. His foot dangled over my ass. His weight rested on his other leg.

I shifted slightly, and then lifted his other leg onto my remaining shoulder. Randall gasped as he fell backwards against the other man.

I began to stand.

We now had Randall suspended between us, his arms locked by the other man, his wrists locked in my hand. I bobbed my mouth up and down his cock. My free hand teased across his torso.

Randall was quivering.

I caught the other man’s eye and looked to the bed behind him. I stepped forward, causing him to step back. He sat on the bed, causing Randall’s head to dip downward. His cap tumbled to the floor.

I stepped again, and the man fell back, with Randall splayed over him.

I released my hold on Randall’s wrists and stooped. I took his knees from my shoulders, never letting his cock from my mouth. I rested my forearm across his belly.

He had stopped me before. Now, I wanted his orgasm.

I knew his cock well enough to play his triggers. He made no effort to contain himself.

I sat back, panting as he shot over his body. He moaned as waves left him.

As it subsided, he looked down at me. He smiled. I smiled back.

Smiling, I lifted Randall’s leg, rolled him off the other man, and set myself to sucking my accomplice’s cock.

We had put on some spectacle for other men, who now closed in on the body prone on the bed. They jerked as they watched me blow him, preparing to use the man’s body as their cum dumpster.

He was hard in my mouth. He leaned his head back to take a cock into his own face.

From my vantage, I watched as man after man came on him, covering him in skeins of jism.

I spit out his cock as he reached to finish himself off. His shot topped off the gobs covering him.

I stood and looked down at him. “Shower?”

He laughed. A couple of the guys helped him up and he followed me into the bathroom. I started up the shower pulled him in after me.

My accomplice introduced himself as Carlos.

After our shower, I ran into John in the hallway.

“Oh hey, I didn’t see you arrive,” I said.

“Yeah, you were busy,” he grinned. “You were really going to town in there!”

I nodded. “Just giving back to kharma.”

We sat to talk as the men began to leave.

Randall tied his shoes and came over to kiss us goodbye.

“Have fun on your date tonight,” I said, nuzzling his cheek.

“This better be a good date, if I’m leaving here,” he said, wrapping a scarf around his neck. “At least, if he doesn’t want to have sex, I’ve already taken care of that.”

“Sex before a date.” I tapped my forehead. “Takes the edge off. You’re a smart fellow.”

“Yeah, right?”

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Jimmy went to answer.

“Aw, poor guy,” John winced. “He missed the party.”

“Yeah, tough,” I shrugged. Jimmy would have to get rid of this late arrival; I was looking forward to an early night.

Jimmy opened the door.

John looked at me.

I raised an eyebrow.

Evidently, kharma had been impressed by my offering.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Fratmen



Trevor

Sensuous

He fidgeted as he sat nude on my couch.

I didn’t have much to do at the moment, so I tucked my phone into my pocket and sat next to him.

I extended a hand. “Hey, my name is Jefferson. This is my place.”

He smiled and took my hand. His grip seemed confused in mine. “Hi, I’m Andrew. This is a nice apartment. This isn’t Mister J’s place?”

“Thanks. No, ‘Mister J’ is Jimmy, the guy you met at the door. He organizes these parties, and we co-host them here.” A naked man walked past. He waved at me. I waved back. I turned to Andrew. “I haven’t seen you here before. Have you been to many parties like this?”

Andrew laughed. “Uh, no.”

“Any?”

“Try ‘none.’”

“Well, you picked a good one to start with,” I smiled. “We do this every two weeks, and . . .” My pants began to ring. I retrieved the phone. “Excuse me, Andrew . . . Hello? Yes? And who sent you? Very good . . . come in and take the elevator. Knock so we hear you.” I returned the phone to my pocket.

“That’s a handy pocket,” he grinned.

“Well yes, my pants do have their uses.”

“Do you ever take them off?” he asked.

“Typically, eventually. Jimmy does all the hard work for these parties, but I help with the door. So I stay dressed for a bit at the beginning. Why, were you interested in getting me naked?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. His cock flopped from one thigh to another, waking slightly. I kept my eyes on his.

“Cute, Andrew. How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“Cool. And what are you into?”

He shrugged again. “I haven’t done that much, really.”

I patted his thigh. “Well, let’s take care of that, shall we? You sit tight—let me just relinquish my responsibilities to Mister J.”

Andrew nodded, looking past me as another naked man passed. His cock was now fully alert.

I found Jimmy in the kitchen, processing another guest.

“Okay, sweetie, here’s your bag . . . just take off your clothes and seal them inside so everything will be all nice and secure. Let me write a nametag for it . . .”

I put a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “Can you manage the door? I’m going to, uh, you know . . .”

“Oh sure, doll, of course. Go make the natives happy. Did you see that black boy, the twink with the big dick?”

“We met, yes.” I grinned.

“Doll, I know your type. Go make a man of him.” He turned back to the man stripping in the kitchen. “Your name is Freddy, right? Is that with a ‘y’ or ‘ie?’”

I returned to the couch and held out my hand. “Come with me, Andrew. Let’s watch the action.”

Andrew stood and took my hand. I led him before me, my hands on his shoulders.

My eyes dropped to his firm, high ass.

I led him into my bedroom. Tonight, all the men were congregating there.

I unzipped my shorts and tugged off my t-shirt, tucking them into a closet. I leaned against the wall, pulling Andrew’s wrist. “C’mere, baby, let’s watch together.”

I turned him to face the men on my bed, and pulled him back against me. My belly pressed into his back. I wrapped my arms around his chest, and kissed the back of his ear.

“Do you like the view?” I whispered.

He nodded. “Incredible,” he answered, slightly hoarse.

“Look at that guy kneeling on the bed. Watch the way his back muscles are moving.” My right hand roamed Andrew’s torso. “And the man he’s fucking, that tension in his thigh.” I lowered my hand to Andrew’s thigh. My fingers moved lightly across his flesh.

I kissed his neck as I brushed his erection. He quivered. “Hmm, so responsive,” I murmured. I adjusted so that my own erection fit between his thighs. “Can you feel my response to your body?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Turn around, Andrew.” He turned in my arms. I raised my hands to his face and pulled him into a kiss. His lips were soft. I lightly brushed them with mine, gently flicking his mouth open with my tongue.

He moaned as our tongues met. “You’re so sexy,” he whispered into me.

“You are so beautiful, Andrew,” I answered. “Sweet, sweet Andrew.”

His mouth moved down my neck, kissing my chest and nipples. I flinched impulsively. “God,” he said. He moved his mouth down my belly, slowly, breathing loudly, until he reached my cock.

He licked and teased my belly and thighs. I began to quake at his gentle insistence.

He lowered himself to his knees and sucked me.

I looked down, running my fingers through his short-cropped hair. “That’s so good, baby, so good,” I said, letting my eyes roll back.

Another man stood by my side. We had fooled around before, at another party, though I didn’t get his name. He was tall and Dutch, with a head of thick gray hair. He began to kiss my neck and shoulders, tracing a hand on Andrew’s neck.

“You two are the hottest thing in this room,” he whispered.

“Us three, you mean,” I said. I bit his ear and rested my hand on his lower back. “I’m going to fuck you tonight, ja?

He smiled. “I did hope so, ja, graag.

I nodded. “Andrew, baby? Stand up and come with us.” I kept my hand on Andrew’s shoulder as he stood. He began to kiss me again.

“Come, come,” I said. “You’re going to help me fuck the handsome man.”

I took the pair into another room. As I fucked the Dutchman, Andrew watched, commenting quietly, stopping now and then to kiss me.

“I can’t get over how sexy you are,” he told me.

“Andrew, you just keep talking,” I told him, staying deep inside the Dutchman.

In time, the Dutchman came. He thanked us and left to wash up.

I nodded in reply, already losing myself in Andrew’s kisses. There’s nothing hotter, I thought, than someone so aroused by being so close.

The party thinned out. I didn’t pay any attention.

Jimmy came back to tell me the last guest was gone. I told him to close the door behind him.

I was over Andrew, pressing my cock into his. I fell down to kiss him again. We were alone now.

“I’ve never been with anyone like you,” he sighed.

“There’s no one like me,” I smiled. He laughed. “How many people have you been with, anyway?”

“Three, now. Well, four, of you count the guy you fucked.”

“I like my odds in such a small coterie.” I nuzzled into his neck.

He rolled over me, kissing me. I kept my eyes open to watch him glow in the candlelight, feeling his soft, soft lips on me.

The front door opened and closed.

Andrew looked up. “What was that?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh, that’s my girlfriend,” I replied, kissing his neck.

He pulled back. “Are you serious?” he whispered. “Do I need to hide, or . . .”

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” I smiled, putting a finger to his lips. “She’s used to leftovers.”

Shelby knocked as she pushed open the bedroom door. “Having fun?” she smirked.

“Yes, baby. Come here, this is Andrew.”

“Hey, Andrew,” she said, coming around the bed. “Nice to meet you.” She leaned forward to peck my cheek. “Good party, man?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “I was too busy making out with Andrew to notice.” I held his hand over my chest. He turned to look at me, then back to Shelby.

Shelby sat in a chair and bent to remove her socks. “Ow, ow,” she grimaced.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, just sore. Dinner with Jake got interesting.”

Andrew looked back to me.

“Interesting? How so?” I asked.

“Well, you know we were meeting for Mexican, right? So I wanted to take him out, since he’s nice enough to deal with me while you’ve got your frigging boy party . . .”

“I have to send Shelby away when I have the boys,” I explained to Andrew. “No girls allowed.”

“Oh,” he nodded.

“Yeah, so, anyway, I took the check when it came. So he said, ‘Since you got dinner, I’ll get the hotel room.’”

“Really?” I exclaimed. “Was that the plan?”

“Psssh, no, it wasn’t the plan, or I would’ve told you. So I said, ‘You’re nuts,’ and he said he knew a place right there on Saint Mark’s . . .”

“Let me ask you: did Jake choose the restaurant?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. Her brow furrowed as she processed that detail.

“Damn, he’s good. Okay, go on.”

“So he says he can get a room for an hour and says he wants me to blow him. I said, ‘No effing way unless you fuck me, too.’ So he said all right.”

“Uh huh,” I said, wrapping my hand on Andrew’s cock. He was hard from her story.

“So that’s it. We got a room, and we had sex. So now I’ve been fucked in a rent-by-the-hour hotel. Now I’m a real whore.” She laughed.

“As if there were any remaining doubt,” I said, stroking Andrew.

“Seriously.” She squirmed in the chair. “But he did that rough shit, so I’m out of commission. Nothing left for you, Jefferson.”

“We’ll try tomorrow morning,” I winked. “I’m glad you had fun.”

Andrew laughed. “You two have a very interesting relationship,” he said.

“You don’t know the half of it,” I said, squeezing him. “But now that my girl is home, I need to get rid of you. Let me get you off and send you away.”

I rolled him on his back and lowered my mouth to his cock.

“Don't you want to play?” Andrew asked Shelby.

“No way, man, I’m broken. Have fun.” She sat back to watch.

I bobbed my head on Andrew’s cock, taking him to my throat. Andrew wriggled as my fingers caressed his body. “He’s most sensuous man I’ve ever met,” he sighed to Shelby.

“Yeah, he likes sex,” she agreed.

I was aware of Shelby’s eyes on me as I demonstrated what I had learned from her many lessons on my body.

“Look at this cock,” I gasped, coming up for air. “This boy is huge.”

“Black boys have big dicks, man,” Shelby nodded. “Anyway, I’ve seen enough big dick for one night.”

I blew Andrew to the best of my abilities, but after a while, I threw in the towel.

“All right, kid,” I said, kissing his belly. “You need to skeedaddle.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, sitting up. “Well, thanks for a fun night.”

I kissed him. “Here’s to more.”

He chatted with Shelby as he dressed. He leaned to kiss her cheek awkwardly, uncertain of the etiquette of departures in such circumstances. I put on shorts to walk him out.

We traded phone numbers and kissed at the door.

Shelby was standing when I returned, dropping her bra to the chair. She unzipped her jeans.

“Cute kid,” I smiled, lowering my shorts.

She wriggled her jeans down her bare hips. “He’s too young for you, Jefferson,” chastised my jailbait girlfriend.

Fratmen



Gus

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Contrarian

Emma was in bed, nude, with Kurt Vonnegut.

“Now, there’s a sight for sore eyes,” I smiled, unfastening my belt.

She looked up. “Hey.” Her eyes drifted back to her book.

I watched her read as I undressed. I tossed my socks on top of my other clothes, lifted the blanket, and got into bed. I shifted closer, pressing my flesh to hers, wrapping an arm across her waist.

She was propped against pillows so that, as I settled in, I found her breast level with my lip. I kissed her nipple.

“Hmm, man, have I missed you,” I sighed, squeezing her almost involuntarily. My muscles were eager to be reacquainted with her body, to be reset as calibers of her precise shapes and forms.

“I’ve missed you too,” she mumbled to her book.

“Keep reading,” I said, burrowing my hair on her arm. “I’m content to be close to you, smelling you.” I licked her shoulder. “Grrrr, fuck, I miss this skin.”

“It’s okay, I can read later,” she said, folding down a page. She put the book to a side. “I can’t be with you later, so Kurt can wait.”

I lifted my lips to her cheek.

I hadn’t touched Emma in nearly two months.

Last year, we were all over each other. If we found a few spare hours, we spent them in bed. In our queer way, we were each attracted to the idea that neither of us made many demands on the other. Apart from our time together, we each had very full lives.

Neither of us seemed to need the other to be fulfilled—and that made us want each other all the more.

Being with Emma was easy.

Then, it got hard.

I was away for much of the summer. When I returned, she was gearing up for a return to school in the fall. We stole away for a weekend upstate.

We swam, read, cooked on a grill, made love, and unraveled our relationship.

One morning shortly after sunrise, we sat nude, looking out over a lake.

“I give it until Labor Day,” she said, tucking her knees under her chin.

“What?” I asked, petting her blonde hair.

“Us.”

“No,” I said, firmly. “You don’t push me away. We can ride out your semesters in school . . .”

“You don’t know how I am in school,” she said, turning to me. Her eyes welled. “I’m going to be very focused on that. I won’t want to socialize, ever. I’m saying goodbye to all my friends. I can say goodbye to you, too.”

I kissed her shoulder. “I’m not saying goodbye to you,” I whispered. “You’re going to need someone now and then, to hold you, to cook for you, to be there for you. You already have me. Don’t squander that. I’ll fit myself around your schedule—no pressure, no demands—just whenever you can see me.”

She relented, but she remained dubious.

Back in the city, we pulled out our calendars. She gave me her work and class schedule, and I pondered my nights of parenting, work and orgies. We coordinated our dates for the next four months. They weren’t many, and some would begin late. I agreed that we would always meet at her place in Brooklyn, so that she could come home from class at night and wake up the next morning to prepare for work.

I offered myself as Emma’s comfort man; to be there for her when she was exhausted, to care for her and to restore her for her next grueling day.

I barely made the grade.

Some nights were fine. I would arrive carrying a bottle of wine and we would unwind to television and dinner before making love and passing out.

Some nights, I was late. She would watch television, dinner waiting, as she wondered when I would be there, knowing I was coming from another date or another orgy.

One rainy night around ten, I traveled an hour by subway only to find that her buzzer wasn’t working. I hadn’t known it was broken; neither did she. My cell phone was back at my place, and I couldn’t recall her number. I looked up at the light in her window, rain falling in my eyes, not knowing how to let her know that I was on the sidewalk waiting for her.

I finally took the train back home and sent an email, not wanting to wake her. She replied; she wasn’t sleeping.

Having me as her comfort man proved small comfort to Emma. With everything else in her life, she didn’t need the added stress of someone who couldn’t seem to manage his commitment to our schedule.

She declined to renew my offer for the next semester.

One day in January, she let me know that she had a few hours for me. I readily accepted.

She even put aside Kurt Vonnegut for me.

I kissed Emma hungrily. She parted her lips slightly for me, knowing how I long for her kisses.

I held the nape of her neck in my palm as I entered her.

“Oh God, Emma,” I breathed.

“Jefferson,” she said, resting her hand on my chest. “Did you eat onions today?”

I moved myself in and out of her body. “Uh, I guess, maybe. I had a burrito for lunch.”

“And you didn’t brush your teeth before sex?”

“I guess I neglected to do so.” I panted into my palm and sniffed. “Is it that bad?”

She wriggled her nose. “Yes, you need to take care of that.”

“Seriously? We’re fucking here.”

“Not so long as you smell like onions, we’re not.”

“Fine.” I pulled out and kissed her cheek, keeping my lips tightly pursed. “I’ll be right back.”

I stood over the bathroom sink, scrubbing intently. I looked down as my cock shriveled, puckering latex and flesh. I spit, rinsed a mouthful of Listerine, and spit again.

I examined my teeth in the mirror. Spotless.

I returned to bed. “All better,” I smiled. I breathed into her neck. “I’m minty, minty fresh.”

“That’s better, thank you.” She rested her hands on my back. I took a breast in my mouth, felling myself grow hard again.

I held the nape of her neck in my palm as I entered her, again.

I kissed her cheek, her forehead, her heavy-lidded eyes. “Oh Emma, my God,” I sighed.

“Is that as hard as you can get?” she asked.

I looked down at her. “I’m plenty hard. I’m fucking you very well.”

She shrugged. “If you say so.”

“You have a funny way of getting a man hard,” I said. “Can you just shut up and fuck, please?”

I moved in her. She lay back, letting me go at it.

I kissed her hair.

“Seriously, you need to get harder. I can’t feel anything.”

I stopped in her body. “Here’s a thought. How about you make yourself useful and blow me?”

“No, no,” she shook her head. “I’m not going to be one of your idiotic ‘birthday blowjobs.’”

I laughed. “Come on, that’s a fun idea, no?”

“It’s ridiculous,” she said. “Stupid college humor.”

I rested my head on my palm, keeping myself in her. “Now, how is that college humor?”

“It’s what frat boys do,” she said, brushing her hair from her face. “Keeping score? That’s sophomoric. I expect better of you.”

“Come on,” I kissed her cheek. “Suck my cock.”

“No.”

“I didn’t realize you took my blog so seriously,” I teased.

“Jefferson, I stopped reading blogs in September. I don’t care about your blog. Someone told me about your birthday blowjobs, and I want nothing to do with it.”

“Gossips. Fine, then.” I settled myself over her. “We’ll just have to fuck.”

“Are you up to it?” she asked.

“Ball breaker,” I whispered, kissing her neck.

I pushed back and forth in her. She held my shoulders.

“Don’t you have a cock ring?” she interrupted.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got a couple,” I said, petting her face. “Your eyes are so pretty.”

“Where are they?” she asked, looking around.

“I think they are in a box in the cabinet, across the room.”

“Can you go get one?”

“Emma . . .”

“Please.”

“Urgh.”

Once more, I pulled out of Emma. I walked across the room and retrieved a box of sex toys.

If Emma was after an immediate erection, she knew that cock rings were a quick fix. They restrict the flow of blood, trapping it in an engorged cock.

“Here we go,” I said. “I’ve got this rubber one, which is too tight, and this leather one, which I’ve never used.”



Cock Ring


“Let’s try the leather one,” she said.

“You have to put it on me,” I said, laying back on the pillows. “This is your idea.”

“This wouldn’t be an issue if you had a sufficient erection.”

“This wouldn’t be an issue if you would stop busting my chops,” I said, my voice edging to irritation.

Emma gathered my balls and cock in her hand and wrapped the leather strap around my genitals. She pulled the strap snug—almost too snug—and snapped it into place.

My cock and balls flopped over a sturdy base.

“Is this comfortable?” she asked, stroking me to hardness.

“Yeah, now if you’ll just suck it a little . . .”

She raised an eyebrow. “Not happening, Jefferson.”

I scowled. “I fucking hate you.”

“It’s about time,” she said, her eyes flashing. “About time you grew a pair.”

“Get on your back, wiseass.” My cock was full and growing purple.

“Yeah?” she sat back. “You ready to fuck, finally?”

“Shut the shit up,” I grimaced, entering her.

I held her thighs in my grip, pinning her in place as I took her through her first orgasm. I demanded another.

I could feel her orgasms begin to shudder on my cock in quick succession, her pussy quivering as her eyes grew round. Each orgasm was punctuated by her accelerated groan as her cunt pushed against me, threatening to expel me from her body.

I held my ground.

We had about half an hour remaining. I wanted all she could give.

The blanket was soaked as I pushed her legs aside. “Enough?” I asked.

She nodded, breathing heavily. The ends of her hair were wet with sweat.

I lay beside her, taking her fingers in mine. I caught my breath as I stroked a fingernail with my thumb.

I closed my eyes. Stop pushing me away, I thought.

She looked at me and said it was time to go.

Monday, February 19, 2007

Fleshbot and Bikinis

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot peels back the wrapping on novelty, for those who enjoy their smut with the scent of “new sex.”

Speaking of novelty, my ten-year-old son Collie got his first dose of softcore this week, courtesy of Time, Inc. His favorite magazine, Sports Illustrated, went girly on him, and he didn’t like it, not one bit.

We returned home from school with the usual flurry of activity. It was freezing. I was carrying the two bags of games and stuffed animals that follow the children from one home to the other as they move from parent to parent. Collie and Lillie were bickering. They each had to go to the bathroom, and they argued about who would go first.

“I’m a girl and girls can’t wait,” Lillie complained.

“Boys can’t wait, either,” Collie countered. “That’s sexist.”

“Don’t say ‘sexist,’ I’m only seven,” Lillie admonished.

“Can you two hold it together?” I asked, dropping the bags. “Let me get the mail and you can each have a turn in the bathroom.” I took off a glove, unbuttoned my coat and reached one numb hand into a pocket. The keys were in another pocket, so I pulled off the other glove with my teeth and repeated the process.

“Dad, can you please hurry?” Collie whined.

“Jud a mibute,” I said, biting my glove. I reached into the mailbox and retrieved a stack of bills, circulars and two magazines. I shoved the gloves into my coat pocket. “Here, sweetie, your Sports Illustrated has arrived—two issues this week.”

“Cool,” Collie smiled, taking the magazines.

“Anything for me?” Lillie asked.

“Nothing today, sweet.” I lifted my totes and we made our way to the elevator.

“Gross, what is this?” Collie said. He stared down at Beyoncé squatting on a beach in a bikini.

“Oh, it must be the swimsuit issue,” I said, taking off my hat. “It comes out every year.”

“Let me see,” Lillie asked.

“Lillie, it’s not appropriate,” Collie argued. The magazine shifted in his hand, and out fell an extended hairy leg. “Gross, there’s a naked man in here!”

“There is?” I asked, looking over. “Why would there be a naked man . . . ?”

“Let me see!” Lillie grabbed.

“No, Lillie, stop it!” Collie pulled away.

“Guys, guys, can we hold it together? We’re almost home.”

The elevator door opened. Lillie raced ahead, shouting. “Dad, hurry, I have to pee!”

“Honey, shhhh. The neighbors don’t need to know everything.”

Collie and Lillie shed their coats, hats, gloves and backpacks, and raced to the bathroom. Collie got there first, locking the door.

“Dad!” Lillie whined.

“Hurry up, Collie,” I called. “Your sister is waiting.”

I put away my hat, ran my scarf into the sleeve, and hung my winter gear in the closet. I unlaced my snow boots.

Lillie made her way into the bathroom as I put on hot chocolate and coffee.

With the children settled down with their cups, I made my way to the restroom before changing from my cold jeans.

That’s when the bickering resumed.

“No, Lillie, stop it!”

“I just want to see!”

“It’s not appropriate, Lillie! I’m throwing it away.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Dad is!”

“Put down the magazine,” I called from my bedroom, half undressed. “I need to look at the magazine before anyone does.”

“See?” I heard Collie say, satisfied.

“Drop it, Collie,” I called back.

I got the kids going on their homework. As Collie added fractions, I sipped coffee and flipped through the magazine.

It was the usual annual showing. Skinny young women in bikinis, some of them famous, all of them arching their backs, biting their lips and posing in the usual alluring ways.

Sure enough, Burt Reynolds was the nude male centerfold, in a reprint of his pose for Cosmopolitan three decades ago.

Cosmopolitan, I mused, sipping slowly. I remember sixth grade, locked in my parents’ bathroom, masturbating to my mother’s Cosmos . . .

“Dad, what’s one seventh plus four fifths?”

“Hmm?” I closed the magazine and put down my cup. “Right, can I look at that?”

Later that evening, Lillie snuck a peek at Sports Illustrated. “Oooh, sexy . . . ,” she grinned.

“Yeah, it’s pictures of ladies in swimsuits,” I nodded. “Is it all that interesting?”

Lillie looked at me. “It’s so sexy, right?”

I shrugged. “What do you think?”

She dropped the magazine. “Do you want to watch ‘Full House?’”

“No, baby,” I said. “I need to do dishes. You go ahead.”

She picked up her stuffed animal and ran off.

I picked up the magazine and flipped through it once more. I tossed it on the coffee table, next to National Geographic.

I wasn’t going to trash it just yet. After all, I’ve got a thirteen-year-old boy.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Wisdom Lingers

We made love and we slept.

The next morning, we made love and we woke.

We made love, we ate pancakes, we made love.

We made love, and she was gone.

I had asked her to let me know when she was back on campus. I took a shower, changed the sheets, and readied for my next date.

She dropped a line when she was safely arrived. It took longer than expected, but I didn’t worry. I recalled that she had originally arranged to phone a friend when she first arrived at my place, a precaution against the contingency that I might prove to be a predatory ax murderer.

Her phone began to sing moments after we met.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” I asked, as her incessant ring tone interrupted our fucking.

She looked up at me with eyes I couldn’t see. “No,” she said, pulling me back into a kiss.

Eventually, she got around to reassuring her friend that her Manhattan assignation was no assassin.

Mind you, by the time she got around to doing so, her body could’ve been deposited in swamps across northern New Jersey.

So I wasn’t surprised that she took her time to let me know she was back in her dorm. Not long after, she followed with a note reflecting on our weekend together.

I must remark briefly on the enveloping surreality that has accompanied my return to normal existence. Between the divergence of our brief, intense tryst from my quotidian routine, its disparity with my paltry previous experiences, and the mendacity that I have employed in (not) relating to my friends the weekend's activities, I am often almost convinced that those days were merely a phantasm. Then, though, in the shower, my gaze flows with the water down my exposed body, to my breasts, my thighs, where the bruises you made with your fingers and teeth are rouged by cascading heat. Inchoate feelings of impropriety urge me to turn my eyes to the tiled floor. Shyly, though now unobserved, my hand lifts to stroke the purplish swell around a nipple, pain blossoming into a gasp as the sensitive skin yields under my touch, and I swallow tremulously and I realize my throat still aches, and I remember.

I can't comment on what attracted you to me, apart from my being warm and willing and enticingly young. Personally, I decided to fuck you—you, in particular—because in addition to your many enviable virtues (already enumerated at the behest of Wilson, our brief acquaintance), you were discrete. Utterly divorced from my circle of acquaintances, in another state, another age group, you—I thought, smiling at my cleverness—were the perfect means to explore sexually without fear of social repercussions or reprisals. This would be a tiny sanctuary of inhibition in a life defined largely by its boundaries: schedules, due dates, requirements, and the ubiquitous constraints of expectations. Awash in prevenient self-congratulation, I failed to notice that one constant straddled both environments—myself. The quiet, simple I: too intimate to take account of separately, too integral, that insidious ligament which lashes together this memory and that, erecting a bony frame on which identity is hung, stretched tight like muscles and skin. I suddenly feel like a walking, breathing dichotomy (Nicole who fucks strangers, meet Nicole the nascent philosophe), and it is a struggle to integrate the parts of myself into a semi-coherent whole. Like the fairy-tale prince challenged to scale a mountain of glass, I don't know where first to fix my grasp, let alone how to reach the summit.

Exacerbating this inner schism, I can't discuss my thoughts with the students matriculating here; they are largely fifth-generation plutocrats whose banal moral compasses were willed to them with their trust funds. Most trot from point to point along the narratives of pre-authored biographies, silently obliging as their personalities are scraped away like excess ink. Clouds of smug complacency screen them from self-reflection, as though they have been obscurely influenced by the livestock of neighboring pastures, the cows and goats that drowse through life in a haze of cozy flatulence. They hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

Ack, I must be feeling sentimental if this is a Tennyson day. Sorry for the protracted epistle, but I really felt the need to vent. Silly, silly you, in a post-coital semi-stupor, offered yourself up as a target.

So, how are you, hon? I hope not quite as existential as your erstwhile jailbait-flavored lay.

Nicole


I read the note a few times, admiring its craft (the correct distinction between “discrete” and “discreet,” the use of a word, “prevenient,” that was new to me and my spell check, and that splendid sentence that begins with the phrase “the quiet, simple I”) even as I mentally translated it.

Behind a thicket of eloquence as deliberately considered as the hair hiding its author’s face, the note articulated a thought buzzing in Nicole’s mind—what the fuck, man?

In our brief time together, we had opened a new, intimate reality in her life, a bubble of sex and pleasure populated only by two lovers, no matter the witnesses, no matter the surroundings.

Most of our time had been spent nude, limbs around one another, skin touching, minds racing.

This lovers’ intimacy feels rare, though nearly everyone has experienced it, and every poet tries to describe it. Nicole had known it in literature. Now, she knew it in her body.

Yet, as she wrote, there she was, back in her familiar surroundings. Here was the laundry that still needed to be done. Here was the friend down the hall, waving. There was the book she was reading, just where she left it. Her toothbrush was returned to its usual place.

Her mind was settling into the commonplace, even as it sorted memories and sensations that had no previous templates. Now and then, there were reminders—a soreness, a bruise—that confirmed that her memories, jumbled as they may be, were real. All of this had happened.

All of this had happened, because she had dared.

She had planned to allow herself to be daring under proscribed conditions—a distant bedroom, a lover outside her cohort, intellectual curiosity in the place of emotional entanglement. As she wrote, she came to realize that the one constant in her algorithms—herself—was the unfactored common denominator.

Her daring had left her changed. Her change would be more durable than the memories, bruises and welts she had collected as souvenirs.

I know the feeling. I can recall it from the first time I felt it. I feel it renewed now and then.

After Nicole’s visit, I promptly finished my Bing Crosby biography. I picked up a copy of The Adventures of Augie March.

I figured I should get to know Esther.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Lambda Rising




I vividly recall my first forays into Lambda Rising.

I was a young man, not long out of high school, and self-conscious enough about my sexuality that I grew flush with the worry that I might be spotted walking into a bookstore adorned by a giant rainbow flag.

Inside, among the shelves, I relaxed as my eyes drifted the familiarity of book spines, my mind registering the revelations of encountering an author’s name in this context. Zora Neale Hurston was gay? Virginia Woolf was gay? Gore Vidal? Paul Bowles? James Baldwin?

I would gradually catch on that Lambda Rising did not exclusively stock titles by gay authors, but certainly boasted more books, on a variety of subjects and in many genres, of concern to the gay and lesbian community.

Since then, that community has been redefined as GLBTQ, a term more inclusive of queers like me. And in that time, Lambda Rising has opened shops in three additional towns, granted annual literary awards and established an online store.

Now, to come around full circle, Lambda Rising’s doors are now open from my own writing. When you shop their website by using the link above, or at left, you support One Life, Take Two.

It’s an impressive inventory, whether your tastes run to the prelapsarian male camaraderie of the Navy in World War II . . .



. . . or interplanetary colonies peopled exclusively by female pioneers.



You can uncover the circumstances that made strange bedfellows of W. H. Auden, Carson McCullers and Gypsy Rose Lee . . .



. . . or ride Hooters Air, perhaps to a soft-core film shoot.



Looking over my shoulder, you might read the coming-of-age novel that I found at Lambda Rising when I was coming of age, and still quote to this day, when my age has long since come . . .



. . . or you might choose another coming-of-age book set in Chicago, a novel that led a young woman to present herself to me as “Esther.”



Saul Bellow was gay? No, but see, that’s the beauty of it. The community is eclectic, and Lambda Rising reflects that.

Shop Lambda Rising and support community-based independent booksellers.

Happy reading.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

Intimate Gifts

Some readers have asked how they could recreate the events recounted in my previous post. It’s simple! Here’s all you need.

One hourglass teenager.

One male model.

. . . and these two items, acquired from my friends at Intimate Gifts.



Ultra Harness Two




Crystal Jelly

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Dance the Orange

I held Nicole close as we kissed. Wilson was on his knees, watching and exploring her body with his hands.

“What’s this on your ass?” he asked.

Nicole turned to look at him. “My stripes.”

“She took a caning last night,” I explained, rolling my fingers down her spine. I kissed her nose. “And a flogging.” Another kiss. “And a spanking.” Another kiss.

“Hot, man,” Wilson said. His hand gently ran up her back, touching me as our hands crossed paths. “And these circles?”

“My markings,” Nicole said.

“I bite her,” I explained.

“And here?” he touched her bruised left breast.

“My spots,” Nicole said.

“I grab her,” I explained.

“That’s so hot,” he said. “Do you like it when he takes you like that? When he gives it to you rough?”

She nestled into my neck. “Very much.”

I turned to kiss her, taking a cheek in my palm.

“You two are so gorgeous together,” the gorgeous man said. He nodded to the camera on my nightstand. “Would you like me to take some pictures?”

“That would be nice,” I murmured into her mouth. I closed my eyes, intent on her kiss and touch as the flash pinkened the insides of my lids.

“So hot,” Wilson repeated. “So sexy.” Our male model was an encouraging photographer.

I opened my eyes. “I want photos of you with Wilson,” I said, brushing away her hair. “You are both such pretty creatures.”

“Sure,” she said. “What do you want us to do?”

“I want you to kiss him and ignore me,” I said. I put her hand in Wilson’s. I leaned forward to kiss her goodbye. I left the bed.

I adjusted some lights. I sat quietly, watching, making myself invisible.

I walked around the bed, looking for angles.

I shot still after still.



Wilson took Nicole into rough kisses. She responded with the fervor we had tapped.

I took photographs.

In time, I put down my camera and sat next to the writhing couple.

“Wilson,” I said, petting his hair. “You are here to do something for us.”

He looked up from Nicole’s breast. “I wondered if you had forgotten.”

“My memory is very good where some things are concerned,” I said, wrapping an arm around Nicole’s neck. “Suck my dick, handsome man.”

He looked up at Nicole. “Do you want to watch me suck his cock?”

“Yeah,” she said, resting a hand on my belly.

“Say it.”

“Yeah, I want to watch you suck that cock,” she said, flatly.

“Yeah? You gonna get wet watching me suck that cock? That cock that fucks you?” He took my cock his large hand.

I giggled. Nicole looked up. I laughed at her expression.

“I’m sorry,” I said, biting my lip. “Dirty talk makes me laugh. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Proceed.”

Nicole slapped my stomach. She looked down at Wilson. “Yeah, I want to watch you suck that big cock. I want you to lick my pussy off his dick. Now shut the fuck up and do it.”

I squeezed Nicole’s arm. Locked away in her extensive vocabulary was one nasty trash-talking bitch.

Wilson smiled, turned on by her dominance.

He took my cock his mouth, bobbing his head furiously.

“Oh, nice, nice,” I sighed. “Girl, you make that cocksucker work.” I placed her hand on the nape of his neck, nodding that she should press down.

“Take it all,” she ordered.

“Yeah, boy,” I added. “This little girl just started sucking cock and she’s got you beat. You going to be bested by a teenager?”

His eyes were wide as he pumped more furiously.

“Deep, God damn it,” I said, pressing down on his neck with Nicole’s hand.

He plunged down, gagging. “Fucking amateur,” I chided.

“Swallow it,” Nicole ordered.

He grunted, working furiously as drool pooled on my balls. I rested my hands on his freckled shoulders, feeling his tense muscles.

Nicole picked up the camera, snapping as he blew me. He performed for her, aroused by the risk he took by sucking cock for her lens.

She passed the camera to me. I shot him again.

“We may need to do something different with this one,” I said, putting aside the camera. “I think he needs a lesson.”

Nicole looked at me. “You want me to blow you so he can learn?”

“No,” I said. “I want him to suck your cock.”

Wilson looked up at me. “Get off my dick, boy.” I grabbed his hair.

He pulled off, gasping. Spittle connected his lips to my cock. “That’s good and wet,” I said, stroking with his drool, aiming my cock into his lips. “You’ve got promise, cocksucker. Let’s see what you can do for the girl.”

I swung a leg over his head and stood. I went to a cabinet and found my other cock.

“Come here, Nicole.” She joined me beside the bed.

“Oh shit, are you kidding?” Wilson said. “That’s so hot, man.”

“You’ve never used a strap on, I assume,” I asked Nicole, kneeling before her. I kissed her sandy curls.

“No, never,” she said.

“Another virginity, gone. Step into these straps.” I stood, adjusting the straps on her hips. “Comfortable?” I asked, standing behind her.

“Yes, that feels fine.”

“Good.” I put my hands on her hips, gyrating them. “Now wiggle your cock for the boy.”

Wilson moved forward on the bed.

“You think you can handle my dick, Wilson?” Nicole asked.

“Oh my God, you are so hot,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“And you are so redundant,” she said, moving forward. “Suck this.” Nicole dropped her cock into his mouth, thrusting.

It took her a moment, but she shortly had the feel for fucking with her new cock.

“Flip him,” I said. “I want his ass.”

Nicole lay back on the pillows. Wilson lay between her legs on his belly, sucking her.

“Raise your ass, boy,” I said, grabbing his hip.

He complied, his body writhing.

I slapped his muscular ass. “Hold it steady, boy.” He steadied himself for a moment before his instincts took over, causing him to push and twist his hips.

I lubed a finger, slipping it into him.

“He’s never been fucked,” I told Nicole.

“Is that true?” she asked Wilson.

He grunted.

“Do you want to see him get fucked?” I asked, stroking my cock.

“I would really like that,” Nicole nodded.

“Tell him,” I said.

She held Wilson’s face in her hands. “I want to see you get fucked. I want you to get fucked while you suck my dick.”

Wilson looked at her, his eyes wide, and nodded, taking her cock deep.

“Such a good boy,” I said, taking my finger from his ass. I rolled on a condom, lubing his hole. I held his hips. “God damn it, stop moving so much,” I ordered. I spanked him.

He was still. “Good boy,” I repeated. I put my cock against his hole and pressed in slightly.

He fell forward, away from me.

“You fucking pussy,” I reprimanded. “That girl took her first ass fucking last night with no complaints. And you shy from it?” I spanked him. “Look at you, a big, muscular grown man, a bigger wuss than a teenage girl.”

He sucked her cock furiously.

I was talking tough, but I knew I had to try a different approach. I wanted him to get this if he could take it, and I wanted Nicole to see anything she wanted to see.

I raised his hips again. I gave him a finger, gently working his hole. I reached for his cock and pulled it back. I blew him as I worked his hole.

Wilson’s head was exploding with sensation. He had Nicole’s thick cock fucking his face, my mouth fucking his cock, and my finger fucking his ass.

Sudden he jumped up. He sprung off the bed.

“Fuck man, what was that?”

“A second finger,” I smiled. “Too much?”

“Holy shit, man. Is that what it’ll feel like when you fuck me?”

“No. That’s what it will feel like when I fuck you with two fingers. A cock is different.” I stood up. “Here, let’s try something else. Get back on the bed, on your back.”

“Are you going to fuck me?”

“No.” I reached for a box under my nightstand. “She is.”

“With that?” he exclaimed, pointing to her cock.

“No,” I said, sitting up. “With this.” I held up a lean dildo, slightly smaller than my cock. “Spread your legs, Wilson.” I picked up a condom and handed the lube to Nicole.

“Grease his hole,” I told her.

She looked down. She had never played with a man’s ass.

“Here, baby.” I lifted his smooth, shaved balls to expose his smooth, shaved perineum. “He’s got a very sweet pussy, Nicole. Very lucky for your first.” I took her fingers in mine. “Now, lube his hole like this, pressing in . . . good, firm but not too much . . . keep your nails away . . .”

Wilson groaned. “You all right, Wilson?” she asked.

His eyes were wide again. “Yes, yeah, God you are so hot.”

I smiled. “You’ve got him in your power, pale eyes. Okay, so now push in this dildo. There will be some resistance at his sphincter and he will push back. Then, press forward to clear that. Okay?”

“Right,” she said. She positioned the dildo on his hole and began to push.

“Oh, fuck!” Wilson groaned. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Good,” I said calmly. “Now press through.”

Nicole pushed passed his resistance. His face opened in amazement.

“Oh my God,” he gasped. “Oh my God, oh fuck, yeah.”

“Good.” I kissed Nicole. “Feel your way.” I leaned to her ear. “In a moment, you can fuck the shit out of him,” I whispered.

She nodded. “Right.”

His mouth dropped open as he watched her work him. Her hair was pushed away from her face. She was silent as her unearthly eyes bored into his.

She started to fuck him hard.

I took photographs.

He took a long, solid fucking from the gorgeous girl with the insistent cock.

We rested afterwards. I closed a door and opened windows, allowing them to smoke in my bedroom.

Wilson mentioned a recent divorce. Nicole asked about that. Wilson said that he had been married for ten years without much of a sex life. Now, he was amazed by how great sex could be.

“Sounds like someone I know,” she said, looking at me.

“I can’t get over you two,” Wilson said, sitting on a chair. “You seriously just met?”

“Yeah, yesterday,” Nicole said, taking a drag. “Well, after a correspondence.” I sat against her body, caressing her hips.

“And you just came to the city to see him?” he said, flipping an ash.

“Yeah.”

“Why? What made you want to meet an older man?”

She reached to the ashtray. “Well, he’s a writer. He writes about sex, and writes about it well. I wanted sex like the sex he writes about.”

“So you like it that he’s a writer?”

“Yeah,” she exhaled. “And experienced.”

“So it’s cool that he’s older?”

“I prefer it, actually. But I like that he’s smart. And, well . . . look at him.”

I grinned. Wilson laughed.

“Yeah, that’s good too. So, what happened when you got here? Did you meet someplace or go out or . . .”

“No, I just came here.”

“And what happened?”

“Well, he opened the door. And then he undressed me . . .”

“Just like that?” Wilson took another cigarette. “Just like that? He undressed you? What were you wearing? Anything sexy?”

“She looked so incredible,” I said.

She squeezed my leg.

“Seriously? I bet. Hey, can you go put on what you were wearing?”

“What, now?” Nicole said. “Sure, no problem.” She put out her cigarette and left the room.

Wilson watched her leave.

“You are one lucky man,” he grinned.

“I’m well aware of that,” I smiled. “And thanks for joining us. You’ve been great. Very respectful.”

“I know I’m lucky to be here, man.”

Nicole returned to the bedroom door, looking just as she had when she first arrived at my front door. She wore her heels, her cap and her coat closed.

“Wow, so you showed up in heels?” Wilson said, standing.

“Yes, I thought that was a nice touch,” she said.

“And so what did he do? Take your coat?” Wilson reached for her lapel.

“Yes, the coat was the first to go.”

Wilson took her coat, tossing it on a chair. “And what next? The hat?”

“Very good. It was the hat that was next to go.”

Wilson took her hat. “I bet the shirt was next.”

“You are a mind reader,” she nodded.

I watched as Wilson relived the first moments I had spent with Nicole, mentally jotting details, thinking it was amusing that I would later write the same scene twice, but with different male leads.

Soon, Nicole was nude but for her heels.

“Did he leave the heels for last?” Wilson asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh, yeah. They look so hot,” he said, holding her waist. “That’s just what I would’ve done.”

“Evidently,” she said, kissing him.

I left them alone. I went to the bar and poured a bourbon.

When I returned, I watched them take one last tumble. I put down my glass and picked up my camera.




As they lay in one another’s arms afterwards, I told Wilson it was time for him to go.

He kissed Nicole and dressed. I walked him to the door. He shook my hand.

“I didn’t want to say this in front of her,” he whispered. “I didn’t know if it would be appropriate. But I know other hot girls who would love this.”

I smiled. “I’ve heard that before, handsome man. But play your cards right, and you may’ve just meet your new best friend.”

I kissed him, full on the mouth.

I locked the door behind him and returned to the girl in my bed.

I Shot Myself



Gigi

Friday, February 09, 2007

It Took Dominion Everywhere

Behind her dark hair, behind her glasses, her pale eyes must have widened.

For I had reached into the metropolis and produced Clark Kent.

“I’m Wilson,” he said, offering her his hand.

“Esther,” Nicole said, taking his hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Esther,” he smiled.

“May I take your coat?” I said to his back. “Wilson? Your coat?”

He turned to me. “Oh, right.” He tugged an arm from his coat as his eyes returned to Nicole.

He draped his coat over an arm. “So, are you visiting New York, Esther?”

“May I take your coat, Wilson?” I repeated.

“Oh right, I’m sorry,” he turned to me. I took the coat and suggested we move into the living room.

Wilson sat in a chair. Nicole sat close to my side.

We exchanged pleasantries. Wilson learned that Nicole is a Southerner. We learned that Wilson came from the Midwest to work as a model.

“You’re certainly handsome,” Nicole said, coolly stating this matter of observable fact.

“Thanks, that’s nice of you to say.” He paused, scratching a temple. “You know, I have to say . . . well, when you didn’t have a picture of your girlfriend, I thought . . . well, I thought that I should expect someone . . . well, someone not that pretty. But Esther, you are really a gorgeous girl.”

“Thanks,” she nodded, accepting his compliment as yet another fact to be acknowledged.

“Gorgeous,” he repeated, his eyes on her.

“You thought you might not be attracted to her,” I teased. “And yet, here you are. You dog.”

He laughed. “Well, yeah, I guess I am. But I liked your picture, and, well, that’s what I was being asked to do.”

This was the correct response.

“Oh yes, your assignment,” I said, trailing a finger on Nicole’s bare leg. “Let’s get started on that. How about you undress for us?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You mean here? Now?”

“No better time nor place.”

“Uh, sure. Why not?” Wilson stood and began to unbutton his shirt. His eyes watched my finger on Nicole’s leg. She was seated against me. I could hear her breathing accelerate as she braced for the unknown of a man’s body. An unknown man’s body.

I turned to lightly kiss her hair.

Wilson tossed his shirt in a chair, paused a moment, and then raised his undershirt as he stepped from his shoes.

I gently brushed the hair from Nicole’s face.

Wilson looked into her eyes as he unzipped his pants. He stepped from one leg, and then another. The pants joined his shirt in the chair.

He brought his knees up to remove his socks. I traced Nicole’s kneecap.

He stood. He ran his thumbs under the waistband of his snug-fitting shorts. Slowly, he lowered them to the floor.

He stood and smiled.

“May we just appreciate you for a moment, Wilson?” I asked.

“Sure, of course.” He stood with his arms to his sides.

“Did you ever see such a statuesque man . . . Esther?” I whispered.

She shook her head. My fingers traveled from one leg to another.

“His face is so attractive . . . his hair is so full and wavy and black . . . his eyes so dark . . .”

I caressed an inner thigh, parting her legs slightly.

“And that body . . . such broad shoulders and defined arms . . . that wide chest and smooth skin . . .”

My fingers vanished under her mini skirt.

“Those thick, strong legs . . .”

A finger vanished into her body.

She drew a breath.

“And that cock. So thick, unlike mine, with those big smooth balls . . .”

A second finger joined the first.

“Two men are here now, two men who find you so—what was Wilson’s word?—'gorgeous' . . . two handsome men who look nothing like one another . . . spread your legs, girl. I want to show your pussy to the handsome stranger.”

Nicole leaned back, adjusting as she spread her legs. I lifted the skirt.

“Such a pretty girl,” I said.

“She is really is gorgeous,” Wilson said, his voice low and slightly reverential. His cock was growing full.

“Yeah, she is,” I nodded, certain that she noticed my use of the third person. I looked down. “Very tight pussy, though. She’s not yet much more than a virgin.”

“Hot, man,” Wilson said, touching himself.

“I think that before we do anything else, Esther, I’m going to fuck you.” I took my fingers from her body and stood.

“Okay,” she said lightly.

“Wilson, please pick up Esther and carry her to my bedroom. Follow me.” I turned and walked down a hallway, not looking back.

I stood by the bed waiting as Wilson came to the bedroom door holding Nicole in his arms. Her arms were draped on his wide shoulders, her head resting against his cheek.

He turned to one side to clear the doorframe.

“Put her on the bed, please,” I requested.

The dark-haired stranger gently placed the hourglass teenager on my bed. Wilson stood to one side, looking to me. Nicole instinctive drew back her legs.

“Sweet Esther,” I said, crawling over her legs. “Let’s show Wilson what you’ve learned since yesterday.”

She looked at Wilson. “It’s a lot,” she grinned.

“I can imagine,” he nodded.

I removed her glasses, placing them on a nightstand. I raised her shirt and unfastened her bra. I kissed her neck and sternum, her breasts and belly, taking my time until I reached her skirt.

I unfastened a clasp and lowered a zipper. She lifted her hips as I pulled the skirt slowly down the length of her legs.

“Shit,” Wilson whispered, devout.

I kissed her cunt.

“Wilson is impressed by your beauty,” I said quietly. “He doesn’t know about your mind.”

I darted a tongue to her clit. She squirmed.

I slide over her body to her ear. “You’re lying to Wilson. Stop it.”

She turned to face Wilson. “My name is really Nicole.”

He smiled. “My name is really Wilson.”

“Thank you,” I said. I stood and quickly removed my shirt and pants. Nicole looked up at me, watching me return to a form more familiar to her. My nudity was her blanket.

I raised an arm and pointed to Wilson. “He’s beautiful,” I said. “Do you want to fuck him?”

She looked to Wilson, then back to me. “No.” She edged her body towards mine, spreading her thighs as she moved. “I’m particular. I want you.”

This was the correct response.

I took deliberate care in rolling on a condom. I made it a show for four eyes, two so pale, two so dark.

She sighed as I entered her. I moved slowly, back and forth, giving her my full length and then taking it back, again and again.

Her moistness spread the fullness of my cock.

I began to move faster.

“Yeah, man,” Wilson said, moving to crouch on the bed near us. “Fuck that pussy, man. Fuck her.”

I stopped, holding her calves in my grip. I looked down to Nicole. “You can blow him.”

She looked over and took his cock in her hand. “Good,” she smiled. Wilson moved closer.

“It’s only her second blowjob,” I told Wilson.

“Actually, it’s my ninth,” she said, swallowing him.

Sweet girl, I thought as I renewed my thrusts. During a month in which I was counting the number of people who blew me, she was counting each and every time she puts a dick in her mouth.

“Unh, shit, yeah,” Wilson sighed, falling forward. “Suck that cock, slut.”

Nicole’s throat murmured.

I fucked into her hard. Wilson moved forward to feed his cock into her. He pressed against my shoulders for support.

I put an arm around him, kissing his neck.

He turned his face to kiss me, passionate and wild. I took his hair in hand, giving him my mouth as my flesh moved into Nicole’s body.

It was a little after nine on a cold, clear January night. Lighted specks defined the Manhattan skyline in an accumulation of countless right angles.

Behind one of those countless specks, in my bedroom, a little after nine on a cold, clear January night, our isosceles was the most beautiful, heroic form in my metropolis.