Lillie stuck out her tongue as I walked into the classroom.
I blew her a kiss.
She giggled.
Another parent nodded to me and smiled as I sat in a tiny chair. I waved back.
“Okay, parents, welcome,” Miss Harper began. “It’s nice to have you here again—Marvin. Hands to self. You too, Gina.
“Now, as you may have heard from the children, we have been reading nonfiction with our study groups. Each group has a basket containing books on a specific subject. So today, we are going to—Sara. Don’t.—we are going to break into our groups and share our books with you.”
One morning each month, parents are invited to join their children in the classroom to be “reading partners.”
I have two children in the school, so I begin with Lillie’s first grade and move up to Collie’s fourth grade.
When the children broke into their groups, Lillie brought a boy to my table.
“Dad, this is Perry. Perry, this is Dad.”
I stood and took Perry’s hand. “Nice to meet you, son. I’m Jefferson, Lillie’s dad.”
His grin was like a broken fence. So many missing teeth.
“This is my mom.” He pointed over his shoulder.
“Nice to meet you,” I smiled.
“You too. I’m Margaret, Perry’s mom. I love Lillie’s red hair!”
Lillie rolled her eyes.
“Oh, thanks. Perry’s a sweet fellow. He always smiles when we see him on the bus.”
Margaret Perry’s Mom patted her son’s head.
Jefferson Lillie’s Dad chucked his daughter’s chin.
Such are the rituals of greeting when your primary identification is as a child’s parent.
“Shall we . . .?” I said, indicating the chairs.
“Oh yes,” Margaret Perry’s Mom said. “What are we reading about today? Oh frogs! I love frogs!”
“Frogs lay eggs,” Perry said.
“Thousands of eggs, to make tadpoles,” Lillie added.
“Well, let’s learn about frogs then!” I said.
We sat by our children as they debated which book they wanted to read. Lillie agreed to Perry’s choice and let him read first.
“What do you . . . know about frogs?” Perry began. “Did you . . . know that frogs begin life under water?”
My eyes followed Perry’s fingers across the page. I was interrupted by Lillie’s tapping on my elbow.
“Dad? Dad?” she whispered.
“Shh, honey, we’re listening now.”
“But look, over there.”
She pointed across the room.
“Where am I looking?” I asked.
“Over there, that’s Sara.”
“Okay honey, but we are reading now.”
“No look, there’s Sara’s mom,” she smiled. “Now’s your chance.”
Lillie is determined to fix me up with Sara’s mom, a woman I’ve never met.
“Shh, sugar, let’s read about frogs now.” I looked back at the page. Lillie’s eyes followed mine.
“The tadpole is growing up.” Perry read. “It will soon loss its tail.”
“Lose, honey,” his mom corrected.
“Lose its tail.”
I stole a glimpse at Sara’s mom.
Lillie read about frogs and the book was finished.
I kissed her on the head.
“Good reading, sweetheart. I need to go visit Collie now.”
“No, go meet Sara’s mom! It’s now or never!”
“Another time, baby. Nice to meet you Perry, Margaret.”
“You too, Jefferson,” Margaret Perry’s Mom smiled.
I walked upstairs and found Collie on his way to collect me.
“Perfect timing, son.”
“Yeah, come with me.” He took my hand. “We’re reading poetry anthologies.”
“Oh, fun.”
“Yes, but you can’t read mine. I wrote a poem about you.”
“What? Oh, then I have to read it!”
He giggled. “No, it will make you mad and you will hate me.”
“I already hate you. Come on, let me read it.”
“Okay, you can read it.” He led me into his classroom. His bearing stiffened to the formality he affects when he is feeling silly. “Now, be quiet.”
“Yes, sir.”
He led me to his desk. A group of boys huddled nearby.
“Dad, this is Harry, this is Jeremy, this is William. And this,” he picked up a book, “This is my poetry anthology.”
He handed me a book of loose pages stapled between sheets of green construction paper. It was titled, “My Poems About Family and Friends, By Collie.”
“Oh, okay, thank you. Nice to meet you boys, but I think I need to do a little reading now.”
“Okay,” Harry grinned.
Collie giggled.
I sat in Collie’s chair and turned the cover.
It opened with a poem about my ex wife’s mother.
My Grandmother
All I wanted
Was a nice Christmas vacation
But no, you had to ruin it.
I try to help
But you yell at me
When I do something wrong.
Everyone who knows you
Knows you
Are not the kind of grandmother
Who bakes cookies
Or kisses you good night.
“Well,” I said. “You are certainly, um, an honest writer.”
Collie giggled.
There was a poem about his mother’s cat.
Gray
You are a gray cat
You play with my sister
But you scratch me when I pass you on the stairs.
But then you curl with me
When I am asleep
And I don’t feel lonely
I don’t know
If I like you
Or not.
“Oh, you and that cat!” I grinned.
Collie giggled.
There were several more poems, some having to do with kids in his neighborhood, some having to do with kids in school. None concerning his mother or siblings.
I came to the last page.
Collie looked on nervously.
Dad's Friends
Last night
One of Dad’s friends came over
It made me sad
All of Dad’s friends are women
We are split up
I do not want him to love a women
I guess (sigh) that is a problem
For divorced kids.
I looked at Collie.
Collie giggled.
“I do have a lot of female friends, don’t I?”
He shrugged.
It’s true. In part, this has to do with the field in which I work; in part, it may be personal preference, or perhaps just a twist of fate.
I pulled him close.
“I will never be mad at you for feeling what you feel, or for writing what you feel.”
“I know, Daddy.”
“We’re a family, baby. I love you, and that’s not changing.”
He shrugged in my arms.
“I know.”
I lowered my voice to a whisper.
“And you are still my favorite.”
Collie giggled.
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Friday, March 03, 2006
Nap
Emma has been under a lot of stress lately. She works a demanding job while also studying for graduate school.
Sometimes, it catches up with her.
One afternoon, as we traded instant messages, she confessed to being tired.
I suggested she nap.
She said she could try, but it was very cold at her place.
I suggested she nap at my place.
“Oh right,” she said. “Like you would let me nap.”
“I would, of course I would. I have things to do, you know. I’ll warm you up with body heat and send you to slumbers on flannel sheets. I’ll work, and when you wake up, I’ll fuck you and send you on your way.”
“Oh, sleep AND sex. That’s a good offer.”
“And steam heat. My place is positively balmy.”
“You make a good case.”
“Do what you like, Emma. Me, I need to throw more water on the rocks in this sauna I call home.”
“Okay, I’m coming over.”
Emma did look dog-tired.
I kissed her and peeled off her clothes.
She crawled into bed.
I undressed and crawled in after.
I spooned her, ignoring my erection, waiting for her to drift off.
I was starting to feel a little drowsy myself when Emma’s phone rang.
It was on my side of the bed. She has taken to claiming my side of the bed. This time, I managed to nudge her over to the company side.
She was compliant when she was tired, I guess.
I passed the phone to her.
She sat up.
“Hello?” She listened, then laughed. “I know, I couldn’t believe it when I heard the ring tone. It’s been, what, three months?”
I rolled on my back and closed my eyes. I wanted to give her a measure of privacy.
“Well, I guess the big news is that I’ve chopped my hair off. It’s like a bob . . . I know, pretty short! You’d be surprised. And you? . . . uh huh . . .”
This sounded like it could go on for a while.
My mind suggested that we get back to work.
My body countered that a nap sounded good.
I was moderating the debate when Emma stroked my hair. Her fingers apologized for the intrusion.
Maybe I would stick around for a bit.
“Did you hear that Dad got a dog? . . . I know, after all those years of us wanting a pet, and now he gets a dog. And he drove, like, three hours each way to pick it up . . . yeah, it’s cute, but . . .” She listened, then laughed.
All the while, stroking my hair.
I fingered her arm.
She lay back on the pillows, and smiled at me.
Such pretty teeth.
My finger found her collarbone.
She twirled a strand of my hair.
“Well, yes, of course I’m nervous, but I study, like, every free moment. So I can only do it and . . . right! Pray for the best.”
My finger traced to her belly.
She stretched back.
I toyed with her pubic hair.
She opened her thighs.
My fingers tinkered at her pussy.
“So have you talked to Rob? No, me neither . . . uh huh . . . but you know Stephen has that new work study . . . no? Oh, it sounds pretty cool . . .”
I am getting to know Emma’s pussy pretty well.
We’re fast friends.
I greet it with a “howdy,” and hear back a nice juicy “come on in, baby doll.”
My finger slipped from her clit to her slit.
“Uh huh . . . oh right, like that’s happening . . . wow, are you kidding? No, not since Christmas.”
I massaged her g-spot with two fingers.
Her usual.
She closed her eyes as she listened.
She cums quietly, but I was pretty sure she didn’t want to orgasm into her caller’s ear. I took her close, but pulled back in the nick of time.
“No, haven’t you heard? They made up after the wedding . . . yeah, Mama said she was sick of it and forced them to talk . . . right? Too bad she didn’t do that in, like, nineteen seventy nine.”
I kissed her soft belly.
Nap be damned. I couldn’t leave her now—not without fucking her. But this phone call was going on forever.
“No, I totally don’t know that. You have to tell me what happened.”
I took a nipple in my teeth.
She could feel my hard cock pressing into her thigh.
She caressed my hair, absentmindedly punctuating the air with “uh huhs” and “yeahs.”
I kissed her neck. I bit behind her ear, gently.
She slapped my shoulder playfully.
I sat up, kneeling between her open thighs.
“Okay, now was this before or after the accident?”
I opened my condom drawer, my eyes on hers.
She mouthed a “no.”
I nodded a “yes.”
She mouthed another phrase. Was it “you’re bad?” Or “go ahead?”
I poised my cock at her lips, toying with her clit, entering her slightly.
All the while, my eyes on hers.
I leaned forward.
My cock slid into her.
“Oh, that’s good . . . no really, I’m sure that’s good.”
She slapped my back again.
I fucked her gently, nestling her neck.
With my head next to hers, I could now hear her caller’s voice. It was a woman, excitedly going on about something.
I tried not to listen. It’s rude to listen in on phone calls.
I figured I could keep Emma aroused but just shy of orgasm if I fucked slow, deep and steady.
This suited me fine. I can do that for hours.
Which, at this rate, might have to be the case.
This woman would not shut up.
Emma’s face was flushed, her eyes closed and her head turned away. I recognized the expression. She was giving over to the sex.
I kissed her check.
“Uh huh . . . well, yeah, I guess I should go too. Yeah, would you? Seriously, yes, more often, this was crazy . . . okay, bye.”
Emma closed the phone, and rested it on my nightstand.
She slapped my arm.
“You are such an asshole.”
“I know. It’s really true, I am.”
I kissed her neck again.
“Jefferson, that was my sister.”
I paused.
“Wow, we did a phone sex threesome with your sister? How hot is that?”
“Asshole.”
“I was hoping we’d do your brother first. He’s cute.”
My hips ground into hers.
She went limp.
“Just for that, I’m not going to cum.”
“Baby,” I kissed her, “Don’t be like that.”
“Asshole.”
She held on to her resolve for a few moments.
I stole some orgasms and left her to nap.
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Sometimes, it catches up with her.
One afternoon, as we traded instant messages, she confessed to being tired.
I suggested she nap.
She said she could try, but it was very cold at her place.
I suggested she nap at my place.
“Oh right,” she said. “Like you would let me nap.”
“I would, of course I would. I have things to do, you know. I’ll warm you up with body heat and send you to slumbers on flannel sheets. I’ll work, and when you wake up, I’ll fuck you and send you on your way.”
“Oh, sleep AND sex. That’s a good offer.”
“And steam heat. My place is positively balmy.”
“You make a good case.”
“Do what you like, Emma. Me, I need to throw more water on the rocks in this sauna I call home.”
“Okay, I’m coming over.”
Emma did look dog-tired.
I kissed her and peeled off her clothes.
She crawled into bed.
I undressed and crawled in after.
I spooned her, ignoring my erection, waiting for her to drift off.
I was starting to feel a little drowsy myself when Emma’s phone rang.
It was on my side of the bed. She has taken to claiming my side of the bed. This time, I managed to nudge her over to the company side.
She was compliant when she was tired, I guess.
I passed the phone to her.
She sat up.
“Hello?” She listened, then laughed. “I know, I couldn’t believe it when I heard the ring tone. It’s been, what, three months?”
I rolled on my back and closed my eyes. I wanted to give her a measure of privacy.
“Well, I guess the big news is that I’ve chopped my hair off. It’s like a bob . . . I know, pretty short! You’d be surprised. And you? . . . uh huh . . .”
This sounded like it could go on for a while.
My mind suggested that we get back to work.
My body countered that a nap sounded good.
I was moderating the debate when Emma stroked my hair. Her fingers apologized for the intrusion.
Maybe I would stick around for a bit.
“Did you hear that Dad got a dog? . . . I know, after all those years of us wanting a pet, and now he gets a dog. And he drove, like, three hours each way to pick it up . . . yeah, it’s cute, but . . .” She listened, then laughed.
All the while, stroking my hair.
I fingered her arm.
She lay back on the pillows, and smiled at me.
Such pretty teeth.
My finger found her collarbone.
She twirled a strand of my hair.
“Well, yes, of course I’m nervous, but I study, like, every free moment. So I can only do it and . . . right! Pray for the best.”
My finger traced to her belly.
She stretched back.
I toyed with her pubic hair.
She opened her thighs.
My fingers tinkered at her pussy.
“So have you talked to Rob? No, me neither . . . uh huh . . . but you know Stephen has that new work study . . . no? Oh, it sounds pretty cool . . .”
I am getting to know Emma’s pussy pretty well.
We’re fast friends.
I greet it with a “howdy,” and hear back a nice juicy “come on in, baby doll.”
My finger slipped from her clit to her slit.
“Uh huh . . . oh right, like that’s happening . . . wow, are you kidding? No, not since Christmas.”
I massaged her g-spot with two fingers.
Her usual.
She closed her eyes as she listened.
She cums quietly, but I was pretty sure she didn’t want to orgasm into her caller’s ear. I took her close, but pulled back in the nick of time.
“No, haven’t you heard? They made up after the wedding . . . yeah, Mama said she was sick of it and forced them to talk . . . right? Too bad she didn’t do that in, like, nineteen seventy nine.”
I kissed her soft belly.
Nap be damned. I couldn’t leave her now—not without fucking her. But this phone call was going on forever.
“No, I totally don’t know that. You have to tell me what happened.”
I took a nipple in my teeth.
She could feel my hard cock pressing into her thigh.
She caressed my hair, absentmindedly punctuating the air with “uh huhs” and “yeahs.”
I kissed her neck. I bit behind her ear, gently.
She slapped my shoulder playfully.
I sat up, kneeling between her open thighs.
“Okay, now was this before or after the accident?”
I opened my condom drawer, my eyes on hers.
She mouthed a “no.”
I nodded a “yes.”
She mouthed another phrase. Was it “you’re bad?” Or “go ahead?”
I poised my cock at her lips, toying with her clit, entering her slightly.
All the while, my eyes on hers.
I leaned forward.
My cock slid into her.
“Oh, that’s good . . . no really, I’m sure that’s good.”
She slapped my back again.
I fucked her gently, nestling her neck.
With my head next to hers, I could now hear her caller’s voice. It was a woman, excitedly going on about something.
I tried not to listen. It’s rude to listen in on phone calls.
I figured I could keep Emma aroused but just shy of orgasm if I fucked slow, deep and steady.
This suited me fine. I can do that for hours.
Which, at this rate, might have to be the case.
This woman would not shut up.
Emma’s face was flushed, her eyes closed and her head turned away. I recognized the expression. She was giving over to the sex.
I kissed her check.
“Uh huh . . . well, yeah, I guess I should go too. Yeah, would you? Seriously, yes, more often, this was crazy . . . okay, bye.”
Emma closed the phone, and rested it on my nightstand.
She slapped my arm.
“You are such an asshole.”
“I know. It’s really true, I am.”
I kissed her neck again.
“Jefferson, that was my sister.”
I paused.
“Wow, we did a phone sex threesome with your sister? How hot is that?”
“Asshole.”
“I was hoping we’d do your brother first. He’s cute.”
My hips ground into hers.
She went limp.
“Just for that, I’m not going to cum.”
“Baby,” I kissed her, “Don’t be like that.”
“Asshole.”
She held on to her resolve for a few moments.
I stole some orgasms and left her to nap.
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Thursday, March 02, 2006
Pillows
I was fucking Emma when I was struck by a nagging thought.
“Hey, Emma,” I said, parking my cock in her.
“Hey, Jefferson,” she said, resting her hands on my hips.
“Look, I . . . I hate to bring this up, as its potentially embarrassing for you, but . . . “
I bit my lip.
“What is it, Jefferson?” She looked concerned.
“It’s just that . . . well, I’ve noticed that you have never sucked my cock. It’s possible that you are just very bad at giving head and you are embarrassed . . .”
Emma began to laugh.
“ . . . but I want you to know that I won’t mock your efforts cruelly, no matter how lousy you are.”
“Look, Jefferson,” she smiled. “If you didn’t always have your dick in my pussy, we might be able to try other things.”
“It’s true. My dick does have a crush on your pussy.” I moved my cock in her for emphasis.
“And my pussy is fond of your cock. But it will never get sucked if it’s in there.”
“I can see that.”
I pulled out a bit, then gently eased back in.
“So there are two ways you can get a blowjob from me.”
“Do tell.” I began to fuck her once more in earnest.
“Well, the first one isn’t happening, so there’s no point in bringing it up.”
“What is it?”
“Doesn’t matter, it isn’t happening. You need to focus on the second way.”
“Okay, what’s the second way?”
She gripped my shoulder as I thrust into her.
“You simply have to ask.”
“Huh, simple as that?”
“That’s right.”
“Good to know.”
We kept fucking.
A few minutes later, I stopped.
“Hey, Emma.”
“Hey, Jefferson.”
“Would you please suck my cock?”
“I’d be glad to.”
“Great!” I smiled.
“Uh, Jefferson?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ll need to take your dick out of my pussy to do this.”
I slumped. “Oh, screw that, then.”
I fucked her some more.
I stopped.
“Okay, curiosity has the better of me. I think I will take you up on that blowjob.”
“Is that asking, or telling?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Right, sorry about that. Will you please suck my cock, please?”
“Of course, I’d be glad to.”
“Great, thanks.”
I pet her hair.
“Jefferson . . .”
“I know, I know. Just a moment, please.”
“Take your time.”
I rested my cock as deep in her as I could.
“It’s just . . . it’s just awfully nice like this.”
“I have no complaints. I just can’t suck it when it’s in my pussy.”
“Shhhh.” I kissed her.
And slowly, gently pulled out. Centimeter by centimeter.
It took about a minute, but at the end, I was disengaged.
“Whew.”
“You okay?”
“If by ‘okay,’ you mean, ‘without pussy,’ then yes, I’m okay. This better be some blowjob, considering my sacrifices.”
“I’ve never had a complaint. Now get off me and lay back.”
I kissed Emma then lifted myself up. I settled back on some pillows.
“No, I need those pillows,” Emma said. She held out her hand.
I lifted up and passed her the pillows.
She smiled.
She pushed the pillows into my face.
“Hey!” I managed. “Whaf de fuff?”
“Shhh. No peeking.”
“Whaf abouf brea-fing?”
“Yes you can breath, but no looking.”
“Ofay.”
I’m a good sport. I closed my eyes.
I felt nothing—except anticipation.
Then, her hand began to caress my torso. Instinctively, I reached for her.
She took my forearm roughly.
“No. No touching.”
“Oh, no peefing, no fouching, buf brea-fing if ofay?”
“That’s right.” She raised the pillow, put my arms over my head and put the pillow back in place.
I kept my eyes shut tight.
Again, I waited.
Then, the faintest touch.
One hand, soft and gentle, on my inner thigh.
It vanished.
The touch was gone.
It resurfaced on my chest. I flinched in surprise.
“Shhh.”
I nodded under my pillow.
The touch moved along my rib cage to the curve of my belly, lightly tickling hairs, smoothing goose pimples.
I imagined her eyes monitoring my cock as it bobbed, seeking her, anticipating her touch.
The touch vanished.
I quivered.
I needed it.
I was jonesing.
The touch reappeared at my hip.
It traced across my body, raking hairs, avoiding the part of my body that most craved it.
The touch vanished.
I waited, wondering when it would recur, where I would feel it next.
The touch returned at the base of my cock.
Electricity surged through my body.
As the touch traced its way slowly up my cock, I could distinguish its every part—the thickly swollen bottom, the engorged sides, the aching head.
The touch took so long to traverse my cock, I felt it must have grown many times its normal size. Blind under the pillow, I visualized my body like a freeway, the touch a slow moving vehicle taking the scenic route across the continent of my body.
The touch vanished.
I waited.
I tried to slow my breath, to wait patiently.
She hovered over me.
Her mouth took my nipple.
Again, a flinch at the unexpected.
The touch retuned to sooth me, resting on my belly.
The air under the pillow was stale and warm. I drew it slowly into my nostrils, keeping my mouth shut.
Her mouth and the touch moved lightly over my body, but quickly now. The anticipation was crushing.
Please, please, please.
Her mouth was close to my cock now. I could feel her breath on my shaft.
Please, please, please.
Her mouth took me.
I shivered.
My whole body was on her tongue.
She took me slowly, gingerly, exploring with her mouth the terrain staked out by her touch.
My mind took refuge with me under the pillow. The corporeal was left to fend for itself.
I dared to thrust slightly.
Her palms pressed down on my hips, arresting me.
She was fucking me.
I had to surrender.
I turned my head to bite my arm.
Give in, give in.
I could stand it no longer.
I threw off the pillow.
Emma looked up. She took my cock from her mouth.
“Excuse me?”
“Please. I have to fuck you.”
She held my cock in one hand, massaging it with the other.
“No.”
“Please. I really need to feel you cum.”
Emma stood and retrieved the pillow.
“No.”
“Emma, please . . . “
My plea trailed off under the pillow.
The next time I requested a blowjob, Emma smiled.
She would be happy to suck my cock, she said.
She put a pillowcase over my head.
She tied my wrists to the bed.
She took a long tour.
She insisted that I cum.
As I lay panting afterwards, she laughed.
“You are no kind of dom,” she teased. “You are my submissive little girl.”
Inside the pillowcase, I smiled.
I had a secret.
I had a secret boyfriend.
I had a secret dom boyfriend.
I kept him hidden inside a pretty girl.
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“Hey, Emma,” I said, parking my cock in her.
“Hey, Jefferson,” she said, resting her hands on my hips.
“Look, I . . . I hate to bring this up, as its potentially embarrassing for you, but . . . “
I bit my lip.
“What is it, Jefferson?” She looked concerned.
“It’s just that . . . well, I’ve noticed that you have never sucked my cock. It’s possible that you are just very bad at giving head and you are embarrassed . . .”
Emma began to laugh.
“ . . . but I want you to know that I won’t mock your efforts cruelly, no matter how lousy you are.”
“Look, Jefferson,” she smiled. “If you didn’t always have your dick in my pussy, we might be able to try other things.”
“It’s true. My dick does have a crush on your pussy.” I moved my cock in her for emphasis.
“And my pussy is fond of your cock. But it will never get sucked if it’s in there.”
“I can see that.”
I pulled out a bit, then gently eased back in.
“So there are two ways you can get a blowjob from me.”
“Do tell.” I began to fuck her once more in earnest.
“Well, the first one isn’t happening, so there’s no point in bringing it up.”
“What is it?”
“Doesn’t matter, it isn’t happening. You need to focus on the second way.”
“Okay, what’s the second way?”
She gripped my shoulder as I thrust into her.
“You simply have to ask.”
“Huh, simple as that?”
“That’s right.”
“Good to know.”
We kept fucking.
A few minutes later, I stopped.
“Hey, Emma.”
“Hey, Jefferson.”
“Would you please suck my cock?”
“I’d be glad to.”
“Great!” I smiled.
“Uh, Jefferson?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ll need to take your dick out of my pussy to do this.”
I slumped. “Oh, screw that, then.”
I fucked her some more.
I stopped.
“Okay, curiosity has the better of me. I think I will take you up on that blowjob.”
“Is that asking, or telling?”
I rolled my eyes.
“Right, sorry about that. Will you please suck my cock, please?”
“Of course, I’d be glad to.”
“Great, thanks.”
I pet her hair.
“Jefferson . . .”
“I know, I know. Just a moment, please.”
“Take your time.”
I rested my cock as deep in her as I could.
“It’s just . . . it’s just awfully nice like this.”
“I have no complaints. I just can’t suck it when it’s in my pussy.”
“Shhhh.” I kissed her.
And slowly, gently pulled out. Centimeter by centimeter.
It took about a minute, but at the end, I was disengaged.
“Whew.”
“You okay?”
“If by ‘okay,’ you mean, ‘without pussy,’ then yes, I’m okay. This better be some blowjob, considering my sacrifices.”
“I’ve never had a complaint. Now get off me and lay back.”
I kissed Emma then lifted myself up. I settled back on some pillows.
“No, I need those pillows,” Emma said. She held out her hand.
I lifted up and passed her the pillows.
She smiled.
She pushed the pillows into my face.
“Hey!” I managed. “Whaf de fuff?”
“Shhh. No peeking.”
“Whaf abouf brea-fing?”
“Yes you can breath, but no looking.”
“Ofay.”
I’m a good sport. I closed my eyes.
I felt nothing—except anticipation.
Then, her hand began to caress my torso. Instinctively, I reached for her.
She took my forearm roughly.
“No. No touching.”
“Oh, no peefing, no fouching, buf brea-fing if ofay?”
“That’s right.” She raised the pillow, put my arms over my head and put the pillow back in place.
I kept my eyes shut tight.
Again, I waited.
Then, the faintest touch.
One hand, soft and gentle, on my inner thigh.
It vanished.
The touch was gone.
It resurfaced on my chest. I flinched in surprise.
“Shhh.”
I nodded under my pillow.
The touch moved along my rib cage to the curve of my belly, lightly tickling hairs, smoothing goose pimples.
I imagined her eyes monitoring my cock as it bobbed, seeking her, anticipating her touch.
The touch vanished.
I quivered.
I needed it.
I was jonesing.
The touch reappeared at my hip.
It traced across my body, raking hairs, avoiding the part of my body that most craved it.
The touch vanished.
I waited, wondering when it would recur, where I would feel it next.
The touch returned at the base of my cock.
Electricity surged through my body.
As the touch traced its way slowly up my cock, I could distinguish its every part—the thickly swollen bottom, the engorged sides, the aching head.
The touch took so long to traverse my cock, I felt it must have grown many times its normal size. Blind under the pillow, I visualized my body like a freeway, the touch a slow moving vehicle taking the scenic route across the continent of my body.
The touch vanished.
I waited.
I tried to slow my breath, to wait patiently.
She hovered over me.
Her mouth took my nipple.
Again, a flinch at the unexpected.
The touch retuned to sooth me, resting on my belly.
The air under the pillow was stale and warm. I drew it slowly into my nostrils, keeping my mouth shut.
Her mouth and the touch moved lightly over my body, but quickly now. The anticipation was crushing.
Please, please, please.
Her mouth was close to my cock now. I could feel her breath on my shaft.
Please, please, please.
Her mouth took me.
I shivered.
My whole body was on her tongue.
She took me slowly, gingerly, exploring with her mouth the terrain staked out by her touch.
My mind took refuge with me under the pillow. The corporeal was left to fend for itself.
I dared to thrust slightly.
Her palms pressed down on my hips, arresting me.
She was fucking me.
I had to surrender.
I turned my head to bite my arm.
Give in, give in.
I could stand it no longer.
I threw off the pillow.
Emma looked up. She took my cock from her mouth.
“Excuse me?”
“Please. I have to fuck you.”
She held my cock in one hand, massaging it with the other.
“No.”
“Please. I really need to feel you cum.”
Emma stood and retrieved the pillow.
“No.”
“Emma, please . . . “
My plea trailed off under the pillow.
The next time I requested a blowjob, Emma smiled.
She would be happy to suck my cock, she said.
She put a pillowcase over my head.
She tied my wrists to the bed.
She took a long tour.
She insisted that I cum.
As I lay panting afterwards, she laughed.
“You are no kind of dom,” she teased. “You are my submissive little girl.”
Inside the pillowcase, I smiled.
I had a secret.
I had a secret boyfriend.
I had a secret dom boyfriend.
I kept him hidden inside a pretty girl.
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Bukkake Circle Jerk
The boys looked at one another in nervous silence.
Emma and I sat on the couch, calmly sipping wine.
“Thanks again for being prompt, fellows,” I said. “We said we’d get going at seven, and its seven now. We are expecting two more men—let’s give them a minute or two more, but that’s all the waiting we’ll do.”
“Okay,” the tall boy said.
“Fair enough,” the graduate student nodded.
The actor coughed.
Emma smiled at him.
He smiled back.
I furnished chit chat.
After a few minutes, I put down my glass.
“Okay, well, we’ll miss those other two fellows, but we need to get started. Just let me review the rules.”
“Good,” the tall boy said.
“Now, you were each chosen because you’re good looking and bi.”
“Bi curious,” the graduate student corrected.
“Right, bi or bi curious,” I continued. “I’m bi, and Emma and I like watching guys go at it, so feel free to interact with one another . . . just, you know, ask first.”
“That’s really hot to watch,” Emma agreed.
“Of course, I’m fine with you touching me. But you are not permitted to touch Emma below the waist.”
“Right,” the tall boy said.
“Cool,” the graduate student said.
The actor nodded.
“Okay, so we will all be nude. I’ll be fucking Emma.” I took her hand. She tipped her head to my shoulder. “You’ll be watching and jerking off.”
“Or fooling around with each other,” Emma added.
“Right, or with each other. Now, Emma is not going to suddenly charge her mind and want a gangbang or to give you all blowjobs, so seriously, respect our limits. Also, Emma and I don’t mind conversation during sex, but we don’t take directions.”
“Yeah, we already know how to do it,” Emma smiled.
“And very well, I might add. Now, when you cum, you should aim at Emma, but not at her face. She has great tits, so that’s a convenient target. After that, we’re done with you and you need to leave. All clear?”
“Right,” the tall boy said.
“Gotcha,” the graduate student said.
The actor smiled at Emma.
Emma smiled back.
“Right then, so let’s get going.” I stood. I raised Emma’s hand. “This way to the bedroom.”
I led the party down the hallway.
The boys assembled at the foot of my bed.
“Okay gents, if you will please undress, I will tend to Emma.” I stepped forward to kiss her.
She gently returned my kiss.
I closed my eyes to the sound of zippers.
The boys were stripped to underwear as I unbuttoned her shirt.
I glanced over. “You should be fully nude, guys.”
They glanced shyly at one another. The actor lowered his shorts. The other two followed suit.
Their cocks sprang into the room.
I turned Emma’s face. “Look at the handsome men, how excited they are,” I said.
“I can see that they are,” she said.
I removed her bra.
I unfastened her pants.
I took her panties.
Emma was nude.
I stood aside to give the boys an unobstructed view.
“She’s pretty, right?” I smiled. “It’s all right, you can stare.”
I undressed as the boys filled their eyes. Their hands found their cocks.
I lay Emma back on the pillows.
By reflex, she closed her eyes.
“Gather around, boys. Enjoy yourselves while I lick Emma.”
I found her already wet.
As I sucked her clit, I kept my eyes on Emma and the boys crowding to her side. She drifted into the pleasure of my mouth, her eyes remaining closed.
She gave the boys this moment to gaze at her, without making eye contact.
The actor was bold, He lowered a hand to caress her breast.
The other two looked at me.
I nodded. This was within limits.
Three hands massaged her breasts, their partners busily tugging three cocks.
Emma orgasmed quietly.
I took a condom from my drawer.
We were all silent as I entered her. Emma’s small moan sounded large. That sound was soon echoing away to my kisses.
I put aside the boys for a moment, intent on Emma and her body, and my body in hers.
She opened her eyes to mine.
I smiled. I couldn’t really help it.
Emma pulls grins from me.
I rested my forehead on hers, pushing thoughts through our skulls.
I remembered that we were the main attraction, and kissed her goodbye. I pulled back, allowing six eyes to join mine in appreciating Emma’s beauty.
I pressed her thighs back.
I took her face in my palm.
I fucked her deep and steady.
The boys pressed forward, as if they could get any closer. It was instinctive—they were lured to sex.
Emma looked at me, and glanced at the boys.
She reached up and took a cock in each hand.
She jerked as I fucked her.
I reached to my side and took the remaining cock in hand, completing the circuit.
We were wired.
Five people, mostly strangers, lost to the world for now, deep inside sex.
The phone rang, singling someone at my entry. One of the two lost recruits had finally arrived. I glanced at my clock—he was about twenty minutes behind schedule.
He had come all the way from the farthest reaches of Brooklyn.
“Oh, that’s sad,” I smiled to Emma, fucking away. “That’s another boy at the door. Too bad he’s late.”
“Yeah, loser,” she said.
Her voice was so calm.
I held her face with both hands now, and fucked harder.
Her pale cheeks were flush.
I could just stare at her.
Certainly, the boys were.
Right—the boys. I needed to move this along.
“You look so pretty with those dicks, Emma.”
“Oh, thanks,” she smiled, jerking her two men.
“Which one would you like for me to suck?”
She looked from side to side, from the graduate student to the actor.
“Hmmm . . . this one.” She offered me the actor’s cock.
“Why, thank you dear.”
I glanced to the actor before swallowing him whole.
I was glad she picked him. The actor was easy on the eyes, with wavy brown hair and a trim slender body. His pubic hair was fastidiously groomed, as though he had a little too much time on his hands.
She had kept the bigger dick for herself. The graduate student groaned to her attentions.
I stretched an arm to find the tall boy’s cock still within reach.
My cock grew still further into Emma.
“Okay, man, I’m going to blow.”
The actor pulled out of my mouth.
Eight eyes moved to his cock.
He looked down as he stroked.
“I’m going to cum on your tits,” he breathed to Emma.
“Go ahead,” she smiled, in her calm, cool voice.
I gave her some deep thrusts.
“Shit,” he whispered. “Okay, okay . . .”
He unleashed a torrent.
His shot glanced Emma’s chin, cascading over her shoulders and chest.
The actor lurched, stroking hard.
“Shit man, I’m going to cum,” the graduate student moaned.
All eyes turned to him.
He took his cock from Emma and stroked it.
He leaned forward and neatly shot across Emma’s tits.
“Beauty.” I admired as he convulsed.
“Okay, I’m up,” the tall boy said.
He pushed forward on his knees. The graduate student made way.
What is this? I thought to Emma. Who choreographed this porno?
The boys are all cumming at once?
The tall boy jerked his thick cock. I cupped his balls in my hands.
“God, man,” I said. “Look how fucking hot she is, covered in jism.”
“Uh huh . . .”
She touched his hip.
“Her pussy is so tight too, she is so turned on.”
“Uh huh . . .”
“I’m going to fuck her to an orgasm when you shoot.”
“Oh, God . . .”
The tall boy pressed forward and shot a long loop across Emma. The leading edge hit the actor; most pooled on her belly.
“Fuck, man,” I admired.
He groaned as a second wave took over his body.
Emma closed her eyes.
I fucked her to climax.
We kept fucking as the boys cleaned up and dressed.
I slowed as they put on shoes.
“Hey, thanks for having us,” the graduate student said, offering a hand.
I shook it.
“Thanks for being had,” I smiled.
“Bye.” Emma waved.
The actor kissed her cheek.
The tall boy patted my back.
“You two are fucking hot,” he said.
“Anytime you want,” I said. “You boys okay showing yourselves out? I’d like to, you know, keep at this.”
“Sure man,” the tall boy laughed. “Next time.”
“Sure thing. Say ‘bye’ Emma.”
“I already did.”
“Right. So long fellows.”
The actor and graduate student left. The tall boy lingered for a moment in the doorway, then he too was gone.
I held Emma close, pressing cum between our flesh as I kissed her.
In time, my cum would mingle with the rest.
We lay next to one another, talking and holding hands.
We showered.
I made dinner.
We sipped bourbon as we watched “Nip/Tuck.”
I held her as she slept.
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Emma and I sat on the couch, calmly sipping wine.
“Thanks again for being prompt, fellows,” I said. “We said we’d get going at seven, and its seven now. We are expecting two more men—let’s give them a minute or two more, but that’s all the waiting we’ll do.”
“Okay,” the tall boy said.
“Fair enough,” the graduate student nodded.
The actor coughed.
Emma smiled at him.
He smiled back.
I furnished chit chat.
After a few minutes, I put down my glass.
“Okay, well, we’ll miss those other two fellows, but we need to get started. Just let me review the rules.”
“Good,” the tall boy said.
“Now, you were each chosen because you’re good looking and bi.”
“Bi curious,” the graduate student corrected.
“Right, bi or bi curious,” I continued. “I’m bi, and Emma and I like watching guys go at it, so feel free to interact with one another . . . just, you know, ask first.”
“That’s really hot to watch,” Emma agreed.
“Of course, I’m fine with you touching me. But you are not permitted to touch Emma below the waist.”
“Right,” the tall boy said.
“Cool,” the graduate student said.
The actor nodded.
“Okay, so we will all be nude. I’ll be fucking Emma.” I took her hand. She tipped her head to my shoulder. “You’ll be watching and jerking off.”
“Or fooling around with each other,” Emma added.
“Right, or with each other. Now, Emma is not going to suddenly charge her mind and want a gangbang or to give you all blowjobs, so seriously, respect our limits. Also, Emma and I don’t mind conversation during sex, but we don’t take directions.”
“Yeah, we already know how to do it,” Emma smiled.
“And very well, I might add. Now, when you cum, you should aim at Emma, but not at her face. She has great tits, so that’s a convenient target. After that, we’re done with you and you need to leave. All clear?”
“Right,” the tall boy said.
“Gotcha,” the graduate student said.
The actor smiled at Emma.
Emma smiled back.
“Right then, so let’s get going.” I stood. I raised Emma’s hand. “This way to the bedroom.”
I led the party down the hallway.
The boys assembled at the foot of my bed.
“Okay gents, if you will please undress, I will tend to Emma.” I stepped forward to kiss her.
She gently returned my kiss.
I closed my eyes to the sound of zippers.
The boys were stripped to underwear as I unbuttoned her shirt.
I glanced over. “You should be fully nude, guys.”
They glanced shyly at one another. The actor lowered his shorts. The other two followed suit.
Their cocks sprang into the room.
I turned Emma’s face. “Look at the handsome men, how excited they are,” I said.
“I can see that they are,” she said.
I removed her bra.
I unfastened her pants.
I took her panties.
Emma was nude.
I stood aside to give the boys an unobstructed view.
“She’s pretty, right?” I smiled. “It’s all right, you can stare.”
I undressed as the boys filled their eyes. Their hands found their cocks.
I lay Emma back on the pillows.
By reflex, she closed her eyes.
“Gather around, boys. Enjoy yourselves while I lick Emma.”
I found her already wet.
As I sucked her clit, I kept my eyes on Emma and the boys crowding to her side. She drifted into the pleasure of my mouth, her eyes remaining closed.
She gave the boys this moment to gaze at her, without making eye contact.
The actor was bold, He lowered a hand to caress her breast.
The other two looked at me.
I nodded. This was within limits.
Three hands massaged her breasts, their partners busily tugging three cocks.
Emma orgasmed quietly.
I took a condom from my drawer.
We were all silent as I entered her. Emma’s small moan sounded large. That sound was soon echoing away to my kisses.
I put aside the boys for a moment, intent on Emma and her body, and my body in hers.
She opened her eyes to mine.
I smiled. I couldn’t really help it.
Emma pulls grins from me.
I rested my forehead on hers, pushing thoughts through our skulls.
I remembered that we were the main attraction, and kissed her goodbye. I pulled back, allowing six eyes to join mine in appreciating Emma’s beauty.
I pressed her thighs back.
I took her face in my palm.
I fucked her deep and steady.
The boys pressed forward, as if they could get any closer. It was instinctive—they were lured to sex.
Emma looked at me, and glanced at the boys.
She reached up and took a cock in each hand.
She jerked as I fucked her.
I reached to my side and took the remaining cock in hand, completing the circuit.
We were wired.
Five people, mostly strangers, lost to the world for now, deep inside sex.
The phone rang, singling someone at my entry. One of the two lost recruits had finally arrived. I glanced at my clock—he was about twenty minutes behind schedule.
He had come all the way from the farthest reaches of Brooklyn.
“Oh, that’s sad,” I smiled to Emma, fucking away. “That’s another boy at the door. Too bad he’s late.”
“Yeah, loser,” she said.
Her voice was so calm.
I held her face with both hands now, and fucked harder.
Her pale cheeks were flush.
I could just stare at her.
Certainly, the boys were.
Right—the boys. I needed to move this along.
“You look so pretty with those dicks, Emma.”
“Oh, thanks,” she smiled, jerking her two men.
“Which one would you like for me to suck?”
She looked from side to side, from the graduate student to the actor.
“Hmmm . . . this one.” She offered me the actor’s cock.
“Why, thank you dear.”
I glanced to the actor before swallowing him whole.
I was glad she picked him. The actor was easy on the eyes, with wavy brown hair and a trim slender body. His pubic hair was fastidiously groomed, as though he had a little too much time on his hands.
She had kept the bigger dick for herself. The graduate student groaned to her attentions.
I stretched an arm to find the tall boy’s cock still within reach.
My cock grew still further into Emma.
“Okay, man, I’m going to blow.”
The actor pulled out of my mouth.
Eight eyes moved to his cock.
He looked down as he stroked.
“I’m going to cum on your tits,” he breathed to Emma.
“Go ahead,” she smiled, in her calm, cool voice.
I gave her some deep thrusts.
“Shit,” he whispered. “Okay, okay . . .”
He unleashed a torrent.
His shot glanced Emma’s chin, cascading over her shoulders and chest.
The actor lurched, stroking hard.
“Shit man, I’m going to cum,” the graduate student moaned.
All eyes turned to him.
He took his cock from Emma and stroked it.
He leaned forward and neatly shot across Emma’s tits.
“Beauty.” I admired as he convulsed.
“Okay, I’m up,” the tall boy said.
He pushed forward on his knees. The graduate student made way.
What is this? I thought to Emma. Who choreographed this porno?
The boys are all cumming at once?
The tall boy jerked his thick cock. I cupped his balls in my hands.
“God, man,” I said. “Look how fucking hot she is, covered in jism.”
“Uh huh . . .”
She touched his hip.
“Her pussy is so tight too, she is so turned on.”
“Uh huh . . .”
“I’m going to fuck her to an orgasm when you shoot.”
“Oh, God . . .”
The tall boy pressed forward and shot a long loop across Emma. The leading edge hit the actor; most pooled on her belly.
“Fuck, man,” I admired.
He groaned as a second wave took over his body.
Emma closed her eyes.
I fucked her to climax.
We kept fucking as the boys cleaned up and dressed.
I slowed as they put on shoes.
“Hey, thanks for having us,” the graduate student said, offering a hand.
I shook it.
“Thanks for being had,” I smiled.
“Bye.” Emma waved.
The actor kissed her cheek.
The tall boy patted my back.
“You two are fucking hot,” he said.
“Anytime you want,” I said. “You boys okay showing yourselves out? I’d like to, you know, keep at this.”
“Sure man,” the tall boy laughed. “Next time.”
“Sure thing. Say ‘bye’ Emma.”
“I already did.”
“Right. So long fellows.”
The actor and graduate student left. The tall boy lingered for a moment in the doorway, then he too was gone.
I held Emma close, pressing cum between our flesh as I kissed her.
In time, my cum would mingle with the rest.
We lay next to one another, talking and holding hands.
We showered.
I made dinner.
We sipped bourbon as we watched “Nip/Tuck.”
I held her as she slept.
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Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Secret Boyfriend
How simple.
My new lover was a secret. No one asked me about her. No one wanted to meet her. No one was jealous of her.
Our relationship concerned no one but the two of us.
How refreshing.
It was inevitable that this situation would not last for long. I wanted to savor the intimacy of our secret while it was possible.
Emma reads my blog, and she was keen to try some of the sexual situations I describe. She told me, “I’d like for you to be in charge of my sex education. You set things up, and I’ll do them.”
That was a sweet and somewhat daunting proposition.
There is pretty much nothing I can’t do when paired with an attractive young woman with a craving for sexual adventure. Still, I would have to draw up a curriculum that would open her horizons, and that would take creativity.
Not that she required much guidance from me. Shortly after she appointed me her tutor, she took another boyfriend to a swing club.
The master would have to struggle to keep up with the pupil.
One Sunday afternoon, I was feeling blue.
I had been in touch with a woman who wanted to find a boyfriend for her husband. He was curious about bisexuality, but, she feared, he would never take the plunge without a gentle nudge. So she undertook to find the right man.
I fit the bill. Her husband and I share an interest in architecture and history. She liked that I was blonde, like him. She thought it would be great to watch him lose his “boy virginity” with me.
She sent me his photograph. He was handsome, no question.
She and I talked on the phone a few times. We really hit it off. She told me they were in my neighborhood a good deal, though they live in a town up the Hudson.
We planned to meet in the park that weekend. We would pack wine and a picnic.
I began to dream of telling my friends, “Sorry, I’m busy this weekend. I’m spending it with my boyfriend and his wife.” I imagined us laughing by the fire, my arm over his shoulders, sipping cocoa after a hike through the autumn leaves.
But Sunday came, and they didn’t call.
I guess he got cold feet. I guess she didn’t think to let me know.
Oh well.
I camped at my computer, desolately waiting for the call that wasn’t coming.
I distracted myself by trading emails with Jacob.
Jacob was a straight boy who was turned on by my blog. He had always wanted to try sex with a man. He thought I might be the man.
His emails were amusing, and he typed in complete sentences.
His photo was cute. It showed him on a hike—he had dropped his pants and used his erection as a hat rack for his cap, the oldest vulgar joke in erotica.
Well, this was a salutary development.
I lost one virgin, but here was another.
I thought of Emma. If I were going to bring other people into our private tutorial, I would have to look beyond my circle of friends and lovers, or else the cat would be out of the bag.
Jacob provided a learning opprotunity.
This might prove a fine time to give Emma some man-on-man action. I wondered if she would like to see me take on a virgin.
I dropped Emma a line, coyly asking, “Say, have you ever seen two men have sex?”
She replied, “Not since Thursday. Why?”
So much for the advantage of experience.
I told her about Jacob. She said she would enjoy witnessing his deflowering.
I dropped a line to Jacob. “Time to fish or cut bait, friend. You are having sex with a man today. And I’ve invited a pretty girl to watch.”
He replied, “What, you mean now?”
“It’s your lucky day, Jacob.”
I told him the pretty girl was off limits to him. But if he did well, I might let him watch me fuck her.
He said he would be at my place in an hour.
Emma beat him to my door.
We kissed and I began to undress her. This had become our ritual greeting. I always stripped her immediately upon arrival.
We were fucking a moment later.
“Thanks for coming to watch Jacob lose it,” I said, pushing my hips into hers.
“Pleasure is all mine,” she smiled, her hands on my shoulders.
Jacob was running late. Dusk was settling.
We continued to fuck.
The phone rang. Jacob was downstairs.
“He’s here,” I told Emma, resting my cock in her body. “Now, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to answer the door nude.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Answer the door nude and bring him to me, here in the bedroom.”
“Okay.” She grinned.
I heard a knock.
“That’s him,” I kissed her, pulling out. “Remember to check the peep hole. If you don’t see a tall boy in glasses, let me know.”
She went to the door.
I pulled on pajamas and sat by the window.
Emma returned, followed by Jacob. He was indeed tall, with curly hair and a broad grin.
I took his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jacob.”
“Same here, Jefferson.”
“And you met the pretty girl?” I said, indicating Emma on the bed.
“Yes, yes, she was kind enough to let me in.”
“Good. She has a name, but that’s not relevant to our purposes here, so we’ll let it pass.” I sized him up. “So again, welcome.”
“Thanks.”
I smiled at Jacob, then back to Emma. “So I was just telling the pretty girl that you have never been with a man. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“So you’ve never, for example, kissed a man?”
“No, never.”
“Huh.” I leaned forward and took his face in my hands. I put my lips to his and kissed. My tongue parted his lips and drew out his. His tongue followed mine back into my mouth.
His hands rested on my hips, then fell.
I felt my stubble scrape against his.
My fingers lightly traced his clothes.
I felt his erection against his jeans.
We each drew deep breaths through our nostrils.
I made sure his first kiss was long, slow and memorable.
I pulled back.
“Well,” I drew a breath and exhaled. “I guess you can’t say that anymore.”
“No, uh . . . I guess I can’t.”
“And no man has ever touched your body?”
“No.”
I unbuttoned his shirt.
“Undress me, Jacob.”
We tangled and untangled limbs as he removed my t-shirt and pushed down my pajamas, as I removed his shirt and unfastened his pants.
I was nude.
He was in dark underwear.
My hands roamed the hairs of his chest. His shoulders buckled as I neared his nipples.
I smiled at his response, and looked up.
He stared into my eyes, a little bewildered.
I anchored him in our kiss.
Remember this, I whispered telepathically. Stay in this kiss, and you won’t get lost.
He pushed me back on the bed.
I laughed.
“He’s so eager!” I said to Emma. “But he needs to lose his underwear to be on my bed.”
He stepped out of his shorts.
His cock was hard, of course, and very thick.
“No man has ever touched your cock, and you have touched no man’s?”
He nodded, swallowing.
I held up my hand and waved him forward.
“Come kiss me.”
He lowered his body onto mine.
He sighed loudly.
“That’s it, baby,” I said, caressing his cheek. “Make love with me.”
He lowered his soft, full lips to mine.
My mouth was so inviting.
Emma caressed my hair, never speaking.
Jacob bolted upright.
He removed his glasses, and placed them on my nightstand.
He looked down to me.
His mouth dove down to my chest.
I fingered his hair. “That’s it, baby, I’m yours.”
His tongue and lips raced quickly around my torso, his nostrils feeding at my scent.
My flesh, his feast.
He arrived at my cock.
He had told me how much he longed to suck cock. He had practice on his fingers and dildos, masturbating as he imagined the reality.
The reality that was now his.
He touched me lightly with fingers.
Hesitant, he lowered his lips to my shaft.
He kiss my head, so sweetly.
I stroked his face with the back of my hand, against the grain of his beard.
He opened his mouth, and lowered it to take me.
“Good baby, that feels so good,” I said.
I smiled at Emma.
She looked down at me and smiled. She looked so radiant in the fading dusk.
I drew her to kiss me.
His sucking intensified.
His hunger led him to be greedy, like a starving man at a banquet.
I felt the joy of his mouth, finally tasting what it had craved for so long, finally knowing the sensation of his tongue on soft warm flesh, that flesh moving against the hardness it sheathed.
The pleasure he could give a man. That man, me.
I fucked up into his face. He took it, moaning in the back of his throat. He drooled.
“Okay, baby,” my hand returned to his cheek. “Enough.”
He pulled up and squinted towards me. Panting, he asked, “Is it okay?”
“It’s a beautiful, splendid blowjob, Jacob. But now, I want to suck your cock.”
He smiled.
I stood and he reclined back in the spot I vacated. He took care not to touch Emma, not even by accident.
Jacob was a very good boy.
I hovered over his cock.
He reached for his glasses and put them on.
That’s it, I thought. Watch.
The truth is, I don’t suck as much cock as I should. I’m far more often at the receiving end of a blowjob.
That said, I am very good at it. And when I decide to suck someone, I want it to be my level best.
“Look at this gorgeous cock,” I said to Emma. I held if forward. “So thick and large. Are you always this hard, Jacob? I mean, when you are hard?”
“I guess . . . “
“It’s like granite, Jacob.”
I lowered my mouth to the granite cock in my hands, my eyes on his. I glanced at Emma.
And I plunged him deep into me.
“Unh!” he jolted.
It was almost cruel.
I let him grow accustomed to the sensation, gently taking him in and out of my mouth.
He calmed.
I flickered my tongue up and down the tender underside of his cock, looking for his sweet spot.
Another jolt.
Found it.
I flickered and teased my new target as my lips contracted and released him.
My fingers found his perineum and ass.
His moans found new volume.
I was in top form. I was glad Emma was there to see it.
Wait—I was sidetracked with the realization that Emma had never blown me. That was for another time, not now, but how could that be?
Huh.
I got back to task.
My hands moved along his lower torso. He undulated under my touch.
I pulled back. His cock, released from my lips, floundered in space, searching for me.
But I was already gone.
I crawled up his body.
“Take off your glasses, Jacob.”
He fumbled to do so as I crawled closer.
The glasses landed on the nightstand just as my lips landed on his.
My kiss already familiar.
I pressed our bodies together.
Our cocks together.
I fucked into his hips.
He pressed back into my thrusts, kissing me more firmly.
“Jacob,” I said, my lips to his. “You don’t have to do everything the first time. But do you want me to fuck you?”
His eyes scanned to one side.
“No,” he said. “I mean, I do, but I think I’d be overwhelmed.”
“Understandable. But I wanted to offer.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now, suck my cock.”
“Okay, should I . . . ?”
“You’re fine where you are.”
I pulled up and lowered my cock into his mouth.
He took it, in this new position, and kept it deep.
I looked down at him, fucking gently.
“Doesn’t he look happy, Emma?”
She nodded.
“Come here and kiss me, Emma.”
She sat up on her knees and brought her lips to mine.
Jacob watched as we kissed, as my hand gently touched her body.
My fingers caressed her pubic hair.
Emma adjusted her stance, spreading her legs slightly. In doing so, she brought her thigh into contact with Jacob’s arm.
He moaned.
My fingers traveled around Emma’s soft locks, touching the tender skin of her labia, coaxing until she grew wet at my touch.
Her wetness aroused me even more. I gave my cock to Jacob in longer thrusts.
I wanted to fuck Emma.
I looked at her, then down at Jacob.
“Jacob, in twenty minutes you will need to get the fuck out of my apartment. The pretty girl and I have other plans tonight.”
(I omitted the fact that that our plans were not with one another—we each had dates to fuck others.)
He nodded.
“I’m going to suck your cock again. And this time, you are going to cum. Got it?”
He nodded.
“Good.” I took my cock from his mouth.
I returned to my granite friend, still searching for me.
Here I am, baby, I thought. Come to me.
I sucked him gently, then ferociously.
My hands now knew all about his ass.
He moved and moaned, but the pressure was on.
The clock was ticking. He had to cum and get the fuck out.
My mouth was unrelenting.
He raised his hands over his head.
He imagined he was bound.
He closed his eyes.
Emma saw the conflict in his face.
She lightly traced patterns on the underside of his forearm. Gently, just the tips of her fingers.
My demanding mouth. Her encouraging touch.
It was the first time he had ever been touched by two people.
“I’m going to cum,” he sighed.
Of course you are.
One more deep plunge, and I pulled back.
He exploded.
His body buckled as he shot great loops, to the wall over his shoulder, to his face, to his chest and torso.
He panted as his senses returned.
I caressed his legs. Emma touched his arms.
“Nicely done, Jacob.”
“Thanks,” he breathed. “I know, I need to go. Can I use your restroom to wash up?”
“Of course. Down the hall to your left.”
“Thanks.”
He stood, falling slightly.
“God,” he whispered to himself.
Emma and I were fucking when he returned.
He watched silently as he dressed.
When he was back in his clothes, he stood.
“Well, Jefferson. Nice to meet you.”
“Very nice to meet you too.” I sat up, extending a hand.
He took it.
“Nice to meet you too,” he said to Emma. He leaned to kiss her cheek.
“Pleasure,” she said, as I thrust into her lightly.
“You mind showing yourself out?” I asked.
“Sure,” he laughed.
“Great. Feel free to take a bottle of water from the dining room.”
“Thanks,” he smiled.
He waved from the door of my bedroom.
We smiled back.
I never saw him again.
We trade notes now and then, but never manage to meet.
“Does that bother you?” Emma asks.
I shrug. “It’s my luck with boys. I change their lives with the best sex ever, and that’s that.”
“Poor baby,” she kisses me. “That’s how boys are, Jefferson.”
Emma knows my frustrated search for a boyfriend.
I don’t ask for much, just someone smarter and better looking than me, someone who will trade books with me, nap beside me in the park, teach me to cook something I don’t already cook, and have sex with me and my friends.
Emma dropped me a note.
She reminded me that she is smarter and better looking than me.
She said she has lots of books and she likes to nap.
She could teach me to make sushi.
And she would be glad to have sex with my friends, whenever I was ready.
Emma offered to be my boyfriend.
Finally.
A man I could count on.
I now had a secret boyfriend.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
oral sex
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fucking
My new lover was a secret. No one asked me about her. No one wanted to meet her. No one was jealous of her.
Our relationship concerned no one but the two of us.
How refreshing.
It was inevitable that this situation would not last for long. I wanted to savor the intimacy of our secret while it was possible.
Emma reads my blog, and she was keen to try some of the sexual situations I describe. She told me, “I’d like for you to be in charge of my sex education. You set things up, and I’ll do them.”
That was a sweet and somewhat daunting proposition.
There is pretty much nothing I can’t do when paired with an attractive young woman with a craving for sexual adventure. Still, I would have to draw up a curriculum that would open her horizons, and that would take creativity.
Not that she required much guidance from me. Shortly after she appointed me her tutor, she took another boyfriend to a swing club.
The master would have to struggle to keep up with the pupil.
One Sunday afternoon, I was feeling blue.
I had been in touch with a woman who wanted to find a boyfriend for her husband. He was curious about bisexuality, but, she feared, he would never take the plunge without a gentle nudge. So she undertook to find the right man.
I fit the bill. Her husband and I share an interest in architecture and history. She liked that I was blonde, like him. She thought it would be great to watch him lose his “boy virginity” with me.
She sent me his photograph. He was handsome, no question.
She and I talked on the phone a few times. We really hit it off. She told me they were in my neighborhood a good deal, though they live in a town up the Hudson.
We planned to meet in the park that weekend. We would pack wine and a picnic.
I began to dream of telling my friends, “Sorry, I’m busy this weekend. I’m spending it with my boyfriend and his wife.” I imagined us laughing by the fire, my arm over his shoulders, sipping cocoa after a hike through the autumn leaves.
But Sunday came, and they didn’t call.
I guess he got cold feet. I guess she didn’t think to let me know.
Oh well.
I camped at my computer, desolately waiting for the call that wasn’t coming.
I distracted myself by trading emails with Jacob.
Jacob was a straight boy who was turned on by my blog. He had always wanted to try sex with a man. He thought I might be the man.
His emails were amusing, and he typed in complete sentences.
His photo was cute. It showed him on a hike—he had dropped his pants and used his erection as a hat rack for his cap, the oldest vulgar joke in erotica.
Well, this was a salutary development.
I lost one virgin, but here was another.
I thought of Emma. If I were going to bring other people into our private tutorial, I would have to look beyond my circle of friends and lovers, or else the cat would be out of the bag.
Jacob provided a learning opprotunity.
This might prove a fine time to give Emma some man-on-man action. I wondered if she would like to see me take on a virgin.
I dropped Emma a line, coyly asking, “Say, have you ever seen two men have sex?”
She replied, “Not since Thursday. Why?”
So much for the advantage of experience.
I told her about Jacob. She said she would enjoy witnessing his deflowering.
I dropped a line to Jacob. “Time to fish or cut bait, friend. You are having sex with a man today. And I’ve invited a pretty girl to watch.”
He replied, “What, you mean now?”
“It’s your lucky day, Jacob.”
I told him the pretty girl was off limits to him. But if he did well, I might let him watch me fuck her.
He said he would be at my place in an hour.
Emma beat him to my door.
We kissed and I began to undress her. This had become our ritual greeting. I always stripped her immediately upon arrival.
We were fucking a moment later.
“Thanks for coming to watch Jacob lose it,” I said, pushing my hips into hers.
“Pleasure is all mine,” she smiled, her hands on my shoulders.
Jacob was running late. Dusk was settling.
We continued to fuck.
The phone rang. Jacob was downstairs.
“He’s here,” I told Emma, resting my cock in her body. “Now, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to answer the door nude.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Answer the door nude and bring him to me, here in the bedroom.”
“Okay.” She grinned.
I heard a knock.
“That’s him,” I kissed her, pulling out. “Remember to check the peep hole. If you don’t see a tall boy in glasses, let me know.”
She went to the door.
I pulled on pajamas and sat by the window.
Emma returned, followed by Jacob. He was indeed tall, with curly hair and a broad grin.
I took his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jacob.”
“Same here, Jefferson.”
“And you met the pretty girl?” I said, indicating Emma on the bed.
“Yes, yes, she was kind enough to let me in.”
“Good. She has a name, but that’s not relevant to our purposes here, so we’ll let it pass.” I sized him up. “So again, welcome.”
“Thanks.”
I smiled at Jacob, then back to Emma. “So I was just telling the pretty girl that you have never been with a man. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“So you’ve never, for example, kissed a man?”
“No, never.”
“Huh.” I leaned forward and took his face in my hands. I put my lips to his and kissed. My tongue parted his lips and drew out his. His tongue followed mine back into my mouth.
His hands rested on my hips, then fell.
I felt my stubble scrape against his.
My fingers lightly traced his clothes.
I felt his erection against his jeans.
We each drew deep breaths through our nostrils.
I made sure his first kiss was long, slow and memorable.
I pulled back.
“Well,” I drew a breath and exhaled. “I guess you can’t say that anymore.”
“No, uh . . . I guess I can’t.”
“And no man has ever touched your body?”
“No.”
I unbuttoned his shirt.
“Undress me, Jacob.”
We tangled and untangled limbs as he removed my t-shirt and pushed down my pajamas, as I removed his shirt and unfastened his pants.
I was nude.
He was in dark underwear.
My hands roamed the hairs of his chest. His shoulders buckled as I neared his nipples.
I smiled at his response, and looked up.
He stared into my eyes, a little bewildered.
I anchored him in our kiss.
Remember this, I whispered telepathically. Stay in this kiss, and you won’t get lost.
He pushed me back on the bed.
I laughed.
“He’s so eager!” I said to Emma. “But he needs to lose his underwear to be on my bed.”
He stepped out of his shorts.
His cock was hard, of course, and very thick.
“No man has ever touched your cock, and you have touched no man’s?”
He nodded, swallowing.
I held up my hand and waved him forward.
“Come kiss me.”
He lowered his body onto mine.
He sighed loudly.
“That’s it, baby,” I said, caressing his cheek. “Make love with me.”
He lowered his soft, full lips to mine.
My mouth was so inviting.
Emma caressed my hair, never speaking.
Jacob bolted upright.
He removed his glasses, and placed them on my nightstand.
He looked down to me.
His mouth dove down to my chest.
I fingered his hair. “That’s it, baby, I’m yours.”
His tongue and lips raced quickly around my torso, his nostrils feeding at my scent.
My flesh, his feast.
He arrived at my cock.
He had told me how much he longed to suck cock. He had practice on his fingers and dildos, masturbating as he imagined the reality.
The reality that was now his.
He touched me lightly with fingers.
Hesitant, he lowered his lips to my shaft.
He kiss my head, so sweetly.
I stroked his face with the back of my hand, against the grain of his beard.
He opened his mouth, and lowered it to take me.
“Good baby, that feels so good,” I said.
I smiled at Emma.
She looked down at me and smiled. She looked so radiant in the fading dusk.
I drew her to kiss me.
His sucking intensified.
His hunger led him to be greedy, like a starving man at a banquet.
I felt the joy of his mouth, finally tasting what it had craved for so long, finally knowing the sensation of his tongue on soft warm flesh, that flesh moving against the hardness it sheathed.
The pleasure he could give a man. That man, me.
I fucked up into his face. He took it, moaning in the back of his throat. He drooled.
“Okay, baby,” my hand returned to his cheek. “Enough.”
He pulled up and squinted towards me. Panting, he asked, “Is it okay?”
“It’s a beautiful, splendid blowjob, Jacob. But now, I want to suck your cock.”
He smiled.
I stood and he reclined back in the spot I vacated. He took care not to touch Emma, not even by accident.
Jacob was a very good boy.
I hovered over his cock.
He reached for his glasses and put them on.
That’s it, I thought. Watch.
The truth is, I don’t suck as much cock as I should. I’m far more often at the receiving end of a blowjob.
That said, I am very good at it. And when I decide to suck someone, I want it to be my level best.
“Look at this gorgeous cock,” I said to Emma. I held if forward. “So thick and large. Are you always this hard, Jacob? I mean, when you are hard?”
“I guess . . . “
“It’s like granite, Jacob.”
I lowered my mouth to the granite cock in my hands, my eyes on his. I glanced at Emma.
And I plunged him deep into me.
“Unh!” he jolted.
It was almost cruel.
I let him grow accustomed to the sensation, gently taking him in and out of my mouth.
He calmed.
I flickered my tongue up and down the tender underside of his cock, looking for his sweet spot.
Another jolt.
Found it.
I flickered and teased my new target as my lips contracted and released him.
My fingers found his perineum and ass.
His moans found new volume.
I was in top form. I was glad Emma was there to see it.
Wait—I was sidetracked with the realization that Emma had never blown me. That was for another time, not now, but how could that be?
Huh.
I got back to task.
My hands moved along his lower torso. He undulated under my touch.
I pulled back. His cock, released from my lips, floundered in space, searching for me.
But I was already gone.
I crawled up his body.
“Take off your glasses, Jacob.”
He fumbled to do so as I crawled closer.
The glasses landed on the nightstand just as my lips landed on his.
My kiss already familiar.
I pressed our bodies together.
Our cocks together.
I fucked into his hips.
He pressed back into my thrusts, kissing me more firmly.
“Jacob,” I said, my lips to his. “You don’t have to do everything the first time. But do you want me to fuck you?”
His eyes scanned to one side.
“No,” he said. “I mean, I do, but I think I’d be overwhelmed.”
“Understandable. But I wanted to offer.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now, suck my cock.”
“Okay, should I . . . ?”
“You’re fine where you are.”
I pulled up and lowered my cock into his mouth.
He took it, in this new position, and kept it deep.
I looked down at him, fucking gently.
“Doesn’t he look happy, Emma?”
She nodded.
“Come here and kiss me, Emma.”
She sat up on her knees and brought her lips to mine.
Jacob watched as we kissed, as my hand gently touched her body.
My fingers caressed her pubic hair.
Emma adjusted her stance, spreading her legs slightly. In doing so, she brought her thigh into contact with Jacob’s arm.
He moaned.
My fingers traveled around Emma’s soft locks, touching the tender skin of her labia, coaxing until she grew wet at my touch.
Her wetness aroused me even more. I gave my cock to Jacob in longer thrusts.
I wanted to fuck Emma.
I looked at her, then down at Jacob.
“Jacob, in twenty minutes you will need to get the fuck out of my apartment. The pretty girl and I have other plans tonight.”
(I omitted the fact that that our plans were not with one another—we each had dates to fuck others.)
He nodded.
“I’m going to suck your cock again. And this time, you are going to cum. Got it?”
He nodded.
“Good.” I took my cock from his mouth.
I returned to my granite friend, still searching for me.
Here I am, baby, I thought. Come to me.
I sucked him gently, then ferociously.
My hands now knew all about his ass.
He moved and moaned, but the pressure was on.
The clock was ticking. He had to cum and get the fuck out.
My mouth was unrelenting.
He raised his hands over his head.
He imagined he was bound.
He closed his eyes.
Emma saw the conflict in his face.
She lightly traced patterns on the underside of his forearm. Gently, just the tips of her fingers.
My demanding mouth. Her encouraging touch.
It was the first time he had ever been touched by two people.
“I’m going to cum,” he sighed.
Of course you are.
One more deep plunge, and I pulled back.
He exploded.
His body buckled as he shot great loops, to the wall over his shoulder, to his face, to his chest and torso.
He panted as his senses returned.
I caressed his legs. Emma touched his arms.
“Nicely done, Jacob.”
“Thanks,” he breathed. “I know, I need to go. Can I use your restroom to wash up?”
“Of course. Down the hall to your left.”
“Thanks.”
He stood, falling slightly.
“God,” he whispered to himself.
Emma and I were fucking when he returned.
He watched silently as he dressed.
When he was back in his clothes, he stood.
“Well, Jefferson. Nice to meet you.”
“Very nice to meet you too.” I sat up, extending a hand.
He took it.
“Nice to meet you too,” he said to Emma. He leaned to kiss her cheek.
“Pleasure,” she said, as I thrust into her lightly.
“You mind showing yourself out?” I asked.
“Sure,” he laughed.
“Great. Feel free to take a bottle of water from the dining room.”
“Thanks,” he smiled.
He waved from the door of my bedroom.
We smiled back.
I never saw him again.
We trade notes now and then, but never manage to meet.
“Does that bother you?” Emma asks.
I shrug. “It’s my luck with boys. I change their lives with the best sex ever, and that’s that.”
“Poor baby,” she kisses me. “That’s how boys are, Jefferson.”
Emma knows my frustrated search for a boyfriend.
I don’t ask for much, just someone smarter and better looking than me, someone who will trade books with me, nap beside me in the park, teach me to cook something I don’t already cook, and have sex with me and my friends.
Emma dropped me a note.
She reminded me that she is smarter and better looking than me.
She said she has lots of books and she likes to nap.
She could teach me to make sushi.
And she would be glad to have sex with my friends, whenever I was ready.
Emma offered to be my boyfriend.
Finally.
A man I could count on.
I now had a secret boyfriend.
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fucking
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Blonde on Blonde
“Jefferson? Hi, I’m Emma.”
“Hi, Emma.” I kissed her cheek. “Come in, come in.”
I closed the door and turned back to her for a second look.
Oh good, I thought.
She’s pretty.
Emma and I were meeting through rather unusual circumstances.
Last summer, I met her son Carl at one of my male orgies.
Carl and I fooled around at the party. Afterwards, we went out to dinner with a few of the guys.
Carl was handsome and sensual. He also turned out to be smart, with a fine quiet wit. I thought it would be great to spend more time with him. I told him about my bisexual parties, and invited him to check one out.
“Oh, thanks, but I don’t that’s for me,” he said. “This was my first sex party, and it was great, but I don’t know if I’ll make a habit of it. I’m not into girls, anyway, and besides, I’m about to go to Paris for five months.”
“Darn, all the good ones get away.”
He laughed. “Actually, you know, my mom might be into your parties.”
I winced. “You want to send your mother to my orgies, Carl?”
“No, she not really my mom. She’s more like one of my best friends. She just refers to herself as my mom. Long story.”
He put me in touch with Emma. I sent her to my blog.
As the two of us traded emails, it was pretty clear that she was just as smart as her “son.” Her notes were also fun and flirtatious, the sort of thing that keeps you whistling while you work.
I kept up my end of the flirtation. Eventually, I was emboldened to suggest we meet.
I was very direct. With no indication that I was interested in a date, I simply asked, “What time next Tuesday shall we meet?”
She didn’t blink an eye. “I get off work at seven,” she replied.
She was evidently the unflappable sort.
I proposed that she drop by my place after work. I would mix up some margaritas and we could walk to the river and watch the sun set.
It was an inspired suggestion, I thought.
A gentleman doesn’t simply ask a lady he has never met to his apartment. But if we met there, and strolled to a nearby romantic setting, we could always return if things went that way.
Besides, I really had no idea what she looked like.
We had traded photos, as correspondents will. She received a bright color photograph of my smiling face. I received a blurry black and white photograph of her, bundled in a heavy coat, scarf, and hat, dwarfed by a view of Avignon.
One assumes a poor photograph disguises unpleasant features.
No matter, I wanted to meet anyway.
Her notes were that good. Carl’s recommendation didn’t hurt.
That Tuesday, Emma’s office was busier than she expected. She didn’t get out until eight or so. By the time she showed up at my place, the sun had already set.
I was open to going out anyway, but then again . . . she was very, very pretty.
Emma was twenty-two, with wavy blonde hair, blue eyes and a sweet smile. She had a fine figure, and . . . well, um . . .
Okay, there’s no other way to say it. Her tits were to die.
As we made our first greetings, I took care to keep eye contact. But my peripheral vision was rewarded by glimpses of her creamy smooth—and ample—cleavage.
“Well,” I said. “You are later than we thought, but no problems. I stand by my offer of margaritas by the river, or, if you prefer, we can just take them here, on my terrace.”
Emma looked around. “Here is nice.”
I smiled. “Great. Two margaritas, coming up. Please, take a seat on the terrace. I’ll be right out.”
As I busied myself at the blender, I resolved that under no circumstances was I going to flirt with Emma.
Here was an attractive, smart young woman, alone with me in my apartment, sharing drinks and getting acquainted after a witty correspondence. She knew I had fooled around with her gay friend, she had read my blog and she knew I hosted orgies.
Still, I wasn’t going to flirt.
Why?
Well, obviously. Sex was very much in the air between us. She knew it, and I knew it. If she wanted, she could indicate her interest.
She would get no pressure from me.
I would focus on getting to know her.
Mind you, I did light candles on the terrace.
And okay, I also put on Ray Charles and Betty Carter.
As we drank our margaritas, I made her the subject of our conversation.
I asked about her friend Carl.
She told me she referred to him as her “son” because she was so proud of his accomplishments, she was forever boasting of him. She decided to adopt him as the son she may one day have.
I detected her Virginia accent. I know the area of her hometown, and so we talked about that.
She talked a bit about her family. He mother is European and her father Middle Eastern. As a consequence, she is very well traveled.
I talked about my travels.
We wound up talking about film.
I began to forget that she was so pretty.
Appearances aside, Emma was at once sophisticated and easy going, as though everyone is just as cool as she is, so what’s the big deal?
She was the kind of person who makes you feel you must be smart yourself if you are keeping her attention.
Despite my resolution, I couldn’t leave her looks alone.
“So, I have to point out the obvious: not only are we both blonde and Southern, we look enough alike to be related.”
“Maybe we are,” she drawled, sipping her drink. “Of course, since we’re Southern, that doesn’t matter.”
“Are you ever told that you resemble a certain celebrity? Maybe you get the same ones I do. Like, are you ever told you look like Richard Chamberlain or Sting?”
“Well, since they are old or dead men, that’s not likely. I don’t hear too many celebrity comparisons, but since I was twelve, my family has joked that I look like a Vermeer.”
“Oh, yeah? I can see that, I suppose. Which one, ‘The Girl With the Pearl Earring?’”
“No, that would be obvious. They say I look like ‘The Girl With a Turban.’”
“Aren’t those two alternative titles for the same painting?”
“Yes, but I mean, that would be the obvious thing to say, as that’s the name of the book and the movie. They use the least famous name.”
I studied her face as my mind flashed though art history slides.
I could see the resemblance.
Not that it mattered.
Once she started dropping alternative titles for Dutch portraits, I would’ve dropped trou even if she looked like Frans Hals’ “Barmaid.”
The talk flowed easily. I was increasingly glad that sex was a given shared interest.
In time, Emma looked down at her empty glass.
“Hmmm, all gone.”
“Would you like another?”
“I can’t say. I’m twenty-something and drunk, so I take no responsibility for my actions.”
She wasn’t drunk.
She was inviting me to make a move.
But I had my resolution.
She had been with me for all of one margarita. I thought it was too soon to pounce on her. I wanted to be a gentleman.
“I wonder how irresponsible you will be after a second drink.”
“ I don’t know,” she said, rising. “But I have to go to the bathroom. If another drink were to magically appear in my absence, I suppose we might find out.”
“Aim for the door at the end of the hall.”
She sauntered off.
I will be God damned, I thought.
She was seducing me—and faster than I could seduce her.
So much for my resolution.
I had to keep up.
When she returned, another drink was waiting.
“Look,” she smiled, sitting. “As if by magic.”
“I have no idea what you are referring to,” I sipped.
“Of course you don’t,” she said, lifting the glass.
We talked as the candles burned.
In time, she looked at her glass.
“Hmmm, all gone.”
“So it seems.” I took a gulp and swallowed. “Hmmm, mine too.”
“Now I am really no longer responsible for my actions.”
That’s it.
“Perhaps I should take charge of them, then.” I stood and took her hand.
“Oh, would you?”
“Yes. But I detect a chill in the night air. Perhaps we’d be more comfortable indoors . . . in my bedroom?”
“If you say so.”
“Follow me, please, Emma.”
“Of course.”
She looked around the apartment as I lead to my room. She stood still, looking about, as we held hands next to my bed.
“You have a nice place,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said.
I took her face in my hands, and drew myself into our first kiss.
Our mouth was warm, her lips soft, her tongue gentle to mine.
Her body was still, her arms by her side.
I pulled back and looked into her eyes.
She looked back into mine. You wanted to be in charge, they seemed to say. So now what?
I tugged at her sweater, answering the unasked question.
“Let me undress you.”
“Okay.”
I tugged the sweater over her breasts. She raised her arms to assist.
The sweater removed, I could better see her smooth skin.
And, uh, her tits. My God, her tits.
I reached around to fumble with the bra clasp.
“I’m glad you said ‘okay,’ as I enjoy undressing you.”
“Too bad you don’t seem to be very good at it.”
I held her closely, fingers tugging behind her back. “I know, I have never mastered the suave removal of a woman’s bra.”
“Are you better with men’s bras?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Do you need me to help?”
“No, I’d prefer to have the practice.” I walked behind her to get a look at the mechanisms. Three hooks. I unclasped them, one by one.
Her bra fell forward.
“Ah, I am smooth.”
“Yes, you did very well, Jefferson.”
I returned to face her. Again, I kissed her.
I removed the bra, and tossed it aside.
I stood back to see the breasts I uncovered.
Pale, very light pink nipples.
I caressed her shoulders, arms, breasts.
“You must drive boys crazy,” I said.
“Well, I do like to tease,” she smiled.
“And you are very pretty,” I said, unfastening her jeans. “You must enjoy being worshipped.”
“I’m not averse to it,” she said.
My hands went into her pants, separating them from her thighs. I left the panties in place.
“Teasing, though, I don’t know about that. I much prefer gratification.”
I dropped to my knees, lowering her pants. My eyes never left hers.
“But don’t you see,” she smiled down to me, her hair in her face. “Gratification after teasing is so much more . . . gratifying.”
I lifted each foot through a pants leg.
I lowered my eyes over her body.
“Cute panties. Did you wear these for me?”
“I often wear cute underwear for no reason at all.”
“Well, they look great, but I have no patience for panties this evening.”
I took the red thongs in my fingers, and gently lowered them to her feet.
She stepped away from them.
I put my hand on my knee.
“Okay, now we have you naked.”
“Yes, and you still have clothes on. Is that fair?”
“Fair, well, what’s fair, really?” I stood. I kissed her again.
She opened her mouth easily, taking my kisses as delivered.
I cupped my palm at the base of her skull.
Her hair was soft.
I pulled back a little. “Would you lay back on the bed, please?”
She smiled. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because it will result in a more satisfying pussy licking.”
“Well, that is a good reason.”
She sat on my bed. I kissed her, pushing her back to recline. My legs wrapped hers, still hanging from the bed.
I kissed my way down her body.
Her eyes closed.
We were through talking.
I wanted to know that cunt I had only glimpsed.
I spread her thighs, leaving kisses like markers on the trail to my destination.
Her body lay before me, lit by a nearby lamp.
My eyes took in her pussy.
Short, blonde curls. Light pink labia.
Moist.
I took a long, slow lick.
She squirmed.
Sensitive.
I licked again.
Sweet.
She squirmed again.
I was going to enjoy this.
My tongue opened her slit as my hands enjoyed the soft flesh surrounding my face.
I probed inside, returning again to her clit.
I listened to her breathing. I looked up to her flared nostrils.
She grew wet quickly, my saliva mixing with her juices.
I wanted more of that.
I lifted back her legs, resting my forearms on her thighs. I stood in low crouch.
“You comfortable?” I asked.
She nodded.
I took note of her silence. Not so chatty now, are you, tease?
I lowered my mouth to her pussy.
I burrowed in deep.
I took myself to that place where time is irrelevant, and all that matters in this life is your lover’s continued orgasms.
Only thing was, this woman was new to me. And suddenly so quiet.
Were those shudders and sighs orgasms? Was she cumming that much, or was I just edging her close?
I needed to know more.
“I’m going to finger your g-spot.”
“Okay.”
“But first, I want to wash my hands.”
“Oh, thanks.”
I took her forearms, and crossed them behind her knees. “I very much like you in this position. Can you hold it until I return?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Don’t move, y’hear?”
“I won’t.”
“Good girl.”
I went into the bathroom, and closed the door.
I washed my hands.
They weren’t dirty, of course. I had washed them while mixing drinks.
I dried my hands.
I sat on the toilet lid.
I checked my nails. They were fine.
I waited.
I wanted to see how Emma did with this little test.
She had been so docile as I undressed her. She went limp when I took her neck in hand, and she was so quiet as I ferociously ate her pussy.
Was she, possibly, a potential submissive?
After a few moments elapsed, I stood and flushed the toilet. I ran water.
I returned to my bedroom.
Emma was exactly as I had left her, arms folded behind her knees, her pussy and ass lifted and lit by the lamp.
“Thank you for not moving,” I commended.
“No problem.”
I inserted a finger into her. Her arousal had constricted her pussy, which was evidently already rather tight when relaxed.
I curved up and found it.
Her face dropped to one side.
I added another finger. This would be all I could do for now.
I fingered her g-spot, toying with her clit with my thumb.
I soon confirmed my suspicion—Emma’s orgasms were quiet, but plentiful.
She went limp as I finished taking another one.
“You cum so softly.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
I leaned over to kiss her. “No, I like it very much.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’m very quiet too.”
She laughed. “Oh, okay,” she whispered.
“Shhhhh.” I raised a finger to my lips. “ Now Emma, I’m going to fuck you.”
“You haven’t even taken off your clothes.”
“All things in time,” I smiled, reaching for a condom.
I returned to my place at her raised ass.
I removed my shirt, and lowered my pants.
I put on the condom.
I’m not sure she was looking, but her upraised legs hide me from view anyway.
I placed a palm on her buttock.
I placed the head of my cock on her labia, teasing.
I entered her.
Her body twisted as I pushed in and out, but still, she held her legs in place.
I reached to her forearms, and released her from the position.
Her legs fell to my sides. She looked down.
A cock she still had not seen was inside her.
I fucked her slow, fingering her honey-colored pubic hair, watching as it mingled with my own, its identical continuation on another body.
I imagined braiding us together, so that we would be unable to see where one of us began and the other ended.
We fucked for over an hour, the lights blazing.
I turned off the lamp as we drifted to sleep.
I woke in the dark, under the covers, spooning her.
Her ass flexed, pushing forward and back against my erection.
Side by side, we fucked with our legs interlocked.
She gave me more of her orgasms, and took one of mine.
I exploded over my chest, moaning loudly.
“I thought you were so quiet,” she said.
“I thought I was,” I panted.
We slept.
I awoke, holding her shoulder.
I was hard. I wanted her.
I rolled her on her back.
She woke, slightly.
I entered her.
She woke more fully as I gently rocked her.
She rolled over on me.
I took a breast in my mouth as she hovered over my cock.
I waited.
“Why aren’t you fucking me?” I murmured.
She held my cock against her pussy.
“I told you,” she smiled in the darkness. “I like to tease . . .”
“No, please, don’t tease me . . .”
I pushed upwards.
She lifted her pussy away.
“Oh God, Emma, this is torture.”
“Wait, you’ll get what you want. Just, not yet.”
I took her breast.
She took it away.
“Emma, please,” I begged. “Please.”
“Well, since you said ‘please’ . . .”
She lowered herself, and in that gesture, my cock was plunged deep into her, my face full of her skin.
I held her hips firm to prevent her from leaving me.
I devoured her nipples.
Her alarm went off at seven.
We were asleep side-by-side, not touching.
Without speaking, we began to fuck once more.
Half an hour into it, she stopped.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said this,” she said. “But I think I’ve reached my limit.”
I grinned. “Wimp.”
We showered and she dressed for work.
We took coffee onto the terrace where, less than twelve hours earlier, we had first conversed.
Now, I felt I had known her for so long.
“This is dangerous,” she said. “Staying with you could make me late for work.”
“I will always help you to get to work on time. I want you to know you can see me and still be responsible.”
We spoke as if seeing one another again was a foregone conclusion.
I kissed her as she left.
I took my coffee to my desk.
It was a bright morning. I felt content and very well sexed.
I began to write about Emma for my blog.
Then, I thought better of it.
Why report everything? Maybe this time, I’ll just see where it goes. This time, I’ll keep Emma to myself.
I moved on to other tasks, smiling to myself.
I had a secret.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
oral sex
fucking
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“Hi, Emma.” I kissed her cheek. “Come in, come in.”
I closed the door and turned back to her for a second look.
Oh good, I thought.
She’s pretty.
Emma and I were meeting through rather unusual circumstances.
Last summer, I met her son Carl at one of my male orgies.
Carl and I fooled around at the party. Afterwards, we went out to dinner with a few of the guys.
Carl was handsome and sensual. He also turned out to be smart, with a fine quiet wit. I thought it would be great to spend more time with him. I told him about my bisexual parties, and invited him to check one out.
“Oh, thanks, but I don’t that’s for me,” he said. “This was my first sex party, and it was great, but I don’t know if I’ll make a habit of it. I’m not into girls, anyway, and besides, I’m about to go to Paris for five months.”
“Darn, all the good ones get away.”
He laughed. “Actually, you know, my mom might be into your parties.”
I winced. “You want to send your mother to my orgies, Carl?”
“No, she not really my mom. She’s more like one of my best friends. She just refers to herself as my mom. Long story.”
He put me in touch with Emma. I sent her to my blog.
As the two of us traded emails, it was pretty clear that she was just as smart as her “son.” Her notes were also fun and flirtatious, the sort of thing that keeps you whistling while you work.
I kept up my end of the flirtation. Eventually, I was emboldened to suggest we meet.
I was very direct. With no indication that I was interested in a date, I simply asked, “What time next Tuesday shall we meet?”
She didn’t blink an eye. “I get off work at seven,” she replied.
She was evidently the unflappable sort.
I proposed that she drop by my place after work. I would mix up some margaritas and we could walk to the river and watch the sun set.
It was an inspired suggestion, I thought.
A gentleman doesn’t simply ask a lady he has never met to his apartment. But if we met there, and strolled to a nearby romantic setting, we could always return if things went that way.
Besides, I really had no idea what she looked like.
We had traded photos, as correspondents will. She received a bright color photograph of my smiling face. I received a blurry black and white photograph of her, bundled in a heavy coat, scarf, and hat, dwarfed by a view of Avignon.
One assumes a poor photograph disguises unpleasant features.
No matter, I wanted to meet anyway.
Her notes were that good. Carl’s recommendation didn’t hurt.
That Tuesday, Emma’s office was busier than she expected. She didn’t get out until eight or so. By the time she showed up at my place, the sun had already set.
I was open to going out anyway, but then again . . . she was very, very pretty.
Emma was twenty-two, with wavy blonde hair, blue eyes and a sweet smile. She had a fine figure, and . . . well, um . . .
Okay, there’s no other way to say it. Her tits were to die.
As we made our first greetings, I took care to keep eye contact. But my peripheral vision was rewarded by glimpses of her creamy smooth—and ample—cleavage.
“Well,” I said. “You are later than we thought, but no problems. I stand by my offer of margaritas by the river, or, if you prefer, we can just take them here, on my terrace.”
Emma looked around. “Here is nice.”
I smiled. “Great. Two margaritas, coming up. Please, take a seat on the terrace. I’ll be right out.”
As I busied myself at the blender, I resolved that under no circumstances was I going to flirt with Emma.
Here was an attractive, smart young woman, alone with me in my apartment, sharing drinks and getting acquainted after a witty correspondence. She knew I had fooled around with her gay friend, she had read my blog and she knew I hosted orgies.
Still, I wasn’t going to flirt.
Why?
Well, obviously. Sex was very much in the air between us. She knew it, and I knew it. If she wanted, she could indicate her interest.
She would get no pressure from me.
I would focus on getting to know her.
Mind you, I did light candles on the terrace.
And okay, I also put on Ray Charles and Betty Carter.
As we drank our margaritas, I made her the subject of our conversation.
I asked about her friend Carl.
She told me she referred to him as her “son” because she was so proud of his accomplishments, she was forever boasting of him. She decided to adopt him as the son she may one day have.
I detected her Virginia accent. I know the area of her hometown, and so we talked about that.
She talked a bit about her family. He mother is European and her father Middle Eastern. As a consequence, she is very well traveled.
I talked about my travels.
We wound up talking about film.
I began to forget that she was so pretty.
Appearances aside, Emma was at once sophisticated and easy going, as though everyone is just as cool as she is, so what’s the big deal?
She was the kind of person who makes you feel you must be smart yourself if you are keeping her attention.
Despite my resolution, I couldn’t leave her looks alone.
“So, I have to point out the obvious: not only are we both blonde and Southern, we look enough alike to be related.”
“Maybe we are,” she drawled, sipping her drink. “Of course, since we’re Southern, that doesn’t matter.”
“Are you ever told that you resemble a certain celebrity? Maybe you get the same ones I do. Like, are you ever told you look like Richard Chamberlain or Sting?”
“Well, since they are old or dead men, that’s not likely. I don’t hear too many celebrity comparisons, but since I was twelve, my family has joked that I look like a Vermeer.”
“Oh, yeah? I can see that, I suppose. Which one, ‘The Girl With the Pearl Earring?’”
“No, that would be obvious. They say I look like ‘The Girl With a Turban.’”
“Aren’t those two alternative titles for the same painting?”
“Yes, but I mean, that would be the obvious thing to say, as that’s the name of the book and the movie. They use the least famous name.”
I studied her face as my mind flashed though art history slides.
I could see the resemblance.
Not that it mattered.
Once she started dropping alternative titles for Dutch portraits, I would’ve dropped trou even if she looked like Frans Hals’ “Barmaid.”
The talk flowed easily. I was increasingly glad that sex was a given shared interest.
In time, Emma looked down at her empty glass.
“Hmmm, all gone.”
“Would you like another?”
“I can’t say. I’m twenty-something and drunk, so I take no responsibility for my actions.”
She wasn’t drunk.
She was inviting me to make a move.
But I had my resolution.
She had been with me for all of one margarita. I thought it was too soon to pounce on her. I wanted to be a gentleman.
“I wonder how irresponsible you will be after a second drink.”
“ I don’t know,” she said, rising. “But I have to go to the bathroom. If another drink were to magically appear in my absence, I suppose we might find out.”
“Aim for the door at the end of the hall.”
She sauntered off.
I will be God damned, I thought.
She was seducing me—and faster than I could seduce her.
So much for my resolution.
I had to keep up.
When she returned, another drink was waiting.
“Look,” she smiled, sitting. “As if by magic.”
“I have no idea what you are referring to,” I sipped.
“Of course you don’t,” she said, lifting the glass.
We talked as the candles burned.
In time, she looked at her glass.
“Hmmm, all gone.”
“So it seems.” I took a gulp and swallowed. “Hmmm, mine too.”
“Now I am really no longer responsible for my actions.”
That’s it.
“Perhaps I should take charge of them, then.” I stood and took her hand.
“Oh, would you?”
“Yes. But I detect a chill in the night air. Perhaps we’d be more comfortable indoors . . . in my bedroom?”
“If you say so.”
“Follow me, please, Emma.”
“Of course.”
She looked around the apartment as I lead to my room. She stood still, looking about, as we held hands next to my bed.
“You have a nice place,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said.
I took her face in my hands, and drew myself into our first kiss.
Our mouth was warm, her lips soft, her tongue gentle to mine.
Her body was still, her arms by her side.
I pulled back and looked into her eyes.
She looked back into mine. You wanted to be in charge, they seemed to say. So now what?
I tugged at her sweater, answering the unasked question.
“Let me undress you.”
“Okay.”
I tugged the sweater over her breasts. She raised her arms to assist.
The sweater removed, I could better see her smooth skin.
And, uh, her tits. My God, her tits.
I reached around to fumble with the bra clasp.
“I’m glad you said ‘okay,’ as I enjoy undressing you.”
“Too bad you don’t seem to be very good at it.”
I held her closely, fingers tugging behind her back. “I know, I have never mastered the suave removal of a woman’s bra.”
“Are you better with men’s bras?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Do you need me to help?”
“No, I’d prefer to have the practice.” I walked behind her to get a look at the mechanisms. Three hooks. I unclasped them, one by one.
Her bra fell forward.
“Ah, I am smooth.”
“Yes, you did very well, Jefferson.”
I returned to face her. Again, I kissed her.
I removed the bra, and tossed it aside.
I stood back to see the breasts I uncovered.
Pale, very light pink nipples.
I caressed her shoulders, arms, breasts.
“You must drive boys crazy,” I said.
“Well, I do like to tease,” she smiled.
“And you are very pretty,” I said, unfastening her jeans. “You must enjoy being worshipped.”
“I’m not averse to it,” she said.
My hands went into her pants, separating them from her thighs. I left the panties in place.
“Teasing, though, I don’t know about that. I much prefer gratification.”
I dropped to my knees, lowering her pants. My eyes never left hers.
“But don’t you see,” she smiled down to me, her hair in her face. “Gratification after teasing is so much more . . . gratifying.”
I lifted each foot through a pants leg.
I lowered my eyes over her body.
“Cute panties. Did you wear these for me?”
“I often wear cute underwear for no reason at all.”
“Well, they look great, but I have no patience for panties this evening.”
I took the red thongs in my fingers, and gently lowered them to her feet.
She stepped away from them.
I put my hand on my knee.
“Okay, now we have you naked.”
“Yes, and you still have clothes on. Is that fair?”
“Fair, well, what’s fair, really?” I stood. I kissed her again.
She opened her mouth easily, taking my kisses as delivered.
I cupped my palm at the base of her skull.
Her hair was soft.
I pulled back a little. “Would you lay back on the bed, please?”
She smiled. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because it will result in a more satisfying pussy licking.”
“Well, that is a good reason.”
She sat on my bed. I kissed her, pushing her back to recline. My legs wrapped hers, still hanging from the bed.
I kissed my way down her body.
Her eyes closed.
We were through talking.
I wanted to know that cunt I had only glimpsed.
I spread her thighs, leaving kisses like markers on the trail to my destination.
Her body lay before me, lit by a nearby lamp.
My eyes took in her pussy.
Short, blonde curls. Light pink labia.
Moist.
I took a long, slow lick.
She squirmed.
Sensitive.
I licked again.
Sweet.
She squirmed again.
I was going to enjoy this.
My tongue opened her slit as my hands enjoyed the soft flesh surrounding my face.
I probed inside, returning again to her clit.
I listened to her breathing. I looked up to her flared nostrils.
She grew wet quickly, my saliva mixing with her juices.
I wanted more of that.
I lifted back her legs, resting my forearms on her thighs. I stood in low crouch.
“You comfortable?” I asked.
She nodded.
I took note of her silence. Not so chatty now, are you, tease?
I lowered my mouth to her pussy.
I burrowed in deep.
I took myself to that place where time is irrelevant, and all that matters in this life is your lover’s continued orgasms.
Only thing was, this woman was new to me. And suddenly so quiet.
Were those shudders and sighs orgasms? Was she cumming that much, or was I just edging her close?
I needed to know more.
“I’m going to finger your g-spot.”
“Okay.”
“But first, I want to wash my hands.”
“Oh, thanks.”
I took her forearms, and crossed them behind her knees. “I very much like you in this position. Can you hold it until I return?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Don’t move, y’hear?”
“I won’t.”
“Good girl.”
I went into the bathroom, and closed the door.
I washed my hands.
They weren’t dirty, of course. I had washed them while mixing drinks.
I dried my hands.
I sat on the toilet lid.
I checked my nails. They were fine.
I waited.
I wanted to see how Emma did with this little test.
She had been so docile as I undressed her. She went limp when I took her neck in hand, and she was so quiet as I ferociously ate her pussy.
Was she, possibly, a potential submissive?
After a few moments elapsed, I stood and flushed the toilet. I ran water.
I returned to my bedroom.
Emma was exactly as I had left her, arms folded behind her knees, her pussy and ass lifted and lit by the lamp.
“Thank you for not moving,” I commended.
“No problem.”
I inserted a finger into her. Her arousal had constricted her pussy, which was evidently already rather tight when relaxed.
I curved up and found it.
Her face dropped to one side.
I added another finger. This would be all I could do for now.
I fingered her g-spot, toying with her clit with my thumb.
I soon confirmed my suspicion—Emma’s orgasms were quiet, but plentiful.
She went limp as I finished taking another one.
“You cum so softly.”
“Yeah, sorry.”
I leaned over to kiss her. “No, I like it very much.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’m very quiet too.”
She laughed. “Oh, okay,” she whispered.
“Shhhhh.” I raised a finger to my lips. “ Now Emma, I’m going to fuck you.”
“You haven’t even taken off your clothes.”
“All things in time,” I smiled, reaching for a condom.
I returned to my place at her raised ass.
I removed my shirt, and lowered my pants.
I put on the condom.
I’m not sure she was looking, but her upraised legs hide me from view anyway.
I placed a palm on her buttock.
I placed the head of my cock on her labia, teasing.
I entered her.
Her body twisted as I pushed in and out, but still, she held her legs in place.
I reached to her forearms, and released her from the position.
Her legs fell to my sides. She looked down.
A cock she still had not seen was inside her.
I fucked her slow, fingering her honey-colored pubic hair, watching as it mingled with my own, its identical continuation on another body.
I imagined braiding us together, so that we would be unable to see where one of us began and the other ended.
We fucked for over an hour, the lights blazing.
I turned off the lamp as we drifted to sleep.
I woke in the dark, under the covers, spooning her.
Her ass flexed, pushing forward and back against my erection.
Side by side, we fucked with our legs interlocked.
She gave me more of her orgasms, and took one of mine.
I exploded over my chest, moaning loudly.
“I thought you were so quiet,” she said.
“I thought I was,” I panted.
We slept.
I awoke, holding her shoulder.
I was hard. I wanted her.
I rolled her on her back.
She woke, slightly.
I entered her.
She woke more fully as I gently rocked her.
She rolled over on me.
I took a breast in my mouth as she hovered over my cock.
I waited.
“Why aren’t you fucking me?” I murmured.
She held my cock against her pussy.
“I told you,” she smiled in the darkness. “I like to tease . . .”
“No, please, don’t tease me . . .”
I pushed upwards.
She lifted her pussy away.
“Oh God, Emma, this is torture.”
“Wait, you’ll get what you want. Just, not yet.”
I took her breast.
She took it away.
“Emma, please,” I begged. “Please.”
“Well, since you said ‘please’ . . .”
She lowered herself, and in that gesture, my cock was plunged deep into her, my face full of her skin.
I held her hips firm to prevent her from leaving me.
I devoured her nipples.
Her alarm went off at seven.
We were asleep side-by-side, not touching.
Without speaking, we began to fuck once more.
Half an hour into it, she stopped.
“I don’t think I’ve ever said this,” she said. “But I think I’ve reached my limit.”
I grinned. “Wimp.”
We showered and she dressed for work.
We took coffee onto the terrace where, less than twelve hours earlier, we had first conversed.
Now, I felt I had known her for so long.
“This is dangerous,” she said. “Staying with you could make me late for work.”
“I will always help you to get to work on time. I want you to know you can see me and still be responsible.”
We spoke as if seeing one another again was a foregone conclusion.
I kissed her as she left.
I took my coffee to my desk.
It was a bright morning. I felt content and very well sexed.
I began to write about Emma for my blog.
Then, I thought better of it.
Why report everything? Maybe this time, I’ll just see where it goes. This time, I’ll keep Emma to myself.
I moved on to other tasks, smiling to myself.
I had a secret.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
oral sex
fucking
blonde
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Matchmaker
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Lillie.”
“Hey Dad, I made a new friend in school today.”
“That’s great, sweetheart. Watch out for that puddle, please—here, step across on this snow bank. Take my hand, please.”
“Okay, hey Dad, so my new friend? It’s Sara.”
“Sara, huh? Is she—Collie, wait at the corner please!—is she a new kid in your class?”
“No, she’s been there, I just wasn’t her friend before.”
“And now you are her friend? That’s nice. Why now?”
“Well, we were in the yard and she wasn’t doing anything so I asked her why and she said because she didn’t have any friends. It was so sad! So I told her to be my friend.”
“That was very sweet of you, Lillie. What did you do with your new friend?”
“We made friends.”
“I know, but after you were friends, what did you do?”
“We made more friends.”
“And how did you do that?”
“Well, after we were friends, Constance’s class came to the yard. And she’s my best friend. So I told her to be friends with Sara, and she did.”
“How nice.”
“Yes, but not best friends, because I’m her best friend.”
“Right.”
“So then Constance and I made Sara come with us to see Christina and Sasha. We told them to be friends too, because Sara was sad because she had no friends.”
“But now, it seems she has a lot of friends, thanks to you.”
“Yes, now she has . . . well, one is me, two is Constance, three is Christina, four is Sasha. Four. Four friends. All girls who are friends.”
“No boys, huh?”
“No, boys hate Sara.”
“Why do you say that, Lillie?”
“Because you know how girls go up to boys and say ‘mwah, now we are married, you may kiss the bride?’”
“I guess I do.”
“Well, Sara does that so the boys all think she’s weird. Isn’t that so sad?”
“I can see why that might be sad. Maybe she should do less of that if it bothers people.”
“It just bothers the boys, the girls think its funny.”
“Do you think its funny?”
“Dad, hello? I’m a girl.”
“Gotcha.”
“Sara was also sad because she doesn’t have a dad, just a mom.”
“She told you this?”
“Yes. So I told her good news.”
“What’s the good news?”
“I told her that I have a mom and a dad, but my mom stopped loving my dad, and my dad is sad.”
“Oh, well, Lillie . . .”
“And I said my dad doesn’t have any friends, so he can be her mom’s friend. I said you should meet . . . meet . . . meet . . .”
“What, why are you putting your hands together like that when you say ‘meet?’”
“Do you know what I mean? Not ‘meat’ like you eat, but 'meet,' like this.”
“Like two hands pressed together.”
“Yeah, you should meet.”
“That’s nice, I’m sure it would be nice to meet Sara and her mom. But you know, Lillie, I do have lots of friends. I’m not so sad.”
“Dad, I mean a girlfriend? You can meet? You don’t have that.”
“Okay, well, let’s see about that. Thanks for thinking of me.”
“Yeah, it made Sara laugh.”
“That’s nice. You are a good friend to Sara. Now, do me a favor.”
“What?”
“When we get home, show me Sara in the class picture.”
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“Hey, Lillie.”
“Hey Dad, I made a new friend in school today.”
“That’s great, sweetheart. Watch out for that puddle, please—here, step across on this snow bank. Take my hand, please.”
“Okay, hey Dad, so my new friend? It’s Sara.”
“Sara, huh? Is she—Collie, wait at the corner please!—is she a new kid in your class?”
“No, she’s been there, I just wasn’t her friend before.”
“And now you are her friend? That’s nice. Why now?”
“Well, we were in the yard and she wasn’t doing anything so I asked her why and she said because she didn’t have any friends. It was so sad! So I told her to be my friend.”
“That was very sweet of you, Lillie. What did you do with your new friend?”
“We made friends.”
“I know, but after you were friends, what did you do?”
“We made more friends.”
“And how did you do that?”
“Well, after we were friends, Constance’s class came to the yard. And she’s my best friend. So I told her to be friends with Sara, and she did.”
“How nice.”
“Yes, but not best friends, because I’m her best friend.”
“Right.”
“So then Constance and I made Sara come with us to see Christina and Sasha. We told them to be friends too, because Sara was sad because she had no friends.”
“But now, it seems she has a lot of friends, thanks to you.”
“Yes, now she has . . . well, one is me, two is Constance, three is Christina, four is Sasha. Four. Four friends. All girls who are friends.”
“No boys, huh?”
“No, boys hate Sara.”
“Why do you say that, Lillie?”
“Because you know how girls go up to boys and say ‘mwah, now we are married, you may kiss the bride?’”
“I guess I do.”
“Well, Sara does that so the boys all think she’s weird. Isn’t that so sad?”
“I can see why that might be sad. Maybe she should do less of that if it bothers people.”
“It just bothers the boys, the girls think its funny.”
“Do you think its funny?”
“Dad, hello? I’m a girl.”
“Gotcha.”
“Sara was also sad because she doesn’t have a dad, just a mom.”
“She told you this?”
“Yes. So I told her good news.”
“What’s the good news?”
“I told her that I have a mom and a dad, but my mom stopped loving my dad, and my dad is sad.”
“Oh, well, Lillie . . .”
“And I said my dad doesn’t have any friends, so he can be her mom’s friend. I said you should meet . . . meet . . . meet . . .”
“What, why are you putting your hands together like that when you say ‘meet?’”
“Do you know what I mean? Not ‘meat’ like you eat, but 'meet,' like this.”
“Like two hands pressed together.”
“Yeah, you should meet.”
“That’s nice, I’m sure it would be nice to meet Sara and her mom. But you know, Lillie, I do have lots of friends. I’m not so sad.”
“Dad, I mean a girlfriend? You can meet? You don’t have that.”
“Okay, well, let’s see about that. Thanks for thinking of me.”
“Yeah, it made Sara laugh.”
“That’s nice. You are a good friend to Sara. Now, do me a favor.”
“What?”
“When we get home, show me Sara in the class picture.”
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Legal
I’ve certainly made my share of odd requests of Shelby.
“It would mean so much to me if you would just let me massage your feet—you know, with my face.”
And:
“Okay, that’s my entire hand. Now, let me sneak the vibrator in there . . .”
Or:
“All right, I’ve got my cock in her throat. You can start dripping the wax on her ass.”
But you could’ve knocked me over with a feather when Shelby made the most bizarre request yet.
She wanted me to meet her mother.
“Sweetie, your mother hates me,” I protested. “Remember how she found my blog? Remember when she told you I was evil?”
“Meh, that was a long time ago. She doesn’t hate you anymore. She doesn’t even read your blog.”
“Uh huh . . .”
“Anyway, she says she wants to meet you. Look, do it or don’t do it, its no skin off my ass.”
I promised to think about it.
Shelby’s mother doesn’t come to New York very often. But her sweet daughter, knowing how much the holiday means to her, arranged for the two of them to see the Radio City Christmas Spectacular.
That, at least, I would forgo.
I did agree to meet them for dinner afterwards—though I had my reservations.
“Maybe it would be better to meet for drinks,” I suggested. “You know, it’s over fast and there are fewer things to throw.”
“No drinks,” she said. “Just dinner. We’ll go out, we’ll eat and then I’ll take her back home.”
“Okay, dinner,” I bartered. “But let’s make it pasta. Nothing that requires much prep time.”
“Fine, pasta,” Shelby grinned.
We settled on Patsy’s.
I was the first to arrive. I sat at the bar, pondering possible conversation topics.
Shelby’s mother is only four years older than me. Surely we would have some things in common.
Shared memories of Grand Funk Railroad or Donnie and Marie, perhaps? Wistful recollections of rotary pay phones?
Shelby smiled from the door when she saw me.
Behind her stood another version of Shelby, plump with middle age.
“Oh my goodness, you look just like your mother,” I said, kissing Shelby on the cheek.
“Hee-hee, I know,” she smiled. “Mom, this is Jefferson.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Winston,” I replied, taking her hand and bending to kiss her cheek. I noted the dark hair, pale skin and small brown eyes behind narrow glasses. “It truly is a remarkable resemblance.”
“You should see my sisters,” Shelby said. “We all look alike. They are just fat.”
“Oh, stop!” her mother scolded.
“And stupid.”
Cute banter, I thought. “Shall we take a table?”
As we looked over the menu, I asked about the show.
“There were camels in it!” Shelby exclaimed. “Real live frigging camels!”
“We had great seats,” her mother said, reaching for her camera. She handed it to me. “See, look at these pictures; we were very near the orchestra.”
“Yeah, those guys get some volume,” Shelby said. She turned to me. “What do we usually get here, honey?”
“Oh,” I placed the camera on the table and returned to the menu. “I think you like the fettuccini Alfredo best. Why don’t we get that, family style? And shall we get a salad, or pizza?”
“You have to try the pizza, Mom. It’s so much better than what we get at home. It’s like, real pizza.”
“Whatever you two decide is fine with me. I don’t live in New York.”
Shelby dropped her menu. “Mom, you don’t have to live in New York to know what you like on a pizza.”
“Well, it comes with cheese and basil,” I interjected. “Shall we keep it simple—maybe have pepperoni?”
“Yum.”
“That’s fine with me, whatever you two decide.”
The order was placed. Iced teas were brought out.
“The pictures look great, Mrs. Winston. Oh, this is a good one of the storefront. And what’s this, a reflection of the Radio City sign?”
“Yes, didn’t that one turn out good?”
“Happy accident?”
“Well, Mom is taking a photography class.”
“Oh, you are? Is it film or all digital?”
“Jefferson knows about photography.”
“Oh, it’s digital. I use this camera, actually.”
The pasta arrived, with the pizza in hot pursuit.
So far, so good, I thought. We’re eating and the conversation is nice and safe.
“Do you want more of this bread, Mom?”
“No, I’m not that hungry. But that’s great bread.”
“I ruv ip,” Shelby said, chewing.
“So, I was saying, if you like history, Jefferson, you should visit our town. It’s one of the oldest settlements around there.”
“Really? Well, I would enjoy that. Are there many nineteenth-century structures?”
“Yes, and some even older.”
“You’d like it, honey,” Shelby added. “And it’s so frigging quiet, not like here.”
“Yes, New York is so noisy. I don’t see how you stand it.”
“I’m used to it now,” Shelby said. “Though the fire trucks at night still piss me off. And this one snores!” She punched me.
I shot a glance to Shelby’s mother.
Was she imagining me in my bed with her little girl, snoring as sirens wailed outside the window?
Did that thought flash her mind forward to things she has read in my blog, envisioning her daughter tied down or eating pussy or blowing men or . . .
“Well, I think the noise would send me over the edge.”
Good; maybe Shelby’s mother isn’t cursed with an overheated imagination.
After dinner, I walked them to the corner to catch a cab. Shelby hailed one right away.
“Goodbye, sweet, nice to see you, however briefly,” I kissed her. “And you too, Mrs. Winston.” I bussed her mother’s check.
“Bye, baby,” Shelby called, stepping into the cab behind her mother. “And thanks.”
I waved a hand. “It’s nothing, it was fun.”
I waved as the cab drove off.
How funny, I thought, crossing the street. Age proved to be a smaller barrier than the traditional one guiding manners when meeting a friend’s parents.
My mama raised me to refer to my “betters and elders” as “Mister” or “Missus,” and in this context, I deferred to Shelby’s mom as being in that category.
At that table, Shelby and I were the kids. Her mom was the mama.
In the cab, Shelby’s mother turned and asked, “Why did he keep kissing my cheek?”
“Mom,” Shelby laughed. “It’s a New York thing.”
Meeting Shelby’s mother put a human face on the older pervert her daughter dates. She could see that, all evidence to the contrary, her daughter was seeing a fairly normal fellow.
And he has become the longest dating relationship in her young life.
Just before the holidays, Shelby turned twenty-one.
A few weeks later, we celebrated our first anniversary.
My jailbait girlfriend is legal.
This marks the beginning of the final year in which she will be half my age. From now on, she’s gaining on me.
We marked the occasion with a movie and dinner out. She had saved “Memoirs of a Geisha” for me. I finally found a place with crepes she likes.
That night, we came home and stripped. We made drinks.
I had a bourbon, of course. Shelby found Ketel One in the freezer.
“Baby,” she called from the kitchen. “What do you have to go with vodka?”
“I’m afraid I’m out of juice, but there’s tonic water.”
She poked her head out the door. “That’s fizzy and tastes like ass.”
“I don’t know what else I have, honey.”
She scrunched her face, and looked back into the kitchen. “Meh, I’ll find something.”
Cabinets opened and closed. “Ah ha!” she called.
I listened to her mix a drink.
She emerged with a tall glass of bright red liquid.
“What did you find?” I asked.
“Vodka and Kool Aid,” she sipped. “Tropical punch flavor.”
I smiled and raised my glass. “Cheers, Shelby.”
“Cheers, baby.”
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“It would mean so much to me if you would just let me massage your feet—you know, with my face.”
And:
“Okay, that’s my entire hand. Now, let me sneak the vibrator in there . . .”
Or:
“All right, I’ve got my cock in her throat. You can start dripping the wax on her ass.”
But you could’ve knocked me over with a feather when Shelby made the most bizarre request yet.
She wanted me to meet her mother.
“Sweetie, your mother hates me,” I protested. “Remember how she found my blog? Remember when she told you I was evil?”
“Meh, that was a long time ago. She doesn’t hate you anymore. She doesn’t even read your blog.”
“Uh huh . . .”
“Anyway, she says she wants to meet you. Look, do it or don’t do it, its no skin off my ass.”
I promised to think about it.
Shelby’s mother doesn’t come to New York very often. But her sweet daughter, knowing how much the holiday means to her, arranged for the two of them to see the Radio City Christmas Spectacular.
That, at least, I would forgo.
I did agree to meet them for dinner afterwards—though I had my reservations.
“Maybe it would be better to meet for drinks,” I suggested. “You know, it’s over fast and there are fewer things to throw.”
“No drinks,” she said. “Just dinner. We’ll go out, we’ll eat and then I’ll take her back home.”
“Okay, dinner,” I bartered. “But let’s make it pasta. Nothing that requires much prep time.”
“Fine, pasta,” Shelby grinned.
We settled on Patsy’s.
I was the first to arrive. I sat at the bar, pondering possible conversation topics.
Shelby’s mother is only four years older than me. Surely we would have some things in common.
Shared memories of Grand Funk Railroad or Donnie and Marie, perhaps? Wistful recollections of rotary pay phones?
Shelby smiled from the door when she saw me.
Behind her stood another version of Shelby, plump with middle age.
“Oh my goodness, you look just like your mother,” I said, kissing Shelby on the cheek.
“Hee-hee, I know,” she smiled. “Mom, this is Jefferson.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Winston,” I replied, taking her hand and bending to kiss her cheek. I noted the dark hair, pale skin and small brown eyes behind narrow glasses. “It truly is a remarkable resemblance.”
“You should see my sisters,” Shelby said. “We all look alike. They are just fat.”
“Oh, stop!” her mother scolded.
“And stupid.”
Cute banter, I thought. “Shall we take a table?”
As we looked over the menu, I asked about the show.
“There were camels in it!” Shelby exclaimed. “Real live frigging camels!”
“We had great seats,” her mother said, reaching for her camera. She handed it to me. “See, look at these pictures; we were very near the orchestra.”
“Yeah, those guys get some volume,” Shelby said. She turned to me. “What do we usually get here, honey?”
“Oh,” I placed the camera on the table and returned to the menu. “I think you like the fettuccini Alfredo best. Why don’t we get that, family style? And shall we get a salad, or pizza?”
“You have to try the pizza, Mom. It’s so much better than what we get at home. It’s like, real pizza.”
“Whatever you two decide is fine with me. I don’t live in New York.”
Shelby dropped her menu. “Mom, you don’t have to live in New York to know what you like on a pizza.”
“Well, it comes with cheese and basil,” I interjected. “Shall we keep it simple—maybe have pepperoni?”
“Yum.”
“That’s fine with me, whatever you two decide.”
The order was placed. Iced teas were brought out.
“The pictures look great, Mrs. Winston. Oh, this is a good one of the storefront. And what’s this, a reflection of the Radio City sign?”
“Yes, didn’t that one turn out good?”
“Happy accident?”
“Well, Mom is taking a photography class.”
“Oh, you are? Is it film or all digital?”
“Jefferson knows about photography.”
“Oh, it’s digital. I use this camera, actually.”
The pasta arrived, with the pizza in hot pursuit.
So far, so good, I thought. We’re eating and the conversation is nice and safe.
“Do you want more of this bread, Mom?”
“No, I’m not that hungry. But that’s great bread.”
“I ruv ip,” Shelby said, chewing.
“So, I was saying, if you like history, Jefferson, you should visit our town. It’s one of the oldest settlements around there.”
“Really? Well, I would enjoy that. Are there many nineteenth-century structures?”
“Yes, and some even older.”
“You’d like it, honey,” Shelby added. “And it’s so frigging quiet, not like here.”
“Yes, New York is so noisy. I don’t see how you stand it.”
“I’m used to it now,” Shelby said. “Though the fire trucks at night still piss me off. And this one snores!” She punched me.
I shot a glance to Shelby’s mother.
Was she imagining me in my bed with her little girl, snoring as sirens wailed outside the window?
Did that thought flash her mind forward to things she has read in my blog, envisioning her daughter tied down or eating pussy or blowing men or . . .
“Well, I think the noise would send me over the edge.”
Good; maybe Shelby’s mother isn’t cursed with an overheated imagination.
After dinner, I walked them to the corner to catch a cab. Shelby hailed one right away.
“Goodbye, sweet, nice to see you, however briefly,” I kissed her. “And you too, Mrs. Winston.” I bussed her mother’s check.
“Bye, baby,” Shelby called, stepping into the cab behind her mother. “And thanks.”
I waved a hand. “It’s nothing, it was fun.”
I waved as the cab drove off.
How funny, I thought, crossing the street. Age proved to be a smaller barrier than the traditional one guiding manners when meeting a friend’s parents.
My mama raised me to refer to my “betters and elders” as “Mister” or “Missus,” and in this context, I deferred to Shelby’s mom as being in that category.
At that table, Shelby and I were the kids. Her mom was the mama.
In the cab, Shelby’s mother turned and asked, “Why did he keep kissing my cheek?”
“Mom,” Shelby laughed. “It’s a New York thing.”
Meeting Shelby’s mother put a human face on the older pervert her daughter dates. She could see that, all evidence to the contrary, her daughter was seeing a fairly normal fellow.
And he has become the longest dating relationship in her young life.
Just before the holidays, Shelby turned twenty-one.
A few weeks later, we celebrated our first anniversary.
My jailbait girlfriend is legal.
This marks the beginning of the final year in which she will be half my age. From now on, she’s gaining on me.
We marked the occasion with a movie and dinner out. She had saved “Memoirs of a Geisha” for me. I finally found a place with crepes she likes.
That night, we came home and stripped. We made drinks.
I had a bourbon, of course. Shelby found Ketel One in the freezer.
“Baby,” she called from the kitchen. “What do you have to go with vodka?”
“I’m afraid I’m out of juice, but there’s tonic water.”
She poked her head out the door. “That’s fizzy and tastes like ass.”
“I don’t know what else I have, honey.”
She scrunched her face, and looked back into the kitchen. “Meh, I’ll find something.”
Cabinets opened and closed. “Ah ha!” she called.
I listened to her mix a drink.
She emerged with a tall glass of bright red liquid.
“What did you find?” I asked.
“Vodka and Kool Aid,” she sipped. “Tropical punch flavor.”
I smiled and raised my glass. “Cheers, Shelby.”
“Cheers, baby.”
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Come Owen
Shelby: Ya there?
Jefferson: Yam.
Shelby: Just got back from the doctor.
Jefferson: And?
Shelby: Bring it.
Jefferson: Hot diggity!
Shelby: : P
It had been a long wait.
Shelby had undergone a medical procedure that took intercourse off our list of favorite activities for two months. And while there are plenty of things to do with our privates that don’t entail placing the one inside the other, the whole ordeal and its side effects had put the kibosh on Shelby’s mojo.
Now, it seemed, all systems were go.
But even if the plumbing were in order, would Shelby’s libido flow?
Shelby arrived for her weekly sleepover, a little sheepish at the door.
She ditched her clothes in favor of pajamas.
“I don’t have to wear underwear anymore, thank God,” she said, tugging her jeans down over her bare hips.
“Yeah, I missed your free range pussy.”
“Yeah, well, it’s too damned cold to walk around naked,” she said, tossing her pants on the chair she designates as hers when she is with me. She crossed the room to my drawers, and took the pajama bottoms she has claimed as her own.
A glance of my nude Shelby, at ease in her skin.
In a moment, her familiar smooth pudendum was again tucked away.
Such a pretty pale curve. I watched as she steered her Love Bug into another garage.
That afternoon was spent doing as we do. We hung out. She tapped on her laptop, I wrote at my computer.
The cocktail hour rolled around. We talked.
We made dinner. I washed the dishes.
We undressed for bed.
I have to confess, I was feeling shy.
She seemed reserved as well.
Here I was with Shelby—the big-city pervert with his jailbait girlfriend, the monkey-screaming ass-eating hog-tying cocksucking shitkicker I know and love—and we were acting like it was a first date.
In a sense, I guess it was.
I held her close under the sheets, wrapping my limbs around hers, feeling our flesh close and cool.
I kissed her cheek. She turned, sending my lips to her neck.
I nuzzled her as my cock responded to her touch and scent.
I raised my face to smile at her. Her eyes were closed.
I cupped a small breast in my hand, and took the nipple in my mouth. My tongue flicked it into a tiny firm knob, resisting me as I pushed it one way, then another.
My hand left her other breast, crossing her soft belly, fingers dancing.
I opened her legs. Shelby was passive and silent, allowing me to take my time with her body.
I sat up to look at her in repose. She always allows me to look, to take in the sight of her pale skin and dark hair on my sheets.
I spread her perfect slit, lightly touching her pearly clit. My fingertips, moist with saliva, circled in. Shelby moved slightly, signaling her approval.
As I fingered her, I stroked myself in long gestures.
This foreplay of ours can be exquisite torture.
I knew she wouldn’t cum—not yet. She knows my craving for her gets intense, and how I refrain from rushing to act on my longing to be inside her.
She knows my hunger for her borders on the cannibalistic.
I breathed deeply. Easy boy . . . easy.
When I couldn’t take it any longer, I announced my intention to fuck her.
“Do it,” she said, her voice calm and steady. She remained still, her eyes closed to me.
I quietly opened a drawer and took a condom. I closed the drawer.
Her ears were attentive to the sound of the drawer’s hardware as its casings slid easily across one another. She heard the gentle thud as it closed, the crinkle of a package being opened, the elastic snap of latex rolling across flesh.
She could anticipate each sound, watching the scene unfold in her mind’s eye. This moment has passed countless times between us.
She was docile, placid.
I entered her.
She rolled her head and sighed.
I kissed her neck again.
I took her shoulders in my arms, holding her close and tight. I moved within her gently, slowly.
“I’m here, baby, I’m here,” I whispered.
She lifted her head onto my shoulder.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” I said.
Shelby began to chase her orgasm. She pressed her body down onto me. Her breathing picked up.
I steeled myself. Hold on to her, I thought. Let her do this.
And as I held Shelby so close, as my body moved within hers, I could feel my cock wilting.
No, damn it, stay hard. Let this girl get off, for crying out loud. It’s been too long.
My cock does not respond well to anxious orders.
I knew, in my mind, that I wasn't going to hurt her. She was healed. But my body didn't get the message.
I was determined to give Shelby great sex, to make up for all she missed.
I put more pressure on myself.
I pulled back to push from another angle, one that would keep my semi-erect cock from slipping out of her. I fucked with renewed resolve, working to bring my cock back to its full girth.
Shelby’s fingers moved to her clit.
I watched her take that sweet spot she knows.
I kept my speed steady and my cock deep, as she likes.
I watched as my cock moved in and out of her, spongy and elastic.
I know her body. Shelby’s pussy is very tight. If I didn’t pull out too much, her muscles would hold me in.
Please girl, cum for me.
I squeezed a nipple, hard.
Sweat fell off my forehead.
She twisted her back. Her index finger plucked at her clit.
“Come on!” she barked, annoyed.
She wasn’t talking to me. I was fine. She was pissed at that elusive orgasm.
She wanted to nail that motherfucker.
I focused on her voice, her accent, the way it sounded as if she had said, “come Owen.”
I kept at her steady.
Please, please, cock, don’t fall out, please, back, don’t break.
Shelby circled back around for another pass.
“Go get it, baby,” I whispered.
She growled.
She yelped.
Her body contorted around the axis of her finger, her clit, my cock.
She howled.
“Yes, baby, yes!” I called, fucking her through it. “You got it, you got it!”
She screamed, her body buckling under me.
She stiffened and drew a breath. I could feel her pulse racing against my body.
I parked my cock inside her, and released her nipple.
She opened her eyes.
“Shit, baby,” I smiled.
“Yeah, no shit,” she laughed. She sniffed her shoulder, then pushed against my chest. “Ew, I smell like man. Get off me!”
I pulled out, and flopped beside her.
I had no problem staying hard the next time.
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Jefferson: Yam.
Shelby: Just got back from the doctor.
Jefferson: And?
Shelby: Bring it.
Jefferson: Hot diggity!
Shelby: : P
It had been a long wait.
Shelby had undergone a medical procedure that took intercourse off our list of favorite activities for two months. And while there are plenty of things to do with our privates that don’t entail placing the one inside the other, the whole ordeal and its side effects had put the kibosh on Shelby’s mojo.
Now, it seemed, all systems were go.
But even if the plumbing were in order, would Shelby’s libido flow?
Shelby arrived for her weekly sleepover, a little sheepish at the door.
She ditched her clothes in favor of pajamas.
“I don’t have to wear underwear anymore, thank God,” she said, tugging her jeans down over her bare hips.
“Yeah, I missed your free range pussy.”
“Yeah, well, it’s too damned cold to walk around naked,” she said, tossing her pants on the chair she designates as hers when she is with me. She crossed the room to my drawers, and took the pajama bottoms she has claimed as her own.
A glance of my nude Shelby, at ease in her skin.
In a moment, her familiar smooth pudendum was again tucked away.
Such a pretty pale curve. I watched as she steered her Love Bug into another garage.
That afternoon was spent doing as we do. We hung out. She tapped on her laptop, I wrote at my computer.
The cocktail hour rolled around. We talked.
We made dinner. I washed the dishes.
We undressed for bed.
I have to confess, I was feeling shy.
She seemed reserved as well.
Here I was with Shelby—the big-city pervert with his jailbait girlfriend, the monkey-screaming ass-eating hog-tying cocksucking shitkicker I know and love—and we were acting like it was a first date.
In a sense, I guess it was.
I held her close under the sheets, wrapping my limbs around hers, feeling our flesh close and cool.
I kissed her cheek. She turned, sending my lips to her neck.
I nuzzled her as my cock responded to her touch and scent.
I raised my face to smile at her. Her eyes were closed.
I cupped a small breast in my hand, and took the nipple in my mouth. My tongue flicked it into a tiny firm knob, resisting me as I pushed it one way, then another.
My hand left her other breast, crossing her soft belly, fingers dancing.
I opened her legs. Shelby was passive and silent, allowing me to take my time with her body.
I sat up to look at her in repose. She always allows me to look, to take in the sight of her pale skin and dark hair on my sheets.
I spread her perfect slit, lightly touching her pearly clit. My fingertips, moist with saliva, circled in. Shelby moved slightly, signaling her approval.
As I fingered her, I stroked myself in long gestures.
This foreplay of ours can be exquisite torture.
I knew she wouldn’t cum—not yet. She knows my craving for her gets intense, and how I refrain from rushing to act on my longing to be inside her.
She knows my hunger for her borders on the cannibalistic.
I breathed deeply. Easy boy . . . easy.
When I couldn’t take it any longer, I announced my intention to fuck her.
“Do it,” she said, her voice calm and steady. She remained still, her eyes closed to me.
I quietly opened a drawer and took a condom. I closed the drawer.
Her ears were attentive to the sound of the drawer’s hardware as its casings slid easily across one another. She heard the gentle thud as it closed, the crinkle of a package being opened, the elastic snap of latex rolling across flesh.
She could anticipate each sound, watching the scene unfold in her mind’s eye. This moment has passed countless times between us.
She was docile, placid.
I entered her.
She rolled her head and sighed.
I kissed her neck again.
I took her shoulders in my arms, holding her close and tight. I moved within her gently, slowly.
“I’m here, baby, I’m here,” I whispered.
She lifted her head onto my shoulder.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” I said.
Shelby began to chase her orgasm. She pressed her body down onto me. Her breathing picked up.
I steeled myself. Hold on to her, I thought. Let her do this.
And as I held Shelby so close, as my body moved within hers, I could feel my cock wilting.
No, damn it, stay hard. Let this girl get off, for crying out loud. It’s been too long.
My cock does not respond well to anxious orders.
I knew, in my mind, that I wasn't going to hurt her. She was healed. But my body didn't get the message.
I was determined to give Shelby great sex, to make up for all she missed.
I put more pressure on myself.
I pulled back to push from another angle, one that would keep my semi-erect cock from slipping out of her. I fucked with renewed resolve, working to bring my cock back to its full girth.
Shelby’s fingers moved to her clit.
I watched her take that sweet spot she knows.
I kept my speed steady and my cock deep, as she likes.
I watched as my cock moved in and out of her, spongy and elastic.
I know her body. Shelby’s pussy is very tight. If I didn’t pull out too much, her muscles would hold me in.
Please girl, cum for me.
I squeezed a nipple, hard.
Sweat fell off my forehead.
She twisted her back. Her index finger plucked at her clit.
“Come on!” she barked, annoyed.
She wasn’t talking to me. I was fine. She was pissed at that elusive orgasm.
She wanted to nail that motherfucker.
I focused on her voice, her accent, the way it sounded as if she had said, “come Owen.”
I kept at her steady.
Please, please, cock, don’t fall out, please, back, don’t break.
Shelby circled back around for another pass.
“Go get it, baby,” I whispered.
She growled.
She yelped.
Her body contorted around the axis of her finger, her clit, my cock.
She howled.
“Yes, baby, yes!” I called, fucking her through it. “You got it, you got it!”
She screamed, her body buckling under me.
She stiffened and drew a breath. I could feel her pulse racing against my body.
I parked my cock inside her, and released her nipple.
She opened her eyes.
“Shit, baby,” I smiled.
“Yeah, no shit,” she laughed. She sniffed her shoulder, then pushed against my chest. “Ew, I smell like man. Get off me!”
I pulled out, and flopped beside her.
I had no problem staying hard the next time.
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Monday, February 13, 2006
Your Husband Three
Your Husband, posted here last week, continues to generate a great many responses.
I’ve asked one respondent to allow me to share her views.
Jefferson,
I've started reading your blog last Monday under strange circumstances.
I thought I would continue to quietly read your blog, but I decided to write to you. It was so very painful to read the post “Your Husband,” given my current situation with my husband.
My world came crashing down on me three weeks ago. My life changed in one moment.
I accidentally found out what my husband has been doing on the web while I was researching Paris, where we planned to celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary in February.
I found out that my husband spent hours and hours on gay porn sites. He Googled male models and male actors' nude pictures. He visited m4m personals.
I went blank—I thought something hit me so hard that I could not breath.
I called our couple’s therapist (we have been seeing him for five years, on unrelated matters) and tried to tell him what I saw. I was probably not making any sense because he did not understand me at all. I hung up the phone frustrated. I was not able to communicate with him.
Thirty minutes later, I called my husband at work and told him that we would not be going to Paris. I cancelled everything.
I added, "Oh, by the way, I found out you have been looking at gay porn on web sites.” My husband came home right away and denied everything. He said all of the web visit history has been erased, so how do I know what he was really doing (?!). I told him not to insult my intelligence. I know what I saw and disputing the facts is meaningless to me.
The next day at our therapist's office, he admitted what he has been doing (up to a point—I think I still do not know the whole truth). He also admitted attraction toward men since he was a teenager. He always wondered whether he is bisexual or not as he is equally attracted to women. Our therapist said that this explains my husband's depression (which he refuses to recognize to this date). My husband has been keeping this big secret for so long . . . that is probably why he was not actively participating in our marriage.
I have nothing against gay or bisexual people. But I do mind if my husband is gay or bi and had not told me so and has been leading a secret life.
I was angry with him because he hid this secret so long and deceived me. He robbed our marriage. If he were honest with me about his feelings, I would have had a chance to decide whether to continue our marriage or not at a much younger age (I'm forty two). My reproductive years are over. He took away our (or my) chance of happiness. All I wanted was a happy family with children (well, I actually wanted more: I have to be honest).
At my request, my husband moved out few days later after this incident. He is now seeing psychiatrist individually as well as our couple’s therapist. He is trying to come to terms with himself.
Since then, I have been trying to understand my husband. I started reading Straight Spouse Network, Married Gay Men, among other sites (there are many).
I eventually ended up with your blog through various links.
Your blog intrigued me. Yes, it is essentially a sex blog, but you offer something more. Firstly you are a great writer. But more importantly, you posses great qualities as a person. You are a wonderful father. Your love for your children is undeniable. You also deeply care your friends . . . you are also an accomplished professional, a great cook (I think?), etc. I can feel and admire your humanity.
As a single man, you are now focused on pursuing your sexual desires to be fulfilled in every way. But it was very assuring for me to read that while you were married, in spite of the difficulties in your marriage, you were committed to your wife and you stayed monogamous.
I understand that you are now living out your dream that was not fulfilled while you were married. Nothing is wrong with that.
But why do you have to have sex with MARRIED men?
I thought that you respected the institution of marriage. So why do you risk destroying someone's marriage by facilitating his fantasy come true? Do you know what kind of pain his wife has to experience? Am I so thick or naïve that I am not seeing something very obvious to everyone?
While I do not know whether my husband and I will stay married, my husband insists he will do anything to repair our marriage and gain back my trust. I thought, from reading your blog, that my husband might have the fantasy of living like you. But he says he would not act out his fantasy if we decided to stay married . . . just like when you were married you stayed monogamous.
I think I have to open my mind: a bisexual man can be committed to his wife and have a traditional marriage. After all, I loved my husband for over twenty years.
So with this background (sorry – it was very long one), I was confused and hurt when I read your blog. It seemed your action was contradictory to your principle belief in traditional marriage. I know I cannot project my husband on you, but when I read your post I felt that I was betrayed by my husband again.
Edna
I was floored.
A writer can never be certain how his words will impact readers. I assumed that some readers might object to my posting about sex with married partners. (Bridget, for example, gave me an earful!)
But a note such as Edna’s was completely unexpected.
My blog opened a window into her own fears about her husband’s activities. And it struck a very raw nerve—four weeks ago, Edna’s life was much as it had been for twenty years. Now, everything is changed.
I was moved by her story, and by her eloquence.
She gave me a lot to think about. I replied quickly.
Thank you so much for your note--and for sharing your situation. That is all so fresh, Edna, and still unfolding so fast for you. My heart goes out to you.
I'm glad that you found insight in my blog, and that you connected to our shared horror at having a marriage damaged by the other partner. It is a devastating feeling, as if the world has been torn out from under you.
But I'm sorry that my post was upsetting.
I don't know if I can, or should, defend my actions in knowingly meeting married men. In some respects, I know that in doing so, I am working out my own frustrations--I feel I was burned by remaining monogamous, and by sacrificing my sex life, only to see my marriage stolen away. I wonder: if I could go back, would I have acted differently? Would I have pursued a secret life?
I'm glad, though, that I can look back knowing I didn't.
I know how difficult it is to remain faithful to one woman when one is also attracted to men. But essentially, it is the same problem of being faithful when one is attracted to other women—that is understood in the marriage contract.
I'm momentarily at a loss for what to say to your very insightful note. I would be happy to continue our correspondence if you feel my insights are useful.
I'm very glad you had an established relationship with a couple's therapist you both trust. I'm not a therapist, obviously, but I've been in couple’s therapy, and I know it can help.
You are in my thoughts.
Jefferson
Edna was quick to reply.
Hi Jefferson,
Thank you very much for your note. I was surprised that you actually wrote me back.
I have not been able to speak about our true situation to anybody except with our therapist. Our friends and family know that I asked my husband to move out. But they only know the half (or quarter) truth; my husband told them he is addicted to porn, and that is why I'm upset.
He left out that the porn was gay, and he left out the other related activities.
So, almost everyone thinks that I am overreacting to the situation. They tell me stop acting prudish. They ask me why I am acting like a virgin. I don't even know how to respond to these people so I keep quiet.
I felt sense of relief when I decided to write to you – thank you for letting me speak about what I am going through. I am having a difficult time reconciling my feeling toward my husband. Even after such devastating event, I know I still love him. And that makes me angry with myself. I feel incredibly stupid.
We married very young and virtually all my entire adult memories, either good or bad, involve my husband. If we were to end our marriage, I feel that my past would become a phantom life.
Regarding your post, in my heart, I knew you are not to blame; these married men sought you out. If they had not met you, they would have had such affairs with different men anyway.
But I just did not understand why a decent person like you would participate in poisoning other people's life. From reading your response I think I understand your action. And I am very sorry to learn that even after two years, you are still hurting and going through the suffering. This really is a devastating experience.
My husband possesses the same wonderful qualities that you have. That is why I fell in love with him and I think that is the part of the reason why I find your blog intriguing. I'm afraid that I'm thinking as if your blog was written by my husband; this explains why your post hurt me so much. Of course, you did not have to defend your action. Who am I to ask such questions? But I appreciate you sharing your insight. That was helpful to me.
Please do know that my feeling was lifted when I read your comment about how you lead your married life and you are glad that you did not choose to have a secret life. You don't know how much that meant to me.
And thank you for your kind offer to correspond with me – yes, I would be grateful if we can do so from time to time.
Best regards,
Edna
I’m grateful to Edna for allowing me to share her story here. She reads the blog, of course, and will follow your comments. Anyone wishing to correspond with her privately may do so by sending your notes to me; I will forward them on your behalf.
My correspondence with her will continue offblog. If trading notes with me helps her through this, then she just got herself a new best friend.
Edna’s second note reiterates a point in her first: she truly loves her husband. That she says so now, when she is in a world of hurt and betrayal, speaks volumes about her character—and to her capacity to survive this blow.
It makes me think that while this is a devastating moment in their relationship, Edna and her husband are very lucky people.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
adultry
marriage
divorce
I’ve asked one respondent to allow me to share her views.
Jefferson,
I've started reading your blog last Monday under strange circumstances.
I thought I would continue to quietly read your blog, but I decided to write to you. It was so very painful to read the post “Your Husband,” given my current situation with my husband.
My world came crashing down on me three weeks ago. My life changed in one moment.
I accidentally found out what my husband has been doing on the web while I was researching Paris, where we planned to celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary in February.
I found out that my husband spent hours and hours on gay porn sites. He Googled male models and male actors' nude pictures. He visited m4m personals.
I went blank—I thought something hit me so hard that I could not breath.
I called our couple’s therapist (we have been seeing him for five years, on unrelated matters) and tried to tell him what I saw. I was probably not making any sense because he did not understand me at all. I hung up the phone frustrated. I was not able to communicate with him.
Thirty minutes later, I called my husband at work and told him that we would not be going to Paris. I cancelled everything.
I added, "Oh, by the way, I found out you have been looking at gay porn on web sites.” My husband came home right away and denied everything. He said all of the web visit history has been erased, so how do I know what he was really doing (?!). I told him not to insult my intelligence. I know what I saw and disputing the facts is meaningless to me.
The next day at our therapist's office, he admitted what he has been doing (up to a point—I think I still do not know the whole truth). He also admitted attraction toward men since he was a teenager. He always wondered whether he is bisexual or not as he is equally attracted to women. Our therapist said that this explains my husband's depression (which he refuses to recognize to this date). My husband has been keeping this big secret for so long . . . that is probably why he was not actively participating in our marriage.
I have nothing against gay or bisexual people. But I do mind if my husband is gay or bi and had not told me so and has been leading a secret life.
I was angry with him because he hid this secret so long and deceived me. He robbed our marriage. If he were honest with me about his feelings, I would have had a chance to decide whether to continue our marriage or not at a much younger age (I'm forty two). My reproductive years are over. He took away our (or my) chance of happiness. All I wanted was a happy family with children (well, I actually wanted more: I have to be honest).
At my request, my husband moved out few days later after this incident. He is now seeing psychiatrist individually as well as our couple’s therapist. He is trying to come to terms with himself.
Since then, I have been trying to understand my husband. I started reading Straight Spouse Network, Married Gay Men, among other sites (there are many).
I eventually ended up with your blog through various links.
Your blog intrigued me. Yes, it is essentially a sex blog, but you offer something more. Firstly you are a great writer. But more importantly, you posses great qualities as a person. You are a wonderful father. Your love for your children is undeniable. You also deeply care your friends . . . you are also an accomplished professional, a great cook (I think?), etc. I can feel and admire your humanity.
As a single man, you are now focused on pursuing your sexual desires to be fulfilled in every way. But it was very assuring for me to read that while you were married, in spite of the difficulties in your marriage, you were committed to your wife and you stayed monogamous.
I understand that you are now living out your dream that was not fulfilled while you were married. Nothing is wrong with that.
But why do you have to have sex with MARRIED men?
I thought that you respected the institution of marriage. So why do you risk destroying someone's marriage by facilitating his fantasy come true? Do you know what kind of pain his wife has to experience? Am I so thick or naïve that I am not seeing something very obvious to everyone?
While I do not know whether my husband and I will stay married, my husband insists he will do anything to repair our marriage and gain back my trust. I thought, from reading your blog, that my husband might have the fantasy of living like you. But he says he would not act out his fantasy if we decided to stay married . . . just like when you were married you stayed monogamous.
I think I have to open my mind: a bisexual man can be committed to his wife and have a traditional marriage. After all, I loved my husband for over twenty years.
So with this background (sorry – it was very long one), I was confused and hurt when I read your blog. It seemed your action was contradictory to your principle belief in traditional marriage. I know I cannot project my husband on you, but when I read your post I felt that I was betrayed by my husband again.
Edna
I was floored.
A writer can never be certain how his words will impact readers. I assumed that some readers might object to my posting about sex with married partners. (Bridget, for example, gave me an earful!)
But a note such as Edna’s was completely unexpected.
My blog opened a window into her own fears about her husband’s activities. And it struck a very raw nerve—four weeks ago, Edna’s life was much as it had been for twenty years. Now, everything is changed.
I was moved by her story, and by her eloquence.
She gave me a lot to think about. I replied quickly.
Thank you so much for your note--and for sharing your situation. That is all so fresh, Edna, and still unfolding so fast for you. My heart goes out to you.
I'm glad that you found insight in my blog, and that you connected to our shared horror at having a marriage damaged by the other partner. It is a devastating feeling, as if the world has been torn out from under you.
But I'm sorry that my post was upsetting.
I don't know if I can, or should, defend my actions in knowingly meeting married men. In some respects, I know that in doing so, I am working out my own frustrations--I feel I was burned by remaining monogamous, and by sacrificing my sex life, only to see my marriage stolen away. I wonder: if I could go back, would I have acted differently? Would I have pursued a secret life?
I'm glad, though, that I can look back knowing I didn't.
I know how difficult it is to remain faithful to one woman when one is also attracted to men. But essentially, it is the same problem of being faithful when one is attracted to other women—that is understood in the marriage contract.
I'm momentarily at a loss for what to say to your very insightful note. I would be happy to continue our correspondence if you feel my insights are useful.
I'm very glad you had an established relationship with a couple's therapist you both trust. I'm not a therapist, obviously, but I've been in couple’s therapy, and I know it can help.
You are in my thoughts.
Jefferson
Edna was quick to reply.
Hi Jefferson,
Thank you very much for your note. I was surprised that you actually wrote me back.
I have not been able to speak about our true situation to anybody except with our therapist. Our friends and family know that I asked my husband to move out. But they only know the half (or quarter) truth; my husband told them he is addicted to porn, and that is why I'm upset.
He left out that the porn was gay, and he left out the other related activities.
So, almost everyone thinks that I am overreacting to the situation. They tell me stop acting prudish. They ask me why I am acting like a virgin. I don't even know how to respond to these people so I keep quiet.
I felt sense of relief when I decided to write to you – thank you for letting me speak about what I am going through. I am having a difficult time reconciling my feeling toward my husband. Even after such devastating event, I know I still love him. And that makes me angry with myself. I feel incredibly stupid.
We married very young and virtually all my entire adult memories, either good or bad, involve my husband. If we were to end our marriage, I feel that my past would become a phantom life.
Regarding your post, in my heart, I knew you are not to blame; these married men sought you out. If they had not met you, they would have had such affairs with different men anyway.
But I just did not understand why a decent person like you would participate in poisoning other people's life. From reading your response I think I understand your action. And I am very sorry to learn that even after two years, you are still hurting and going through the suffering. This really is a devastating experience.
My husband possesses the same wonderful qualities that you have. That is why I fell in love with him and I think that is the part of the reason why I find your blog intriguing. I'm afraid that I'm thinking as if your blog was written by my husband; this explains why your post hurt me so much. Of course, you did not have to defend your action. Who am I to ask such questions? But I appreciate you sharing your insight. That was helpful to me.
Please do know that my feeling was lifted when I read your comment about how you lead your married life and you are glad that you did not choose to have a secret life. You don't know how much that meant to me.
And thank you for your kind offer to correspond with me – yes, I would be grateful if we can do so from time to time.
Best regards,
Edna
I’m grateful to Edna for allowing me to share her story here. She reads the blog, of course, and will follow your comments. Anyone wishing to correspond with her privately may do so by sending your notes to me; I will forward them on your behalf.
My correspondence with her will continue offblog. If trading notes with me helps her through this, then she just got herself a new best friend.
Edna’s second note reiterates a point in her first: she truly loves her husband. That she says so now, when she is in a world of hurt and betrayal, speaks volumes about her character—and to her capacity to survive this blow.
It makes me think that while this is a devastating moment in their relationship, Edna and her husband are very lucky people.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
adultry
marriage
divorce
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