The annual sex issue of Time Out New York mentioned the Bukkake Social Club I host. Not surprisingly, I received a number of emails from people interested in meeting me or joining the club. The following caught my eye:
I read about you in Time Out and I am interested in attending the next gathering.
I'm thirty-one, bi, African American and female. Is there anything else you need? Here's a pic as confirmation that I am of age. I've never done anything like this before.
Attached was a snapshot of a smiling face, partially obscured by a flash reflected in a mirror. I noticed the email address Bijou had used to contact me. It included her last name and her place of employment. First name, surname, workplace, photograph—I now had all the information I needed to stalk her and possibly get her fired.
At least, that’s what a bad person might do. Fortunately for Bijou, I am not a bad person. I fuck people and I write smut. I’m a good person.
I thanked Bijou for her note and asked why the club appealed to her. Each club meeting features a female special guest of honor whom I fuck as club members watch and jerk off, ultimately dousing her in jism. Did she want to attend as a voyeur or as a guest of honor?
She was interested in watching. Her attraction to voyeurism was new and she wanted to pursue it.
To be honest, I told her, most of the club members are men. But we welcome women, and there are some female regulars. She was interested in knowing more, so we agreed to meet after work. I offered my place, but after reading my blog, she was wary of stepping into my iniquitous den sight unseen. I suggested that we meet in a park. We set a time and place. She gave me her number. I added that to all the information that she had given me, reckoning I now had enough to find her home address, her mother’s maiden name and her credit rating—but only if I knew how to use Google.
The sun was dipping below the tree line as she approached my park bench. I waved, knowing that all she had ever seen of me is my mouth, two fingers and a thumb. She smiled and waved back. I stood and reached up to kiss her cheek. I rested a hand briefly on her braided hair.
“Jefferson! I feel like I know so much about you from your blog.”
“And there you have me at a disadvantage, Bijou. I know nothing about you. Let’s go sit on the grass and fix that.”
“Oh, that’s right, I’m just someone who sent you an email, right? I bet that happens all the time.” We walked toward a knoll shaded from the setting sun.
“I like mail. So, what made you write?”
“Hmmm, I guess that’s a complicated thing,” she began. “I just haven’t had that many experiences and I think it’s time to change that. I mean, I’m over thirty and it’s like I’m still waiting to discover what sex is all about. So maybe I’ll know more if I stop waiting and do something.” She paused. “Oh, and hello!” she laughed. “I don’t know you and I’m telling you all this stuff. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine, really. That part I’m used to. Strangers often tell me all about their sexuality. It’s like ‘howtcha do’ to me.” We found a place to sit. As we watched shirtless men play Frisbee, she began to interview me about my blog. I’m comfortable talking about that, so I answered questions about its origins, my orgies, and how I manage to stay sane with so many lovers.
“I’m envious,” she said. “I don’t think I could ever do any of that. It’s something I’d like in some ways, I think . . . though, you know, on a more human scale.” I laughed. “But it’s not like I’d do anything about it. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Well, you wrote to me, and that’s doing something.”
“Yeah, but please. I’m over thirty and I’ve only been with, like, three people.”
“That must’ve been some night,” I exclaimed.
“No,” she laughed. “It wasn’t all at once.”
“So how many years were with your poly foursome?”
“No, no.” Her laugh gave over to a smile. “No, I mean, I’ve only been with three people, ever. At different times.”
“Oh, now I get it.” I smiled. I watched as a long-haired fellow jumped to catch a Frisbee. He hurled it back before landing on his feet. “Well, if you had good experiences with your three lovers, that’s great. It’s not about accumulating numbers or anything. It’s about what you enjoy.”
Her eyes followed mine. A girl in a bikini jumped to catch the toss. “Yeah, I enjoyed it. I mean, they were women I liked. I just wish I had known more about how to please them.”
I turned to her. “Your three people were all women?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“That’s cool,” I nodded. “But in your note, you said you were bi. If your experience is with women, why don’t you identify as lesbian?”
She shifted, turning to me and folding her legs. “See, that’s just it. I know I’m attracted to men. I’m curious about it. But I’ve just never really had the opportunity to do anything about it. Women, though, you know, that’s easier.”
I faced her. “Okay, so at present, you’re a bi-curious lesbian-oriented bisexual virgin?”
She laughed. “I guess you could say that.”
My face grew solemn. “You must say that,” I intoned. “Labels are very, very important.” She laughed again. “I’m serious,” I went on. “If you don’t wear your sexuality as a badge, how can you know who you are?”
She grinned. “Funny. But yeah, I’m not worried about who I am.”
“In all seriousness, that’s pretty clear.” I looked back the Frisbee players. “Virgin, huh?”
She picked up a stone and tossed it. “I’m not having sex with you.”
“You’re rather presumptuous,” I chided. “Who says I’m interested?”
“What?” she pouted. “I’m not pretty enough for you?”
“Are you kidding?” I looked at her. “You’re hot. You know that, don’t you?”
“I guess. I mean, I hear that. People say it. I guess I could have sex if I wanted to, but, I don’t know, I haven’t met a guy that makes me want to. Plus, I’m just not that turned on by the thought of penetration.”
“So you’d want a guy, but not necessarily to fuck? There’s so much you can do that doesn’t include that, but it’s true, most guys won’t get that right off.”
“That’s true.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “I mean, who knows, I might find I like it more than I expect. What do I know? I wouldn’t know what to do, probably. I’ve never even seen a penis.”
“Nope. I mean, I’ve seen pictures and porn, but not in person.”
“Never? As it, not once? No brothers or cousins or high school romance, or . . .”
“Wow,” I nodded. “You’ve got so many cherries, it’s like a grove of virginities.”
“Right? That’s what I mean. I’d better get on that. So tell me more about this bukkake thing?”
I lay back on my elbows and told her a few anecdotes from past sessions. She listened intently as I described how an event usually transpired, and the times we make exceptions to the rules, as when I put on show with two women, or the time Leah decided to bring Jacob into the show.
After a while, she turned to watch the Frisbee players as I told her a story of sex she had only seen in porn. “That’s incredible,” she said. “And I can’t believe that was really you. I mean, you seem so normal.”
“Sex is pretty normal,” I shrugged.
“Yeah, but not everyone has sex for an audience.”
“True enough,” I conceded.
She nodded and we fell silent. After a moment, she pulled out her phone. “Hmmm, five forty . . . do you live near here?”
I glanced at her. “I do.”
“I have a class at seven, but I would kind of like to see your place. Can we go over there?”
“Sure, it’s close.” I stood and offered my hand. “Let’s go.”
She took my hand. “I’m not having sex with you,” she reiterated.
“That’s established,” I said. “Anyway, if you ever decided to give me your virginity, we’d need more than a quickie. I’d want that to be a good, long time.”
“Ha, that’s sweet.” We began to walk. “It’s not happening, but that’s nice of you to say.”
As we walked, I surmised correctly that this was the first time she had met anyone online. I encouraged her to be more careful in revealing her personal information, and to get a separate email account that didn’t include her name or workplace. She thanked me for the advice, adding that she really did have a lot to learn.
I unlocked the door at my place, and gestured for her to enter. She stepped in and looked around my living room. “Nice place,” she said. “Huh, you’ve got a lot of books.”
“Just props to impress girls,” I smiled. “Care for the full tour?” I showed her around, relating rooms and furnishings to stories on my blog—the bed that replaced the most recent one broken, the voyeur’s chair, the folding taco futon of death. We returned to the living room to talk.
“It’s so surreal,” she said, her eyes on a vase of flowers. “It’s just so . . . normal. You’re normal, your place is normal.” She paused and looked at me. “And you have so much sex!”
“Yeah, a regular rabbit in sheep’s clothing, that’s me.”
We continued to talk about sex. She asked me questions which I typically answered with examples and stories. Mindful of her class, I kept an eye on the clock. At six thirty, I let her know the time and suggested she may need to be on her way.
She agreed and stood to leave. I sat forward, preparing to walk her to the door. She turned and said, suddenly, “I’m not having sex with you.”
“Obviously,” I said. “There’s no time.”
“I know, but . . . look.” She sat down. “Can I please see your penis?”
I laughed. “Seriously?”
“Did that sound weird?” She laughed. “I know, of course it did. But I thought, well, I’m here, you’re here, and, well . . . I’ve never seen one. Do you mind?”
I patted her hand. “Not a problem. One cherry, gone, that easily.” I stood and posed facing her. I pulled off my t-shirt and tossed it to a chair. Her eyes fell to my torso. I placed my feet squarely under my shoulders and unbuttoned my shorts. Her eyes watched my fingers closely. I dropped my hands. “Oh, I’m not sure you really want to see this penis,” I teased.
“Oh, come on!” she laughed nervously. “Please, that’s mean.”
“Okay, okay. No more jokes. Just penis.” I unzipped my shorts. They dropped to the floor. I stepped free of them, moving slightly closer to her. I put my hands on my hips and let her get an eye full.
“God. Wow.” She sat on the edge of her seat. “Thanks, that’s just . . . wow.”
“So glad you like. May I sit down?”
“Oh, sure,” she said, her eyes never leaving my cock. I moved to the couch and sat an arm’s length from her. I leaned back to give her an unobstructed view, folding my arms behind my head. Moments passed. “Wow,” she finally exhaled. “It’s amazing that it’s just . . . there.”
“Yeah, how about that?” I said, looking down. “Naked dick is awesome.”
She leaned forward. “Do you think . . . would you mind if I touched it?”
“I wish you would,” I smiled. “I’d like that.”
She looked up at my face. “Do you have a condom?”
I laughed. “You want me to wear a condom for a handjob?”
Her face flushed. “Oh, it’s just . . . well, I don’t know you, and . . .”
I patted her hand again. “No, it’s cool. I don’t mind. I’ll be back in a second.” I went to my bedroom and returned with a condom foil. I sat again, this time a little closer to her. “Now, you may not realize this, but it’s difficult to get a condom on a flaccid penis. Do you mind if I stroke myself to get hard?”
She smiled. “Seriously? That would be hot. I can watch?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s hot for me, too.” I began to tug on my cock, feeling it begin to react. “Say, it would also help if we kissed . . .”
“Oh, no,” she said, pulling back. “I can only do that if I love someone.”
“This isn’t love?” I joked. “I feel so used . . .”
“Yeah, like you don’t like that,” she laughed. I smiled and returned to the task at hand. Knowing that this was her initiation in cock was enough to get me hard quickly. It was also arousing to think of the way she valued her kisses. I looked up to her soft, full lips. She didn’t notice; her gaze was entirely ensnared by my hand twisting up and down my shaft.
“Right.” I sighed quietly. “Now comes the condom. Watch carefully.” I scarcely needed to encourage her. She seemed hesitant to blink. I demonstrated how to roll on a condom, and gave myself some more long, slow strokes. “Okay,” I offered, removing my hand. “Enjoy yourself.”
“Wow. Okay.” She moved forward. “It’s just amazing. It really did get bigger.”
“Uh huh.” I returned my palms to the back of my head.
“So much bigger.” She slowly reached out, stopping just before she touched me. “Really? You don’t mind?”
“It’s my pleasure,” I smiled.
She laughed slightly, drew a breath, and touched my cock. Her fingers moved around the condom, shifting the flesh underneath. “Look, it’s like, soft. The skin is soft, even though you’re hard.”
“That’s right. And here, check this out.” I lead her finger to my cock’s center and bottom. “Feel how soft that is? Now feel either side.”
She followed my guiding fingers. “Wow, is that . . . it's not really bone, is it?”
“Nope, not bone. It’s more like a sponge that gets rigid when filled with blood. That softer part in the middle is the urethra.”
She nodded, paying more attention to her fingers than my words. I dropped my hand from hers as she continued to touch and explore. After delicately fingering me for some time, she looked at me and began to imitate my strokes. “Does this feel good?” she asked. “Like this?”
“That feels great. Let me show you something.” I took her index finger and placed if under the head. “Feel this part right here? That’s the most sensitive part and, on most men, stimulating that is going to trigger an orgasm.” I led her finger to the head. “This part? It’s very sensitive. When I’m aroused, it’s almost too sensitive. So when you stroke, focus on the bit under the head, and avoid too much attention to the head itself.” I released her finger. She returned to jerking me.
“Like this?” she asked.
“Just like that. A little less pressure . . . okay. Now that’s perfect.” I sat back and let her give her first handjob.
I sighed softly. “Are you going to cum?” she asked.
“Um, no, I’m not. The condom reduces sensation, so I’m not sure if I can cum from a handjob when I’m wearing one. Anyway, I’ve got a date tonight, so I need to hold off.”
“Oh.” She stroked me with a lighter touch. “So if you came now, you wouldn't be able to later?”
“Different with different guys. With me, yeah, it would be harder to do it again later.”
“Oh.” She watched my cock move in her hand. “That’s too bad. I’d really like to see you cum.”
“Then you’ll have to come back,” I nodded.
“Yeah, come back,” she murmured.
I gave her some more time with my cock before reminding her of her class. “Yeah . . .” she replied. She sat back suddenly. “Oh yeah, I need to go.” She quickly removed her hand, leaving my cock to flop like a metronome. She stood and looked around, as if coming out of a spell. She looked at her hand. “Hey, do you have a bathroom?”
“I do. It’s down the hall.” She hurried away. I heard the sound of running water as she washed her hands vigorously. I stood and dressed. She returned and I showed her to the door. I kissed her cheek and held out my hand. “Nice to meet you. Let’s do it again soon.”
She looked at my hand. “Soon, yeah. Um, do you mind if we don’t shake hands? I just . . .”
“Understood.” I opened the door. “Enjoy your next class.”
“Thanks.” She smiled wanly as she rushed out the door.
A few weeks later, my doorbell rang. “Holy hell,” I said. I stopped what I was doing, walked to the door and glanced through the peephole. I stood behind the door as I opened it. “You’re late,” I scolded.
“I’m sorry,” Bijou apologized. “Is it too late?”
I held up my hands. “What do you think?”
She looked down and laughed. I was nude but for the condom on my erection. “Just like I remembered you,” she giggled.
“Funny. All right, come along.” I led her down the hall to my bedroom. I entered the room just ahead of her. “Everyone, this is Bijou. Bijou, welcome to the club.”
She looked around. There were six naked men jerking off. They looked over the fully dressed woman at the door. “Uh . . . hi, everyone,” she said, waving slightly.
“Nice to meet you,” Ted replied, dropping his cock to wave back.
The woman on the bed raised her head. “Hey, how are you?” she asked.
“I’m good,” Bijou replied, staring as the first cock she had ever seen vanished into the body of a woman she had just met.
“I’m good, too,” the woman said. “Hey, we’ll talk later. I’m kind of getting fucked now. Nice to meet you, though.”
“You too . . . ,” Bijou began. Her voice trailed off as she took a seat in the voyeur’s chair, her eyes unblinking.