“Dad! Hey, Dad!”
Lillie broke from her class line and ran to me. She pulled a backpack from her shoulders as she dodged kids and parents standing between us.
“Hey sweetheart,” I smiled, bending on one knee to hug her. “You are so excited!”
“I have a birthday card for you, Dada,” Lillie said, a babyish tone slipping into her voice. She unzipped her backpack and fished inside. “Here you go!”
I looked at the paper she handed to me. On the outside fold she had written, “Happy Birthday Dad.” Inside there was a drawing of the two of us—Lillie with bright red hair, me with yellow hair, no necks on either figure—dancing on green grass under an orange sun. A gray kitten watched next to a flower.
“That’s very sweet, honey. Thank you so much.”
“Look at the back,” she giggled.
On the back fold she had written, in brown, “You are stinky just like poop.”
I lowered my arms in mock exasperation. “Why, Lillie? Why must you be such a rotten child?”
She giggled. “You’re old.”
“And you are an ill-mannered cur.”
“Hey Dad,” Collie said from behind me.
“Hey, handsome boy.” I hugged him. “How was school?”
“It was fine. Here,” he shoved a note in my hand. “I made you a birthday card.”
He suppressed a grin, trying to play it cool.
“Oh, how sweet is that? Let me see.” On the cover fold, he had drawn a heart, surrounded by other hearts, and written, “Happy Birthday Dad.” I opened the card to find a drawing of stars and planets, with a colorful pyramid topped by the words, “I love you.”
“Now, isn’t that the sweetest thing?” I gushed. I took his cheeks in my empty hand and cooed. “My adorable, tender boy, so sweet to his dear loving daddy . . .”
“Uh, Dad,” Collie grimaced through puckered lips. “Not in the schoolyard, dude.”
“Oh, right.” I dropped my hand. “Gots to be cool, hep cat.”
“Whatever!” he giggled.
We gathered our belongings to head to the bus.
On the day after my birthday, I woke and fucked Mitzi before sending her home, thus temporarily putting the brakes on my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex. After five days, I was back with my kids, providing a hiatus and respite from sex with my friends and lovers.
Just in time, too: I needed a break. It would be nice to rest up with my progeny.
Jason was meeting us at home later. He had an appointment with his mother, who was taking him for a haircut after school.
Haircuts are a sensitive matter for Jason. At twelve, he is newly attuned to his appearance. For the past two years, he had emulated his cousin, my cool eighteen-year-old nephew, by growing his hair long.
Jason’s straight chestnut hair split at his forehead to cascade to his shoulders, framing his angelic face and deep chocolate eyes. He looked adorably spacey, which rather suited his dreamy, slightly out-to-lunch personality.
Every now and then, his mother takes him for a haircut to trim the edges. Jason endures this glumly, always watching the mirror as his hair is cut, complaining that he didn’t want it to be trimmed too short as his mother directed the barber to take off just a little more here, a little more there.
My ex Lucy insists on supervising the children’s haircuts. She feels I would indulge their preferences too much.
Lucy remembers when my hair grew past my shoulders. She thought my long hair was sexy back then, but that history discredits my judgment concerning the children now.
She would much rather be in control of the children’s appearance.
I was reading on the couch when the front door opened. I looked up to see a boy’s head pop in the doorframe, grinning.
It was Collie.
No, wait: it was Jason.
With a very short haircut.
“Jason! Oh my gosh, I didn’t recognize you!” I closed my book. “Come here, let me look at you.”
Jason walked in and closed the door. His grin stretched from one newly exposed ear to the other.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“You look . . . very handsome,” I said, stunned. “But it’s so different!”
“I know. Mom thought I should try it short for a while.”
“She did, huh? Well, what do you think about it?”
“I don’t know, it’s okay, I guess. Do you think it looks, you know, babyish?”
I looked him over. “No, not at all. It actually makes you look older, really. Like, longer. Taller.”
He nodded, still grinning.
It was true. He looked very grown and handsome. It was a fine haircut.
I swallowed my resentment. My ex thinks nothing of radically altering my son’s appearance without my input. Here was evidence that my opinion doesn’t matter in the least to her.
I can imagine her reaction if the situation were reversed.
Of course, the situation would never be reversed. I know better than to question her presumed authority over most things.
Jason stooped over his backpack. “So Dad, did Collie and Lillie give you their birthday cards?”
“Yes, they sure did. Those were sweet. Did you see them?”
“Uh huh, they made them last night. I have something for you too.”
“You do? How sweet, honey.”
“Yeah, where is it . . . okay, here it is.” He pulled a yellow bag from his pack and hid it under an arm. He stood and walked to me. “Okay, are you ready?”
“I’m ready, baby.” I smiled.
“Okay, so here it is.” He swirled an arm to present me with small bag from Tower Records.
“You got me a CD?” I asked, taking the bag.
“Yeah. After my haircut, we went to Tower ‘cause I wanted to get something for you. I used my own money, too. It took a long time, because I wanted to get something I knew you would like, but that we would like too, so we could all listen to it.”
“That’s very smart,” I said. “That way, we can share it.”
“Exactly,” he said.
I took the CD in my hand. “Oh wow, it’s the White Stripes. I do like them.”
“Yeah, I know. It has that ‘doorbell’ song. I know you like that because you always play it.” He paused. “Wait, you don’t already have that CD, do you?”
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He was so sweet to think of the White Stripes for me, but . . .
“Um, well actually, hon, yes, I do have it. That’s why I keep playing it.”
“Oh, that’s cool, I thought you might. That’s why I saved the receipt—you can take it back and get something else.”
“Oh, good thinking, kid. So did you have second choice?”
“Um, yeah. Mom said I should get you the new Death Cab for Cutie, but I didn’t know if you had it.”
“You know what? I don’t have it. So that is just what I’ll do. I’ll take this back and get the new Death Cab for Cutie. That’s a great gift. Thanks!”
I stood and kissed him.
“Well, you know,” he said.
“I know baby. I love you. So tell me about school.”
He talked about a friend at school, eventually sitting on the floor as his story grew more elaborate. We talked for a half hour before I had to get started on dinner.
A few days later, I returned the CD and brought back Death Cab for Cutie.
It caught Collie’s ear. He began to sing along.
“Hey, did you steal this CD from Mom?” he asked.
“No, actually, your brother got it for our collection,” I said.
“Oh. Well, it’s Mom’s favorite too.”
“Do you like it, honey boy?”
He shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“Nice.”
That night, we spun the CD again as I prepared dinner and Jason typed his homework. He was asked to write the first chapter of a fictional story based on a true event.
For a source, he went back to the central trauma of his young life. Fiction offered a way to revise an unalterable memory, exchanging one set of facts for another.
“Brett, will you come downstairs for a moment?” As I walked down the stairs, I knew what was coming. I was prepared for it. “Ed, Lisa, you two come down too!”
As my brother, Ed, and my sister, Lisa, rushed down the stairs, I looked in their eyes. I saw happiness and joy. They had no idea that the next words that would come out of our parent’s mouths would crush their hearts and drastically change all of our lives forever
It wasn’t as though I hadn’t seen it coming. My mother always tells me that when her parents got divorced, she had no idea it was coming. My parents had been fighting for what seemed like forever, but in reality had only been three months. At first, it was just petty fights. After that . . . it got much worse.
The first time they ever fought, it was about something small and stupid. My father was home fifteen minutes late, and my mom asked why he was late.
“Traffic was a killer,” he replied, and proceeded in to the kitchen to make dinner. But my mom was not going tom let him go that easily. You see, my father has problems with being late sometimes, and my mother had heard on the radio that there was no traffic.
“But sweetie, I heard there was no traffic.”
I’ll be straight with you about my mom. She’s a fundraiser person, so she’s a bit of a nag. She simply does not leave a conversation without getting the information she wants. And also, she does not lose arguments.
“They must have been wrong, honey,” my father said.
“I heard what the radio said. They would have been wrong three times,” my mother said.
“Maybe you misunderstood them.”
“Are you calling me old?!”
“No, I just said . . . “
“If you are going to speak to me like that, I don’t want to talk to you at all!”
I’m still walking down the stairs. You know how they say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes? That’s sort of what’s happening to me, only I’m not thinking about my life, I’m thinking about their life. And I’m not dying, I only feel like I am.
My father is a man who works in a corner office, like one you see on TV. He calls himself the above average man with the world’s most average job. He works for Microsoft, which means he works for Bill Gates, which means his salary is rather healthy. It also means he gets pushed around a lot, which is why he never gets mad or raises his voice. He can’t, or he’d be fired in two minutes. At least, I thought that he couldn’t get mad.
My mother, as I said, is a fundraiser lady. She knows what to do, why to do it and how to do it at all times. She’s not a bad fundraiser person, either. She gets calls from companies everyday asking for her services. You might think that she’s away a lot, but she’s really not. She’s with us most of the time. I thought she could handle anything. It turned out she couldn’t handle one thing: a husband.
Those petty fights lasted for about two months. I never really got worried about them. They made up right after their fights. But for the last month, I was worried. Very worried.
Their last fight, which happened a week ago, pretty much summed up their last month of fighting. It went something like this:
“I’m tired of you being late and lying about why you’re late!,” my mother yelled.
“I’m tired of you not listening to what I say! I’m not a liar,” my dad retaliated.
”You’re an irresponsible old man and I never want to see you again!”
“Fine!” my dad shouted, and grabbed some clothes and his toothbrush and was out the door. My mother immediately began crying. My father spent the night at a hotel. My mother begged him the next morning to come home, which he did. But never was there an apology by either of them. Never.
I get down the stairs, and sit down. I look around me. My brother and sister were anxious to know what they were going to say. I was not. I shouldn’t have been. I knew what they were going to say.
“Kids,” my mother said with a shaky tone. “Your father and I have been thinking, and we’ve decided . . . to have a baby. I’m pregnant.”
This was probably the biggest surprise of my life. As my siblings celebrated, I reflected. I guess I was to pessimistic. It takes longer than three months to decide to get divorced. So our family is safe.
For now.
We ate supper shortly after he finished. The kids bathed before bedtime.
I tucked them in and did the dishes before reading over Jason’s homework.
He hadn’t mentioned the subject all night.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
divorce
parenting
White Stripes
Death Cab for Cutie
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Gift
Mitzi wanted to give me something special for my birthday.
Like most of my friends, she knows that I am generally more interested in experiences than things.
Bridget had given me a weekend in the country.
Anna had made me a nice dinner topped by a much-anticipated blowjob in my new chair.
Shelby had given me a tour of her life down home.
Mitzi put her mind to the task and came up with a fine idea: she would give me a submissive boy.
She did not take up this project lightly. She knows my ongoing frustration in finding a suitable candidate for this position.
One would think that the boy who serves as my submissive would be a lucky fellow. He may be granted many assignments that would enhance my life as a parent and pervert. He may be rewarded with my generous use of the strap, my creative finesse with discipline, my insatiable demands for sexual gratification.
And yet, most boys get distracted. They pony up as submissives only to gallop away once they take a spanking and get laid. They don’t get the idea that being submissive is not the provenance of thrill seekers. It takes dedication and responsibility.
Mitzi knew better that to spring a boy on me without my input. She knew there are some gifts that are not appropriate as surprises. Giving slaves is one of those acts of generosity best discussed in advance.
Once she had done some footwork, she let me in on her scheme.
Mitzi: I have a special surprise for your birthday. Do you want to know what it is?
Jefferson: You shouldn’t have! But if you’d care to share it, I’m all ears.
Mitzi: I’m finding you a submissive boy.
Jefferson: What a great idea! Thanks. But you may be beating your head against a brick wall. I’ve had bum’s luck shopping for one in my size.
Mitzi: I know, it ain’t easy. But I’ve uncovered a few guys who may work. You wanna see?
Jefferson: You’ve already found possibilities? Wow, you are on the ball.
Mitzi: Aw, thanks. Check your inbox.
Mitzi sent me her correspondence with the leading contenders, as well as their photographs. I was impressed to read back over her interactions.
She had combed online ads and put up several of her own.
She had garnered basic statistics and looked over photographs to ensure that each candidate would be a physical specimen appealing to my tastes. She knew I would want someone easy on the eyes.
She had explained the circumstances to each of the boys. Any submissive would need to be bisexual or bi-curious, and understand that while he may serve at an orgy, he is not to touch anyone except at my bidding.
Mitzi dismissed out of hand anyone who seemed more interested in sex with her than in serving me.
She had made it clear that I preferred a commitment to submission over a one-time encounter.
I went over the finalists Mitzi recommended. “Let me know if you want to see others,” she offered. “I can keep looking.”
I poured coffee and reviewed my options.
There was a Korean who was more interested in men than women, but was willing to be used in front of a mixed group.
There was a cute farm boy new to the city and eager for new experiences.
And then there was Benjamin.
Benjamin’s notes to Mitzi were respectful and humorous. He claimed very little experience with men or submission, but seemed to have a good attitude about undertaking this role.
His photograph looked great. He was standing on a rooftop in a leather jacket, squinting into the sun. His hair was black and longish. He had the air of a Dennis Leary type, minus the asshole attitude.
Jefferson: This Benjamin is a cute kid.
Mitzi: You like? He’s my favorite too. He says his hair is shorter now, so he looks a little different . . .
Jefferson: Shall we just go with Benjamin then? We can try him out before the orgy on my birthday. If he’s good, he can stay for the main event.
Mitzi: That’s all I need to hear. I’ll take care of it.
Jefferson: Thanks, Mitzi. That’s a great gift.
Mitzi: Of course, Jefferson. It’s my pleasure.
Mitzi arranged for Benjamin to meet us at my place before the orgy.
I hoped that Benjamin passed muster and we would allow him to stay, but I harbored some concerns about how well I could supervise a novice submissive while tending to other guests.
Mitzi offered to make the boy her responsibility.
We discussed details and made our plan.
There were late adjustments to this plan.
After Shelby returned me to the city that afternoon, we got to fooling around and she decided to stay for the orgy. That was unexpected, as she had come to eschew group sex. Still, she likes our friends, and it had been awhile since she had seen them, so she opted to stick around for a bit.
I let her know that Mitzi and I were planning to audition a submissive beforehand. Even better, Shelby said: she enjoys a good show.
I contacted Mitzi to clear this.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she sighed. “Benjamin is held up at work. He can’t come before seven thirty.”
“The orgy starts around eight, though,” I pointed out. “Not much time to do anything with him.”
“Should I cancel him then?”
I pondered this. A submissive who can’t make a prearranged appointment may reasonably be dismissed. But it wasn’t his fault he had to work late, and above all, Mitzi had done so much work to make a present of him. I didn’t want to disappoint her.
I decided to go ahead.
“Good,” Mitzi said. “This should be fun! See you a little after seven.”
“Super, honey. See you then.”
I hung up and went back to making out with Shelby.
Seven o’clock rolled around. Mitzi arrived, a little nervous about her charge.
“I really hope you like him,” she said as we sat for drinks on the terrace.
“Above all, I appreciate your efforts on my behalf,” I said, my hand on her knee. “It’s a very thoughtful birthday gesture.”
“Yeah, and his picture was cute,” Shelby added. “As long as he’s not an asshole, it’s all good.”
The guests began to arrive. My friends were sweet about making the effort to attend my birthday orgy.
Dacia came with her boyfriend Seth; it was the first time he had been to one of our parties, and only the second time we had met. He was a little nervous. Dacia, for her part, was in fine form.
Farahnaz arrived, having left a class early to be with us. She looked stunning, as usual, apologizing as we bussed cheeks that she did not have time to truly dress up for such a special occasion.
Linda kissed hellos to Shelby, Mitzi and me before sidling up to Mark. It was her first time at one of my bisexual parties, and she was quick to appreciate the charms of the man we all refer to as mmmmm-Mark.
John arrived earlier than usual, along with a new couple he had recruited to join our gang. I had corresponded with Nicole and Giancarlo many times via email; it was nice to finally meet them in person.
The living room was filling up, but still no delivery of my birthday present.
Mitzi bit her thumb, anxious and peeved.
She jumped when there was another knock at the door.
“Hello,” she smiled as she opened the door. “You must be Benjamin? I’m Mitzi.”
“Nice to meet you, Mitzi,” Benjamin replied, looking around as he entered. “Sorry I’m so late. Work and all.”
“No problem. May I take your coat? I would like to take you to meet Jefferson.”
Mitzi hung Benjamin’s coat and walked him into the living room.
“Everyone?” she announced. “This is Benjamin. Benjamin, that’s Jefferson on the couch.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I stood, extending my hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he grinned. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Jefferson, may I see you in the kitchen?” Mitzi asked. “We can leave Benjamin to get settled.”
“Of course.” I stepped over Farahnaz’s legs and followed Mitzi to the kitchen.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Mitzi lowered her voice. “That is not the same boy as the photograph!” she fumed.
“What? Benjamin, you mean?”
“Yes! He sent a fake picture. He looks entirely different.”
“Are you sure?” I tried to match his face to the photograph I had seen. “I mean, he’s cute enough.”
“He looks like every boy I went to Hebrew school with,” she complained. “I should make him leave.”
“Well, now, hold on,” I said, taking her shoulders. “Maybe he will prove himself. I mean, I think he looks good, so let’s keep him around. All right?”
Mitzi looked up at me. “If you say so. He’s your gift anyway. It just pisses me off that he sent a fake picture.”
“That is bad behavior,” I agreed. “But let’s see how he pans out.”
I returned to the couch and sat next to Farahnaz.
“Oh, you remind me,” she said, reaching for her bag. “I have a little something for you, Jefferson.”
She produced a small envelope. Inside was a card featuring an Orientalist harem scene by Edwin Longsden Long. Farahnaz’s elegant script graced the card with the promise of a massage at my convenience.
“Oh, thank you!” I said, kissing her. “That’s the loveliest gift.”
“I am also all yours tonight, to do as you wish.” She waved her long hands over the length of her torso. “At least, until eleven, when I turn into a pumpkin.”
“That’s an even better offer,” I smiled.
“Yeah, I didn’t get you anything,” Dacia interjected. “And I’m not fucking you either.”
“I don’t expect anything from you except a whole lotta lip,” I jibed. “Anyway, who needs your crummy trinkets when I have a massage from Farahnaz and a submissive from Mitzi?”
“What submissive?” Dacia asked.
“Benjamin.” I indicated the tall boy across the room chatting with Mitzi. “He’s my toy tonight.”
“Really?” Farahnaz turned.
“Huh,” Dacia said. “What, and he’s just sitting there? You are a lousy dom.”
“You’re right, I could do better.” I raised my voice. “Benjamin? Could you come here, please?”
Benjamin quickly stood and approached the couch. “Yes, Jefferson?”
“Benjamin, these are my friends Dacia and Farahnaz. We would each enjoy a drink. Bourbon, ladies?”
“Just what I was thinking,” Dacia said.
“I really shouldn’t but . . . yes, please,” Farahnaz nodded.
“On the rocks, three fingers,” I instructed Benjamin. “You’ll find what you need in the kitchen.”
“Yes, of course, Jefferson.” Benjamin turned and left for the kitchen.
“He’s a cute toy,” Farahnaz admired.
“Yeah, if badly used,” Dacia teased.
I could see where this was going. I shared the couch with two other doms and they were eying my submissive.
“Back off, sisters,” I admonished. “He’s my birthday present.”
“You are good to share,” Farahnaz said.
“You are wasting him,” Dacia said.
“We’ll see,” I replied.
Benjamin returned with our drinks. He handed them over with care.
“Thank you, Benjamin,” I said, taking a sip. “Now, would you mind undressing?”
“Of course. Here?” he asked, looking around at the room at the expectant faces.
“Yes, please,” I nodded. “I want to look at you.”
Benjamin unbuttoned his shirt and put it in chair. He pulled off a t-shirt and unfastened his pants. He stooped to remove his socks. He stood, wearing only underwear.
“All of it, please,” I gestured.
Benjamin stepped out of his underwear, tossing them into his pile of clothes.
“Turn around, please,” I asked. Benjamin raised his hands and turned so that I could survey his nude body.
He had a lean physique, with a strong upper body and a thick stout cock.
“Not bad, right?” I asked Shelby.
“Yeah, he’s all right,” she nodded.
I smiled at Mitzi.
“Benjamin, I’d like you to massage my feet, please,” I said. I stretched my legs over Farahnaz’s thighs and propped my feet in Dacia’s lap.
Dacia scrunched her nose. “Oh hush,” I said. “They’re clean.”
Benjamin dropped to his knees and took my feet in his palms, his eyes momentarily distracted by Dacia’s fishnets under my heels.
His hands were strong, though he trembled slightly.
I took another sip of my bourbon, enjoying his nervousness. Here he was, nude in a room of clothed people he didn’t know, rubbing the feet of a man he had just met but had committed to serve for the evening.
Not bad for his first half hour as my sub.
“I hope you enjoy your foot massage, great white master,” Farahnaz said. “Afterwards, I am making you my first of the evening. My day’s virginity is also my gift to you.”
“Oh, thanks, sweet.” I closed my eyes and focused on Benjamin’s hands.
A few moments passed.
“Okay, come on,” Dacia said, taking Farahnaz’s hand. “Enough of this lame ‘foot massage’ crap. I’m going to fuck you with my strap on.”
Dacia stood, knocking my feet to one side.
“But wait,” Farahnaz said as Dacia tugged her to stand. “I promised Jefferson he would be my first.”
“Go, it’s all right,” I waved, putting my feet back on the couch. “She can be your first woman, I’ll be your first man.”
“Oh Solomon, you are so wise.” Farahnaz managed as Dacia tugged her into the hallway.
Benjamin began to rub my feet.
“Well, I am not watching a foot massage when there’s hot girl-on-girl action in the next room.” Linda said, standing.
“Right behind you,” Shelby said.
Everyone began to move toward the bedroom.
“Let’s not fight the trend, Benjamin,” I pulled my feet back. “You can continue my massage in the other room.”
“Yes, Jefferson.”
Benjamin followed me into the bedroom. We maneuvered past Mitzi, Linda and Shelby, who clustered near the door watching as Dacia, stripped to her underwear, stepped into the harness of her strap on.
Farahnaz pulled off her dress and reclined nude on the bed.
“Jefferson, do you see what a display we are?” Farahnaz asked. “Surely I am not going to be the only nude?”
“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” I pulled my shirt over my head, and removed my jeans. I sat in a high backed chair. “Benjamin, would you please undress Mitzi?”
“Jefferson!,” Mitzi began. “I don’t want him to . . .”
“Shhh, shhh,” I said. “I’m trying to watch the show.”
Benjamin stood before Mitzi. “May I?”
She looked at me. “Fine.” She dropped her hands as Benjamin pulled off her top and unhooked her bra.
Dacia crouched on her knees, leaning forward to kiss Farahnaz. Seth watched from a corner.
Benjamin unfastened Mitzi’s pants and tugged. “I’ll take it from here,” she demurred. She stepped from her jeans and lowered her panties.
“Benjamin, could you bring those panties to me?” I asked. He delivered them. I tucked them behind my back.
Shelby laughed. I caught her eye, glad that she was enjoying herself. I knew she couldn’t stay much later, so I wanted to be sure she got an eyeful for the ride back home.
Farahnaz sighed as Dacia entered her.
Mitzi stomped a foot. “Jefferson, I feel a little ridiculous standing her naked.”
“Perhaps because you are rather alone in your nudity. Perhaps you need company. Perhaps you should undress Linda.”
Linda smiled and stood erect.
“Do you mind?” Mitzi asked.
“Be my guest,” Linda said.
Mitzi lifted Linda’s shirt, her hands grazing her soft flesh.
Shelby’s eyes drifted from the women on the bed to the women by her side.
“Benjamin,” I beckoned. “Thanks for taking care of that. I’d like you to suck my cock, but can you do me a favor first?”
“What is that, Jefferson?”
I indicated a chest of drawers. “Open the third drawer down on the right side. Inside you will find my socks. You can ignore my socks. In the left hand side, at the back, you will find black lace panties and a pair of black hose. Would you retrieve those, please?”
“Of course, Jefferson.” Benjamin rummaged through my drawer.
Mitzi stooped as she lowered Linda’s pants.
“Does that feel all right?” Dacia asked.
“Yes, you treat me very well,” Farahnaz responded.
John, sitting opposite me on the other side of the bed, took out his cock and stroked it.
Shelby watched Benjamin return with his hands full of dainties.
“Are these what you wanted?” he asked me.
“Yes. I’d like you put them on, please.”
“Finally,” Dacia said, looking over. “You are doing something with him.”
Benjamin examined the panties. He found the back and stepped into them awkwardly. He pulled them up.
He turned to face me.
“You look fetching, little Benjamin.” I smiled. “But you didn’t do such a sexy job putting them on. You need to look like you really enjoy it. Now, when you put on the hose, put your heart in it. Extend your legs. Give it the full Mrs. Robinson feel.”
Linda passed her panties to me. “Oh, thanks honey,” I said, tucking them behind my back.
Benjamin sat on the edge of the bed. He extended his right leg.
“Point your toes . . . that’s it,” I said. “And take your time.”
I reached for my bourbon.
Benjamin slipped the hose over his toes and slowly rolled them up the curve of his arch, over his heel, and to his ankle. His eyes were on mine as he passed his calf. He snapped them into place mid-thigh.
“Good,” I nodded, my throat a little hoarse. “Now the other one.”
Mitzi watched my reaction as he rolled the other hose up his leg, even more slowly than the first. I was growing hard.
“Fucking hot, man,” Shelby nodded.
“Benjamin, you are a very pretty girl.” I nestled my bourbon in my palm. “I’ll take that blowjob now.”
Benjamin lowered himself to my knees. I spread my legs and watched his mouth descend to my cock.
He took it full in his mouth, gagging slightly.
“Take your time, Benjamin.” I placed a hand on his cheek. “Savor it.”
Benjamin slowed, pulling back slightly. He soon speed up again as his mouth pumped up and back. His blowjob was messy and disorganized, rushed by his hunger to taste cock.
“That’s some blowjob you’ve got there,” I said, petting his hair. “It’s like getting a quick one in a bus station.”
He dropped my cock and gasped. “Thanks. It’s only the second time I’ve done this.”
“This is your second blowjob?” I asked.
Dacia paused in her thrusts as she overheard. “Aw! His second blowjob!” she exclaimed. “How sweet.”
Everyone joined her in cooing.
Benjamin blushed.
“That really is sweet, little girl,” I smiled at him, stroking his cheek. “Now, suck my cock.”
He went back to his task.
I surveyed the room.
Linda and Mitzi were nude, talking near the door. Shelby stood nearby, clothed and watching the clock. Dacia was fucking Farahnaz on the bed. Seth watched; he wasn’t going to do anything with anyone other than Dacia. John masturbated in a chair.
I needed to mix things up a bit.
I cupped Benjamin’s chin in my hand. “Little girl, I want you to stop and listen.”
My cock popped from his mouth. “Yes, Jefferson?”
“I want you to crawl to the chair on the other side of the room. There, you will find my friend John. Ask him if he would like you to suck his cock. If he says yes, you may give your third blowjob.”
Benjamin looked past the tangle of limbs on the bed. “Yes, of course.” He turned and crawled away, his ass swaying in his pretty lace panties.
He found John receptive to his offer.
Shelby came and whispered in my ear. “Baby, I need to get going.”
I kissed her cheek. “I know, let me get my pants on and I’ll walk you out.”
Mitzi’s eyes followed as I led Shelby into the living room.
“Did you have a good time, sugar?” I asked.
“I did,” she smiled. “It was fun to watch you be all butch and shit. Though you know I can still kick your ass.”
“You and I both know that,” I nodded.
“So Farahnaz told me the next party is on her birthday.”
“Yeah, that’s right, actually.”
“Cool. Maybe I’ll make it back to that one.”
“Really? Well, hopefully you can stay over.”
“Maybe. But this doesn’t mean I want to do group sex, man. It’s just fun to see everyone and watch.”
“Whatever you like, baby,” I beamed. I put my cheek to hers. “Thanks again for the trip south.”
“No problem. It was fun.” She hefted her bag over a shoulder. “Okay dude, I’m outta here. Happy birthday.”
“Bye honey.”
I closed the door behind her.
I turned to find Mitzi watching from the hallway. She was wearing her panties and top.
She pulled me aside. “Do you like your present?”
“I do, yes. He’s fun, don’t you think?”
Mitzi nodded, shaking the hair from her eyes. “It’s fun to watch you use him.”
I smiled, resting my hands on her hips.
“Will you use me tonight too?” she asked.
“You can count on that,” I kissed her.
“Mister Jefferson,” Farahnaz called. “Where have you gone off to?”
“In the hallway,” I answered.
Farahnaz appeared in the doorway. She rested a long arm on her door jam, and jutted her hip to one side. “Oh, hello Mitzi. Mister Jefferson, may I remind you that I am all yours, but only until eleven?”
“Oh, yes, thank you, Farahnaz. And I know it is getting late.”
“Indeed. Mitzi, do you mind if I borrow the birthday boy?”
“Anything for you, Farahnaz.” Mitzi stepped from my hands.
“You are kind to princesses,” Farahnaz smiled to Mitzi. She took my hand. “Come on, this room is busy. Let’s try the other.”
I glanced into the bedroom. John sprawled across the bed as Benjamin blew him. Dacia rode Seth’s lap in a chair.
Mitzi stayed to check on her charge.
Farahnaz and I found Nicole and Giancarlo in the back room. I’d all but forgotten they were at the party.
They were fully dressed. She sat before him, sucking his unzipped cock.
“I hope we’re not intruding,” I said, removing my jeans.
“No, s’cool,” Giancarlo nodded.
Nicole looked over at us, then back up to Giancarlo.
“Now, Mister Jefferson,” Farahnaz began as she reclined on an empty bed. “You know very well how I like to be taken.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, taking a condom as I lay next to her. “You would like this slow at first, then building in intensity.”
“Yes, you remember me so well,” she said, touching my hair.
“You are very memorable, lovely. Would you enjoy being bitten?” I rested my fingertips on her ribcage, just under her breasts.
“Let’s see once we get there.” She offered her lips to mine.
I felt myself growing hard against her thighs.
I took her face in my hands as we began to fuck. My eyes were on hers, watching for her responses.
“You are taking me very well, Mister Jefferson,” she said, her voice calm. “But really, is that the best you can do?”
“I think I can do better,” I smiled. I pulled back and pushed a little deeper, a little harder. “Is that better?” I asked.
“I think you are refusing to do better,” she taunted.
“Oh, do you think some other man could do better, then?” I retorted.
I sat back on my haunches and pushed back her thighs. I went fast but not too deep, aiming for that place in her body I have found before.
I am still taking mental notes when making love with my transsexual girlfriend, drawing maps in my memory of her erogenous zones. She is like other lovers in some respects, like no one other than herself in others.
Apparently, I was doing better.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You can bite me now.”
I nodded and took her shoulder in my teeth. My cock stayed on course—fast, rhythmic, shallow.
“Jefferson?”
I looked up.
Mitzi stood in the door with Benjamin. Both were fully dressed.
Mitzi looked a little stricken.
“Benjamin has something to tell you,” she said, standing to one side.
“Yes, Benjamin?” I slowed my cock in Farahnaz. She craned her neck to look back at the boy.
“Look man, I hate to do this, but I need to cut out.” All pretense of submission had vanished from his voice. He held up a cell. “I just got this call from one of my best buds. He broke both of his legs, so I need to get to the hospital.”
“Oh dear!” I said.
“I don’t understand,” Farahnaz said. “Your friend broke two legs?”
“Yeah, it’s crazy shit.”
“Imagine the odds,” I nodded. My eyes caught Mitzi’s.
“Yes, I felt Benjamin should tell you this news himself,” Mitzi said.
“Yes, I appreciate that,” I agreed. “Well, Benjamin, thank you for your service tonight.”
“My pleasure, man. I’ll definitely be back,” he nodded.
Not likely, I thought, if Mitzi’s face offers any clues.
“Cool. Well, Mitzi, would you mind showing him out? I’m sort of . . . caught up with Farahnaz.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be back.” Mitzi ushered Benjamin from the room.
I returned my attentions to Farahnaz.
“You don’t believe that, do you?” she asked. “I mean, come on, who breaks two legs and needs his friend to rush over?”
“Now, Farahnaz,” I shook my head. “Why ever would he lie?”
We fucked until she turned into a pumpkin.
The rest of the night progressed smoothly. Around two, I found the party’s remnants gathered in the living room.
Dacia was in her panties, huddled under a blanket. She talked with Seth and Linda, who stretched her nude legs across my desk chair.
Mitzi came in from a smoke on the terrace.
“So,” I asked. “Anyone up for bacon cheeseburgers?” I was in a mood to cook.
This was greeted as a fine idea. Mitzi joined me as I fired up my grill.
“Can you believe that bullshit about the friend’s emergency?” she asked, still steamed about Benjamin. “That, and the whole fake picture thing. What a loser.”
“Yeah, but you never know,” I said, taking bacon from the refrigerator. “If this was all new to him, he may have felt the need to disguise himself in layers of falsehoods. You know? Whether to protect his identity, or to allow himself to come here at all.”
“Whatever. You know, he lied, so he’s a loser.”
“I suppose. But when he let himself go, he was all right.” The first patty sizzled as it hit the grill.
“It’s shame, though,” I said, clucking my tongue. “You’d think that making dinner after an orgy would be fun for a good submissive.”
“Yeah, too bad his friend broke his legs,” Mitzi laughed.
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Like most of my friends, she knows that I am generally more interested in experiences than things.
Bridget had given me a weekend in the country.
Anna had made me a nice dinner topped by a much-anticipated blowjob in my new chair.
Shelby had given me a tour of her life down home.
Mitzi put her mind to the task and came up with a fine idea: she would give me a submissive boy.
She did not take up this project lightly. She knows my ongoing frustration in finding a suitable candidate for this position.
One would think that the boy who serves as my submissive would be a lucky fellow. He may be granted many assignments that would enhance my life as a parent and pervert. He may be rewarded with my generous use of the strap, my creative finesse with discipline, my insatiable demands for sexual gratification.
And yet, most boys get distracted. They pony up as submissives only to gallop away once they take a spanking and get laid. They don’t get the idea that being submissive is not the provenance of thrill seekers. It takes dedication and responsibility.
Mitzi knew better that to spring a boy on me without my input. She knew there are some gifts that are not appropriate as surprises. Giving slaves is one of those acts of generosity best discussed in advance.
Once she had done some footwork, she let me in on her scheme.
Mitzi: I have a special surprise for your birthday. Do you want to know what it is?
Jefferson: You shouldn’t have! But if you’d care to share it, I’m all ears.
Mitzi: I’m finding you a submissive boy.
Jefferson: What a great idea! Thanks. But you may be beating your head against a brick wall. I’ve had bum’s luck shopping for one in my size.
Mitzi: I know, it ain’t easy. But I’ve uncovered a few guys who may work. You wanna see?
Jefferson: You’ve already found possibilities? Wow, you are on the ball.
Mitzi: Aw, thanks. Check your inbox.
Mitzi sent me her correspondence with the leading contenders, as well as their photographs. I was impressed to read back over her interactions.
She had combed online ads and put up several of her own.
She had garnered basic statistics and looked over photographs to ensure that each candidate would be a physical specimen appealing to my tastes. She knew I would want someone easy on the eyes.
She had explained the circumstances to each of the boys. Any submissive would need to be bisexual or bi-curious, and understand that while he may serve at an orgy, he is not to touch anyone except at my bidding.
Mitzi dismissed out of hand anyone who seemed more interested in sex with her than in serving me.
She had made it clear that I preferred a commitment to submission over a one-time encounter.
I went over the finalists Mitzi recommended. “Let me know if you want to see others,” she offered. “I can keep looking.”
I poured coffee and reviewed my options.
There was a Korean who was more interested in men than women, but was willing to be used in front of a mixed group.
There was a cute farm boy new to the city and eager for new experiences.
And then there was Benjamin.
Benjamin’s notes to Mitzi were respectful and humorous. He claimed very little experience with men or submission, but seemed to have a good attitude about undertaking this role.
His photograph looked great. He was standing on a rooftop in a leather jacket, squinting into the sun. His hair was black and longish. He had the air of a Dennis Leary type, minus the asshole attitude.
Jefferson: This Benjamin is a cute kid.
Mitzi: You like? He’s my favorite too. He says his hair is shorter now, so he looks a little different . . .
Jefferson: Shall we just go with Benjamin then? We can try him out before the orgy on my birthday. If he’s good, he can stay for the main event.
Mitzi: That’s all I need to hear. I’ll take care of it.
Jefferson: Thanks, Mitzi. That’s a great gift.
Mitzi: Of course, Jefferson. It’s my pleasure.
Mitzi arranged for Benjamin to meet us at my place before the orgy.
I hoped that Benjamin passed muster and we would allow him to stay, but I harbored some concerns about how well I could supervise a novice submissive while tending to other guests.
Mitzi offered to make the boy her responsibility.
We discussed details and made our plan.
There were late adjustments to this plan.
After Shelby returned me to the city that afternoon, we got to fooling around and she decided to stay for the orgy. That was unexpected, as she had come to eschew group sex. Still, she likes our friends, and it had been awhile since she had seen them, so she opted to stick around for a bit.
I let her know that Mitzi and I were planning to audition a submissive beforehand. Even better, Shelby said: she enjoys a good show.
I contacted Mitzi to clear this.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she sighed. “Benjamin is held up at work. He can’t come before seven thirty.”
“The orgy starts around eight, though,” I pointed out. “Not much time to do anything with him.”
“Should I cancel him then?”
I pondered this. A submissive who can’t make a prearranged appointment may reasonably be dismissed. But it wasn’t his fault he had to work late, and above all, Mitzi had done so much work to make a present of him. I didn’t want to disappoint her.
I decided to go ahead.
“Good,” Mitzi said. “This should be fun! See you a little after seven.”
“Super, honey. See you then.”
I hung up and went back to making out with Shelby.
Seven o’clock rolled around. Mitzi arrived, a little nervous about her charge.
“I really hope you like him,” she said as we sat for drinks on the terrace.
“Above all, I appreciate your efforts on my behalf,” I said, my hand on her knee. “It’s a very thoughtful birthday gesture.”
“Yeah, and his picture was cute,” Shelby added. “As long as he’s not an asshole, it’s all good.”
The guests began to arrive. My friends were sweet about making the effort to attend my birthday orgy.
Dacia came with her boyfriend Seth; it was the first time he had been to one of our parties, and only the second time we had met. He was a little nervous. Dacia, for her part, was in fine form.
Farahnaz arrived, having left a class early to be with us. She looked stunning, as usual, apologizing as we bussed cheeks that she did not have time to truly dress up for such a special occasion.
Linda kissed hellos to Shelby, Mitzi and me before sidling up to Mark. It was her first time at one of my bisexual parties, and she was quick to appreciate the charms of the man we all refer to as mmmmm-Mark.
John arrived earlier than usual, along with a new couple he had recruited to join our gang. I had corresponded with Nicole and Giancarlo many times via email; it was nice to finally meet them in person.
The living room was filling up, but still no delivery of my birthday present.
Mitzi bit her thumb, anxious and peeved.
She jumped when there was another knock at the door.
“Hello,” she smiled as she opened the door. “You must be Benjamin? I’m Mitzi.”
“Nice to meet you, Mitzi,” Benjamin replied, looking around as he entered. “Sorry I’m so late. Work and all.”
“No problem. May I take your coat? I would like to take you to meet Jefferson.”
Mitzi hung Benjamin’s coat and walked him into the living room.
“Everyone?” she announced. “This is Benjamin. Benjamin, that’s Jefferson on the couch.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I stood, extending my hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he grinned. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Jefferson, may I see you in the kitchen?” Mitzi asked. “We can leave Benjamin to get settled.”
“Of course.” I stepped over Farahnaz’s legs and followed Mitzi to the kitchen.
“What’s up?” I asked.
Mitzi lowered her voice. “That is not the same boy as the photograph!” she fumed.
“What? Benjamin, you mean?”
“Yes! He sent a fake picture. He looks entirely different.”
“Are you sure?” I tried to match his face to the photograph I had seen. “I mean, he’s cute enough.”
“He looks like every boy I went to Hebrew school with,” she complained. “I should make him leave.”
“Well, now, hold on,” I said, taking her shoulders. “Maybe he will prove himself. I mean, I think he looks good, so let’s keep him around. All right?”
Mitzi looked up at me. “If you say so. He’s your gift anyway. It just pisses me off that he sent a fake picture.”
“That is bad behavior,” I agreed. “But let’s see how he pans out.”
I returned to the couch and sat next to Farahnaz.
“Oh, you remind me,” she said, reaching for her bag. “I have a little something for you, Jefferson.”
She produced a small envelope. Inside was a card featuring an Orientalist harem scene by Edwin Longsden Long. Farahnaz’s elegant script graced the card with the promise of a massage at my convenience.
“Oh, thank you!” I said, kissing her. “That’s the loveliest gift.”
“I am also all yours tonight, to do as you wish.” She waved her long hands over the length of her torso. “At least, until eleven, when I turn into a pumpkin.”
“That’s an even better offer,” I smiled.
“Yeah, I didn’t get you anything,” Dacia interjected. “And I’m not fucking you either.”
“I don’t expect anything from you except a whole lotta lip,” I jibed. “Anyway, who needs your crummy trinkets when I have a massage from Farahnaz and a submissive from Mitzi?”
“What submissive?” Dacia asked.
“Benjamin.” I indicated the tall boy across the room chatting with Mitzi. “He’s my toy tonight.”
“Really?” Farahnaz turned.
“Huh,” Dacia said. “What, and he’s just sitting there? You are a lousy dom.”
“You’re right, I could do better.” I raised my voice. “Benjamin? Could you come here, please?”
Benjamin quickly stood and approached the couch. “Yes, Jefferson?”
“Benjamin, these are my friends Dacia and Farahnaz. We would each enjoy a drink. Bourbon, ladies?”
“Just what I was thinking,” Dacia said.
“I really shouldn’t but . . . yes, please,” Farahnaz nodded.
“On the rocks, three fingers,” I instructed Benjamin. “You’ll find what you need in the kitchen.”
“Yes, of course, Jefferson.” Benjamin turned and left for the kitchen.
“He’s a cute toy,” Farahnaz admired.
“Yeah, if badly used,” Dacia teased.
I could see where this was going. I shared the couch with two other doms and they were eying my submissive.
“Back off, sisters,” I admonished. “He’s my birthday present.”
“You are good to share,” Farahnaz said.
“You are wasting him,” Dacia said.
“We’ll see,” I replied.
Benjamin returned with our drinks. He handed them over with care.
“Thank you, Benjamin,” I said, taking a sip. “Now, would you mind undressing?”
“Of course. Here?” he asked, looking around at the room at the expectant faces.
“Yes, please,” I nodded. “I want to look at you.”
Benjamin unbuttoned his shirt and put it in chair. He pulled off a t-shirt and unfastened his pants. He stooped to remove his socks. He stood, wearing only underwear.
“All of it, please,” I gestured.
Benjamin stepped out of his underwear, tossing them into his pile of clothes.
“Turn around, please,” I asked. Benjamin raised his hands and turned so that I could survey his nude body.
He had a lean physique, with a strong upper body and a thick stout cock.
“Not bad, right?” I asked Shelby.
“Yeah, he’s all right,” she nodded.
I smiled at Mitzi.
“Benjamin, I’d like you to massage my feet, please,” I said. I stretched my legs over Farahnaz’s thighs and propped my feet in Dacia’s lap.
Dacia scrunched her nose. “Oh hush,” I said. “They’re clean.”
Benjamin dropped to his knees and took my feet in his palms, his eyes momentarily distracted by Dacia’s fishnets under my heels.
His hands were strong, though he trembled slightly.
I took another sip of my bourbon, enjoying his nervousness. Here he was, nude in a room of clothed people he didn’t know, rubbing the feet of a man he had just met but had committed to serve for the evening.
Not bad for his first half hour as my sub.
“I hope you enjoy your foot massage, great white master,” Farahnaz said. “Afterwards, I am making you my first of the evening. My day’s virginity is also my gift to you.”
“Oh, thanks, sweet.” I closed my eyes and focused on Benjamin’s hands.
A few moments passed.
“Okay, come on,” Dacia said, taking Farahnaz’s hand. “Enough of this lame ‘foot massage’ crap. I’m going to fuck you with my strap on.”
Dacia stood, knocking my feet to one side.
“But wait,” Farahnaz said as Dacia tugged her to stand. “I promised Jefferson he would be my first.”
“Go, it’s all right,” I waved, putting my feet back on the couch. “She can be your first woman, I’ll be your first man.”
“Oh Solomon, you are so wise.” Farahnaz managed as Dacia tugged her into the hallway.
Benjamin began to rub my feet.
“Well, I am not watching a foot massage when there’s hot girl-on-girl action in the next room.” Linda said, standing.
“Right behind you,” Shelby said.
Everyone began to move toward the bedroom.
“Let’s not fight the trend, Benjamin,” I pulled my feet back. “You can continue my massage in the other room.”
“Yes, Jefferson.”
Benjamin followed me into the bedroom. We maneuvered past Mitzi, Linda and Shelby, who clustered near the door watching as Dacia, stripped to her underwear, stepped into the harness of her strap on.
Farahnaz pulled off her dress and reclined nude on the bed.
“Jefferson, do you see what a display we are?” Farahnaz asked. “Surely I am not going to be the only nude?”
“Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” I pulled my shirt over my head, and removed my jeans. I sat in a high backed chair. “Benjamin, would you please undress Mitzi?”
“Jefferson!,” Mitzi began. “I don’t want him to . . .”
“Shhh, shhh,” I said. “I’m trying to watch the show.”
Benjamin stood before Mitzi. “May I?”
She looked at me. “Fine.” She dropped her hands as Benjamin pulled off her top and unhooked her bra.
Dacia crouched on her knees, leaning forward to kiss Farahnaz. Seth watched from a corner.
Benjamin unfastened Mitzi’s pants and tugged. “I’ll take it from here,” she demurred. She stepped from her jeans and lowered her panties.
“Benjamin, could you bring those panties to me?” I asked. He delivered them. I tucked them behind my back.
Shelby laughed. I caught her eye, glad that she was enjoying herself. I knew she couldn’t stay much later, so I wanted to be sure she got an eyeful for the ride back home.
Farahnaz sighed as Dacia entered her.
Mitzi stomped a foot. “Jefferson, I feel a little ridiculous standing her naked.”
“Perhaps because you are rather alone in your nudity. Perhaps you need company. Perhaps you should undress Linda.”
Linda smiled and stood erect.
“Do you mind?” Mitzi asked.
“Be my guest,” Linda said.
Mitzi lifted Linda’s shirt, her hands grazing her soft flesh.
Shelby’s eyes drifted from the women on the bed to the women by her side.
“Benjamin,” I beckoned. “Thanks for taking care of that. I’d like you to suck my cock, but can you do me a favor first?”
“What is that, Jefferson?”
I indicated a chest of drawers. “Open the third drawer down on the right side. Inside you will find my socks. You can ignore my socks. In the left hand side, at the back, you will find black lace panties and a pair of black hose. Would you retrieve those, please?”
“Of course, Jefferson.” Benjamin rummaged through my drawer.
Mitzi stooped as she lowered Linda’s pants.
“Does that feel all right?” Dacia asked.
“Yes, you treat me very well,” Farahnaz responded.
John, sitting opposite me on the other side of the bed, took out his cock and stroked it.
Shelby watched Benjamin return with his hands full of dainties.
“Are these what you wanted?” he asked me.
“Yes. I’d like you put them on, please.”
“Finally,” Dacia said, looking over. “You are doing something with him.”
Benjamin examined the panties. He found the back and stepped into them awkwardly. He pulled them up.
He turned to face me.
“You look fetching, little Benjamin.” I smiled. “But you didn’t do such a sexy job putting them on. You need to look like you really enjoy it. Now, when you put on the hose, put your heart in it. Extend your legs. Give it the full Mrs. Robinson feel.”
Linda passed her panties to me. “Oh, thanks honey,” I said, tucking them behind my back.
Benjamin sat on the edge of the bed. He extended his right leg.
“Point your toes . . . that’s it,” I said. “And take your time.”
I reached for my bourbon.
Benjamin slipped the hose over his toes and slowly rolled them up the curve of his arch, over his heel, and to his ankle. His eyes were on mine as he passed his calf. He snapped them into place mid-thigh.
“Good,” I nodded, my throat a little hoarse. “Now the other one.”
Mitzi watched my reaction as he rolled the other hose up his leg, even more slowly than the first. I was growing hard.
“Fucking hot, man,” Shelby nodded.
“Benjamin, you are a very pretty girl.” I nestled my bourbon in my palm. “I’ll take that blowjob now.”
Benjamin lowered himself to my knees. I spread my legs and watched his mouth descend to my cock.
He took it full in his mouth, gagging slightly.
“Take your time, Benjamin.” I placed a hand on his cheek. “Savor it.”
Benjamin slowed, pulling back slightly. He soon speed up again as his mouth pumped up and back. His blowjob was messy and disorganized, rushed by his hunger to taste cock.
“That’s some blowjob you’ve got there,” I said, petting his hair. “It’s like getting a quick one in a bus station.”
He dropped my cock and gasped. “Thanks. It’s only the second time I’ve done this.”
“This is your second blowjob?” I asked.
Dacia paused in her thrusts as she overheard. “Aw! His second blowjob!” she exclaimed. “How sweet.”
Everyone joined her in cooing.
Benjamin blushed.
“That really is sweet, little girl,” I smiled at him, stroking his cheek. “Now, suck my cock.”
He went back to his task.
I surveyed the room.
Linda and Mitzi were nude, talking near the door. Shelby stood nearby, clothed and watching the clock. Dacia was fucking Farahnaz on the bed. Seth watched; he wasn’t going to do anything with anyone other than Dacia. John masturbated in a chair.
I needed to mix things up a bit.
I cupped Benjamin’s chin in my hand. “Little girl, I want you to stop and listen.”
My cock popped from his mouth. “Yes, Jefferson?”
“I want you to crawl to the chair on the other side of the room. There, you will find my friend John. Ask him if he would like you to suck his cock. If he says yes, you may give your third blowjob.”
Benjamin looked past the tangle of limbs on the bed. “Yes, of course.” He turned and crawled away, his ass swaying in his pretty lace panties.
He found John receptive to his offer.
Shelby came and whispered in my ear. “Baby, I need to get going.”
I kissed her cheek. “I know, let me get my pants on and I’ll walk you out.”
Mitzi’s eyes followed as I led Shelby into the living room.
“Did you have a good time, sugar?” I asked.
“I did,” she smiled. “It was fun to watch you be all butch and shit. Though you know I can still kick your ass.”
“You and I both know that,” I nodded.
“So Farahnaz told me the next party is on her birthday.”
“Yeah, that’s right, actually.”
“Cool. Maybe I’ll make it back to that one.”
“Really? Well, hopefully you can stay over.”
“Maybe. But this doesn’t mean I want to do group sex, man. It’s just fun to see everyone and watch.”
“Whatever you like, baby,” I beamed. I put my cheek to hers. “Thanks again for the trip south.”
“No problem. It was fun.” She hefted her bag over a shoulder. “Okay dude, I’m outta here. Happy birthday.”
“Bye honey.”
I closed the door behind her.
I turned to find Mitzi watching from the hallway. She was wearing her panties and top.
She pulled me aside. “Do you like your present?”
“I do, yes. He’s fun, don’t you think?”
Mitzi nodded, shaking the hair from her eyes. “It’s fun to watch you use him.”
I smiled, resting my hands on her hips.
“Will you use me tonight too?” she asked.
“You can count on that,” I kissed her.
“Mister Jefferson,” Farahnaz called. “Where have you gone off to?”
“In the hallway,” I answered.
Farahnaz appeared in the doorway. She rested a long arm on her door jam, and jutted her hip to one side. “Oh, hello Mitzi. Mister Jefferson, may I remind you that I am all yours, but only until eleven?”
“Oh, yes, thank you, Farahnaz. And I know it is getting late.”
“Indeed. Mitzi, do you mind if I borrow the birthday boy?”
“Anything for you, Farahnaz.” Mitzi stepped from my hands.
“You are kind to princesses,” Farahnaz smiled to Mitzi. She took my hand. “Come on, this room is busy. Let’s try the other.”
I glanced into the bedroom. John sprawled across the bed as Benjamin blew him. Dacia rode Seth’s lap in a chair.
Mitzi stayed to check on her charge.
Farahnaz and I found Nicole and Giancarlo in the back room. I’d all but forgotten they were at the party.
They were fully dressed. She sat before him, sucking his unzipped cock.
“I hope we’re not intruding,” I said, removing my jeans.
“No, s’cool,” Giancarlo nodded.
Nicole looked over at us, then back up to Giancarlo.
“Now, Mister Jefferson,” Farahnaz began as she reclined on an empty bed. “You know very well how I like to be taken.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, taking a condom as I lay next to her. “You would like this slow at first, then building in intensity.”
“Yes, you remember me so well,” she said, touching my hair.
“You are very memorable, lovely. Would you enjoy being bitten?” I rested my fingertips on her ribcage, just under her breasts.
“Let’s see once we get there.” She offered her lips to mine.
I felt myself growing hard against her thighs.
I took her face in my hands as we began to fuck. My eyes were on hers, watching for her responses.
“You are taking me very well, Mister Jefferson,” she said, her voice calm. “But really, is that the best you can do?”
“I think I can do better,” I smiled. I pulled back and pushed a little deeper, a little harder. “Is that better?” I asked.
“I think you are refusing to do better,” she taunted.
“Oh, do you think some other man could do better, then?” I retorted.
I sat back on my haunches and pushed back her thighs. I went fast but not too deep, aiming for that place in her body I have found before.
I am still taking mental notes when making love with my transsexual girlfriend, drawing maps in my memory of her erogenous zones. She is like other lovers in some respects, like no one other than herself in others.
Apparently, I was doing better.
“Yes,” she whispered. “You can bite me now.”
I nodded and took her shoulder in my teeth. My cock stayed on course—fast, rhythmic, shallow.
“Jefferson?”
I looked up.
Mitzi stood in the door with Benjamin. Both were fully dressed.
Mitzi looked a little stricken.
“Benjamin has something to tell you,” she said, standing to one side.
“Yes, Benjamin?” I slowed my cock in Farahnaz. She craned her neck to look back at the boy.
“Look man, I hate to do this, but I need to cut out.” All pretense of submission had vanished from his voice. He held up a cell. “I just got this call from one of my best buds. He broke both of his legs, so I need to get to the hospital.”
“Oh dear!” I said.
“I don’t understand,” Farahnaz said. “Your friend broke two legs?”
“Yeah, it’s crazy shit.”
“Imagine the odds,” I nodded. My eyes caught Mitzi’s.
“Yes, I felt Benjamin should tell you this news himself,” Mitzi said.
“Yes, I appreciate that,” I agreed. “Well, Benjamin, thank you for your service tonight.”
“My pleasure, man. I’ll definitely be back,” he nodded.
Not likely, I thought, if Mitzi’s face offers any clues.
“Cool. Well, Mitzi, would you mind showing him out? I’m sort of . . . caught up with Farahnaz.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be back.” Mitzi ushered Benjamin from the room.
I returned my attentions to Farahnaz.
“You don’t believe that, do you?” she asked. “I mean, come on, who breaks two legs and needs his friend to rush over?”
“Now, Farahnaz,” I shook my head. “Why ever would he lie?”
We fucked until she turned into a pumpkin.
The rest of the night progressed smoothly. Around two, I found the party’s remnants gathered in the living room.
Dacia was in her panties, huddled under a blanket. She talked with Seth and Linda, who stretched her nude legs across my desk chair.
Mitzi came in from a smoke on the terrace.
“So,” I asked. “Anyone up for bacon cheeseburgers?” I was in a mood to cook.
This was greeted as a fine idea. Mitzi joined me as I fired up my grill.
“Can you believe that bullshit about the friend’s emergency?” she asked, still steamed about Benjamin. “That, and the whole fake picture thing. What a loser.”
“Yeah, but you never know,” I said, taking bacon from the refrigerator. “If this was all new to him, he may have felt the need to disguise himself in layers of falsehoods. You know? Whether to protect his identity, or to allow himself to come here at all.”
“Whatever. You know, he lied, so he’s a loser.”
“I suppose. But when he let himself go, he was all right.” The first patty sizzled as it hit the grill.
“It’s shame, though,” I said, clucking my tongue. “You’d think that making dinner after an orgy would be fun for a good submissive.”
“Yeah, too bad his friend broke his legs,” Mitzi laughed.
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Friday, April 14, 2006
Waking
The alarm barely registered in my consciousness.
I didn’t hear the shower running.
I was sprawled across the bed and snoring when Meg returned to kiss me goodbye, her wet hair on my cheek as she quietly wished me a happy birthday.
She closed the door behind her around six thirty, leaving me in her bed and Shelby on her couch.
Meg had four hours of sleep behind her, and a day with students ahead.
Under her covers, I dreamed that my younger son and I were on a beach, tracing our names in the sand. His name was much longer than my own.
We laughed that this had never been true before, but the more we wrote, the longer his name became. His name extended as far as we could see; “Jefferson” was scrunched and minute.
“Jefferson? Get up, baby.”
I opened my eyes. A smile took my lips as I focused on Shelby, wearing only her small t-shirt. Her hair was disheveled on the right side of her face, exposing her ear.
“Good morning, baby.” I rolled over on my back. “Is it late?”
“It’s about nine, but we need to get going, man. I need to get you back to the city.”
I reached for her hand.
“Come lay with me for a bit first.”
She scratched her head. “You need to slide your ass over, sleeping beauty.”
I moved my hips over to one side of the bed. My torso followed. I tossed back the blankets and crooked an arm under my vacated pillow. “Right here, baby. It’s all warm for you.”
Shelby sat on the bed, and swung her legs to the side. She fell back into my arms.
I snuggled her into a spoon, pulling the blankets over us.
My free hand slid under her shirt to her breast, my forearm resting against her belly. My nose nuzzled into her neck, smelling her hair.
My cock grew into small of her back.
My eyes closed. I drifted.
“Jefferson?”
“Hmmm?”
“Are you falling asleep?”
“No, honey.” My eyes remained closed as I adjusted my weight, trying to bring my body closer to hers.
She laughed. “You were snoring, honey.”
My tongue flicked her hair from my mouth. “I don’t snore and you know it. That is a pernicious fabrication.”
She elbowed me gently. “There’s only one liar in this bed, and it isn’t me.”
I kissed her shoulder.
I kissed it again.
She wriggled under my arm. “Come on, we really need to get going.”
“Yeah, let’s go. But let’s fuck first.”
Shelby pushed her hips forward and parted her thighs. She put a finger to her labia.
“Yeah, I’m wet, so sure, let’s do it.” She rolled back. “But no marathons, man, we have to get on the road.”
I reached over her to take one of Meg’s condoms from the nightstand. “Short and sweet, coming up.”
I freed the hand under her head and tore open the condom package, keeping my arms around her. I kissed her cheek as latex emerged from foil into my fingertips.
I lay back. Shelby watched as I balanced the condom on the head of my cock, then rolled it down the shaft.
She lifted her eyes to mine.
“You okay there, tiger?”
I leaned to kiss her. “I’m fine and about to be a whole lot better. Spread your legs, you.”
I lifted myself to give her room. I sat back, looking down as my fingers guided my cock into her body.
No foreplay, no extended touching. We could take care of that as we fucked.
I lowered myself to her, allowing my belly and torso to graze hers gradually, so that the touch of our flesh expanded as my body went deeper into hers.
I touched my lips to hers, just barely, just enough to let her know my kiss was hers.
I took the base of her skull in my palms and held my shoulders still as my hips slowly rotated into her. My cock mined for her wetness, bringing it to the surface.
I was not after her orgasm, nor concerned with mine. I simply craved this closeness, this being together, as we woke to the day after sleeping apart.
It was a hallmark of our love that we made our bodies completely accessible to one another.
In my warm apartment, whatever the season, we wore no clothes, so that as hours folded into days, our nudity was simply a fact of being together.
Our nudity was easy; so too was our love making.
Shelby took my cock when she wanted it, jerking me to hardness as I read a book or sat talking, my legs wrapped around hers.
If I grew bored watching her watch anime, I would spin her hips to the side and fuck her, my eyes taking in her profile as she kept her mind on cartoons.
Sex was intense and intimate at times, snug and comfortable at others.
I came to understand that sex could be normal, even commonplace, between lovers.
This remains a revelation after so many years of regarding sex as something given grudgingly, doled out on those rare occasions when my wife wanted me.
My touch was always available to her, always ready to satisfy her if only she was open to it.
If she took my arm to her waist as we fell asleep, I drew a breath, waiting to know if she might want more.
If she accidentally brushed my hip as we worked in the kitchen, I froze, wondering if I might dare to follow that with a kiss.
Now, with Shelby, all that seemed so hopelessly pathetic. How could I possibly have lived with someone so incapable of affection, I wonder.
It so much easier to live like this, I thought, pressing myself into Shelby’s flesh for no special reason other than our easy, ongoing desire for one another.
Shelby put her hands on my shoulders. “Yo, birthday boy, you wrapping this up? We need to travel, man.”
“Just another moment,” I sighed. I traced her lips with my finger, resting my cock inside her. “You are into me, right?”
“Yep, sure am.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m all about you.”
Shelby grinned.
“All right,” I pulled out. “Enough mush already, we need to get to the city.”
We dressed and made Meg’s bed. On the road, we picked up coffee and hot dogs for the road.
I held Shelby’s hand as she drove.
My eyes followed the traffic as my mind wandered to plans for the orgy just a few hours ahead.
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I didn’t hear the shower running.
I was sprawled across the bed and snoring when Meg returned to kiss me goodbye, her wet hair on my cheek as she quietly wished me a happy birthday.
She closed the door behind her around six thirty, leaving me in her bed and Shelby on her couch.
Meg had four hours of sleep behind her, and a day with students ahead.
Under her covers, I dreamed that my younger son and I were on a beach, tracing our names in the sand. His name was much longer than my own.
We laughed that this had never been true before, but the more we wrote, the longer his name became. His name extended as far as we could see; “Jefferson” was scrunched and minute.
“Jefferson? Get up, baby.”
I opened my eyes. A smile took my lips as I focused on Shelby, wearing only her small t-shirt. Her hair was disheveled on the right side of her face, exposing her ear.
“Good morning, baby.” I rolled over on my back. “Is it late?”
“It’s about nine, but we need to get going, man. I need to get you back to the city.”
I reached for her hand.
“Come lay with me for a bit first.”
She scratched her head. “You need to slide your ass over, sleeping beauty.”
I moved my hips over to one side of the bed. My torso followed. I tossed back the blankets and crooked an arm under my vacated pillow. “Right here, baby. It’s all warm for you.”
Shelby sat on the bed, and swung her legs to the side. She fell back into my arms.
I snuggled her into a spoon, pulling the blankets over us.
My free hand slid under her shirt to her breast, my forearm resting against her belly. My nose nuzzled into her neck, smelling her hair.
My cock grew into small of her back.
My eyes closed. I drifted.
“Jefferson?”
“Hmmm?”
“Are you falling asleep?”
“No, honey.” My eyes remained closed as I adjusted my weight, trying to bring my body closer to hers.
She laughed. “You were snoring, honey.”
My tongue flicked her hair from my mouth. “I don’t snore and you know it. That is a pernicious fabrication.”
She elbowed me gently. “There’s only one liar in this bed, and it isn’t me.”
I kissed her shoulder.
I kissed it again.
She wriggled under my arm. “Come on, we really need to get going.”
“Yeah, let’s go. But let’s fuck first.”
Shelby pushed her hips forward and parted her thighs. She put a finger to her labia.
“Yeah, I’m wet, so sure, let’s do it.” She rolled back. “But no marathons, man, we have to get on the road.”
I reached over her to take one of Meg’s condoms from the nightstand. “Short and sweet, coming up.”
I freed the hand under her head and tore open the condom package, keeping my arms around her. I kissed her cheek as latex emerged from foil into my fingertips.
I lay back. Shelby watched as I balanced the condom on the head of my cock, then rolled it down the shaft.
She lifted her eyes to mine.
“You okay there, tiger?”
I leaned to kiss her. “I’m fine and about to be a whole lot better. Spread your legs, you.”
I lifted myself to give her room. I sat back, looking down as my fingers guided my cock into her body.
No foreplay, no extended touching. We could take care of that as we fucked.
I lowered myself to her, allowing my belly and torso to graze hers gradually, so that the touch of our flesh expanded as my body went deeper into hers.
I touched my lips to hers, just barely, just enough to let her know my kiss was hers.
I took the base of her skull in my palms and held my shoulders still as my hips slowly rotated into her. My cock mined for her wetness, bringing it to the surface.
I was not after her orgasm, nor concerned with mine. I simply craved this closeness, this being together, as we woke to the day after sleeping apart.
It was a hallmark of our love that we made our bodies completely accessible to one another.
In my warm apartment, whatever the season, we wore no clothes, so that as hours folded into days, our nudity was simply a fact of being together.
Our nudity was easy; so too was our love making.
Shelby took my cock when she wanted it, jerking me to hardness as I read a book or sat talking, my legs wrapped around hers.
If I grew bored watching her watch anime, I would spin her hips to the side and fuck her, my eyes taking in her profile as she kept her mind on cartoons.
Sex was intense and intimate at times, snug and comfortable at others.
I came to understand that sex could be normal, even commonplace, between lovers.
This remains a revelation after so many years of regarding sex as something given grudgingly, doled out on those rare occasions when my wife wanted me.
My touch was always available to her, always ready to satisfy her if only she was open to it.
If she took my arm to her waist as we fell asleep, I drew a breath, waiting to know if she might want more.
If she accidentally brushed my hip as we worked in the kitchen, I froze, wondering if I might dare to follow that with a kiss.
Now, with Shelby, all that seemed so hopelessly pathetic. How could I possibly have lived with someone so incapable of affection, I wonder.
It so much easier to live like this, I thought, pressing myself into Shelby’s flesh for no special reason other than our easy, ongoing desire for one another.
Shelby put her hands on my shoulders. “Yo, birthday boy, you wrapping this up? We need to travel, man.”
“Just another moment,” I sighed. I traced her lips with my finger, resting my cock inside her. “You are into me, right?”
“Yep, sure am.”
“Good, ‘cause I’m all about you.”
Shelby grinned.
“All right,” I pulled out. “Enough mush already, we need to get to the city.”
We dressed and made Meg’s bed. On the road, we picked up coffee and hot dogs for the road.
I held Shelby’s hand as she drove.
My eyes followed the traffic as my mind wandered to plans for the orgy just a few hours ahead.
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Being Born
Come on, come on, I thought. Push against me. Give it to me.
I looked over at Meg.
She pulled a shoulder to her ear, quizzically, and looked back to Shelby. Shelby sucked hard on Meg’s tit.
Shelby was so close.
“I’m right here, baby,” I whispered. “Come on.”
Shelby’s eyes were squeezed tight. I held her wrists against the bed. My cock was deep in her. I pressed my pubis firm against hers.
Meg squeezed her hand.
It was all in place.
Everything was as it should be.
Doctor Connors knew all the signs.
“Come on, Alice, push! Push!”
He rested his wrinkled hand on her smooth, damp brow.
She looked up at him, breathing heavily.
“It . . . it really hurts,” Alice gasped.
“It’s supposed to hurt,” Doctor Connors smiled. “The pain precedes the blessing. You’re going to be a mama, just like your mama, sugar. But you need to push that baby now.”
Alice nodded. She looked up at the nurse. She has red hair, Alice thought, just like Frank.
She winced.
Alice reached for the nurse. The nurse took her hand for a moment, then withdrew it to remove rubber gloves. She wiped her hands on a paper towel, tossing it into an open canister near the sink.
She removed a stethoscope from her neck and held it to Alice’s distended abdomen.
“Four inches, doctor.”
“That’s good, Alice, good!” Doctor Connors smiled, adjusting his glasses. “It won’t be long now.”
“Thanks . . . Doctor . . . Connors . . . . sir.” Alice tried to smile.
“Shh, shh. You just relax, sugar. You’re going to be fine.”
“It’s going to be fine, Sammy.”
Alice’s mother looked down at the cigarette in her fingers.
“She’s with Doctor Connors. It will be fine.”
Frank crouched down and looked up at his mother in law. “Sammy?”
She rested a hand on his shoulder and drew another puff on her Camel. She looked down the hallway as she exhaled.
“You are a blessing, baby, you are,” she began. She tapped her heel nervously. “I just wish Jefferson was here . . .”
“Shh, Connie, he is here, he is,” Sammy’s sister whispered, her arm reaching around her shoulder. “And he’s right down that hallway too, giving his love to Alice. Your baby isn’t alone.”
Sammy’s heels clattered. She drew another puff on her cigarette.
Sammy turned her head and exhaled over her sister’s hand on her shoulder. She closed her eyes to avoid looking into Frank’s.
Meg tossed a cigarette off the balcony. “You want another?” She offered the pack to Shelby.
“Yeah.” Shelby shivered as she took one and lit it. “Thanks.” She exhaled. The orange tip of her smoke jabbed at the cold night air. “And thanks for your tits back there.”
Meg laughed. “No problem. Whatever works.”
“Hell yeah, me and my oral fixation.” She took another long drag on her cigarette.
“You’d think sucking Jefferson might take care of that,” Meg said.
“Yeah, you’d think,” Shelby grinned. “But sometimes, I need it all at once.” She flicked an ash. “Shit, it’s cold out here.”
“Fuck yeah, it is,” Meg said, pulling her coat closer. “January.”
“All right,” Shelby said. She took a long puff. She stamped the butt and tossed it from the balcony. “We’re going back in. Your ass is mine.”
“Oh, goody.” Meg rubbed the ashes of her cigarette on a brick before following her friend inside. “Good, good, good.”
“Good!” Doctor Connors looked up over the draped cloth. “Good work, Alice! Keep pushing!”
“Keep pushing, honey,” the nurse added. She’s brunette, thought Alice. What became of the redheaded nurse?
“One more, push hard,” Doctor Connors barked.
Alice focused on Doctor Connors’s voice. He was the only familiar person in the room. He knew how to deliver babies. He delivered me, Alice thought, gasping for air. He delivered Mom, and her Mama too. He’s done this so many times. Just do what he tells me, she told herself, and it will be fine.
Alice felt faint.
Doctor Connors looked to the nurse. “Get her pulse,” he ordered.
“Do you want me to get you anything?” Frank asked his mother in law.
She looked up. “No, baby, I’m fine.”
Her sister looked at her face, then looked to Frank. “Why don’t you get her a cup of coffee? Maybe get us all some coffee. You need some money, baby?” She reached for her purse, unclasping the top. “There’s a dollar in here, I’m sure . . .”
“No, I’m all right.” Frank stood up. “Just some coffee?”
“Yes. Well, why don’t you get twelve coffees, one for everyone.” Sammy’s sister looked around the waiting room at her parents and siblings, dozing in their chairs. “This could be a while. Oh, and some sugar and bottle of milk. You sure you don’t want that dollar? Maybe two?”
“No, I’m fine. You okay, Sammy?” Frank stood, his hand still holding his mother in law’s hand.
Sammy looked up. “No, honey, I’m all right. Thank you.”
Frank looked back as he walked down the hall.
Sammy watched him walk into the elevator.
“They are just so young,” she began, turning to her sister. “My baby and Frank . . .”
“We all were,” she heard. “And we turned out all right. At least Frank just got out of high school. He’s nineteen now. He’s a man.”
“Yes, and he has a job. That’s more than Jefferson and I had . . .” Sammy fell quiet.
Alice’s father Jefferson had seen his eighteen-year-old baby girl married, and doted as his princess’s belly swelled with his first grandchild. Then one afternoon after supper, he took to the couch saying he felt ill. He never woke from his nap.
Sammy was left to finish the job of raising their only child, and her future grandchild, alone. She was not yet forty.
“All right, we are almost there.” Doctor Connors exhorted. He reached for the baby’s shoulders. “You have to finish this job, Alice.”
The nurse held Alice’s hand.
“Almost there,” I said. I pushed the knobbed butt plug another notch.
Meg cried out.
“Come on,” Shelby encouraged, grabbing Meg’s arm. “You can do it. Or you can quit—we won’t think you are any less of a man if you can’t do it.”
Meg whimpered. “No, no . . . one more . . .”
I pushed another knob into her body.
“Unh! Shit!”
“Keep pushing.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor Connors . . . it just hurts so much . . .”
“I’ve heard worse,” he coughed. “From your own mother, too. Just focus on that baby.”
“Yes sir, yes . . .” she sobbed.
“Yes, more, or yes, you give?” I asked.
“Yes. More,” Meg whispered. I lifted her head in my arms as Shelby beat her ass again.
“Good. You are taking this as well as can be expected.”
Sammy sobbed into her sister’s shoulder.
“Just don’t let Jesus take my baby,” she whimpered. “She’s all I have now.”
“Shh, shh. You have us, and we love you. And Frank is your son now. He’s gonna take care of you. No one is going anywhere.”
“Frank? Son?”
Doctor Connors entered the waiting room.
“Yes sir?” Frank rose, spilling coffee on the linoleum. “Oh, I’m so sorry . . . ,” he began, reaching for a napkin.
“Leave it for now,” Doctor Connors began. He looked around the room at so many expectant faces. “Come with me and meet your son, Jefferson.”
Hands clapped as cries whooped through the still dawn.
Sammy fell back into a chair. Her sister held her head and laughed.
“You come with us, Sammy.” Doctor Connors said, taking her hand. “She’s asking for you.”
Sammy sat in stunned silence.
“Oh my Lord, hallelujah, Jesus!” her sister cried.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Meg gasped. “This pumpkin pie is incredible.”
“Feed me another bite,” I teased, opening my mouth and looking up like a newborn baby bird. “But I want the crust.”
“The crust is mine,” Meg complained, holding it aloft.
“Whoa, did you guys see the time?,” Shelby interrupted. “It’s after midnight!”
Shelby put an arm on my shoulder. “Happy birthday, baby.” She kissed my neck.
“Aw! Happy birthday, Jefferson!” Meg hugged me.
“Happy birthday, son,” Frank tapped on the window.
“He’s our Jefferson now,” Sammy teared, her arms squeezing Frank’s waist. She looked up. “Our only Jefferson now.”
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I looked over at Meg.
She pulled a shoulder to her ear, quizzically, and looked back to Shelby. Shelby sucked hard on Meg’s tit.
Shelby was so close.
“I’m right here, baby,” I whispered. “Come on.”
Shelby’s eyes were squeezed tight. I held her wrists against the bed. My cock was deep in her. I pressed my pubis firm against hers.
Meg squeezed her hand.
It was all in place.
Everything was as it should be.
Doctor Connors knew all the signs.
“Come on, Alice, push! Push!”
He rested his wrinkled hand on her smooth, damp brow.
She looked up at him, breathing heavily.
“It . . . it really hurts,” Alice gasped.
“It’s supposed to hurt,” Doctor Connors smiled. “The pain precedes the blessing. You’re going to be a mama, just like your mama, sugar. But you need to push that baby now.”
Alice nodded. She looked up at the nurse. She has red hair, Alice thought, just like Frank.
She winced.
Alice reached for the nurse. The nurse took her hand for a moment, then withdrew it to remove rubber gloves. She wiped her hands on a paper towel, tossing it into an open canister near the sink.
She removed a stethoscope from her neck and held it to Alice’s distended abdomen.
“Four inches, doctor.”
“That’s good, Alice, good!” Doctor Connors smiled, adjusting his glasses. “It won’t be long now.”
“Thanks . . . Doctor . . . Connors . . . . sir.” Alice tried to smile.
“Shh, shh. You just relax, sugar. You’re going to be fine.”
“It’s going to be fine, Sammy.”
Alice’s mother looked down at the cigarette in her fingers.
“She’s with Doctor Connors. It will be fine.”
Frank crouched down and looked up at his mother in law. “Sammy?”
She rested a hand on his shoulder and drew another puff on her Camel. She looked down the hallway as she exhaled.
“You are a blessing, baby, you are,” she began. She tapped her heel nervously. “I just wish Jefferson was here . . .”
“Shh, Connie, he is here, he is,” Sammy’s sister whispered, her arm reaching around her shoulder. “And he’s right down that hallway too, giving his love to Alice. Your baby isn’t alone.”
Sammy’s heels clattered. She drew another puff on her cigarette.
Sammy turned her head and exhaled over her sister’s hand on her shoulder. She closed her eyes to avoid looking into Frank’s.
Meg tossed a cigarette off the balcony. “You want another?” She offered the pack to Shelby.
“Yeah.” Shelby shivered as she took one and lit it. “Thanks.” She exhaled. The orange tip of her smoke jabbed at the cold night air. “And thanks for your tits back there.”
Meg laughed. “No problem. Whatever works.”
“Hell yeah, me and my oral fixation.” She took another long drag on her cigarette.
“You’d think sucking Jefferson might take care of that,” Meg said.
“Yeah, you’d think,” Shelby grinned. “But sometimes, I need it all at once.” She flicked an ash. “Shit, it’s cold out here.”
“Fuck yeah, it is,” Meg said, pulling her coat closer. “January.”
“All right,” Shelby said. She took a long puff. She stamped the butt and tossed it from the balcony. “We’re going back in. Your ass is mine.”
“Oh, goody.” Meg rubbed the ashes of her cigarette on a brick before following her friend inside. “Good, good, good.”
“Good!” Doctor Connors looked up over the draped cloth. “Good work, Alice! Keep pushing!”
“Keep pushing, honey,” the nurse added. She’s brunette, thought Alice. What became of the redheaded nurse?
“One more, push hard,” Doctor Connors barked.
Alice focused on Doctor Connors’s voice. He was the only familiar person in the room. He knew how to deliver babies. He delivered me, Alice thought, gasping for air. He delivered Mom, and her Mama too. He’s done this so many times. Just do what he tells me, she told herself, and it will be fine.
Alice felt faint.
Doctor Connors looked to the nurse. “Get her pulse,” he ordered.
“Do you want me to get you anything?” Frank asked his mother in law.
She looked up. “No, baby, I’m fine.”
Her sister looked at her face, then looked to Frank. “Why don’t you get her a cup of coffee? Maybe get us all some coffee. You need some money, baby?” She reached for her purse, unclasping the top. “There’s a dollar in here, I’m sure . . .”
“No, I’m all right.” Frank stood up. “Just some coffee?”
“Yes. Well, why don’t you get twelve coffees, one for everyone.” Sammy’s sister looked around the waiting room at her parents and siblings, dozing in their chairs. “This could be a while. Oh, and some sugar and bottle of milk. You sure you don’t want that dollar? Maybe two?”
“No, I’m fine. You okay, Sammy?” Frank stood, his hand still holding his mother in law’s hand.
Sammy looked up. “No, honey, I’m all right. Thank you.”
Frank looked back as he walked down the hall.
Sammy watched him walk into the elevator.
“They are just so young,” she began, turning to her sister. “My baby and Frank . . .”
“We all were,” she heard. “And we turned out all right. At least Frank just got out of high school. He’s nineteen now. He’s a man.”
“Yes, and he has a job. That’s more than Jefferson and I had . . .” Sammy fell quiet.
Alice’s father Jefferson had seen his eighteen-year-old baby girl married, and doted as his princess’s belly swelled with his first grandchild. Then one afternoon after supper, he took to the couch saying he felt ill. He never woke from his nap.
Sammy was left to finish the job of raising their only child, and her future grandchild, alone. She was not yet forty.
“All right, we are almost there.” Doctor Connors exhorted. He reached for the baby’s shoulders. “You have to finish this job, Alice.”
The nurse held Alice’s hand.
“Almost there,” I said. I pushed the knobbed butt plug another notch.
Meg cried out.
“Come on,” Shelby encouraged, grabbing Meg’s arm. “You can do it. Or you can quit—we won’t think you are any less of a man if you can’t do it.”
Meg whimpered. “No, no . . . one more . . .”
I pushed another knob into her body.
“Unh! Shit!”
“Keep pushing.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor Connors . . . it just hurts so much . . .”
“I’ve heard worse,” he coughed. “From your own mother, too. Just focus on that baby.”
“Yes sir, yes . . .” she sobbed.
“Yes, more, or yes, you give?” I asked.
“Yes. More,” Meg whispered. I lifted her head in my arms as Shelby beat her ass again.
“Good. You are taking this as well as can be expected.”
Sammy sobbed into her sister’s shoulder.
“Just don’t let Jesus take my baby,” she whimpered. “She’s all I have now.”
“Shh, shh. You have us, and we love you. And Frank is your son now. He’s gonna take care of you. No one is going anywhere.”
“Frank? Son?”
Doctor Connors entered the waiting room.
“Yes sir?” Frank rose, spilling coffee on the linoleum. “Oh, I’m so sorry . . . ,” he began, reaching for a napkin.
“Leave it for now,” Doctor Connors began. He looked around the room at so many expectant faces. “Come with me and meet your son, Jefferson.”
Hands clapped as cries whooped through the still dawn.
Sammy fell back into a chair. Her sister held her head and laughed.
“You come with us, Sammy.” Doctor Connors said, taking her hand. “She’s asking for you.”
Sammy sat in stunned silence.
“Oh my Lord, hallelujah, Jesus!” her sister cried.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Meg gasped. “This pumpkin pie is incredible.”
“Feed me another bite,” I teased, opening my mouth and looking up like a newborn baby bird. “But I want the crust.”
“The crust is mine,” Meg complained, holding it aloft.
“Whoa, did you guys see the time?,” Shelby interrupted. “It’s after midnight!”
Shelby put an arm on my shoulder. “Happy birthday, baby.” She kissed my neck.
“Aw! Happy birthday, Jefferson!” Meg hugged me.
“Happy birthday, son,” Frank tapped on the window.
“He’s our Jefferson now,” Sammy teared, her arms squeezing Frank’s waist. She looked up. “Our only Jefferson now.”
sex
sexblogs
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erotica
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childbirth
Monday, April 10, 2006
Epater
A cowbell clanged as I released the door.
Meg looked back, raising an eyebrow.
I mooed.
We followed Shelby past the stuffed animals, county music CD collections and faux vintage t-shirts to the hostess’s station.
“The kids are going to be miffed that I went to Cracker Barrel without them,” I sighed.
“Your own damn fault for raising kids in the city,” Shelby shook her head. “I can’t believe there’s not a Cracker Barrel in Manhattan.”
“That would be fun,” Meg mused. “I guess they’d have to hire gays, then.”
“Man, can you imagine?” I said. “A Cracker Barrel on Eight Avenue, right in the heart of Chelsea, with a big old rainbow flag flying high.”
“All those hot boys, making out on the rocking chairs . . .”
“ . . . while playing that brainteaser puzzle with the golf tees . . .”
“Okay girls, come on,” Shelby beckoned. “We’re getting a table.”
Shelby and Meg scanned the room for familiar faces. We were among travelers taking a respite from the Turnpike, but also among hometown folks dining in a favorite local restaurant.
Down home, south Jersey.
They sat us near a window facing the parking lot.
“They always put the good looking people in prominent view,” I said, as I always do. “Drives up business.”
Shelby moved the chintz curtains to look at the cars. “I dunno, see anyone we know?”
Meg looked up from the menu, turning to glance back at the other diners. “No, no one I know.”
“All right, then,” Shelby said, opening her menu. “Whatever. No one knows we’re here.”
In bringing me to her hometown, Shelby wanted to fill me in on her life and upbringing in small town New Jersey. She maintains a young adult’s love/hate relationship with the place she grew up—she relaxes among the familiar sites and people even as she is occasionally irked by evidence of provincialism.
My visit allowed the ancillary pleasure of indulging in a little épater le bourgeois.
So what if the yokels saw a bright face from the Class of ‘02 with her old man—Class of ’82—holding hands at the Wal-Mart, his arm around her shoulders at the Cracker Barrel?
Shelby isn’t like every other kid. She likes to shake things up. If people gawk, let ‘em.
As for me, I was content to drink endless cups of coffee and eat biscuits with gravy.
“Good bacon,” I chewed.
“Fuck yeah it is,” Meg agreed.
After refueling on breakfast at Cracker Barrel and gas at Wawa, we were off on a driving tour through Shelby’s life.
We passed the Blockbuster where she had worked when we met.
Shelby steered us down a two-lane highway to the historic site where she once served as a tour guide. She answered my questions about the nineteenth-century fort and plain wood structures nearby. Meg pointed out the best places for picnics.
Shelby drove us to a colonial tavern that was the site of a dreadful massacre. The gore continued to flow as we looked around the secluded cemetery where Andrew Cunan began the killing spree that would end with him standing over Versace’s body on Ocean Drive in Miami.
Local history can have so many curious twists.
We were admiring the churches and brick storefronts of Main Street when Shelby turned to look over her shoulder.
“Hey, that was my mom’s car,” she said. “I wonder why she isn’t at work?” She dug out her cell phone and pushed a button. “Hey, it’s me. Did you just drive down Main? . . . Well, you drove right by us! . . . Yeah, it’s me and my baby and Meg . . .”
“Hi, Shelby’s mom,” Meg called.
“Meg says ‘hi,’” Shelby said, looking at me.
I waved feebly.
“Jefferson says ‘hey’ too. So what are you up to? . . . uh huh . . . who, with Jill? Okay . . . all right. Later.”
Shelby closed the phone. “Yeah, that was her all right, picking up my sister.”
“Oh cool,” Meg said. “Band practice?”
“Yeah, band. But man, that reminds me. I need to go by the house to pick up a cable so I can play Sega at your place.”
“You can play Sega on my television?”
“Yeah man, straight from the laptop. It’s sweet, so old school.”
My dorky jailbait girlfriend likes the video games that were in arcades when I was her age. At that time, I considered those games to be kid stuff. I guess things have changed in the intervening decades.
On the way to her family’s house, Shelby and Meg pointed out the middle school they attended together. Their high school was across the street.
“There’s the new building over there,” Meg said. “Did they move the rehearsal space?”
“Yeah, that’s all new,” Shelby nodded. “You know Mister Campbell must be glad about that.”
“Oh yeah, Mister Campbell!” Meg giggled. “The way he hated that music closet—remember that . . . ?”
“Fuck yeah, that was whack, man.”
The girls commiserated on the shared memory of a yesteryear that was not so far removed from yesterday until Shelby pulled into a driveway.
Meg paused and looked at the house. “I think I’ll just wait in the car.”
“Me too,” I agreed. I sat back.
“Whatever, I’ll be out in a minute.” Shelby unhitched her seatbelt and opened the door. She stopped and turned in her seat. “No, come in. Nobody is home, maybe my sister, but she’ll be asleep. And Mom made pumpkin pie.”
“No thanks,” I said.
“Did you say pie?” Meg asked.
“Come on, there’s pie.”
“Okay, for pie.”
“Jefferson?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Okay man, whatever, we’ll be back. No pie for you.”
“I’m fine.”
I watched as the girls climbed the steps into the house. A screen door shut behind them.
I looked around for something to read. There was nothing in the car. My eyes scanned the yard and looked up, to the attic where Shelby sleeps.
I closed my eyes and wished the girls would come back.
I didn’t care to be sitting in the driveway of my jailbait girlfriend’s home. I felt exposed, like target waiting to be hit. I had recently met Shelby’s mom, and while it had gone well, I didn’t want to push my luck.
I knew her parents were not exactly keen on their daughter’s romance with an older man in Manhattan, particularly once they had discovered my blog and read, in some detail, about our love for one another and, worse, the lurid specifics of our sexual activities.
There was a rap on my window.
I opened my eyes. Meg opened the door.
“It’s taking Shelby time to find that cable,” she said. “She wants you to come in.”
I grimaced. “No one is home?”
“Her sister is up, but it’s cool.”
“All right.” I trusted Meg’s assessment. I unfastened my seat belt.
I followed Meg into the house.
“Hey.” A teenage version of Shelby stood near a piano. She wore sweats and a hooded top over her head.
“Hi, I’m Jefferson.” I crossed the room to shake her hand.
She removed her hand from a pocket and took my hand for a moment. “Hey, I’m Lindsey.”
“Nice to meet you, Lindsey.”
Lindsey looked at her feet, then at Meg. She shoved her hand back into her pocket. “Yeah, thanks.”
“That’s my sister!” Shelby shouted from upstairs.
“I think he figured that out!” Lindsey shouted back.
“Then offer him some pie, moron!”
“Kiss my ass!”
I looked at Meg. “I’m fine. I don’t need pie.”
Meg bit her lip. “It is very good pie.”
“I’m fine.”
Lindsey stared at me.
I felt as conspicuous as a fox in a rabbit warren.
We all knew that the discovery of my blog had caused rifts in the family, upsetting Shelby’s mother and sending her father through the roof. Lindsey had listened as accusations and curses flew back and forth.
Now here I stood, in the flesh. Her older sister’s older lover.
What’s the big deal, she thought. He’s just some old dude.
I looked around the living room. I pet the long-haired white cat that sheds on everything. I saw a black and white photo in a frame on the piano. A young soldier in uniform smiled next to Shelby, circa nineteen forty-three.
“Is that your grandmother?” I asked Lindsey.
She looked to the photograph. “Yeah, Gramma Dottie.”
“Strong genes you’ve got.”
“Yeah, we all look alike, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s what I meant, yes.”
Meg looked up the stairs. “You found it, Shelby?”
“Fuck no,” Shelby called back. “I can’t find anything in this fucking mess.”
“So clean your room, idiot,” Lindsey shouted. “I can’t move in there.”
“You better not be moving in my room, bitch, or I’ll kick your ass.”
Lindsey scoffed.
I heard the sound of wheels on the gravel driveway.
This was inevitable, I thought.
“Is that Dad?” Shelby shouted.
“No, it’s Mom,” Lindsey called back, her eyes on me.
I glanced to Meg. She looked a little nervous.
Shelby’s family had long considered Meg to be a good influence on their daughter. She was a little older, a little more mature, a little more focused on pursuing a career. Meg was the angel on Shelby’s shoulder.
Of course, the discovery of our blogs had dispelled some notions of Meg’s angelic qualities.
Now she was standing in the family living room with Shelby’s old man, even further implicated in our depravity.
The screen door flew back. An eleven-year-old version of Shelby bound into the room.
“Hey Meg!” she said, dropping her violin case and rushing to an embrace.
“Hey there, Jill,” Meg smiled. “How was practice?”
“It was fine,” Jill said, hesitantly. She had noticed me.
“Jill, this is Jefferson,” Meg said.
“Nice to meet you, Jill,” I said, offering a hand.
Jill took an arm from Meg’s waist and extended her left hand to me. “Hi.”
I was shaking Jill’s hand as her mother entered the house.
“Well, hello Meg, what are you doing . . . oh! Hello, Jefferson.”
I dropped Jill’s hand and stepped over. I put an arm on her mother’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Good afternoon.”
“I heard you were coming down for your birthday,” she said, shifting a grocery bag in her arms, her eyes roaming to Meg and Lindsey. “Are you kids having a good time?”
“Very much, thank you.” I smiled. I was one of the “kids” in this context. “Shelby has been giving us a tour of the region. It’s lovely here.”
“Good, well, it’s not New York, but we like it. Where’s Shelby?”
“Upstairs,” Meg answered.
“Is that Mom,” Shelby called. “Mom, have you seen my frigging Sega cable?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” her mother replied, lifting the groceries to a kitchen counter. “Did you look in the laundry?”
“It wouldn’t be in the laundry, Mom, it’s a . . . oh wait, here it is.”
About time she found that thing, I thought.
I looked at Meg. We were itching to bolt for the door.
Shelby clomped down the stairs. In her descent. I could hear the confident landing of someone who has walked down these particular steps in this particular rhythmic stomp since childhood.
“Hey Mom. We had to stop by the get this cable and some pie. We’re going back to Meg’s tonight.”
“Oh, did you like the pie?,” her mother asked us.
“I love your pumpkin pie,” Meg smiled. “I need to learn how to make that.”
“Well, I have two. Why don’t you take one?”
“Well, no, we can’t . . .”
“Take the frigging pie, Meg,” Shelby taunted. “We’ll want it later.”
“I’ll wrap it for you,” her mother offered. She pulled a box of Saran Wrap from the top of her refrigerator.
Jill was staring at me. I smiled at her.
We couldn’t stay much longer, I hoped.
Once the pie was packed, once Shelby went to the bathroom, once her mother unpacked the groceries, once all those things were done, we said our goodbyes and returned to Shelby’s car.
“When are you coming back?” Shelby’s mother asked.
“I don’t know, maybe Wednesday?” Shelby answered. “Bye.”
“Bye.” Her mother closed the door.
I handed the pie to Meg and fastened myself in the front seat. “Well, that wasn’t too awkward,” I opined.
“Just tell me you didn’t kiss my mother, man.”
“I can’t help it, sweet. I kissed your mama.”
Shelby turned the engine. “We don’t do that, man. This isn’t New York fucking City. You don’t fucking kiss people here.”
Meg laughed.
“I can’t help it, baby,” I shrugged. “My mama raised me right.”
“Your mama raised a freak, dude.”
“Yes, I suppose she did.”
Shelby took her mama’s pie and her old man back to her best friend’s place.
Shelby’s mama could take heart that pumpkin pies tell no tales.
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sexblogs
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Meg looked back, raising an eyebrow.
I mooed.
We followed Shelby past the stuffed animals, county music CD collections and faux vintage t-shirts to the hostess’s station.
“The kids are going to be miffed that I went to Cracker Barrel without them,” I sighed.
“Your own damn fault for raising kids in the city,” Shelby shook her head. “I can’t believe there’s not a Cracker Barrel in Manhattan.”
“That would be fun,” Meg mused. “I guess they’d have to hire gays, then.”
“Man, can you imagine?” I said. “A Cracker Barrel on Eight Avenue, right in the heart of Chelsea, with a big old rainbow flag flying high.”
“All those hot boys, making out on the rocking chairs . . .”
“ . . . while playing that brainteaser puzzle with the golf tees . . .”
“Okay girls, come on,” Shelby beckoned. “We’re getting a table.”
Shelby and Meg scanned the room for familiar faces. We were among travelers taking a respite from the Turnpike, but also among hometown folks dining in a favorite local restaurant.
Down home, south Jersey.
They sat us near a window facing the parking lot.
“They always put the good looking people in prominent view,” I said, as I always do. “Drives up business.”
Shelby moved the chintz curtains to look at the cars. “I dunno, see anyone we know?”
Meg looked up from the menu, turning to glance back at the other diners. “No, no one I know.”
“All right, then,” Shelby said, opening her menu. “Whatever. No one knows we’re here.”
In bringing me to her hometown, Shelby wanted to fill me in on her life and upbringing in small town New Jersey. She maintains a young adult’s love/hate relationship with the place she grew up—she relaxes among the familiar sites and people even as she is occasionally irked by evidence of provincialism.
My visit allowed the ancillary pleasure of indulging in a little épater le bourgeois.
So what if the yokels saw a bright face from the Class of ‘02 with her old man—Class of ’82—holding hands at the Wal-Mart, his arm around her shoulders at the Cracker Barrel?
Shelby isn’t like every other kid. She likes to shake things up. If people gawk, let ‘em.
As for me, I was content to drink endless cups of coffee and eat biscuits with gravy.
“Good bacon,” I chewed.
“Fuck yeah it is,” Meg agreed.
After refueling on breakfast at Cracker Barrel and gas at Wawa, we were off on a driving tour through Shelby’s life.
We passed the Blockbuster where she had worked when we met.
Shelby steered us down a two-lane highway to the historic site where she once served as a tour guide. She answered my questions about the nineteenth-century fort and plain wood structures nearby. Meg pointed out the best places for picnics.
Shelby drove us to a colonial tavern that was the site of a dreadful massacre. The gore continued to flow as we looked around the secluded cemetery where Andrew Cunan began the killing spree that would end with him standing over Versace’s body on Ocean Drive in Miami.
Local history can have so many curious twists.
We were admiring the churches and brick storefronts of Main Street when Shelby turned to look over her shoulder.
“Hey, that was my mom’s car,” she said. “I wonder why she isn’t at work?” She dug out her cell phone and pushed a button. “Hey, it’s me. Did you just drive down Main? . . . Well, you drove right by us! . . . Yeah, it’s me and my baby and Meg . . .”
“Hi, Shelby’s mom,” Meg called.
“Meg says ‘hi,’” Shelby said, looking at me.
I waved feebly.
“Jefferson says ‘hey’ too. So what are you up to? . . . uh huh . . . who, with Jill? Okay . . . all right. Later.”
Shelby closed the phone. “Yeah, that was her all right, picking up my sister.”
“Oh cool,” Meg said. “Band practice?”
“Yeah, band. But man, that reminds me. I need to go by the house to pick up a cable so I can play Sega at your place.”
“You can play Sega on my television?”
“Yeah man, straight from the laptop. It’s sweet, so old school.”
My dorky jailbait girlfriend likes the video games that were in arcades when I was her age. At that time, I considered those games to be kid stuff. I guess things have changed in the intervening decades.
On the way to her family’s house, Shelby and Meg pointed out the middle school they attended together. Their high school was across the street.
“There’s the new building over there,” Meg said. “Did they move the rehearsal space?”
“Yeah, that’s all new,” Shelby nodded. “You know Mister Campbell must be glad about that.”
“Oh yeah, Mister Campbell!” Meg giggled. “The way he hated that music closet—remember that . . . ?”
“Fuck yeah, that was whack, man.”
The girls commiserated on the shared memory of a yesteryear that was not so far removed from yesterday until Shelby pulled into a driveway.
Meg paused and looked at the house. “I think I’ll just wait in the car.”
“Me too,” I agreed. I sat back.
“Whatever, I’ll be out in a minute.” Shelby unhitched her seatbelt and opened the door. She stopped and turned in her seat. “No, come in. Nobody is home, maybe my sister, but she’ll be asleep. And Mom made pumpkin pie.”
“No thanks,” I said.
“Did you say pie?” Meg asked.
“Come on, there’s pie.”
“Okay, for pie.”
“Jefferson?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Okay man, whatever, we’ll be back. No pie for you.”
“I’m fine.”
I watched as the girls climbed the steps into the house. A screen door shut behind them.
I looked around for something to read. There was nothing in the car. My eyes scanned the yard and looked up, to the attic where Shelby sleeps.
I closed my eyes and wished the girls would come back.
I didn’t care to be sitting in the driveway of my jailbait girlfriend’s home. I felt exposed, like target waiting to be hit. I had recently met Shelby’s mom, and while it had gone well, I didn’t want to push my luck.
I knew her parents were not exactly keen on their daughter’s romance with an older man in Manhattan, particularly once they had discovered my blog and read, in some detail, about our love for one another and, worse, the lurid specifics of our sexual activities.
There was a rap on my window.
I opened my eyes. Meg opened the door.
“It’s taking Shelby time to find that cable,” she said. “She wants you to come in.”
I grimaced. “No one is home?”
“Her sister is up, but it’s cool.”
“All right.” I trusted Meg’s assessment. I unfastened my seat belt.
I followed Meg into the house.
“Hey.” A teenage version of Shelby stood near a piano. She wore sweats and a hooded top over her head.
“Hi, I’m Jefferson.” I crossed the room to shake her hand.
She removed her hand from a pocket and took my hand for a moment. “Hey, I’m Lindsey.”
“Nice to meet you, Lindsey.”
Lindsey looked at her feet, then at Meg. She shoved her hand back into her pocket. “Yeah, thanks.”
“That’s my sister!” Shelby shouted from upstairs.
“I think he figured that out!” Lindsey shouted back.
“Then offer him some pie, moron!”
“Kiss my ass!”
I looked at Meg. “I’m fine. I don’t need pie.”
Meg bit her lip. “It is very good pie.”
“I’m fine.”
Lindsey stared at me.
I felt as conspicuous as a fox in a rabbit warren.
We all knew that the discovery of my blog had caused rifts in the family, upsetting Shelby’s mother and sending her father through the roof. Lindsey had listened as accusations and curses flew back and forth.
Now here I stood, in the flesh. Her older sister’s older lover.
What’s the big deal, she thought. He’s just some old dude.
I looked around the living room. I pet the long-haired white cat that sheds on everything. I saw a black and white photo in a frame on the piano. A young soldier in uniform smiled next to Shelby, circa nineteen forty-three.
“Is that your grandmother?” I asked Lindsey.
She looked to the photograph. “Yeah, Gramma Dottie.”
“Strong genes you’ve got.”
“Yeah, we all look alike, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s what I meant, yes.”
Meg looked up the stairs. “You found it, Shelby?”
“Fuck no,” Shelby called back. “I can’t find anything in this fucking mess.”
“So clean your room, idiot,” Lindsey shouted. “I can’t move in there.”
“You better not be moving in my room, bitch, or I’ll kick your ass.”
Lindsey scoffed.
I heard the sound of wheels on the gravel driveway.
This was inevitable, I thought.
“Is that Dad?” Shelby shouted.
“No, it’s Mom,” Lindsey called back, her eyes on me.
I glanced to Meg. She looked a little nervous.
Shelby’s family had long considered Meg to be a good influence on their daughter. She was a little older, a little more mature, a little more focused on pursuing a career. Meg was the angel on Shelby’s shoulder.
Of course, the discovery of our blogs had dispelled some notions of Meg’s angelic qualities.
Now she was standing in the family living room with Shelby’s old man, even further implicated in our depravity.
The screen door flew back. An eleven-year-old version of Shelby bound into the room.
“Hey Meg!” she said, dropping her violin case and rushing to an embrace.
“Hey there, Jill,” Meg smiled. “How was practice?”
“It was fine,” Jill said, hesitantly. She had noticed me.
“Jill, this is Jefferson,” Meg said.
“Nice to meet you, Jill,” I said, offering a hand.
Jill took an arm from Meg’s waist and extended her left hand to me. “Hi.”
I was shaking Jill’s hand as her mother entered the house.
“Well, hello Meg, what are you doing . . . oh! Hello, Jefferson.”
I dropped Jill’s hand and stepped over. I put an arm on her mother’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Good afternoon.”
“I heard you were coming down for your birthday,” she said, shifting a grocery bag in her arms, her eyes roaming to Meg and Lindsey. “Are you kids having a good time?”
“Very much, thank you.” I smiled. I was one of the “kids” in this context. “Shelby has been giving us a tour of the region. It’s lovely here.”
“Good, well, it’s not New York, but we like it. Where’s Shelby?”
“Upstairs,” Meg answered.
“Is that Mom,” Shelby called. “Mom, have you seen my frigging Sega cable?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” her mother replied, lifting the groceries to a kitchen counter. “Did you look in the laundry?”
“It wouldn’t be in the laundry, Mom, it’s a . . . oh wait, here it is.”
About time she found that thing, I thought.
I looked at Meg. We were itching to bolt for the door.
Shelby clomped down the stairs. In her descent. I could hear the confident landing of someone who has walked down these particular steps in this particular rhythmic stomp since childhood.
“Hey Mom. We had to stop by the get this cable and some pie. We’re going back to Meg’s tonight.”
“Oh, did you like the pie?,” her mother asked us.
“I love your pumpkin pie,” Meg smiled. “I need to learn how to make that.”
“Well, I have two. Why don’t you take one?”
“Well, no, we can’t . . .”
“Take the frigging pie, Meg,” Shelby taunted. “We’ll want it later.”
“I’ll wrap it for you,” her mother offered. She pulled a box of Saran Wrap from the top of her refrigerator.
Jill was staring at me. I smiled at her.
We couldn’t stay much longer, I hoped.
Once the pie was packed, once Shelby went to the bathroom, once her mother unpacked the groceries, once all those things were done, we said our goodbyes and returned to Shelby’s car.
“When are you coming back?” Shelby’s mother asked.
“I don’t know, maybe Wednesday?” Shelby answered. “Bye.”
“Bye.” Her mother closed the door.
I handed the pie to Meg and fastened myself in the front seat. “Well, that wasn’t too awkward,” I opined.
“Just tell me you didn’t kiss my mother, man.”
“I can’t help it, sweet. I kissed your mama.”
Shelby turned the engine. “We don’t do that, man. This isn’t New York fucking City. You don’t fucking kiss people here.”
Meg laughed.
“I can’t help it, baby,” I shrugged. “My mama raised me right.”
“Your mama raised a freak, dude.”
“Yes, I suppose she did.”
Shelby took her mama’s pie and her old man back to her best friend’s place.
Shelby’s mama could take heart that pumpkin pies tell no tales.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
threesome
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Extreme Makeover
“Oh God, she’s crying again . . .,” Meg began.
“Of course she’s crying, they just wrecked her freaking house,” Shelby said, exhaling as she passed a glass pipe to me.
I reached for a lighter. “This can’t be good for the children,” I lamented. “Watching their house get trashed.”
“Oh, just you wait,” Meg nodded. “They’ll be fine at the end. But if that mother keeps crying, I’m going to bawl.”
Meg and Shelby introduced me to their shared guilty pleasure: getting stoned to “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.”
I don’t watch reality shows. I didn’t even know this one existed.
But then, I don’t smoke pot either.
With Shelby, I often do things I don’t do.
It was all part of our ongoing project to educate one another from our areas of expertise. So long as we both kept an open mind, we each gained new experiences and insights into one another.
I schooled her in her film noir, American history and orgy etiquette.
She reciprocated with pornographic anime, blowjob advice and marijuana connoisseurship.
The pipe in my hand was a souvenir of this exchange.
One night, we decided to go to a movie. I opted for “Capote.”
“Okay,” she asked, “Now, who is Capote, anyway?” She pronounced his name as written, with a silent final vowel.
I gave her a capsule biography of the man who introduced a new genre of literature in the year of my birth, then devolved into camp and self-parody before dying of drink in the year of her birth.
I promised that knowing this would not ruin the plot.
She liked Philip Seymour Hoffman, so she agreed to the movie.
We talked about Capote afterwards over margaritas and nachos, prepared the way she likes them: chips and cheese—that’s it—with salsa and sour cream on the side.
She noticed a head shop across the street from the restaurant, surprised that the cops parked outside let it be.
“It’s the Village,” I shrugged. “People were smoking pot here before there was a police force.”
She suggested we visit the shop afterwards, if I wasn’t scared to go in.
“Sweet, there’s no fear. It’s legal to sell paraphernalia here. The law just pretends people buy it for tobacco.”
“That’s pretty fucked up,” she laughed.
“Maybe, but it works, right?”
The store was filled with glass pipes and bongs.
As it happens, Shelby knows glassblowing nearly as well as she knows pot smoking.
She quickly engaged the shopkeeper in intense conversation. The shopkeeper, a raven-haired tattooed woman not much older than Shelby, was impressed by her expertise.
She pulled out trays of pipes, retrieving others from drawers behind her counter.
I browsed as they talked, stopping to pet the store’s dog. I listened as they examined pipes with the same focus one might bring to buying a car.
Shelby found exactly what she wanted and plunked down the cash.
The door chimed as we waved goodbye.
“I thought she was going to follow you home, sugar,” I smiled.
She lipped her arm into mine. “The dog?”
“No, dear, your new girlfriend. I think you made her night.”
Shelby looked back. “Ya think?”
Now, I know I’ll never be much of a stoner. I’ve lived this long without owning so much as a joint I could call my own. I was married for a decade and a half to a wake-and-bake pothead, and never succumbed to regular smoking.
But still, I recognize that knowing good pot from bad is just plain subcultural literacy.
Shelby took pity on my ignorance, holding the good stuff under my nose, making me eyeball the fine grains, and teaching me to distinguish one strain from another.
I was still learning to mix smoking pot with drinking bourbon.
As the television show ended, Meg and I decided to watch “Cool Hand Luke.” She had never seen the film, or really much cinema of the seventies.
She thought Paul Newman was a brand of salsa. She assumed George Kennedy was among the clan that summered in Hyannisport.
That’s unacceptable cultural illiteracy. A failure to communicate, really.
Meg and I were pretty toasted by the time the hound dogs bayed. We giggled about eggs.
Shelby sat quietly, cutting her new clothesline into precise lengths. She cauterized the ends and wrapped them in tape.
When the movie ended, Shelby turned off the television.
“Let’s move into the naked room,” she said, standing.
We complied, happily following Shelby into Meg’s bedroom.
Shelby unzipped her jeans, stepping from the legs into nudity from the waist down. Her tight t-shirt was pulled up on the curve of her belly.
My eyes were on her as my cock popped from my jeans.
Meg leaned across the bed as Shelby and I met beside her. She watched as I lifted my baby’s face into a sweet nuzzle, her lips grazing mine.
“You stoner,” she teased.
“No baby, that’s just me, high on love,” I smiled.
“Yeah, right,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Stoner.”
Meg let out a laugh, quickly covering her mouth.
The three of us have had sex many times. Meg always watches as we begin. It’s partly her nature to wait until she is pulled in. It’s also just good manners.
When fucking one’s best friend’s boyfriend, one should always permit the lovers time together.
Meg is courteous like that.
Meg watched as Shelby took my cock into her mouth, holding my hand as I surrendered to my jailbait girlfriend.
Meg pet Shelby’s hair as I fucked my baby. We watched as Shelby’s eyes closed and her head turned, knowing she was giving over to the sensation of being full, of being loved.
Meg watched me as I am when Shelby retreats during sex. She saw that I took that moment of privacy within intimacy, touching Shelby’s skin, even after all this time together, still marveling at its pale luminosity, its unlined simplicity, its soft give under my forefingers.
Meg caught me smiling at her, as if to ask, can you believe our good fortune?
Meg pinched Shelby’s tiny pale nipple as I pulled out, impatient for her orgasm. I could get there faster with my fingers in her, my mouth on her.
Meg complied when Shelby asked for her breast. She gave herself to Shelby’s ravenous mouth, satisfying her insatiable oral fixation.
We encouraged Shelby as she shouted it was coming. We stayed with her as she delivered her orgasm to us, its birth announced with rapid pants and loud nasal whines.
Meg stayed with me as Shelby put on a coat and left for a smoke.
Meg took my hand, and took my kisses. She took my cock into her. She took my grasp on her neck as I squeezed, our eyes locked on one another’s, green on blue, as I denied her air until she came under me.
We all have our needs. Meg needs oxygen. I need her orgasm.
Our needs were soon met.
Meg left me to rest, stoned, drunk and well sexed in her bed. She joined Shelby to wreck her lungs in the cold night air.
She laughed that Shelby had texted a friend that she was listening to her best friend fuck her boyfriend.
That night, Meg slept in my arms as Shelby took the couch. Her ropes lay unused on the floor.
Tomorrow would be another day—the last of my forty-first year, and the fourth of my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
threesome
marijuana
Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
Cool Hand Luke
“Of course she’s crying, they just wrecked her freaking house,” Shelby said, exhaling as she passed a glass pipe to me.
I reached for a lighter. “This can’t be good for the children,” I lamented. “Watching their house get trashed.”
“Oh, just you wait,” Meg nodded. “They’ll be fine at the end. But if that mother keeps crying, I’m going to bawl.”
Meg and Shelby introduced me to their shared guilty pleasure: getting stoned to “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.”
I don’t watch reality shows. I didn’t even know this one existed.
But then, I don’t smoke pot either.
With Shelby, I often do things I don’t do.
It was all part of our ongoing project to educate one another from our areas of expertise. So long as we both kept an open mind, we each gained new experiences and insights into one another.
I schooled her in her film noir, American history and orgy etiquette.
She reciprocated with pornographic anime, blowjob advice and marijuana connoisseurship.
The pipe in my hand was a souvenir of this exchange.
One night, we decided to go to a movie. I opted for “Capote.”
“Okay,” she asked, “Now, who is Capote, anyway?” She pronounced his name as written, with a silent final vowel.
I gave her a capsule biography of the man who introduced a new genre of literature in the year of my birth, then devolved into camp and self-parody before dying of drink in the year of her birth.
I promised that knowing this would not ruin the plot.
She liked Philip Seymour Hoffman, so she agreed to the movie.
We talked about Capote afterwards over margaritas and nachos, prepared the way she likes them: chips and cheese—that’s it—with salsa and sour cream on the side.
She noticed a head shop across the street from the restaurant, surprised that the cops parked outside let it be.
“It’s the Village,” I shrugged. “People were smoking pot here before there was a police force.”
She suggested we visit the shop afterwards, if I wasn’t scared to go in.
“Sweet, there’s no fear. It’s legal to sell paraphernalia here. The law just pretends people buy it for tobacco.”
“That’s pretty fucked up,” she laughed.
“Maybe, but it works, right?”
The store was filled with glass pipes and bongs.
As it happens, Shelby knows glassblowing nearly as well as she knows pot smoking.
She quickly engaged the shopkeeper in intense conversation. The shopkeeper, a raven-haired tattooed woman not much older than Shelby, was impressed by her expertise.
She pulled out trays of pipes, retrieving others from drawers behind her counter.
I browsed as they talked, stopping to pet the store’s dog. I listened as they examined pipes with the same focus one might bring to buying a car.
Shelby found exactly what she wanted and plunked down the cash.
The door chimed as we waved goodbye.
“I thought she was going to follow you home, sugar,” I smiled.
She lipped her arm into mine. “The dog?”
“No, dear, your new girlfriend. I think you made her night.”
Shelby looked back. “Ya think?”
Now, I know I’ll never be much of a stoner. I’ve lived this long without owning so much as a joint I could call my own. I was married for a decade and a half to a wake-and-bake pothead, and never succumbed to regular smoking.
But still, I recognize that knowing good pot from bad is just plain subcultural literacy.
Shelby took pity on my ignorance, holding the good stuff under my nose, making me eyeball the fine grains, and teaching me to distinguish one strain from another.
I was still learning to mix smoking pot with drinking bourbon.
As the television show ended, Meg and I decided to watch “Cool Hand Luke.” She had never seen the film, or really much cinema of the seventies.
She thought Paul Newman was a brand of salsa. She assumed George Kennedy was among the clan that summered in Hyannisport.
That’s unacceptable cultural illiteracy. A failure to communicate, really.
Meg and I were pretty toasted by the time the hound dogs bayed. We giggled about eggs.
Shelby sat quietly, cutting her new clothesline into precise lengths. She cauterized the ends and wrapped them in tape.
When the movie ended, Shelby turned off the television.
“Let’s move into the naked room,” she said, standing.
We complied, happily following Shelby into Meg’s bedroom.
Shelby unzipped her jeans, stepping from the legs into nudity from the waist down. Her tight t-shirt was pulled up on the curve of her belly.
My eyes were on her as my cock popped from my jeans.
Meg leaned across the bed as Shelby and I met beside her. She watched as I lifted my baby’s face into a sweet nuzzle, her lips grazing mine.
“You stoner,” she teased.
“No baby, that’s just me, high on love,” I smiled.
“Yeah, right,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Stoner.”
Meg let out a laugh, quickly covering her mouth.
The three of us have had sex many times. Meg always watches as we begin. It’s partly her nature to wait until she is pulled in. It’s also just good manners.
When fucking one’s best friend’s boyfriend, one should always permit the lovers time together.
Meg is courteous like that.
Meg watched as Shelby took my cock into her mouth, holding my hand as I surrendered to my jailbait girlfriend.
Meg pet Shelby’s hair as I fucked my baby. We watched as Shelby’s eyes closed and her head turned, knowing she was giving over to the sensation of being full, of being loved.
Meg watched me as I am when Shelby retreats during sex. She saw that I took that moment of privacy within intimacy, touching Shelby’s skin, even after all this time together, still marveling at its pale luminosity, its unlined simplicity, its soft give under my forefingers.
Meg caught me smiling at her, as if to ask, can you believe our good fortune?
Meg pinched Shelby’s tiny pale nipple as I pulled out, impatient for her orgasm. I could get there faster with my fingers in her, my mouth on her.
Meg complied when Shelby asked for her breast. She gave herself to Shelby’s ravenous mouth, satisfying her insatiable oral fixation.
We encouraged Shelby as she shouted it was coming. We stayed with her as she delivered her orgasm to us, its birth announced with rapid pants and loud nasal whines.
Meg stayed with me as Shelby put on a coat and left for a smoke.
Meg took my hand, and took my kisses. She took my cock into her. She took my grasp on her neck as I squeezed, our eyes locked on one another’s, green on blue, as I denied her air until she came under me.
We all have our needs. Meg needs oxygen. I need her orgasm.
Our needs were soon met.
Meg left me to rest, stoned, drunk and well sexed in her bed. She joined Shelby to wreck her lungs in the cold night air.
She laughed that Shelby had texted a friend that she was listening to her best friend fuck her boyfriend.
That night, Meg slept in my arms as Shelby took the couch. Her ropes lay unused on the floor.
Tomorrow would be another day—the last of my forty-first year, and the fourth of my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
threesome
marijuana
Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
Cool Hand Luke
Thursday, March 30, 2006
MySpace MyOrgy
At Madeline’s suggestion, I’ve started an orgy over at MySpace.
Tell your friends and meet me in the hot tub.
“Congratulations,” Shelby says. “You’re a MySpace whore.”
‘bout damn time.
And don’t forget, the Spring Fling Contest is still open.
Tell your friends and meet me in the hot tub.
“Congratulations,” Shelby says. “You’re a MySpace whore.”
‘bout damn time.
And don’t forget, the Spring Fling Contest is still open.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Kidnapped!
Meg’s narrative of this weekend begins here.
Anna left a little after ten, saying she was meeting “someone” at the Museum of Modern Art.
She said it in a pointed way, to be sure I didn’t miss that she wasn’t going alone, and she didn’t care to invite me, as she already had plans with “someone.”
I kissed her goodbye and refrained from telling her to have fun with the new boyfriend.
The course of the morning encouraged Anna to assert her new-found “polyamory” as a woman with two boyfriends. She was put out when the glow of our first weekend sleepover had been tainted by her investigation of my bathroom.
That morning, I woke early and made my way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, drifting to the memory of fucking Anna as she slept.
I remembered that Anna had a toothbrush in my medicine cabinet. Feeling sweet on her, I took down her toothbrush and lay it next to mine.
Of course, I had chosen the wrong toothbrush.
Of course, she had to point out this egregious mistake.
She called me to the bathroom.
After several questions established that the toothbrush belonged to neither my children nor their father, Anna said I must have confused her with someone else. She wanted me to see her toothbrush to avoid future confusion. She opened my medicine cabinet.
She saw that I have many toothbrushes.
“This one is mine,” she said, fishing a toothbrush from the tangle. She held it before my face. “I’m the pink one.”
“Got it,” I said. “The dancer gets the pink one.”
“Huh,” she said, squeezing toothpaste. “So I guess I’m the only dancer?”
“Who knows, really,” I yawned. “Who can keep track of details with so many women? I should make you all wear name tags.”
Anna punched my arm. “Don’t tempt me,” she mumbled through fluorinated suds.
After rinsing, she noticed Lillie’s Hello Kitty hairbrush. This prompted questions about Lillie’s hair and advice on different ways to keep it from her eyes.
I sat on the toilet, nodding and listening.
I was full of useful grooming tips by the time she departed for her appointment with “someone.”
I locked the door behind her. I warmed a plate of leftover scallops.
All was still as I awaited my fate.
My fate was just then hurtling north on the New Jersey Turnpike at over seventy miles an hour.
Shelby was kidnapping me. She had recruited Meg as her accomplice.
Every week, Shelby trained to the city to spend the night with me. She is no fan of cities, and often suggested that one day, I should trek down to her quiet corner of New Jersey.
That “one day” was now. Her birthday gift to me would be a tour of her hometown, and of her life as she lives it when we are apart.
She was driving up to fetch me.
She had never driven in Manhattan.
She wasn't happy about doing so.
“You just make sure your ass is ready to go when we get there,” she instructed me. “No way am I parking or driving around that fucking island. I’m going through the tunnel, getting your ass, and turning around to get the fuck out.”
My tramp bag waited by the door.
When the girls arrived, I kissed them both and tossed my bag into the backseat. I sat next to it and buckled in.
“You aren’t allowed to make fun of Shelby’s driving,” Meg warned as she flipped through her iPod.
“Yeah, or I’ll make you drive—and these other drivers will eat your pansy ass.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said, grasping a door handle as Shelby swerved across two lanes.
“Assholes, man, they need to learn to fucking drive.”
Meg turned to me. “You’ll get used to it. She hasn’t killed anyone yet.”
“Comforting thought,” I smiled wanly.
“Wait, turn this up!” Shelby ordered. “This song, you know it?”
“Touch-ing yoo-ooooo-ooou . . . .” Meg sang.
“Touch-ing me-eeee-eeee . . .,” Shelby joined. They chased the singer’s voice through a rapid-fire falsetto. “I believe in a thing called love . . . just listen to the rhythm of my heart . . .”
“Man, you kids need to get hep to glam rock,” I shouted. “See, back in my day . . .”
They were too far gone to hear me.
Several hours, one cup of coffee, and two pits stops later, we were in Shelby’s hometown. We picked up some essentials, including vodka for the girls and bourbon for boy—the latter being Meg’s treat, as it was my birthday week. We also needed a few items from the local supplier of sado-masochist paraphernalia.
The hardware aisle at Wal Mart.
“We’re going to hogtie Meg,” Shelby matter-of-factly asserted as she dug through bins of clothesline. “Which do we want? Fifty feet or a hundred?”
“Wait, we’re hogtying me?” Meg asked.
“Well, let’s think about that,” I mused. “Fifty should be sufficient, but it pays to be prepared.”
“I’m getting hogtied?”
“Yeah, it costs about the same, so I’m getting the longer one,” Shelby decided, tossing the rope into her basket. “Now, what about clothespins?”
“Clothespins?” Meg asked.
“Oh, the big bag,” I said. “One hundred gives us a lot to play with.”
“Clothespins?”
“I’m getting two big bags,” Shelby said. “You need some back in the city.”
“Oh, thank you sweetheart, that’s very thoughtful.”
“And I think Meg has candles, so we should be set for hot wax.”
“Wait,” Meg said. “Wax?”
As we walked though the store, Shelby slipped her hand into mine. Her town is small, and she is well known as her mother’s daughter. Still, she was not concerned to be seen showing affection with the much older man she loved, a stranger to all the natives.
“Fuck ‘em,” she said. “I need to shake this place up, man.”
“Whatever you like,” I said, kissing the back of her hand.
The sky was streaked with purple and grey as we drove to Meg’s place, where we would be bedding for the night.
“You know, Jefferson,” Meg said. “It was almost a year ago we met.”
“Fuck, that’s right,” I agreed. “It was Valentine’s Day.”
“Yeah, my best friend has been fucking my boyfriend for almost a year,” Shelby laughed.
Ours was not a conventional romance.
We unloaded the car, changed to pajamas and poured drinks.
We had everything we needed for two days and nights of raucous shenanigans.
I was three days into my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.
But first, we had to satisfy a basic requirement of Meg and Shelby’s Sunday nights together.
We had to eat pizza and watch “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.”
And smoke some very fine weed.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
threesome
BDSM
Wal Mart
Anna left a little after ten, saying she was meeting “someone” at the Museum of Modern Art.
She said it in a pointed way, to be sure I didn’t miss that she wasn’t going alone, and she didn’t care to invite me, as she already had plans with “someone.”
I kissed her goodbye and refrained from telling her to have fun with the new boyfriend.
The course of the morning encouraged Anna to assert her new-found “polyamory” as a woman with two boyfriends. She was put out when the glow of our first weekend sleepover had been tainted by her investigation of my bathroom.
That morning, I woke early and made my way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, drifting to the memory of fucking Anna as she slept.
I remembered that Anna had a toothbrush in my medicine cabinet. Feeling sweet on her, I took down her toothbrush and lay it next to mine.
Of course, I had chosen the wrong toothbrush.
Of course, she had to point out this egregious mistake.
She called me to the bathroom.
After several questions established that the toothbrush belonged to neither my children nor their father, Anna said I must have confused her with someone else. She wanted me to see her toothbrush to avoid future confusion. She opened my medicine cabinet.
She saw that I have many toothbrushes.
“This one is mine,” she said, fishing a toothbrush from the tangle. She held it before my face. “I’m the pink one.”
“Got it,” I said. “The dancer gets the pink one.”
“Huh,” she said, squeezing toothpaste. “So I guess I’m the only dancer?”
“Who knows, really,” I yawned. “Who can keep track of details with so many women? I should make you all wear name tags.”
Anna punched my arm. “Don’t tempt me,” she mumbled through fluorinated suds.
After rinsing, she noticed Lillie’s Hello Kitty hairbrush. This prompted questions about Lillie’s hair and advice on different ways to keep it from her eyes.
I sat on the toilet, nodding and listening.
I was full of useful grooming tips by the time she departed for her appointment with “someone.”
I locked the door behind her. I warmed a plate of leftover scallops.
All was still as I awaited my fate.
My fate was just then hurtling north on the New Jersey Turnpike at over seventy miles an hour.
Shelby was kidnapping me. She had recruited Meg as her accomplice.
Every week, Shelby trained to the city to spend the night with me. She is no fan of cities, and often suggested that one day, I should trek down to her quiet corner of New Jersey.
That “one day” was now. Her birthday gift to me would be a tour of her hometown, and of her life as she lives it when we are apart.
She was driving up to fetch me.
She had never driven in Manhattan.
She wasn't happy about doing so.
“You just make sure your ass is ready to go when we get there,” she instructed me. “No way am I parking or driving around that fucking island. I’m going through the tunnel, getting your ass, and turning around to get the fuck out.”
My tramp bag waited by the door.
When the girls arrived, I kissed them both and tossed my bag into the backseat. I sat next to it and buckled in.
“You aren’t allowed to make fun of Shelby’s driving,” Meg warned as she flipped through her iPod.
“Yeah, or I’ll make you drive—and these other drivers will eat your pansy ass.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said, grasping a door handle as Shelby swerved across two lanes.
“Assholes, man, they need to learn to fucking drive.”
Meg turned to me. “You’ll get used to it. She hasn’t killed anyone yet.”
“Comforting thought,” I smiled wanly.
“Wait, turn this up!” Shelby ordered. “This song, you know it?”
“Touch-ing yoo-ooooo-ooou . . . .” Meg sang.
“Touch-ing me-eeee-eeee . . .,” Shelby joined. They chased the singer’s voice through a rapid-fire falsetto. “I believe in a thing called love . . . just listen to the rhythm of my heart . . .”
“Man, you kids need to get hep to glam rock,” I shouted. “See, back in my day . . .”
They were too far gone to hear me.
Several hours, one cup of coffee, and two pits stops later, we were in Shelby’s hometown. We picked up some essentials, including vodka for the girls and bourbon for boy—the latter being Meg’s treat, as it was my birthday week. We also needed a few items from the local supplier of sado-masochist paraphernalia.
The hardware aisle at Wal Mart.
“We’re going to hogtie Meg,” Shelby matter-of-factly asserted as she dug through bins of clothesline. “Which do we want? Fifty feet or a hundred?”
“Wait, we’re hogtying me?” Meg asked.
“Well, let’s think about that,” I mused. “Fifty should be sufficient, but it pays to be prepared.”
“I’m getting hogtied?”
“Yeah, it costs about the same, so I’m getting the longer one,” Shelby decided, tossing the rope into her basket. “Now, what about clothespins?”
“Clothespins?” Meg asked.
“Oh, the big bag,” I said. “One hundred gives us a lot to play with.”
“Clothespins?”
“I’m getting two big bags,” Shelby said. “You need some back in the city.”
“Oh, thank you sweetheart, that’s very thoughtful.”
“And I think Meg has candles, so we should be set for hot wax.”
“Wait,” Meg said. “Wax?”
As we walked though the store, Shelby slipped her hand into mine. Her town is small, and she is well known as her mother’s daughter. Still, she was not concerned to be seen showing affection with the much older man she loved, a stranger to all the natives.
“Fuck ‘em,” she said. “I need to shake this place up, man.”
“Whatever you like,” I said, kissing the back of her hand.
The sky was streaked with purple and grey as we drove to Meg’s place, where we would be bedding for the night.
“You know, Jefferson,” Meg said. “It was almost a year ago we met.”
“Fuck, that’s right,” I agreed. “It was Valentine’s Day.”
“Yeah, my best friend has been fucking my boyfriend for almost a year,” Shelby laughed.
Ours was not a conventional romance.
We unloaded the car, changed to pajamas and poured drinks.
We had everything we needed for two days and nights of raucous shenanigans.
I was three days into my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.
But first, we had to satisfy a basic requirement of Meg and Shelby’s Sunday nights together.
We had to eat pizza and watch “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.”
And smoke some very fine weed.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
threesome
BDSM
Wal Mart
Friday, March 24, 2006
Contest
Spring Fling 2006
Daffodils are coloring, birds are nesting and squirrels are pairing off.
It’s springtime in New York.
Can’t you feel the stir in the air? That little something that makes you long for a spring fling?
This contest is for you. Maybe you could be Jefferson’s sweetheart.
Two winners—one female, one male—will be chosen. For three whirlwind weeks this spring, each of these lucky winners will be treated to all the fine loving Jefferson can muster.
You want long walks, quiet conversation and sweet kisses? Say the word.
Need to feel the lash now and then? It’s yours.
Hungry for the flesh buffet of an orgy? Help yourself.
You decide what you want. Jefferson will take care of what you need.
To be considered, send the following to onelifetaketwo@gmail.com.
1. A recent photograph.
2. A description of yourself, including experiences and interests.
3. A brief text outlining why you should be chosen as Jefferson’s spring fling.
Remember: you can’t win if you don’t apply.
Good luck!
Contest remains open until winners are announced. Must be eighteen or older to enter. Winners must live in the New York City region, or relocate at their own expense. Previous winners need not apply. Void where prohibited.
Many will enter, few will win.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
contest
Daffodils are coloring, birds are nesting and squirrels are pairing off.
It’s springtime in New York.
Can’t you feel the stir in the air? That little something that makes you long for a spring fling?
This contest is for you. Maybe you could be Jefferson’s sweetheart.
Two winners—one female, one male—will be chosen. For three whirlwind weeks this spring, each of these lucky winners will be treated to all the fine loving Jefferson can muster.
You want long walks, quiet conversation and sweet kisses? Say the word.
Need to feel the lash now and then? It’s yours.
Hungry for the flesh buffet of an orgy? Help yourself.
You decide what you want. Jefferson will take care of what you need.
To be considered, send the following to onelifetaketwo@gmail.com.
1. A recent photograph.
2. A description of yourself, including experiences and interests.
3. A brief text outlining why you should be chosen as Jefferson’s spring fling.
Remember: you can’t win if you don’t apply.
Good luck!
Contest remains open until winners are announced. Must be eighteen or older to enter. Winners must live in the New York City region, or relocate at their own expense. Previous winners need not apply. Void where prohibited.
Many will enter, few will win.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
contest
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Perverts' Saloon
You read our blogs. Aren’t you curious to see us in the flesh?
A number of New York City sex bloggers will be taking part in our first-ever public reading, organized by redoubtable stalwarts Audacia Ray and Selina Fire.
And yes, your very own Jefferson will be among the participants. It’s a great group of folks—and I’ve only seen about half of them naked.
So far, that is.
Stop by to say howdy, won’t you?
As many in our cohort are up all manner of activities—such as Dacia’s curatorial smash Sex Worker Visions, opening March 29 at the LGBT Community Center—Viviane has created a special blog just to highlight news and events.
The Perverts’ Saloon
Here’s the low down on our hotter-than-hell hootenanny.
A family of strangers are New York City's Sex Bloggers - online writers, telling tales of their sex lives in this City. Parents in their 40's, sex workers in their 20's, professionals with 9 - 5 jobs or stay-at-home dads - male, female, straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual - these writers' narratives have one thing in common: they are sexually explicit. You'll find stories that twist real-life narratives together: parents helping their kids with homework, then later, deflowering a stranger of his anal virginity; tensions on the train to work, then helping a friend's wife to orgasm. Their tangled tales of exploration and conquest, freedom, exhibition and love will be told aloud and in person for the first time when the bloggers show their faces and read from their work at the New York City Peverts' Saloon.
Readers: Audacia Ray, Tony Comstock, Viviane, Lex Konrad, Jefferson, Selina Fire, Chelsea Girl, Cherry Bomb, Tess, Charlie Bucket
(Flyer design by J, maleslut NYC)
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
A number of New York City sex bloggers will be taking part in our first-ever public reading, organized by redoubtable stalwarts Audacia Ray and Selina Fire.
And yes, your very own Jefferson will be among the participants. It’s a great group of folks—and I’ve only seen about half of them naked.
So far, that is.
Stop by to say howdy, won’t you?
As many in our cohort are up all manner of activities—such as Dacia’s curatorial smash Sex Worker Visions, opening March 29 at the LGBT Community Center—Viviane has created a special blog just to highlight news and events.
The Perverts’ Saloon
Here’s the low down on our hotter-than-hell hootenanny.
Galapagos,
70 North 6th street, Williamsburg. L to Bedford Ave
(Directions to Galapagos)
FREE ADMISSION!
Time: 8-10 pm; Doors open at 7:30 PM
70 North 6th street, Williamsburg. L to Bedford Ave
(Directions to Galapagos)
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A family of strangers are New York City's Sex Bloggers - online writers, telling tales of their sex lives in this City. Parents in their 40's, sex workers in their 20's, professionals with 9 - 5 jobs or stay-at-home dads - male, female, straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual - these writers' narratives have one thing in common: they are sexually explicit. You'll find stories that twist real-life narratives together: parents helping their kids with homework, then later, deflowering a stranger of his anal virginity; tensions on the train to work, then helping a friend's wife to orgasm. Their tangled tales of exploration and conquest, freedom, exhibition and love will be told aloud and in person for the first time when the bloggers show their faces and read from their work at the New York City Peverts' Saloon.
Readers: Audacia Ray, Tony Comstock, Viviane, Lex Konrad, Jefferson, Selina Fire, Chelsea Girl, Cherry Bomb, Tess, Charlie Bucket
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Watching the Detective
I stripped the beds and made them with fresh sheets. I put out clean towels.
I swept and emptied the trashcans. I bagged the garbage and took it to the chute.
I did the dishes, taking care to leave only one cup, one plate and one glass in the dish rack.
I had to hide the evidence.
Anna was coming for a sleepover.
My on again/off again girlfriend was back on.
I knew our most recent break up was mended when she stopped over with a contrived game in which we could embrace only by asking permission to touch.
The next time she came over, she treated me to a slow strip tease.
A week later, I was in her bedroom reddening her ass with a riding crop.
She can’t give up the good sex.
She had offered to cook dinner for my birthday. She also wanted to give me a blowjob in my new desk chair.
I checked my calendar and offered a Saturday night.
“Really?” she replied archly. “Do you know that in the two years we’ve been seeing one another, you’ve never slept with me on a weekend night?”
“Is that right?” I asked.
“That’s right,” she asserted.
I’m sure she was right. She keeps track of things like that.
“Huh,” I said.
I guess I am more likely to spend weekends with people who don’t dump me every four months.
Now, I was a little nervous about having her at my place overnight. Anna is an incorrigible snoop. She can’t seem to help but notice small details that lead her to infer big things about my secret life with other women.
She knows I date others. I spare her the details.
I did my best to put everything in order.
There was no evidence of the Nubian orgy the night before. There was no evidence of the threesome that preceded it. No evidence of the threesome that transpired that morning.
I paced the apartment, looking under furniture, around planters, on shelves. I saw nothing one wouldn’t expect to find in the home of a single father with three children.
Anna arrived late, as usual, and loaded with grocery bags.
I reached to help her. “Are you making dinner or moving in? Gee, this weighs a ton.”
“Well,” she began. “I wasn’t sure you would have everything I needed.” She hefted her bags to the table. She pulled a carton from one. “Like, no one has parchment paper.”
“I think I do, actually.” I kissed her cheek. “But one can never have too much parchment paper. Can I take your coat, baby?”
I held out my hand.
As she unbuttoned her coat, her eyes drifted to my piles of mail. She stopped mid-button.
“Jefferson, who’s Viviane?” Her eyes never left the mail.
“Huh?” My hands continued to wait for her coat. “Oh, Viviane is a friend of mine. Why?”
“Because her name is on this envelope.” She fiddled with her button.
My eyes followed her to the mail. “Yes, I can see that. My friend Viviane gave me something in an envelope. Your coat, please?”
She looked at me as if to surmise the veracity of my explanation. Apparently satisfied, she continued to unbutton her coat.
How stupid of me to have mail, I thought.
I hung her coat. “Would you like some wine?” I offered.
She sat on the couch. “Yes, please. I’ll start cooking once I recover from the walk over.”
“Take your time, dear. Relax. I’ll be right back.” I went to the kitchen to open the wine. “What are you cooking anyway?” I called.
“Scallops,” she called back.
“Oh, yum,” I said, cutting the foil from the wine. “You know, I haven’t had scallops in a while.”
“I’m right here, you don’t have to shout,” she said, suddenly at the door. “Are you applying to law school?”
My brow furrowed as I held the corkscrew. “Uh, no I am not applying to law school.”
“Oh.” She motioned towards the next room. “I saw the envelope from a law school and thought . . .”
“My neighbor gave me some papers in that envelope,” I said. I took down two wine glasses. “I think her husband is a lawyer. I am not applying to law school. Can you just sit on the couch while I get your wine?”
She returned to the couch. I soon joined her with two glasses.
I raised my glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” smiled, clinking glasses. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” As we sipped, my eyes scanned the room. Did I miss anything that might lead Anna to think that Viviane and I are eloping to law school?
I relaxed as we cooked. I offered myself as sou chef, chopping leeks and assorted vegetables as she washed the scallops. We drifted into a conversation about my children.
A song came on the radio.
“Ugh,” I moaned. “Here’s that annoying Ben Lee tune.”
“Come again?”
“’Catch my Disease.’ I’m sure you’ve heard me rant about it.”
“No, you’ve never mentioned this song to me.”
“Oh. Well, it’s not awful or anything, it’s just so cloying and cutesy, with the baby piano and the ‘na na na.’”
She turned off the water. “I’ve never heard you talk about this song.”
“Okay, well, that’s all I have to say about it really.”
“Hmmm. I’ve never heard this song before. I don’t know who Ben Lee is.”
“Ah, well.”
“You must be confusing me with someone else.”
“Maybe, whatever.”
She cut a few sheets of parchment paper. The song continued.
“Yeah, I’ve never heard this song. You never mentioned it to me. Must be someone else you are thinking about.”
I reached for another leek. Her comment lingered in the air.
Detective Anna was hot on the trail.
No doubt, this Viviane and I would soon be in our dorm room at law school, reveling in our shared dislike of Ben Lee.
I set the table as the scallops cooked. I lit candles. I poured more wine.
I replaced the radio with Sarah Vaughan. Don’t talk about Sarah Vaughan, I told myself.
As we ate, something seemed to be weighing on Anna’s mind.
“Jefferson, I have something to tell you.” She rested her fork on the edge of her plate.
I pulled my fork from my mouth. “What?” I chewed. “Anything wrong?”
“I guess you’ll have to be the judge of that.” She drew a breath, and then exhaled. “There’s nothing to do but just come out with it. I’m seeing someone else.”
I wiped a napkin on my lips. “You are?”
“Yes. His name is William. He’s a veterinarian.”
I took a sip of wine then sat back. “I see. Have you been seeing him long?”
“No, we just meet two weeks ago, on New Year’s Eve. I had asked you out, but you were busy. So I went dancing with friends. I met him on the dance floor.”
I got the subtext—it was my own fault she had met him.
“Well, that sounds like a romantic way to meet,” I smiled.
“It was. We spent the weekend together.”
“That’s pretty hot and heavy,” I nodded. I skewered a scallop and popped it in my mouth.
“You aren’t upset?” she asked.
“No, not at all,” I chewed. “You are free to date anyone you like.”
“I’m glad.” Anna picked up her fork. She moved food around her plate. “I guess now I’m polyamorous too.”
“Something like that.”
I hoped she wasn’t disappointed that I took the news so well. I wasn’t upset in the least.
If anything, I was relieved.
I think anyone who dates me should have at least one other boyfriend. I would prefer not to be anyone’s sole sexual outlet. That’s just too much responsibility.
I listened to her talk about her new boyfriend in halting terms, apparently concerned about saying something that might wound me. I smiled and made it clear that I was glad she was enjoying herself.
I hoped that she would notice something now and in the future.
I wasn’t pressing for details.
If she wanted to talk, I was happy to listen. But her relationship with him was her affair and not mine. She can share it or not depending on her preferences.
Perhaps in this way, I could lead by example. I don’t nose in your privacy. Please don’t nose in mine.
Or, as Brother Hank put it, if you mind your own business, then you won’t be minding mine.
Likewise, I could let it go that she considered this situation to be polyamorous. I wasn’t going to parse words, but I hardly think its polyamorous to date two people at once. That’s what single people do, right? Play the field. Hedge their bets.
As for me, I’m not really involved in anything I’d define as polyamorous. That requires the same commitment as monogamy.
I’m more of a slut, really.
Not that I was going to argue that point with Anna.
After supper, I cleared the table. She had cooked, so I assumed I would do the dishes.
As I ran the water, she called my name.
“Jefferson? Can you come here, please?”
“I’m just rinsing the dishes, I’ll be out in a moment.”
“I’d prefer not to wait.”
Ah.
I turned off the water and dried my hands.
I found Anna kneeling on a pillow in front of my chair.
She had stripped to pale blue hot pants panties and a white bra.
She sat very erect, smiling at me. She patted the seat of my chair.
“The dishes can wait,” she told me.
“Yes, I believe they can,” I said, tugging my shirt over my head.
My pants melted to the floor like butter on hot scallops.
Anna moved aside as I settled into my chair.
“Dinner was great,” I smiled. “And so simple.”
She wriggled her shoulders coquettishly, taking my cock in hand.
“I have a great many talents,” she said.
With that, she leaned forward and took me into her mouth.
I stroked her hair. “That you do,” I agreed. “That you do.”
She worked her mouth on me slowly, keeping her eyes on mine. She held my cock, gently turning her grip in contradistinction to the movements of her mouth.
Such a dancer. She was choreographing a blowjob.
If I could have read her mind, I am sure I would have heard her voice repeating: “One and two and turn and three and four and turn.”
I kept my eyes on her face, on her eyes on mine.
I closed my eyes, letting the time pass.
“This is so good,” I sighed. “And the chair is so comfortable.” I leaned back.
She licked the length of my shaft. “You certainly look comfortable.”
“You should try it sometime.”
“Perhaps I will.”
For the moment, though, she preferred to tease me with her hand job. Her hands alternated in a fluid movement, pulling my cock away from my body, firm but gentle, one hand after the other.
Closing my eyes, I could not tell where one gesture ended and the next began. It all blurred into a continuous wave, as if she were extending my cock as an endless supply of flesh and filament.
Once she had reeled out a few feet of cock. she alternated her gestures, pushing it all back into my body. Handful after handful, slowly, she guided it all into place.
When I opened my eyes, my cock was back to its normal size—or rather, only slightly larger than usual.
She began to take me back into her mouth.
I held her cheeks.
“No, not so fast,” I clucked. “You must sit in the chair.”
“I’m fine here. On my knees. At your feet.”
“I’m not fine. I want you in the chair.” I stood.
“Well, I would like to try the chair,” she began, standing.
Her ass turned before me. She lowered herself to sit.
“Hmm, yes, this is comfortable.”
“Isn’t it?” I pushed down on the armrests. “See how well it leans forward?”
I offered my cock to her mouth. She took it.
“And see how well it leans back?” I pushed the headrest. The chair fell back.
Her mouth opened and her legs lifted as she instinctively braced for a fall.
I took her thighs and lifted. I dropped to her abandoned pillow, lifting her ass high.
I removed her panties.
She tossed her bra across the room, panting and disoriented.
I thought to say something clever, but instead put my tongue to better use.
I plunged it into her cunt. She jumped at the sensation.
I opened my mouth wide as my tongue entered and retreated, fucking her fast. My upper lip grazed her clit.
I fell into sucking her soft smooth skin, burying my nose into her small tuft of hair. My tongue stayed on its target until she came.
My fingers joined, pressing against the contractions of the taut muscles inside her body. Her cunt opened and closed, gasping for breath, farting as she pushed against me.
Just two more orgasms, I said to myself, and then I’m fucking her.
Moments later, we were fucking.
Three hours later, we were asleep.
Six hours later, I woke.
She lay next to me, on her back, an arm resting on her hair. The duvet covered her from the waist down.
She had not moved since I pulled out of her as she drifted to sleep.
She breathed softly, deep in her sleep. I watched her breasts rise and fall as she breathed.
She looked so content.
Anna is often frustrated by our relationship. She most wants in life to meet someone, to settle down and to raise a family.
That hasn’t happened. It’s not happening with me.
I’m often frustrated too, if only by the bad timing of it all.
If I had met Anna just after college, when I was starting to date Lucy, life might have taken a different turn.
If there had been a moment in my youth when Lucy and Anna told me I had to choose one or the other, I would’ve looked at them though my long hair and pondered.
Both women are challenging, and more than a little overwrought. Much as that rubs against my grain, I am apparently drawn to women who push me.
Both are attractive and smart. They both read. They both want families.
Anna cares about art. Lucy doesn’t. Lucy tolerated sex. Anna loves it.
If we had met at another time, in another place, I might have been able to give Anna what she most wants to be happy.
Now, in this time and place, I can only offer what she needs to get by.
I reached for a condom and lube.
I parted her thighs slightly.
I entered her slowly. She was moist from her dreams.
I kept my body apart from hers, so as not to disturb her sleep.
Her breathing quickened. She turned her head.
“Unh,” she began, not opening her eyes. “Jefferson, wha . . what are you doing?”
“Shhh,” I kissed her lightly. “I’m making love to you. Go back to sleep, baby.”
She rubbed her face, eyes tight. “I can’t . . . I can’t sleep if you are fucking me.”
I stilled myself in her body. I cradled her neck in my arms.
I kissed her hair.
She slept, and dreamed.
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sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
oral sex
fucking
Ben Lee
Hank Williams
I swept and emptied the trashcans. I bagged the garbage and took it to the chute.
I did the dishes, taking care to leave only one cup, one plate and one glass in the dish rack.
I had to hide the evidence.
Anna was coming for a sleepover.
My on again/off again girlfriend was back on.
I knew our most recent break up was mended when she stopped over with a contrived game in which we could embrace only by asking permission to touch.
The next time she came over, she treated me to a slow strip tease.
A week later, I was in her bedroom reddening her ass with a riding crop.
She can’t give up the good sex.
She had offered to cook dinner for my birthday. She also wanted to give me a blowjob in my new desk chair.
I checked my calendar and offered a Saturday night.
“Really?” she replied archly. “Do you know that in the two years we’ve been seeing one another, you’ve never slept with me on a weekend night?”
“Is that right?” I asked.
“That’s right,” she asserted.
I’m sure she was right. She keeps track of things like that.
“Huh,” I said.
I guess I am more likely to spend weekends with people who don’t dump me every four months.
Now, I was a little nervous about having her at my place overnight. Anna is an incorrigible snoop. She can’t seem to help but notice small details that lead her to infer big things about my secret life with other women.
She knows I date others. I spare her the details.
I did my best to put everything in order.
There was no evidence of the Nubian orgy the night before. There was no evidence of the threesome that preceded it. No evidence of the threesome that transpired that morning.
I paced the apartment, looking under furniture, around planters, on shelves. I saw nothing one wouldn’t expect to find in the home of a single father with three children.
Anna arrived late, as usual, and loaded with grocery bags.
I reached to help her. “Are you making dinner or moving in? Gee, this weighs a ton.”
“Well,” she began. “I wasn’t sure you would have everything I needed.” She hefted her bags to the table. She pulled a carton from one. “Like, no one has parchment paper.”
“I think I do, actually.” I kissed her cheek. “But one can never have too much parchment paper. Can I take your coat, baby?”
I held out my hand.
As she unbuttoned her coat, her eyes drifted to my piles of mail. She stopped mid-button.
“Jefferson, who’s Viviane?” Her eyes never left the mail.
“Huh?” My hands continued to wait for her coat. “Oh, Viviane is a friend of mine. Why?”
“Because her name is on this envelope.” She fiddled with her button.
My eyes followed her to the mail. “Yes, I can see that. My friend Viviane gave me something in an envelope. Your coat, please?”
She looked at me as if to surmise the veracity of my explanation. Apparently satisfied, she continued to unbutton her coat.
How stupid of me to have mail, I thought.
I hung her coat. “Would you like some wine?” I offered.
She sat on the couch. “Yes, please. I’ll start cooking once I recover from the walk over.”
“Take your time, dear. Relax. I’ll be right back.” I went to the kitchen to open the wine. “What are you cooking anyway?” I called.
“Scallops,” she called back.
“Oh, yum,” I said, cutting the foil from the wine. “You know, I haven’t had scallops in a while.”
“I’m right here, you don’t have to shout,” she said, suddenly at the door. “Are you applying to law school?”
My brow furrowed as I held the corkscrew. “Uh, no I am not applying to law school.”
“Oh.” She motioned towards the next room. “I saw the envelope from a law school and thought . . .”
“My neighbor gave me some papers in that envelope,” I said. I took down two wine glasses. “I think her husband is a lawyer. I am not applying to law school. Can you just sit on the couch while I get your wine?”
She returned to the couch. I soon joined her with two glasses.
I raised my glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” smiled, clinking glasses. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” As we sipped, my eyes scanned the room. Did I miss anything that might lead Anna to think that Viviane and I are eloping to law school?
I relaxed as we cooked. I offered myself as sou chef, chopping leeks and assorted vegetables as she washed the scallops. We drifted into a conversation about my children.
A song came on the radio.
“Ugh,” I moaned. “Here’s that annoying Ben Lee tune.”
“Come again?”
“’Catch my Disease.’ I’m sure you’ve heard me rant about it.”
“No, you’ve never mentioned this song to me.”
“Oh. Well, it’s not awful or anything, it’s just so cloying and cutesy, with the baby piano and the ‘na na na.’”
She turned off the water. “I’ve never heard you talk about this song.”
“Okay, well, that’s all I have to say about it really.”
“Hmmm. I’ve never heard this song before. I don’t know who Ben Lee is.”
“Ah, well.”
“You must be confusing me with someone else.”
“Maybe, whatever.”
She cut a few sheets of parchment paper. The song continued.
“Yeah, I’ve never heard this song. You never mentioned it to me. Must be someone else you are thinking about.”
I reached for another leek. Her comment lingered in the air.
Detective Anna was hot on the trail.
No doubt, this Viviane and I would soon be in our dorm room at law school, reveling in our shared dislike of Ben Lee.
I set the table as the scallops cooked. I lit candles. I poured more wine.
I replaced the radio with Sarah Vaughan. Don’t talk about Sarah Vaughan, I told myself.
As we ate, something seemed to be weighing on Anna’s mind.
“Jefferson, I have something to tell you.” She rested her fork on the edge of her plate.
I pulled my fork from my mouth. “What?” I chewed. “Anything wrong?”
“I guess you’ll have to be the judge of that.” She drew a breath, and then exhaled. “There’s nothing to do but just come out with it. I’m seeing someone else.”
I wiped a napkin on my lips. “You are?”
“Yes. His name is William. He’s a veterinarian.”
I took a sip of wine then sat back. “I see. Have you been seeing him long?”
“No, we just meet two weeks ago, on New Year’s Eve. I had asked you out, but you were busy. So I went dancing with friends. I met him on the dance floor.”
I got the subtext—it was my own fault she had met him.
“Well, that sounds like a romantic way to meet,” I smiled.
“It was. We spent the weekend together.”
“That’s pretty hot and heavy,” I nodded. I skewered a scallop and popped it in my mouth.
“You aren’t upset?” she asked.
“No, not at all,” I chewed. “You are free to date anyone you like.”
“I’m glad.” Anna picked up her fork. She moved food around her plate. “I guess now I’m polyamorous too.”
“Something like that.”
I hoped she wasn’t disappointed that I took the news so well. I wasn’t upset in the least.
If anything, I was relieved.
I think anyone who dates me should have at least one other boyfriend. I would prefer not to be anyone’s sole sexual outlet. That’s just too much responsibility.
I listened to her talk about her new boyfriend in halting terms, apparently concerned about saying something that might wound me. I smiled and made it clear that I was glad she was enjoying herself.
I hoped that she would notice something now and in the future.
I wasn’t pressing for details.
If she wanted to talk, I was happy to listen. But her relationship with him was her affair and not mine. She can share it or not depending on her preferences.
Perhaps in this way, I could lead by example. I don’t nose in your privacy. Please don’t nose in mine.
Or, as Brother Hank put it, if you mind your own business, then you won’t be minding mine.
Likewise, I could let it go that she considered this situation to be polyamorous. I wasn’t going to parse words, but I hardly think its polyamorous to date two people at once. That’s what single people do, right? Play the field. Hedge their bets.
As for me, I’m not really involved in anything I’d define as polyamorous. That requires the same commitment as monogamy.
I’m more of a slut, really.
Not that I was going to argue that point with Anna.
After supper, I cleared the table. She had cooked, so I assumed I would do the dishes.
As I ran the water, she called my name.
“Jefferson? Can you come here, please?”
“I’m just rinsing the dishes, I’ll be out in a moment.”
“I’d prefer not to wait.”
Ah.
I turned off the water and dried my hands.
I found Anna kneeling on a pillow in front of my chair.
She had stripped to pale blue hot pants panties and a white bra.
She sat very erect, smiling at me. She patted the seat of my chair.
“The dishes can wait,” she told me.
“Yes, I believe they can,” I said, tugging my shirt over my head.
My pants melted to the floor like butter on hot scallops.
Anna moved aside as I settled into my chair.
“Dinner was great,” I smiled. “And so simple.”
She wriggled her shoulders coquettishly, taking my cock in hand.
“I have a great many talents,” she said.
With that, she leaned forward and took me into her mouth.
I stroked her hair. “That you do,” I agreed. “That you do.”
She worked her mouth on me slowly, keeping her eyes on mine. She held my cock, gently turning her grip in contradistinction to the movements of her mouth.
Such a dancer. She was choreographing a blowjob.
If I could have read her mind, I am sure I would have heard her voice repeating: “One and two and turn and three and four and turn.”
I kept my eyes on her face, on her eyes on mine.
I closed my eyes, letting the time pass.
“This is so good,” I sighed. “And the chair is so comfortable.” I leaned back.
She licked the length of my shaft. “You certainly look comfortable.”
“You should try it sometime.”
“Perhaps I will.”
For the moment, though, she preferred to tease me with her hand job. Her hands alternated in a fluid movement, pulling my cock away from my body, firm but gentle, one hand after the other.
Closing my eyes, I could not tell where one gesture ended and the next began. It all blurred into a continuous wave, as if she were extending my cock as an endless supply of flesh and filament.
Once she had reeled out a few feet of cock. she alternated her gestures, pushing it all back into my body. Handful after handful, slowly, she guided it all into place.
When I opened my eyes, my cock was back to its normal size—or rather, only slightly larger than usual.
She began to take me back into her mouth.
I held her cheeks.
“No, not so fast,” I clucked. “You must sit in the chair.”
“I’m fine here. On my knees. At your feet.”
“I’m not fine. I want you in the chair.” I stood.
“Well, I would like to try the chair,” she began, standing.
Her ass turned before me. She lowered herself to sit.
“Hmm, yes, this is comfortable.”
“Isn’t it?” I pushed down on the armrests. “See how well it leans forward?”
I offered my cock to her mouth. She took it.
“And see how well it leans back?” I pushed the headrest. The chair fell back.
Her mouth opened and her legs lifted as she instinctively braced for a fall.
I took her thighs and lifted. I dropped to her abandoned pillow, lifting her ass high.
I removed her panties.
She tossed her bra across the room, panting and disoriented.
I thought to say something clever, but instead put my tongue to better use.
I plunged it into her cunt. She jumped at the sensation.
I opened my mouth wide as my tongue entered and retreated, fucking her fast. My upper lip grazed her clit.
I fell into sucking her soft smooth skin, burying my nose into her small tuft of hair. My tongue stayed on its target until she came.
My fingers joined, pressing against the contractions of the taut muscles inside her body. Her cunt opened and closed, gasping for breath, farting as she pushed against me.
Just two more orgasms, I said to myself, and then I’m fucking her.
Moments later, we were fucking.
Three hours later, we were asleep.
Six hours later, I woke.
She lay next to me, on her back, an arm resting on her hair. The duvet covered her from the waist down.
She had not moved since I pulled out of her as she drifted to sleep.
She breathed softly, deep in her sleep. I watched her breasts rise and fall as she breathed.
She looked so content.
Anna is often frustrated by our relationship. She most wants in life to meet someone, to settle down and to raise a family.
That hasn’t happened. It’s not happening with me.
I’m often frustrated too, if only by the bad timing of it all.
If I had met Anna just after college, when I was starting to date Lucy, life might have taken a different turn.
If there had been a moment in my youth when Lucy and Anna told me I had to choose one or the other, I would’ve looked at them though my long hair and pondered.
Both women are challenging, and more than a little overwrought. Much as that rubs against my grain, I am apparently drawn to women who push me.
Both are attractive and smart. They both read. They both want families.
Anna cares about art. Lucy doesn’t. Lucy tolerated sex. Anna loves it.
If we had met at another time, in another place, I might have been able to give Anna what she most wants to be happy.
Now, in this time and place, I can only offer what she needs to get by.
I reached for a condom and lube.
I parted her thighs slightly.
I entered her slowly. She was moist from her dreams.
I kept my body apart from hers, so as not to disturb her sleep.
Her breathing quickened. She turned her head.
“Unh,” she began, not opening her eyes. “Jefferson, wha . . what are you doing?”
“Shhh,” I kissed her lightly. “I’m making love to you. Go back to sleep, baby.”
She rubbed her face, eyes tight. “I can’t . . . I can’t sleep if you are fucking me.”
I stilled myself in her body. I cradled her neck in my arms.
I kissed her hair.
She slept, and dreamed.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
oral sex
fucking
Ben Lee
Hank Williams
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