For the second Tuesday in a row, Scarlet came to town to spend the night with me. No orgy on the books, though. Just the two of us.
She is having her period, and the antibiotics she has been prescribed for a minor problem have given her a yeast infection. So there will be no sex.
This is out third date, if the concept of dating has relevance within our relationship. She brings a bunch of movies I haven’t seen, and I plan to take her out for dinner. Dinner, videos and no sex—why, it’s like we are already married.
Well, not quite. In explaining why there would be “no sex,” Scarlet added “just blowjobs, if that’s okay.”
I can accept that.
I felt giddy as I headed to the train station to meet her. I thought about the things I liked about our relationship. The sex, obviously, and getting ever more connected as new lovers.
But also, I liked this. I liked picking her up at the station. I liked kissing her hello. I liked being aroused by the cute way the tips of her ears poke through her shoulder length hair. I liked holding her hand as we walked toward the subway. I liked the way she walked, the turn in her smile, the story she told of her commute.
I liked all that boyfriend/girlfriend stuff.
We both recognize that we have met because she wanted better sex than she was getting in her hometown. We know that our encounters will be far less frequent once her classes resume in a few weeks. We are both vociferously committed to being noncommittal about relationships.
Still, we acknowledge, this feels good. I don’t want a girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy caring for someone. I like caring about her, and feeling that she cares about me.
She is very tired, and it is early, so I suggest she take a nap. We have all night to be together. I undress and hold her as she falls asleep in my bed. The feel of her body, and her scent, have me very aroused. I hold her close and breath slowly as she drifts off.
I leave her in bed to slumber, and I get some work done. When she stirs after a hour or so, I hold her, easing her back to waking life. We kiss and our kissing gets heavy. She soon has me undressed and enjoying her active mouth on my cock.
Three hours of making out, including two explosive blowjobs, and I am aching to give her as much pleasure as she so readily gives me. It’s sweet that she is so obliging to get me off, but, as I tell her, I am most thrilled when making her cum.
We watch a movie, and hold each other throughout, kissing frequently. I would sometimes turn to see her looking at me rather than the movie. In my book, that’s an invitation to get kissed.
I kiss her, I bite her bared nipples hard, as she wants, and rub her pussy through her jeans.
She’s frustrated; she really wants to fuck, but can’t. She want to feel our flesh together, but she is not inclined to remove her jeans.
She trusts that we can be nude and I will respect that intercourse is not on the agenda. Her hesitancy comes from being embarrassed by her “issues,” as she describes her period and yeast infection.
I’ve told her that I am not uncomfortable with her menstruation, and she should really do whatever makes her most comfortable. I am very content to hold and kiss her, pants or no pants.
I leave the bedroom for a moment, and when I return, she has fully undressed.
As we kiss, I touch her legs, her thighs, her hips, her ass. I touch her clit. “Is this okay?” I ask. Oh yes, she says. I rub her gently, and her head goes back, her eyes closing, as she relaxes and focuses in ways that are already familiar to me.
My tongue longs for her, but I resist. I retrieve a vibrator and massage her clit. She squirms and smiles in response.
With another vibrator, I move around her labia and to her asshole. I massage with the vibrator and my thumb. She says, “I never thought I’d say this, but I like what you are doing to my butt.”
She has told me that her scant experience with anal sex wasn’t so pleasurable. It was with a boyfriend who had a huge dick and not much interest in foreplay. Anal sex was what he expected as his due when she was on her period.
I put her hand on the vibrator that tickled her clit. That was her responsibility now. I opened her legs, and massaged around her anus, probing gently with my thumb now and then.
She came. Afterwards, she talked about the new kinds of orgasms she was experiencing with me. This had felt different from the orgasms she had when I went down on her, which felt different from those she had when we fucked.
We kissed more, and I was awash in the pleasure of getting her off.
It’s cold out, and I have the makings for dinner. But I am resolved to take her out for Indian food, as she hasn’t had it before. I want to excite her about the city, so she will enjoy it more.
We go to my favorite place on Sixth Street, a block crowded with small Indian restaurants vying for patrons.
This place is packed with diners, cramped in a narrow room drenched in strands of lights. The lights hang from the ceiling in such density that you have to crouch when standing.
I order, and we talk as we eat. The waiter asks if it is her birthday, and I exclaim, “How did you know?”
“It’s not my birthday,” she insists. She doesn’t know: everyone has a birthday at this restaurant. The meal is frequently interrupted as the lights blink and the music shifts to a crazy Bollywood “happy birthday” song. Everyone claps along and the hapless birthday celebrant is made to dance with the waiters.
Not a place for a quiet date. Scarlet loves the spectacle.
Back at home, we put on pajamas and cuddle in bed for another movie. We snuggle and kiss. I am far more interested in her ass than in this flick.
We undress and I flip her. I open her cheeks and massage her anus again, slowly, intently. I lick her, probing with my tongue. I languish at my task, as she relaxes silently, then moans. I can do this all night, eating her at last.
With my free hand, I rub her clit. My thumb probes her ass and is soon in her. It fucks her as I massage her clit. I wonder if these two actions will confuse her body’s sensations, blurring her distinctions between pleasure and discomfort. Whatever else, it is getting her off.
I stop, and lay down with her, my face close to mine. “Tell me what you are feeling,” I ask. It’s intense, she tells me, breathing hard. It hurts a little, but it feels good.
“I bet you want to fuck me, huh? “ she asks. I can tell she wants me to try. I look at the clock. It’s after 2:30am. I know she is horny, as I am, but I also know she is sore.
“No, not tonight,” I say. “I want to do it, but it’s late and I want to give this some time. I don’t want to hurt you. Next time, I will.”
At the orgy the previous week, I declined her blowjob, as I needed a break. Tonight, I decline to fuck her ass. This is within the context of our having lots of great sex, but I suspect I am blowing her mind a bit. I wonder if she has ever had a lover who didn’t just go all out, full throttle, for his own orgasm at every opportunity?
I let her sleep in the next morning as I work. When she awakes, I cover her like a blanket. We kiss and embrace and hold each other . . . it feels very tender and warm, and we are very aroused.
“Hmm, what am I going to do with you?” she says. This cues me that she wants to get me off. I suggest another blowjob might be the ticket.
“We have twenty minutes,” she says, putting back her hair. Do your worst, I kid.
She knows my cock. She loves sucking it.
Eight minutes, start to finish. She thinks this may be her personal best.
I take her to the train. We feel sad parting, as we kiss.
I head off to do some work before my kids arrive. We’re also hosting Marcus and his two kids for a few days. It will be noisy around my place.
That night, as the kids play, I sign on and get an instant message from Scarlet. She says I can do whatever I want with her body. She trusts me, and I know what the hell I am doing.
Hot.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Recruit
The first of my two invited guests to arrive was Tommy. He is a cute Asian twink, with a certain physical oddness, in his posture or something, that gives him the air of a space alien. It’s appealing, though he is a bit annoying.
He’s a bottom, and he really really wants me to give him a gang bang. He attended one I gave to a cool friend of mine—Tommy was the assigned fluffer—and he wants the same level of attention my friend received.
I’m not sure I want to set that up. The gang bang for my friend was arranged with a lot of care, as I like him. It’s not so easy to do that for just anyone. So I invited him to this group party. He was very excited to be here, hoping to score his own group of guys.
My other pal is John. We met when he applied to join my mixed boy/girl gatherings. We got together for drinks. He was bi and new to town, and having a hard time navigating things, as he was so busy with school and work. He was cute. Not exactly my type, but nice.
I didn’t really have space in the group for a single male at that time, but invited him to join my friend’s gang bang. He was a lot of fun to play with, and he made a great impression—perhaps helped by his thick nine-inch dick.
(That night I told John: the next time you want to get into a sex party, you might want to mention your monster cock.)
Tommy surrendered his clothes to Jimmy, and shyly made his way into the rooms of naked men. I lagged behind, talking with Jimmy and John. We were all dressed.
I made the rounds, and found a line at the bathroom. “Has the door been shut long?” I ask the first guy. It has. I knock and open it.
Tommy is bent over the sink, getting fucked by a really buff guy in a baseball cap. They look great by candlelight, but . . . “Sorry, guys, we need to keep this room open.”
“Looks like they wanted a little privacy,” laughs a guy in line, as the boys disengage.
“Fine and good,” I say. “If so, they should get a room. We don’t do privacy here.” I’m not at all miffed, just doing my job.
As I watch five guys go at it, a nice looking man walks over and puts his hand on my crotch. “Not playing tonight?” he asks.
“Perhaps I am.” I unzip and he plays with my cock. We are joined by another guy, and both are pretty hot. The first guy slips a condom onto me and sets to blowing the second guy.
I undress, and lube up. I slip into his ass easily, and fuck hard. He cums in moments.
I put a box of tissues near him. “Clean up your mess,” I direct him, and go to wash up.
Later, John and I are on a bed, getting blown by two guys. The man on John is really handsome: swimmer’s built, Latin, crew cut, brilliant smile (though I’m not seeing much of his teeth at the moment). His name is Trey.
The guy on me is cute too, a skinny white Goth kid with tattoos. I put my hand on the back of his neck as he blows me.
“Hmmmf,” he stops. “Say, don’t hold my head down, okay? I don’t know why but it messes with my gag reflex.”
Sure, I say, thinking: Mary, shut up and suck my cock.
A guy with a shaved head and a goatee was blowing Goth boy and overheard this exchange. Goth boy moved a bit to get at somebody else’s dick.
The bald guy was on me fast. He put my hand on the back of his neck.
Hotcha. Now we’re talking. I gave it to him hard and fast. He drooled like a baby.
Jimmy came by, making the rounds. “Jefferson, you look so cute when you’re getting your dick sucked.” Cute? Heck no, man, I am one bad mofo. I pop bald boy on the scalp and keep at it.
We go until he just can’t take anymore.
I get a drink of water, and run into Jimmy. “Your whole dom thing works, Jefferson, because it is so unexpected,” he opines. “You don’t come on like some butch leather boy, with a lot of bull. You seem like this nice friendly blonde boy, and then wham!” He added, “I get lots of good feedback on you.”
That’s such nice encouragement. My inner gay boy is still learning the ropes of reading types, and I don’t do anything to craft a persona. I appreciate hearing that somehow I manage to find my way.
Later, the bald guy and I recline on a bed and watch as Trey fucks Goth boy. He’s got Goth on his back, legs in the air, and he is pumping his ass. Goth moans and asks for more, harder, faster. Trey gives it to him, then pulls out. He looks like he may blow. He strips off the condom and strokes his long curved cock.
He seems to lose the trigger. Goth boy drops to his knees to blow Trey. I walk behind Trey, draping an arm over his neck, and another around his waist. I feel his tight torso, and kiss the back of his neck. I am hard against his ass.
He relaxes his body, leaning heavily against me. “I’ve got you,” I whisper. He puts his hand on my arm, and turns to look at me.
He bends over to suck bald boy, offering his ass to me. Goth shifts position to accommodate Trey.
Trey’s ass is small and firm. And inviting. I roll a condom onto my shaft.
I fuck him slowly, getting a feel for him as I feel him up. My hands roam his body, settling on his waist. It is so slender, I can nearly wrap my hands around him. I grab hold and fuck him fast and smooth.
He throws his body back, against me, knocking Goth off his cock. I wrap my arms around his torso. He cums on Goth’s chest.
Trey is washing up at the sink when I join him. As we soap our cocks, he asks if I had cum. No, I said. He looked a little disappointed. Not to worry, I say. You can add my notch to your belt. That was hot.
He smiles. “Hey,” he says. “Do you think we can use these towels?”
I laugh. “I like it that I just fucked you, and now you ask if it’s okay to use a towel. Be my guest!”
He had not realized it was my place. He asks if I throw many parties. I told him about the mixed bi boy/girl gatherings. I ask if he has been to many parties.
This was his first.
Say, I’m totally gay but I love to fuck girls, he said. Do you think I might fit into one of your parties?
Could be, I said. I’m told I need some more boy-on-boy action. I take his info.
A gay boy who fucks girls. Sounds like our kind of people.
He’s a bottom, and he really really wants me to give him a gang bang. He attended one I gave to a cool friend of mine—Tommy was the assigned fluffer—and he wants the same level of attention my friend received.
I’m not sure I want to set that up. The gang bang for my friend was arranged with a lot of care, as I like him. It’s not so easy to do that for just anyone. So I invited him to this group party. He was very excited to be here, hoping to score his own group of guys.
My other pal is John. We met when he applied to join my mixed boy/girl gatherings. We got together for drinks. He was bi and new to town, and having a hard time navigating things, as he was so busy with school and work. He was cute. Not exactly my type, but nice.
I didn’t really have space in the group for a single male at that time, but invited him to join my friend’s gang bang. He was a lot of fun to play with, and he made a great impression—perhaps helped by his thick nine-inch dick.
(That night I told John: the next time you want to get into a sex party, you might want to mention your monster cock.)
Tommy surrendered his clothes to Jimmy, and shyly made his way into the rooms of naked men. I lagged behind, talking with Jimmy and John. We were all dressed.
I made the rounds, and found a line at the bathroom. “Has the door been shut long?” I ask the first guy. It has. I knock and open it.
Tommy is bent over the sink, getting fucked by a really buff guy in a baseball cap. They look great by candlelight, but . . . “Sorry, guys, we need to keep this room open.”
“Looks like they wanted a little privacy,” laughs a guy in line, as the boys disengage.
“Fine and good,” I say. “If so, they should get a room. We don’t do privacy here.” I’m not at all miffed, just doing my job.
As I watch five guys go at it, a nice looking man walks over and puts his hand on my crotch. “Not playing tonight?” he asks.
“Perhaps I am.” I unzip and he plays with my cock. We are joined by another guy, and both are pretty hot. The first guy slips a condom onto me and sets to blowing the second guy.
I undress, and lube up. I slip into his ass easily, and fuck hard. He cums in moments.
I put a box of tissues near him. “Clean up your mess,” I direct him, and go to wash up.
Later, John and I are on a bed, getting blown by two guys. The man on John is really handsome: swimmer’s built, Latin, crew cut, brilliant smile (though I’m not seeing much of his teeth at the moment). His name is Trey.
The guy on me is cute too, a skinny white Goth kid with tattoos. I put my hand on the back of his neck as he blows me.
“Hmmmf,” he stops. “Say, don’t hold my head down, okay? I don’t know why but it messes with my gag reflex.”
Sure, I say, thinking: Mary, shut up and suck my cock.
A guy with a shaved head and a goatee was blowing Goth boy and overheard this exchange. Goth boy moved a bit to get at somebody else’s dick.
The bald guy was on me fast. He put my hand on the back of his neck.
Hotcha. Now we’re talking. I gave it to him hard and fast. He drooled like a baby.
Jimmy came by, making the rounds. “Jefferson, you look so cute when you’re getting your dick sucked.” Cute? Heck no, man, I am one bad mofo. I pop bald boy on the scalp and keep at it.
We go until he just can’t take anymore.
I get a drink of water, and run into Jimmy. “Your whole dom thing works, Jefferson, because it is so unexpected,” he opines. “You don’t come on like some butch leather boy, with a lot of bull. You seem like this nice friendly blonde boy, and then wham!” He added, “I get lots of good feedback on you.”
That’s such nice encouragement. My inner gay boy is still learning the ropes of reading types, and I don’t do anything to craft a persona. I appreciate hearing that somehow I manage to find my way.
Later, the bald guy and I recline on a bed and watch as Trey fucks Goth boy. He’s got Goth on his back, legs in the air, and he is pumping his ass. Goth moans and asks for more, harder, faster. Trey gives it to him, then pulls out. He looks like he may blow. He strips off the condom and strokes his long curved cock.
He seems to lose the trigger. Goth boy drops to his knees to blow Trey. I walk behind Trey, draping an arm over his neck, and another around his waist. I feel his tight torso, and kiss the back of his neck. I am hard against his ass.
He relaxes his body, leaning heavily against me. “I’ve got you,” I whisper. He puts his hand on my arm, and turns to look at me.
He bends over to suck bald boy, offering his ass to me. Goth shifts position to accommodate Trey.
Trey’s ass is small and firm. And inviting. I roll a condom onto my shaft.
I fuck him slowly, getting a feel for him as I feel him up. My hands roam his body, settling on his waist. It is so slender, I can nearly wrap my hands around him. I grab hold and fuck him fast and smooth.
He throws his body back, against me, knocking Goth off his cock. I wrap my arms around his torso. He cums on Goth’s chest.
Trey is washing up at the sink when I join him. As we soap our cocks, he asks if I had cum. No, I said. He looked a little disappointed. Not to worry, I say. You can add my notch to your belt. That was hot.
He smiles. “Hey,” he says. “Do you think we can use these towels?”
I laugh. “I like it that I just fucked you, and now you ask if it’s okay to use a towel. Be my guest!”
He had not realized it was my place. He asks if I throw many parties. I told him about the mixed bi boy/girl gatherings. I ask if he has been to many parties.
This was his first.
Say, I’m totally gay but I love to fuck girls, he said. Do you think I might fit into one of your parties?
Could be, I said. I’m told I need some more boy-on-boy action. I take his info.
A gay boy who fucks girls. Sounds like our kind of people.
Boys Boys Boys
My pal Jimmy sure keeps busy. He’s a club kid from way back, a cranking DJ, and a producer of gay porn. Somehow, he still finds time to organize all manner of gay sex parties.
I attended a few of his smaller parties—i.e., fewer than twenty men—and I was impressed. They were efficiently organized, with some very hot guys getting it on. But also, I noticed, a few trolls. He has a good screening process, so I asked: why allow the homely guys?
He explained that there are a lot of gay sex parties in New York, and too many are characterized by snotty attitudes about good looks and gym physiques. He wanted to distinguish his parties from those by emphasizing a lack of attitude. He focuses on guys who like to have sex. The so-called “trolls” are his friends, and good at what they do.
And, he pointed out, his good-looking regulars—and we are talking guys who are porn star hot—don’t seem to mind.
I liked that. A sex party that is about sex, not about attitude. Righteous. That resonated with how I saw my gatherings as opposed to other swinger-oriented events.
I invited him to try throwing a few parties at my place. He scoped it out, and thought it was a fine idea.
Monday night was his second party at my place. His parties are rather different than mine, and not just because they are exclusively male.
My parties always begin with conversation. People undress when they feel like it, and get busy when they are ready. I put out food and try to create a relaxed atmosphere. People generally kick in a few bucks to defray expenses, but the parties are otherwise free.
Jimmy makes his guests pay. They must maintain a membership in his group, and adhere to rules posted at his website. Everyone fills out forms specifying their sexual preferences, which Jimmy enters into a database to help when screening applicants. He supplies condoms, lube and sodas, but that’s it. He also enforces a mandatory clothes check at the door.
And unlike me, he doesn’t play at his parties. He keeps his clothes on. He monitors things, hangs out with friends, and generally acts the pro. Thus, he isn’t required, as I sometimes have been, to extricate himself from a heap of bodies to answer the phone.
To make co-hosting worth my while, he offered me a percentage cut of the gate.
Before Jimmy arrived, I cleaned a bit, put out “sex party sheets” and candles, and low thumping music. I set the lights low. I had invited a couple of my friends, but otherwise, I left the details to Jimmy.
The men started to arrive at the appointed time. As they arrived, I led them to Jimmy. They were checked off the RSVP list, their memberships confirmed or renewed, and their money paid. They were told to strip and put their clothes into bags, which were then sealed and marked with their names.
Gradually, the apartment filled with naked men, chatting and cruising one another. It didn’t take long for a few of them to hook up in twosomes and threesomes.
I roamed the space, checking things out, seeing that things were off and running. I kept my clothes on. For now, I was content to let things and unfold while I helped Jimmy and we caught up. He’s a riot, and I like his company.
I enjoyed the surreality of the arrival ritual. It was a cold night, and as guests arrived, they were bundled in coats, hats and scarves. They looked completely innocuous. At the other end of Jimmy’s processing, they emerged as nude studs, most with gym-toned bodies, trimmed body hair and a cruising demeanor.
Seventeen guys showed up. I guess the trolls were still busy with Christmas, as it was hot crew tonight.
I attended a few of his smaller parties—i.e., fewer than twenty men—and I was impressed. They were efficiently organized, with some very hot guys getting it on. But also, I noticed, a few trolls. He has a good screening process, so I asked: why allow the homely guys?
He explained that there are a lot of gay sex parties in New York, and too many are characterized by snotty attitudes about good looks and gym physiques. He wanted to distinguish his parties from those by emphasizing a lack of attitude. He focuses on guys who like to have sex. The so-called “trolls” are his friends, and good at what they do.
And, he pointed out, his good-looking regulars—and we are talking guys who are porn star hot—don’t seem to mind.
I liked that. A sex party that is about sex, not about attitude. Righteous. That resonated with how I saw my gatherings as opposed to other swinger-oriented events.
I invited him to try throwing a few parties at my place. He scoped it out, and thought it was a fine idea.
Monday night was his second party at my place. His parties are rather different than mine, and not just because they are exclusively male.
My parties always begin with conversation. People undress when they feel like it, and get busy when they are ready. I put out food and try to create a relaxed atmosphere. People generally kick in a few bucks to defray expenses, but the parties are otherwise free.
Jimmy makes his guests pay. They must maintain a membership in his group, and adhere to rules posted at his website. Everyone fills out forms specifying their sexual preferences, which Jimmy enters into a database to help when screening applicants. He supplies condoms, lube and sodas, but that’s it. He also enforces a mandatory clothes check at the door.
And unlike me, he doesn’t play at his parties. He keeps his clothes on. He monitors things, hangs out with friends, and generally acts the pro. Thus, he isn’t required, as I sometimes have been, to extricate himself from a heap of bodies to answer the phone.
To make co-hosting worth my while, he offered me a percentage cut of the gate.
Before Jimmy arrived, I cleaned a bit, put out “sex party sheets” and candles, and low thumping music. I set the lights low. I had invited a couple of my friends, but otherwise, I left the details to Jimmy.
The men started to arrive at the appointed time. As they arrived, I led them to Jimmy. They were checked off the RSVP list, their memberships confirmed or renewed, and their money paid. They were told to strip and put their clothes into bags, which were then sealed and marked with their names.
Gradually, the apartment filled with naked men, chatting and cruising one another. It didn’t take long for a few of them to hook up in twosomes and threesomes.
I roamed the space, checking things out, seeing that things were off and running. I kept my clothes on. For now, I was content to let things and unfold while I helped Jimmy and we caught up. He’s a riot, and I like his company.
I enjoyed the surreality of the arrival ritual. It was a cold night, and as guests arrived, they were bundled in coats, hats and scarves. They looked completely innocuous. At the other end of Jimmy’s processing, they emerged as nude studs, most with gym-toned bodies, trimmed body hair and a cruising demeanor.
Seventeen guys showed up. I guess the trolls were still busy with Christmas, as it was hot crew tonight.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
All Sales Final
Christmas day was cold but clear, and we spent much of it outdoors, playing football and enjoying the fresh air. Indoors, we played with the kids and their new toys. I helped Lucy’s mom make the traditional dinner.
After dinner, we sat around a fire, telling stories until the kids went to bed. The adults stayed put, talking. I poured bourbons for Lucy and myself. She sat on a couch, between her siblings. I sat on the floor near the fire.
Lucy’s sister pulls out a pipe and some pot.
This is a family tradition: the smoking of the peace pipe. In years past, there was always some fight on Christmas night. Tonight, we wondered if Lucy’s mom would get into it with my ex father in law’s other ex, like it was thirty years ago, and she was still mad about their break up.
Lucy, her sister, and her sister’s fiancé are potheads. The rest of us are novices. Lucy has to show her brother and father how to operate the pipe. I know at least that much, but cough after trying to inhale.
Neil Young is playing in the background. The fire is stoked and very hot. A stoned debate breaks out on the physics of shortwave radios, a subject no one present understands. It’s very funny to see everyone offer revelations and insights.
I know that pot makes me stupid. I keep my mouth shut and tend to the fire. Lucy’s mom, drunk and stoned, pulls me in to a side conversation about how much she likes me, and how she misses me. Lucy motions for me to move away and sit near her—it’s just best not to go there, she whispers in my ear.
After everyone is gone, Lucy and I sit by the fire. I move to sit next to her.
“Making your move, huh?” she says.
“Just getting closer” I reply, putting an arm behind her. “So we can talk quietly.”
I have no idea what happens next. Are we going to retire to bed, together? To our separate rooms?
We have The Talk.
She brings it up. “What are we doing? It’s very confusing. “
“I know, it is very confusing. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I’m so glad we aren’t fighting. I’ve really missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. But what are you doing? Why are you seducing me?”
“I’m seducing you? I thought . . .”
“Is this just sex, or do you want to get together again?”
This is heavy. “I think we should talk about this, but not now, not when we are stoned.”
“Is this just sex? Because if so, that’s okay. But do you want to get together again?”
“You would even contemplate getting together again?” I’m stunned.
“It would make everyone happy. It would make the kids happy. It’s what everyone wants.”
“Is it what you want?” I say. “Wait, I’m too stoned to have this conversation. I really can’t believe what you are saying.”
“I think its just sex for you.”
“I’m not sure, not at all. I mean, I don’t need to get into something with you just to get laid. I’m so happy to be connecting with you, to be talking without so much anger. But maybe this . . . this is so much.”
We look the fire. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Good night.”
What just happened?
The next day, I pull her aside. I’m not sure where we were going last night, I say. But I want to revisit that conversation when we can really talk.
I think I have my answer, she says. I’m not looking forward to that conversation!
Yeah, but we need to talk. We can’t leave this dangling.
Okay, she says. You will call me, and we will talk.
After dinner, we sat around a fire, telling stories until the kids went to bed. The adults stayed put, talking. I poured bourbons for Lucy and myself. She sat on a couch, between her siblings. I sat on the floor near the fire.
Lucy’s sister pulls out a pipe and some pot.
This is a family tradition: the smoking of the peace pipe. In years past, there was always some fight on Christmas night. Tonight, we wondered if Lucy’s mom would get into it with my ex father in law’s other ex, like it was thirty years ago, and she was still mad about their break up.
Lucy, her sister, and her sister’s fiancé are potheads. The rest of us are novices. Lucy has to show her brother and father how to operate the pipe. I know at least that much, but cough after trying to inhale.
Neil Young is playing in the background. The fire is stoked and very hot. A stoned debate breaks out on the physics of shortwave radios, a subject no one present understands. It’s very funny to see everyone offer revelations and insights.
I know that pot makes me stupid. I keep my mouth shut and tend to the fire. Lucy’s mom, drunk and stoned, pulls me in to a side conversation about how much she likes me, and how she misses me. Lucy motions for me to move away and sit near her—it’s just best not to go there, she whispers in my ear.
After everyone is gone, Lucy and I sit by the fire. I move to sit next to her.
“Making your move, huh?” she says.
“Just getting closer” I reply, putting an arm behind her. “So we can talk quietly.”
I have no idea what happens next. Are we going to retire to bed, together? To our separate rooms?
We have The Talk.
She brings it up. “What are we doing? It’s very confusing. “
“I know, it is very confusing. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I’m so glad we aren’t fighting. I’ve really missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. But what are you doing? Why are you seducing me?”
“I’m seducing you? I thought . . .”
“Is this just sex, or do you want to get together again?”
This is heavy. “I think we should talk about this, but not now, not when we are stoned.”
“Is this just sex? Because if so, that’s okay. But do you want to get together again?”
“You would even contemplate getting together again?” I’m stunned.
“It would make everyone happy. It would make the kids happy. It’s what everyone wants.”
“Is it what you want?” I say. “Wait, I’m too stoned to have this conversation. I really can’t believe what you are saying.”
“I think its just sex for you.”
“I’m not sure, not at all. I mean, I don’t need to get into something with you just to get laid. I’m so happy to be connecting with you, to be talking without so much anger. But maybe this . . . this is so much.”
We look the fire. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Good night.”
What just happened?
The next day, I pull her aside. I’m not sure where we were going last night, I say. But I want to revisit that conversation when we can really talk.
I think I have my answer, she says. I’m not looking forward to that conversation!
Yeah, but we need to talk. We can’t leave this dangling.
Okay, she says. You will call me, and we will talk.
eXmas Morn
I heard the kids come downstairs together. I heard their voices as they tried to make sense of the piles of toys. This is yours, Jason told Lillie. Is this mine? Collie asked. Look! Jason whispered loudly. What’s that?
I opened my eyes. 7:04 am.
I sat up, in my pajamas. I headed into the living room, a few steps away.
“Good morning! Merry Christmas! Gosh, look at all this stuff!”
I hugged each of the kids, and hovered around their piles of goodies, keeping my voice low. Look, this glows in the dark! Hey, did you notice the other doll? Is this CD for you, Jason?
The stairs creaked as Lucy came down. “Good morning, everyone! Oh my, look at what Santa brought!”
We fell into our natural rhythms, attending to the kids and their excitement.
Secretly, we were hung over, operating on next to no sleep.
The rest of the family had arrived on Christmas Eve. All were holidaying at the house, but most staying at nearby motels and bed and breakfasts.
A longstanding tradition has me in the kitchen most of the afternoon, preparing Christmas Eve dinner. It’s a simple meal, and I always make the same thing, but it requires some prep time.
Lucy and I were with the kids and her mom before everyone else arrived. But Lucy and I had very little time alone to process what had happened the night before. After so much animosity, we had made love. We had talked. And Collie had busted us.
That morning, we ascertained that Collie had not made too much of his discovery—or at least, he didn’t seem too. He had filed it away, I was sure, until he could make sense of it, without involving too many grown-ups in his mental processes.
As Lucy’s mom made lunch for the kids, Lucy and I secreted away to wrap presents. We established an efficient assembly line. She alluded to the night before. I dropped my scissors and kissed her. I held her. “I’m so glad we aren’t fighting,” I said. Me too, she said. I put my hand on her face. We went back to wrapping.
After lunch, we walked the kids to a nearby carousel. The boys rode their own horses, as I rode with Lillie. At each pass, I smiled at Lucy. We have not been able to look at each other for over a year. This felt right, much better.
Her family began to arrive after lunch, and we were drawn into other people’s lives and stories. Tales were exchanged about troublesome flights, rental cars, cat feeders. They vanished to wrap gifts as I cooked dinner.
My ex mother in law’s ex girlfriend arrived. I served drinks, then dinner. It went off without a hitch, peppered by amusing stories about my ex father in law’s quirky ex girl friends.
My children were all ears. All these attitudes about exes were registering.
Our family has many Christmas Eve rituals. We sing, the children recite poems, and snacks are left for Santa. After the children go to bed, all the Santas prepare for Christmas morning.
When everything was all set and done, Santa’s helpers retired to their hotel rooms. Lucy and I poured drinks and repaired to the study to unwind.
We turned on the television to find a movie in which Robert De Niro and Meryl Streep were star-crossed lovers, commuters who met on a train. They were married to other people, but their banal conversation led to an intense physical relationship.
We kissed.
“This is confusing,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“But it’s very common, I think,” she says, kissing me.
“Maybe so,” I kiss her back. “But I can’t believe this is us.”
I followed Lucy’s lead. She snuggled close; I snuggled closer. She kissed me; I kissed her. Her hand went up my shirt; my hand touched her breast.
We were side by side. I rolled over to be on top of her. I felt like an acrobat. My body was so light.
I was in her, on top of her, kissing her. Our mouths were alive. That was in itself so electrifying. She had eschewed my kisses so very long. For years, a passionate kiss had been met with an admonishment to brush my teeth. My advances were met with rebuffs.
I had lost track of how to make love to her, years ago. It was so easy now.
We were coupled in the dark, surrounded by window full of stars, warm together surrounded by the cold sky.
As we kissed, I grabbed her hips and pulled her on top of me.
I held her hips as I fucked her. I was surprised to remember how slender she is. I pulled her over so easily. I pushed up into her, my thighs bumping her into air. I pulled her nipples into my mouth.
“You made me cry,” she whispered.
“When did I make you cry?’
“It was a long time ago.”
I embraced her. I embraced this moment. So maybe this is how we forgive one another and move on, I thought. By loving one another, by caring about one another, now.
“I’m sorry I made you cry.” We kissed. She pulled me closer as we fucked.
We were so well joined, so physically one with one another. We pushed into one another, breathed into one another’s mouths.
Let’s forgive each another.
“You broke my heart into a thousand pieces,” I said. Intense. Tender.
“You broke my heart too,” she said.
“I’m sorry I broke your heart,” I said. She is quiet. So much for mutual forgiveness.
We fucked silently. “I want you to cum for me,” I said. She said she had not been able to get off with other men. I didn’t know what was happening between us. But she should have this opportunity to cum.
“Okay.” She focused. She pushed into me, her eyes closed, working hard.
“It’s your fault too, you know,” she said, trying to let go.
“Cum for me.”
Lucy’s orgasm is like a safe to be cracked. It is secured if you don’t have the combination. But if you ascertain that special sequence, all the locks tumble into place easily.
No one among her pathetic lovers has bothered to learn the combination. I work the locks.
They tumble. Lucy cums.
“You got your wish,” she breathes. I hold her close.
I flip her, back in our familiar terrain. She gets off on top of me, then I flip her. That’s how it once worked.
We fuck quietly, trying to avoid discovery by our kids and her mom, I wonder: am I now having an affair with my ex wife? No one can know?
We talk as we touch and kiss. I am excited at how we are opening up and sharing.
She ventures another insight. “You waited too long to open your heart.”
So long as we are forgiving one another, I am hers. But if she wants to blame me for her pain, that’s another story. She dumped me. There is too much pain to assume as my own responsibility.
I sit up. I am still in her. I find my t-shirt and put it on. I look at her,
“We can make love. We can talk about what went wrong between us. But we can’t do both at the same time.”
She nods. We fuck for a while. But I am done.
We doze off. I am not really asleep. She says she should go to bed; I let her go. It’s 3am Christmas morning.
I opened my eyes. 7:04 am.
I sat up, in my pajamas. I headed into the living room, a few steps away.
“Good morning! Merry Christmas! Gosh, look at all this stuff!”
I hugged each of the kids, and hovered around their piles of goodies, keeping my voice low. Look, this glows in the dark! Hey, did you notice the other doll? Is this CD for you, Jason?
The stairs creaked as Lucy came down. “Good morning, everyone! Oh my, look at what Santa brought!”
We fell into our natural rhythms, attending to the kids and their excitement.
Secretly, we were hung over, operating on next to no sleep.
The rest of the family had arrived on Christmas Eve. All were holidaying at the house, but most staying at nearby motels and bed and breakfasts.
A longstanding tradition has me in the kitchen most of the afternoon, preparing Christmas Eve dinner. It’s a simple meal, and I always make the same thing, but it requires some prep time.
Lucy and I were with the kids and her mom before everyone else arrived. But Lucy and I had very little time alone to process what had happened the night before. After so much animosity, we had made love. We had talked. And Collie had busted us.
That morning, we ascertained that Collie had not made too much of his discovery—or at least, he didn’t seem too. He had filed it away, I was sure, until he could make sense of it, without involving too many grown-ups in his mental processes.
As Lucy’s mom made lunch for the kids, Lucy and I secreted away to wrap presents. We established an efficient assembly line. She alluded to the night before. I dropped my scissors and kissed her. I held her. “I’m so glad we aren’t fighting,” I said. Me too, she said. I put my hand on her face. We went back to wrapping.
After lunch, we walked the kids to a nearby carousel. The boys rode their own horses, as I rode with Lillie. At each pass, I smiled at Lucy. We have not been able to look at each other for over a year. This felt right, much better.
Her family began to arrive after lunch, and we were drawn into other people’s lives and stories. Tales were exchanged about troublesome flights, rental cars, cat feeders. They vanished to wrap gifts as I cooked dinner.
My ex mother in law’s ex girlfriend arrived. I served drinks, then dinner. It went off without a hitch, peppered by amusing stories about my ex father in law’s quirky ex girl friends.
My children were all ears. All these attitudes about exes were registering.
Our family has many Christmas Eve rituals. We sing, the children recite poems, and snacks are left for Santa. After the children go to bed, all the Santas prepare for Christmas morning.
When everything was all set and done, Santa’s helpers retired to their hotel rooms. Lucy and I poured drinks and repaired to the study to unwind.
We turned on the television to find a movie in which Robert De Niro and Meryl Streep were star-crossed lovers, commuters who met on a train. They were married to other people, but their banal conversation led to an intense physical relationship.
We kissed.
“This is confusing,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“But it’s very common, I think,” she says, kissing me.
“Maybe so,” I kiss her back. “But I can’t believe this is us.”
I followed Lucy’s lead. She snuggled close; I snuggled closer. She kissed me; I kissed her. Her hand went up my shirt; my hand touched her breast.
We were side by side. I rolled over to be on top of her. I felt like an acrobat. My body was so light.
I was in her, on top of her, kissing her. Our mouths were alive. That was in itself so electrifying. She had eschewed my kisses so very long. For years, a passionate kiss had been met with an admonishment to brush my teeth. My advances were met with rebuffs.
I had lost track of how to make love to her, years ago. It was so easy now.
We were coupled in the dark, surrounded by window full of stars, warm together surrounded by the cold sky.
As we kissed, I grabbed her hips and pulled her on top of me.
I held her hips as I fucked her. I was surprised to remember how slender she is. I pulled her over so easily. I pushed up into her, my thighs bumping her into air. I pulled her nipples into my mouth.
“You made me cry,” she whispered.
“When did I make you cry?’
“It was a long time ago.”
I embraced her. I embraced this moment. So maybe this is how we forgive one another and move on, I thought. By loving one another, by caring about one another, now.
“I’m sorry I made you cry.” We kissed. She pulled me closer as we fucked.
We were so well joined, so physically one with one another. We pushed into one another, breathed into one another’s mouths.
Let’s forgive each another.
“You broke my heart into a thousand pieces,” I said. Intense. Tender.
“You broke my heart too,” she said.
“I’m sorry I broke your heart,” I said. She is quiet. So much for mutual forgiveness.
We fucked silently. “I want you to cum for me,” I said. She said she had not been able to get off with other men. I didn’t know what was happening between us. But she should have this opportunity to cum.
“Okay.” She focused. She pushed into me, her eyes closed, working hard.
“It’s your fault too, you know,” she said, trying to let go.
“Cum for me.”
Lucy’s orgasm is like a safe to be cracked. It is secured if you don’t have the combination. But if you ascertain that special sequence, all the locks tumble into place easily.
No one among her pathetic lovers has bothered to learn the combination. I work the locks.
They tumble. Lucy cums.
“You got your wish,” she breathes. I hold her close.
I flip her, back in our familiar terrain. She gets off on top of me, then I flip her. That’s how it once worked.
We fuck quietly, trying to avoid discovery by our kids and her mom, I wonder: am I now having an affair with my ex wife? No one can know?
We talk as we touch and kiss. I am excited at how we are opening up and sharing.
She ventures another insight. “You waited too long to open your heart.”
So long as we are forgiving one another, I am hers. But if she wants to blame me for her pain, that’s another story. She dumped me. There is too much pain to assume as my own responsibility.
I sit up. I am still in her. I find my t-shirt and put it on. I look at her,
“We can make love. We can talk about what went wrong between us. But we can’t do both at the same time.”
She nods. We fuck for a while. But I am done.
We doze off. I am not really asleep. She says she should go to bed; I let her go. It’s 3am Christmas morning.
eXmas Eve
“Hey, Dad. Dad!”
Collie was sitting on the table next to the futon. Light filled the study. I glanced at the clock; it was just after seven.
“You’re up early, Collie.” I grabbed my pillow, pulling it close.
“You and mom fell asleep watching television.”
I looked over my shoulder. “Oh yeah?”
“Yep. She went upstairs to go back to bed.”
“Smart of her,” I said, closing my eyes.
“She was naked. Are you naked too?”
I opened my eyes.
Collie was sitting next to my pajamas. I reached over and pulled them under the covers.
“I guess I am!” I said, sliding a leg into my pajamas with one hand, holding the blanket in place with the other. “Funny, I thought I had put these on. D’oph! Silly me, huh?
“You want to watch some television? Wonder what’s on? Hey look, SpongeBob! Awesome! Let’s watch it together! I’m going to make some coffee. You want some juice or anything?”
I put on a kettle in the kitchen. There was a bottle of bourbon on the counter. I put it away.
Lucy and I were watching something on television the night before, but it was just background noise. We were talking about the kids, how things were planned for Christmas, passing the time until we were sleepy enough for bed. She finished her drink, and offered to get me another.
We talked, we drank. She finished her drink before I finished mine, and got up to fetch us another round. She returned and lay down, close to me. I had a sip. You’re drinking a fair bit tonight, I noted. I’m a seasoned lush, but she was always a lightweight.
I’m drinking a lot more these days, she said. A lot of things in my life are different,
Me too, I said. We’re going to have a lot to talk about one day, when we can compare notes on our lives apart during this past year. I squeezed her hand. It was nice to think that one day, we might be able to be open. Maybe we could be friends again.
She began to talk about her dating experiences. She had been seeing a lot of men, she said. No one special, but a lot of one night stands. She attends many concerts, and she meets guys at those, or at bars, or through friends, or through her job . . .
I listened. I asked questions, without prying. I was glad she was opening up to me as a friend, and not seeing me only as an ex, an enemy. It had been so long since we were relaxed with one another.
I did not offer comparable war stories. I listened, and I felt close to her. I knew that hearing about me and other people would only hurt her, or stop her from sharing.
I didn’t trust her enough to open up about myself. But I trusted myself enough to listen.
She talked about flings with young men, saying they were tough because she didn’t want to mislead them about the “dream.” What dream, I asked? The whole getting married and being happy thing, she said. Because that’s not where I’m heading. I understand that, I allowed.
She talked about being with married men, and others who didn’t really attract her. She talked about all the flirtations she had with the fathers of our children’s friends. She was hanging out a lot with the boyfriend she had before meeting me, and his wife. There was no sex there, but she liked being a part of his life again.
I identified with all she was saying. I had long thought that each of us was the person best prepared to understand what the other had been experiencing. I wanted to share my life too, but that could wait for another time.
Was this the same woman I once knew so well? The woman who had been with so few men before marrying me? The woman so dead set on monogamy and commitment? The woman who so enjoyed sex, but had so little interest in it?
She was not drunk, not at all. But she was in a mood to talk, and the bourbon had helped.
“You know,” she said, looking into my eyes. “You are still the only man who has made me cum.”
“I’m glad for the distinction,” I said, touching her hair, “but I’m sorry you aren’t getting off.”
As she told her stories, she repeated this revelation. I put my arm around her. I held her close. I know, I said: what we had was special. It’s hard to move on from that.
She said it again. I was the only one who could get her off. I touched her face. She kissed me.
We have spent so much energy being angry with one another. Her cruelty has pained me so much. I have tried not to hurt her, to be above that, but I’m sure I have.
Kissing her, I felt that finally we acknowledged that we don’t hate one another. We share too much. We can have some kind of future that isn’t about bitterness.
Our pajamas were gone. I was in her. We kissed, and kissed. We pushed against one another slowly, exploring that intense familiarity.
I wanted her orgasm. I pulled out and went down on her. “No, no, wait,” she said. I stopped. I fell into her arms. I held her close.
I listened to her breath.
I thought about the births of our children. I have never felt so close to another person as on those three days and nights. We were so scared. I wanted to inhabit her skin then, to share that, to spare her that. We cried together when each of our babies was born.
When they were safe, when she was safe, when it was over. Deep, lurching sobs. I kissed away her tears.
I was so helpless. She needed me so much. The babies needed me.
I held her close. “I am always going to love you,” I whispered. “That isn’t going away.”
“I wish we could sleep together,” she said.
“Me too,” I say. “Would we have to make a date for that?” I laugh at the irony. So many nights we were together, and that is what we want tonight.
“No,” she said. “No dates. Just Christmases.”
We fell asleep.
Collie was sitting on the table next to the futon. Light filled the study. I glanced at the clock; it was just after seven.
“You’re up early, Collie.” I grabbed my pillow, pulling it close.
“You and mom fell asleep watching television.”
I looked over my shoulder. “Oh yeah?”
“Yep. She went upstairs to go back to bed.”
“Smart of her,” I said, closing my eyes.
“She was naked. Are you naked too?”
I opened my eyes.
Collie was sitting next to my pajamas. I reached over and pulled them under the covers.
“I guess I am!” I said, sliding a leg into my pajamas with one hand, holding the blanket in place with the other. “Funny, I thought I had put these on. D’oph! Silly me, huh?
“You want to watch some television? Wonder what’s on? Hey look, SpongeBob! Awesome! Let’s watch it together! I’m going to make some coffee. You want some juice or anything?”
I put on a kettle in the kitchen. There was a bottle of bourbon on the counter. I put it away.
Lucy and I were watching something on television the night before, but it was just background noise. We were talking about the kids, how things were planned for Christmas, passing the time until we were sleepy enough for bed. She finished her drink, and offered to get me another.
We talked, we drank. She finished her drink before I finished mine, and got up to fetch us another round. She returned and lay down, close to me. I had a sip. You’re drinking a fair bit tonight, I noted. I’m a seasoned lush, but she was always a lightweight.
I’m drinking a lot more these days, she said. A lot of things in my life are different,
Me too, I said. We’re going to have a lot to talk about one day, when we can compare notes on our lives apart during this past year. I squeezed her hand. It was nice to think that one day, we might be able to be open. Maybe we could be friends again.
She began to talk about her dating experiences. She had been seeing a lot of men, she said. No one special, but a lot of one night stands. She attends many concerts, and she meets guys at those, or at bars, or through friends, or through her job . . .
I listened. I asked questions, without prying. I was glad she was opening up to me as a friend, and not seeing me only as an ex, an enemy. It had been so long since we were relaxed with one another.
I did not offer comparable war stories. I listened, and I felt close to her. I knew that hearing about me and other people would only hurt her, or stop her from sharing.
I didn’t trust her enough to open up about myself. But I trusted myself enough to listen.
She talked about flings with young men, saying they were tough because she didn’t want to mislead them about the “dream.” What dream, I asked? The whole getting married and being happy thing, she said. Because that’s not where I’m heading. I understand that, I allowed.
She talked about being with married men, and others who didn’t really attract her. She talked about all the flirtations she had with the fathers of our children’s friends. She was hanging out a lot with the boyfriend she had before meeting me, and his wife. There was no sex there, but she liked being a part of his life again.
I identified with all she was saying. I had long thought that each of us was the person best prepared to understand what the other had been experiencing. I wanted to share my life too, but that could wait for another time.
Was this the same woman I once knew so well? The woman who had been with so few men before marrying me? The woman so dead set on monogamy and commitment? The woman who so enjoyed sex, but had so little interest in it?
She was not drunk, not at all. But she was in a mood to talk, and the bourbon had helped.
“You know,” she said, looking into my eyes. “You are still the only man who has made me cum.”
“I’m glad for the distinction,” I said, touching her hair, “but I’m sorry you aren’t getting off.”
As she told her stories, she repeated this revelation. I put my arm around her. I held her close. I know, I said: what we had was special. It’s hard to move on from that.
She said it again. I was the only one who could get her off. I touched her face. She kissed me.
We have spent so much energy being angry with one another. Her cruelty has pained me so much. I have tried not to hurt her, to be above that, but I’m sure I have.
Kissing her, I felt that finally we acknowledged that we don’t hate one another. We share too much. We can have some kind of future that isn’t about bitterness.
Our pajamas were gone. I was in her. We kissed, and kissed. We pushed against one another slowly, exploring that intense familiarity.
I wanted her orgasm. I pulled out and went down on her. “No, no, wait,” she said. I stopped. I fell into her arms. I held her close.
I listened to her breath.
I thought about the births of our children. I have never felt so close to another person as on those three days and nights. We were so scared. I wanted to inhabit her skin then, to share that, to spare her that. We cried together when each of our babies was born.
When they were safe, when she was safe, when it was over. Deep, lurching sobs. I kissed away her tears.
I was so helpless. She needed me so much. The babies needed me.
I held her close. “I am always going to love you,” I whispered. “That isn’t going away.”
“I wish we could sleep together,” she said.
“Me too,” I say. “Would we have to make a date for that?” I laugh at the irony. So many nights we were together, and that is what we want tonight.
“No,” she said. “No dates. Just Christmases.”
We fell asleep.
eXmas
Leaving Marla at the subway, I walked quickly through a drizzle to pick up the kids. I arrived about ten minutes behind schedule.
The kids were excited to see me. Lucy was there too, for an after school meeting. When she saw me, she rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. She took me by the arm and led me to one side, telling the kids to stay put.
She gave me a quick, familiar lecture on the importance of being on time. I nodded, listened, agreed. That ritual completed, I returned to the kids and took them home.
That night, Lucy was picking us up to go to her mother’s house for Christmas. Last year had been the first Christmas since our break up. Per our tradition, we spent the holiday with her family at her mother’s house. It had been awkward, but we bit the bullet for the kids’ sake. There had only been one fight—between Lucy and her mom, about her mom being too familiar with me about details concerning our divorce—but fights between Lucy and her mom were also a family tradition.
Lucy and I had a good Thanksgiving this year. She’s been very civil with me lately. I hoped for the best.
Mind you, this holiday had enough landmines to blow us all sky high.
My ex wife and I would be there, with our three kids. My ex mother in law, a lesbian, had invited an ex girlfriend to join us for dinner on Christmas Eve. My ex father in law would be there, at the home of his first ex, and bringing along his second ex wife (he has three from which to chose). My ex brother in law was bringing his ex boyfriend.
To add a dollop of optimism to the occasion, my ex sister in law would be there with her fiancé.
So many exes. Another ex-mas with Lucy’s family.
After school, I fed the kids and cleaned up, packing a few things to see us through the weekend. I poured a stiff drink to fortify my nerves.
Lucy arrived around bedtime, and we packed the kids into the car. I sat in the back between Lillie and Collie; Jason rode up front. We talked about Christmas until the kids drifted off to sleep. I talked with Lucy to keep her company as she drove, catching a few moments of sleep myself.
After few hours, we parked in front of Lucy’s mother’s house. Her mother was asleep and everyone else was arriving the next day, on Christmas Eve.
Lucy roused the boys, and I carried Lillie inside. We undressed the kids and tucked them into bed. We unpacked the car. I took Lucy’s bag upstairs to the room we used to share. I carried mine into the study off the dining room, where I would sleep on a futon.
We repaired to our separate quarters to put on pajamas. Lucy came downstairs to have a drink and watch television with me in the study. We talked and began to unwind.
This was going well. We were being nice to each other. It felt very familiar. Fingers crossed for the weekend.
The kids were excited to see me. Lucy was there too, for an after school meeting. When she saw me, she rolled her eyes and sighed loudly. She took me by the arm and led me to one side, telling the kids to stay put.
She gave me a quick, familiar lecture on the importance of being on time. I nodded, listened, agreed. That ritual completed, I returned to the kids and took them home.
That night, Lucy was picking us up to go to her mother’s house for Christmas. Last year had been the first Christmas since our break up. Per our tradition, we spent the holiday with her family at her mother’s house. It had been awkward, but we bit the bullet for the kids’ sake. There had only been one fight—between Lucy and her mom, about her mom being too familiar with me about details concerning our divorce—but fights between Lucy and her mom were also a family tradition.
Lucy and I had a good Thanksgiving this year. She’s been very civil with me lately. I hoped for the best.
Mind you, this holiday had enough landmines to blow us all sky high.
My ex wife and I would be there, with our three kids. My ex mother in law, a lesbian, had invited an ex girlfriend to join us for dinner on Christmas Eve. My ex father in law would be there, at the home of his first ex, and bringing along his second ex wife (he has three from which to chose). My ex brother in law was bringing his ex boyfriend.
To add a dollop of optimism to the occasion, my ex sister in law would be there with her fiancé.
So many exes. Another ex-mas with Lucy’s family.
After school, I fed the kids and cleaned up, packing a few things to see us through the weekend. I poured a stiff drink to fortify my nerves.
Lucy arrived around bedtime, and we packed the kids into the car. I sat in the back between Lillie and Collie; Jason rode up front. We talked about Christmas until the kids drifted off to sleep. I talked with Lucy to keep her company as she drove, catching a few moments of sleep myself.
After few hours, we parked in front of Lucy’s mother’s house. Her mother was asleep and everyone else was arriving the next day, on Christmas Eve.
Lucy roused the boys, and I carried Lillie inside. We undressed the kids and tucked them into bed. We unpacked the car. I took Lucy’s bag upstairs to the room we used to share. I carried mine into the study off the dining room, where I would sleep on a futon.
We repaired to our separate quarters to put on pajamas. Lucy came downstairs to have a drink and watch television with me in the study. We talked and began to unwind.
This was going well. We were being nice to each other. It felt very familiar. Fingers crossed for the weekend.
Addendum
Two days until Christmas. A series of back-to-back dates, a very nice gathering, and a long sleepover with Scarlet will have to tide me over. When I said goodbye to Scarlet yesterday, I knew that was the end of sex for me.
Tonight, I am off to spend the holidays with Lucy and the kids, and Lucy’s family.
Marla calls to say she needs to pick up her coat. Am I free for a bit? And am I able to offer a one hour special, for a working girl on her lunch break?
She stops by my place, so close to her office. We talk and soon, we are kissing.
“Kissing you is so nice,” I say. “Especially when you are naked. But who has time for that?”
“We don’t have much time, it’s true,” she says. She reaches under her skirt and pulls down her panties. I drop my pants.
She rides my cock, and cums.
She climbs off me, and sucks my cock. I lie back and take it, so nice. I switch her around, so that she sits. I fuck her face. I cum in no time.
“Seven minutes left,” she says, looking at her watch. “Plenty of time for you to eat me.” I go down fast. I lick her and suck on her piercing. She cums.
I walk her to the subway in a cold drizzle. We are loose and happy with one another. She tells me funny stories about selling her panties on Craig’s List. We joke about whoring.
We part ways with a kiss, and I am off to get the kids.
I reflect on the past few days as I walk through the park.
My first date with Scarlet on Thursday.
The cancellation of my weekend with May on Friday, and the spontaneous sleepover with Marla that night.
A sleepover with Anna on Saturday and into Sunday, and another with Jessica on Sunday and into Monday.
Bridget and Scarlet and Marla and the gathering on Tuesday. Waking up with Scarlet on Wednesday.
And now Marla on Thursday.
I guess I am ready to face the furnace of Christmas with the ex.
Tonight, I am off to spend the holidays with Lucy and the kids, and Lucy’s family.
Marla calls to say she needs to pick up her coat. Am I free for a bit? And am I able to offer a one hour special, for a working girl on her lunch break?
She stops by my place, so close to her office. We talk and soon, we are kissing.
“Kissing you is so nice,” I say. “Especially when you are naked. But who has time for that?”
“We don’t have much time, it’s true,” she says. She reaches under her skirt and pulls down her panties. I drop my pants.
She rides my cock, and cums.
She climbs off me, and sucks my cock. I lie back and take it, so nice. I switch her around, so that she sits. I fuck her face. I cum in no time.
“Seven minutes left,” she says, looking at her watch. “Plenty of time for you to eat me.” I go down fast. I lick her and suck on her piercing. She cums.
I walk her to the subway in a cold drizzle. We are loose and happy with one another. She tells me funny stories about selling her panties on Craig’s List. We joke about whoring.
We part ways with a kiss, and I am off to get the kids.
I reflect on the past few days as I walk through the park.
My first date with Scarlet on Thursday.
The cancellation of my weekend with May on Friday, and the spontaneous sleepover with Marla that night.
A sleepover with Anna on Saturday and into Sunday, and another with Jessica on Sunday and into Monday.
Bridget and Scarlet and Marla and the gathering on Tuesday. Waking up with Scarlet on Wednesday.
And now Marla on Thursday.
I guess I am ready to face the furnace of Christmas with the ex.
Scarlet Says
I asked Scarlet to think about the gathering and let me know what she thought of it all. She wrote this to me on the train trip home.
I suppose you could say this wasn't something I thought I'd be actively participating in. I had no intentions of jumping right in. I wanted to feel my way through the night and then possibly participate the next time around.
The thought of joining in wasn't completely thrown out, however. I don't think this sort of thing is taboo, or even wrong. It's just something you don't normally experience down in these parts, where I’m from.
There's a certain sense of appeal in it all. You know, doing something completely new and exciting. I'm always up for that.
So . . . the beginning was awkward. I didn't know what to say or how to act. All of these people were strangers to me, and most of them had done something like this before.
So there I sat, hoping I would loosen up enough to actually start talking to people. We made small talk and all, but nothing too compelling.
Three of us disappeared into the bedroom and I just wondered to myself, will I end up there before the end of the night? I mingled and such and found someone. We had a discussion about this being my first time in a situation like this. With that, I decided to peek around.
It didn't surprise me when I saw 4 people in bed having loads of fun. At that point I'm thinking I would like to join in. There goes that shy thing though . . . keeping me from having fun.
So you, being the very nice gentleman you are, decided to pull me into the room and put me in your lap. Of course, going into your bedroom always ends in some form of sex so . . . I just accepted that.
I got rather comfortable just kissing you, then ended up taking the clothes off and hopping in bed. Just hearing other people moaning is a turn on for me, so being in bed with other people having sex was just over the top. Having other people involved (meaning more than 3) was very nice.
Chick's tit ends up in my face at one point and the only thing I could think to do was suck it. How's that for an oral fixation ;)
Some more idle conversation happened and then you left me alone with the insanely sexy bi-Todd. He takes me into the bedroom and fucks me hard. I'm thinking to myself this guy is a complete stranger, he's very comfortable to be with, he's VERY good in bed, and he's telling me I'm good. With all of that said and done, I guess you could say the party was over.
I would say I was a little skeptical going into the whole experience. Definitely hesitant, but open-minded and willing to participate. Being so shy and nervous kind of held me back, but once I got beyond all of that things flowed a little more smoothly.
When all was done, I could only say "That was fun." Will I do it again? I plan on it in two weeks. Will I find more people to have fun with this time? Absolutely.
I suppose you could say this wasn't something I thought I'd be actively participating in. I had no intentions of jumping right in. I wanted to feel my way through the night and then possibly participate the next time around.
The thought of joining in wasn't completely thrown out, however. I don't think this sort of thing is taboo, or even wrong. It's just something you don't normally experience down in these parts, where I’m from.
There's a certain sense of appeal in it all. You know, doing something completely new and exciting. I'm always up for that.
So . . . the beginning was awkward. I didn't know what to say or how to act. All of these people were strangers to me, and most of them had done something like this before.
So there I sat, hoping I would loosen up enough to actually start talking to people. We made small talk and all, but nothing too compelling.
Three of us disappeared into the bedroom and I just wondered to myself, will I end up there before the end of the night? I mingled and such and found someone. We had a discussion about this being my first time in a situation like this. With that, I decided to peek around.
It didn't surprise me when I saw 4 people in bed having loads of fun. At that point I'm thinking I would like to join in. There goes that shy thing though . . . keeping me from having fun.
So you, being the very nice gentleman you are, decided to pull me into the room and put me in your lap. Of course, going into your bedroom always ends in some form of sex so . . . I just accepted that.
I got rather comfortable just kissing you, then ended up taking the clothes off and hopping in bed. Just hearing other people moaning is a turn on for me, so being in bed with other people having sex was just over the top. Having other people involved (meaning more than 3) was very nice.
Chick's tit ends up in my face at one point and the only thing I could think to do was suck it. How's that for an oral fixation ;)
Some more idle conversation happened and then you left me alone with the insanely sexy bi-Todd. He takes me into the bedroom and fucks me hard. I'm thinking to myself this guy is a complete stranger, he's very comfortable to be with, he's VERY good in bed, and he's telling me I'm good. With all of that said and done, I guess you could say the party was over.
I would say I was a little skeptical going into the whole experience. Definitely hesitant, but open-minded and willing to participate. Being so shy and nervous kind of held me back, but once I got beyond all of that things flowed a little more smoothly.
When all was done, I could only say "That was fun." Will I do it again? I plan on it in two weeks. Will I find more people to have fun with this time? Absolutely.
Scarlet's Toothbrush
Marla woke me with a hand on my shoulder.
“Hon, you want to let me out?” Uh huh.
She is fully dressed and made up for work. She asks me to hang on to her heavy coat, as the cold of last night has given way to a warm morning. “I missed cuddling with you last night,” she says. She kisses me, rubbing her hands on my nude body. I play with her hair. I show her to the door.
Scarlet can make any pillow look beautiful.
I want to move her to the bed now vacated by Marla, as it is much more comfortable. “Shhhhh. Scarlet? No questions. Don’t wake up. Come with me.”
I take her hand and she follows, her eyes slits. I put her into bed, and cover her body. I look at her face, her eyelashes. I get into bed beside her and hold her close.
I wake up around nine. I kiss Scarlet’s cheek and get up, closing the door to the room.
I set to cleaning from the night before. Normally, this is a simple task, but it was a messy night. Towels are heaped in one corner of the bathroom. Glasses fill the kitchen counter, and most surfaces. The dinner dishes sit in the sink. Condoms are strewn about.
I cleaned for a while, then caught up on some work emails. I planned to finish this up, do more dishes, get a shower and then wake Scarlet, allowing time for some sex before she had to leave.
As I did the dishes, a wine rack toppled, sending a glass to the floor with a loud crash. I got the broom and heard the shuffle of inquisitive feet.
“You okay?” Scarlet was naked in the doorway, still groggy. I sent her back to bed, warning her to be careful where she walked. I swept up, then went to check on the girl.
I got into bed next to her. “Sorry to wake you,” I said. “Did you sleep okay?” She doesn’t care for the city noises, and they kept her up late. I caressed her face.
I ask what she thought of the previous night. She tells me about fucking Todd. She thought he was very cute, and, she added, “he’s got a very big dick, you know.” She said it got her off, and she tries to distinguish the difference she felt between the orgasm she felt getting fucked by a big dick, and the one she felt with I went down on her.
“Hey!” she says, pointing at me. “You didn’t fuck me last night.”
I put on a condom and a dab of lube. I am in her, fucking her deep and slow. She tilts her head back, and I take her neck.
I pull up, and push her legs back. I fuck her harder, until her legs are shaking. Then again, slow and close.
I pull back, and massage her clit with my thumb as I fuck her. She twists and breathes heavily. I play with that sweet pearl clit of hers, fucking her, watching my cock slide in and out of her . . .
I can’t help but take that pearl in my mouth. She cums fast, deeply.
I wrap my body around her. I catch a glimpse of the clock as we talk. Our time together is ticking away.
I don’t want her to go. I want to remember her sleeping, resting as she is now, content. Blissed.
I want her mouth on me. But I like her contentedness. Her slow breathing. Her arms around me. I don’t want to disturb that. I don’t want her to move.
My head was on her shoulders. Looking up, I could see her mouth—that mouth—very close, blurry. I could see her breast, not the closest one, but the other. I could see her hand on her hip.
I melted into her arm. I put my hand to her cheek. And as she watched, I jerked off, my eyes fixed to her lips.
I got her to the train on time. We kissed, long and sweet, very public. She laughed about her “permagrin.”
As I left her, I thought: that ends my sex life. I’m spending Christmas with Lucy and her family. No more tenderness for a spell.
I went to pick up the kids from school.
After we got home, I saw that Scarlet had left her toothbrush in my bathroom.
“Hon, you want to let me out?” Uh huh.
She is fully dressed and made up for work. She asks me to hang on to her heavy coat, as the cold of last night has given way to a warm morning. “I missed cuddling with you last night,” she says. She kisses me, rubbing her hands on my nude body. I play with her hair. I show her to the door.
Scarlet can make any pillow look beautiful.
I want to move her to the bed now vacated by Marla, as it is much more comfortable. “Shhhhh. Scarlet? No questions. Don’t wake up. Come with me.”
I take her hand and she follows, her eyes slits. I put her into bed, and cover her body. I look at her face, her eyelashes. I get into bed beside her and hold her close.
I wake up around nine. I kiss Scarlet’s cheek and get up, closing the door to the room.
I set to cleaning from the night before. Normally, this is a simple task, but it was a messy night. Towels are heaped in one corner of the bathroom. Glasses fill the kitchen counter, and most surfaces. The dinner dishes sit in the sink. Condoms are strewn about.
I cleaned for a while, then caught up on some work emails. I planned to finish this up, do more dishes, get a shower and then wake Scarlet, allowing time for some sex before she had to leave.
As I did the dishes, a wine rack toppled, sending a glass to the floor with a loud crash. I got the broom and heard the shuffle of inquisitive feet.
“You okay?” Scarlet was naked in the doorway, still groggy. I sent her back to bed, warning her to be careful where she walked. I swept up, then went to check on the girl.
I got into bed next to her. “Sorry to wake you,” I said. “Did you sleep okay?” She doesn’t care for the city noises, and they kept her up late. I caressed her face.
I ask what she thought of the previous night. She tells me about fucking Todd. She thought he was very cute, and, she added, “he’s got a very big dick, you know.” She said it got her off, and she tries to distinguish the difference she felt between the orgasm she felt getting fucked by a big dick, and the one she felt with I went down on her.
“Hey!” she says, pointing at me. “You didn’t fuck me last night.”
I put on a condom and a dab of lube. I am in her, fucking her deep and slow. She tilts her head back, and I take her neck.
I pull up, and push her legs back. I fuck her harder, until her legs are shaking. Then again, slow and close.
I pull back, and massage her clit with my thumb as I fuck her. She twists and breathes heavily. I play with that sweet pearl clit of hers, fucking her, watching my cock slide in and out of her . . .
I can’t help but take that pearl in my mouth. She cums fast, deeply.
I wrap my body around her. I catch a glimpse of the clock as we talk. Our time together is ticking away.
I don’t want her to go. I want to remember her sleeping, resting as she is now, content. Blissed.
I want her mouth on me. But I like her contentedness. Her slow breathing. Her arms around me. I don’t want to disturb that. I don’t want her to move.
My head was on her shoulders. Looking up, I could see her mouth—that mouth—very close, blurry. I could see her breast, not the closest one, but the other. I could see her hand on her hip.
I melted into her arm. I put my hand to her cheek. And as she watched, I jerked off, my eyes fixed to her lips.
I got her to the train on time. We kissed, long and sweet, very public. She laughed about her “permagrin.”
As I left her, I thought: that ends my sex life. I’m spending Christmas with Lucy and her family. No more tenderness for a spell.
I went to pick up the kids from school.
After we got home, I saw that Scarlet had left her toothbrush in my bathroom.
Monday, December 27, 2004
Flagpole
Jake went down on Raven. She came almost immediately. “That’s one,” Todd tallied.
As Jake worked on Raven, Dacia left the room and returned with a small case. She opened it, and began to unpack sex toys. She wriggled into a harness carefully and methodically.
She attached a purple dildo, with a sharply angled tip.
I made Scarlet stand up. I slipped off her pants, and her cute panties. I took off my pants. She sat back in my lap, kissing, always kissing. I fingered her wet slit.
Dacia got on the bed and crawled to Raven. She slipped her dick into Raven, and slowly fucked her. She had an admiring audience, as Raven moaned. “That’s two,” Todd counted.
I put my hands around Scarlet’s waist. I undid her bra. My mouth went to her sweet nipples, feeling them grow hard on my tongue.
Dacia fucked harder, as Jake licked Raven’s neck and breasts. “Three.”
My fingers slid into Scarlet.
I stood Scarlet up. I turned her back to the bed, to all the people on the bed. I sat her on the bed. I got on my knees, and put my mouth on her sweet juicy pussy. The pussy that calls my mouth.
I crooked my finger inside her, to pull her clit into me. Her slight panting, her unh unh unh, joined the chorus of moans from the bed.
A space opened on the bed. I reclined her body gently on a pillow. I lay on her, kissing her, hard between her legs.
My mouth needed her again. I slide down to lick her, to suck her.
My body rubbed against Raven’s as Jake fucked her. My free hand went to caress them both. I looked up to see Scarlet sucking on Marla’s breast; Marla was bent over the bed, as Todd fucked her. Marla was watching me, smiling. I set back to tending Scarlet’s clit, listening for the unh unh unh that gladdens my heart.
I tweaked her nipple with my finger. Raven tweaked her other nipple. “Harder,” I whisper to Raven. “My sweet likes it harder.”
“Unh yeah, gah yeah!”
Marla came. Hearing her orgasm like hearing the laugh of an old friend rise above the din of a noisy bar.
Scarlet came.
There was a reconfiguration of bodies. Scarlet sat up.
“You want a break,” I asked, “or are you keen to suck some cock?”
She smiles, and I recline. I can see the room. Marla and Dacia are watching us and Jake and Raven as they fuck.
Scarlet takes me in her mouth, moving up and down on my cock. I’m soft, but feeling very turned on.
Raven tells Jake to cum, and just like that, he does. He grunts and groans. I slap his head, telling him to stop making so much noise.
He grabs my hair and tosses my head away. That sets me straight.
Scarlet’s mouth is tender and steady, and I want her so much, but I am not getting hard.
I take Scarlet’s face in my hand. “I need a break, baby. Come with me.”
We sat on the couch and chatted with Marla. A lot of people were milling in the living room, in one of those naturally occurring intermissions that come along.
I’ve been so focused on Scarlet, I haven’t mingled as much as usual. Nick and his date have left. I’m told they had fucked, so I suppose he was happy.
I hear Dacia moaning from the bedroom. “Oh, Dacia’s fucking Todd,” I say. This very much impressed Marla and Scarlet. You can tell who is fucking who, just from the sound? Wow.
I let them be impressed. My intricate calculus stays secret.
A number of us go back to the bedroom. Jake is fucking Bugs as Raven holds her legs back.
Sex is just that much better when you have someone to hold back your partner’s legs.
Marla says she wants some time with my tongue. “I want some of what you gave that girl,” she smiles. I led her to a chair well suited to oral sex—it reclines back, making her comfortable and pushing her pussy forward.
I lick and suck her, slipping in one finger, two, three, four. Five. I keep at it with a steady pulse. She gushes, cumming a puddle onto the floor between my knees.
She looks down to admire it. “Okay, now you have to fuck me,” she says. I dunno, I say. My cock isn’t cooperating.
“Which cock? Oh you mean this one?” She takes my flaccid dick and pulls up. I stand. She sucks me, and sure enough, I grow hard in her mouth.
People are dressing, preparing to leave. “Hold that thought,” I tell Marla. “Let me see these people off.”
I look at the empty bed. I remove the sheet. It is soaked with sweat and girl juice. Jesus!
“Huzzah!” says Raven. Dacia recommends we run it up a flagpole.
It takes a little time, fetching coats, saying good bye. I’m left in the living room with a fully-dressed Dacia, Todd in his underwear, and my naked Scarlet. Todd says he’s about to head home. Dacia says she will walk out with him.
I sit to hear Dacia’s impressions. She really liked the party, she said, but what the hell happened to hot boy-on-boy action? That’s right: for all her sophistication, she has yet to see much bi boy action. Her bum luck that there have been so many girls needing attention at the two gatherings she has attended.
Marla joins us. She points at me. “You and I have unfinished business, boy.” Oops. Gotta go guys.
She pushes me onto the bed, and crawls onto me, in a very alluring and feline way. We kiss, and a moment later, I am in her. She rides me, fucking me in long steady strokes.
From the next room, I hear my Scarlet’s unh unh unh. I guess Todd stayed for a bit longer.
I put my hand to Marla’s throat. I locked my eyes on hers and squeezed.
“Unh yeah, gah yeah!”
Soon Todd is gone. I make the bed and tuck in Marla, who has to wake at 6:30. It’s now past three.
I collect Scarlet and take her to another bed. She’s so tired, and happy. I caress her body, hard as a rock, until I fall asleep beside her.
As Jake worked on Raven, Dacia left the room and returned with a small case. She opened it, and began to unpack sex toys. She wriggled into a harness carefully and methodically.
She attached a purple dildo, with a sharply angled tip.
I made Scarlet stand up. I slipped off her pants, and her cute panties. I took off my pants. She sat back in my lap, kissing, always kissing. I fingered her wet slit.
Dacia got on the bed and crawled to Raven. She slipped her dick into Raven, and slowly fucked her. She had an admiring audience, as Raven moaned. “That’s two,” Todd counted.
I put my hands around Scarlet’s waist. I undid her bra. My mouth went to her sweet nipples, feeling them grow hard on my tongue.
Dacia fucked harder, as Jake licked Raven’s neck and breasts. “Three.”
My fingers slid into Scarlet.
I stood Scarlet up. I turned her back to the bed, to all the people on the bed. I sat her on the bed. I got on my knees, and put my mouth on her sweet juicy pussy. The pussy that calls my mouth.
I crooked my finger inside her, to pull her clit into me. Her slight panting, her unh unh unh, joined the chorus of moans from the bed.
A space opened on the bed. I reclined her body gently on a pillow. I lay on her, kissing her, hard between her legs.
My mouth needed her again. I slide down to lick her, to suck her.
My body rubbed against Raven’s as Jake fucked her. My free hand went to caress them both. I looked up to see Scarlet sucking on Marla’s breast; Marla was bent over the bed, as Todd fucked her. Marla was watching me, smiling. I set back to tending Scarlet’s clit, listening for the unh unh unh that gladdens my heart.
I tweaked her nipple with my finger. Raven tweaked her other nipple. “Harder,” I whisper to Raven. “My sweet likes it harder.”
“Unh yeah, gah yeah!”
Marla came. Hearing her orgasm like hearing the laugh of an old friend rise above the din of a noisy bar.
Scarlet came.
There was a reconfiguration of bodies. Scarlet sat up.
“You want a break,” I asked, “or are you keen to suck some cock?”
She smiles, and I recline. I can see the room. Marla and Dacia are watching us and Jake and Raven as they fuck.
Scarlet takes me in her mouth, moving up and down on my cock. I’m soft, but feeling very turned on.
Raven tells Jake to cum, and just like that, he does. He grunts and groans. I slap his head, telling him to stop making so much noise.
He grabs my hair and tosses my head away. That sets me straight.
Scarlet’s mouth is tender and steady, and I want her so much, but I am not getting hard.
I take Scarlet’s face in my hand. “I need a break, baby. Come with me.”
We sat on the couch and chatted with Marla. A lot of people were milling in the living room, in one of those naturally occurring intermissions that come along.
I’ve been so focused on Scarlet, I haven’t mingled as much as usual. Nick and his date have left. I’m told they had fucked, so I suppose he was happy.
I hear Dacia moaning from the bedroom. “Oh, Dacia’s fucking Todd,” I say. This very much impressed Marla and Scarlet. You can tell who is fucking who, just from the sound? Wow.
I let them be impressed. My intricate calculus stays secret.
A number of us go back to the bedroom. Jake is fucking Bugs as Raven holds her legs back.
Sex is just that much better when you have someone to hold back your partner’s legs.
Marla says she wants some time with my tongue. “I want some of what you gave that girl,” she smiles. I led her to a chair well suited to oral sex—it reclines back, making her comfortable and pushing her pussy forward.
I lick and suck her, slipping in one finger, two, three, four. Five. I keep at it with a steady pulse. She gushes, cumming a puddle onto the floor between my knees.
She looks down to admire it. “Okay, now you have to fuck me,” she says. I dunno, I say. My cock isn’t cooperating.
“Which cock? Oh you mean this one?” She takes my flaccid dick and pulls up. I stand. She sucks me, and sure enough, I grow hard in her mouth.
People are dressing, preparing to leave. “Hold that thought,” I tell Marla. “Let me see these people off.”
I look at the empty bed. I remove the sheet. It is soaked with sweat and girl juice. Jesus!
“Huzzah!” says Raven. Dacia recommends we run it up a flagpole.
It takes a little time, fetching coats, saying good bye. I’m left in the living room with a fully-dressed Dacia, Todd in his underwear, and my naked Scarlet. Todd says he’s about to head home. Dacia says she will walk out with him.
I sit to hear Dacia’s impressions. She really liked the party, she said, but what the hell happened to hot boy-on-boy action? That’s right: for all her sophistication, she has yet to see much bi boy action. Her bum luck that there have been so many girls needing attention at the two gatherings she has attended.
Marla joins us. She points at me. “You and I have unfinished business, boy.” Oops. Gotta go guys.
She pushes me onto the bed, and crawls onto me, in a very alluring and feline way. We kiss, and a moment later, I am in her. She rides me, fucking me in long steady strokes.
From the next room, I hear my Scarlet’s unh unh unh. I guess Todd stayed for a bit longer.
I put my hand to Marla’s throat. I locked my eyes on hers and squeezed.
“Unh yeah, gah yeah!”
Soon Todd is gone. I make the bed and tuck in Marla, who has to wake at 6:30. It’s now past three.
I collect Scarlet and take her to another bed. She’s so tired, and happy. I caress her body, hard as a rock, until I fall asleep beside her.
Girls Girls Girls
I pull on my shirt as I open the door for Dacia. Down the hall, Scarlet is scampering into the bedroom, half naked. She waves at Dacia, who says hello.
“This is off to a good start,” she says. Dacia’s boyfriend Dirke was sick and unable to come, but they decided she would fly solo—so long as she told him every detail. (Some of her details made their way to her blog .)
I start dinner as we catch up. Scarlet joins us in the kitchen and we make proper introductions. Funny thing is, we all know one another’s blogs, so they have some familiarity without having met.
Which reminded me: I tell Scarlet that Dacia and I prefer to keep our blogs under wraps for now, so please don’t tell anyone at the party about them. She agrees.
I roast herb chicken, make mashed potatoes and buttery Morrocan carrots. I’m behind schedule, and as dinner cooks, I prepare the place for the gathering.
As I move around, I stop now and then to kiss Scarlet. I can’t leave those lips alone.
I’m just putting dinner on the table as guests arrive. The first to show up is a new couple, Laura and Jose. Laura has been flirting with me online a lot, preparing me to be her new toy when her boyfriend moves out of town next month. She’s a dirty blonde, 40, with a nice smile. He’s got trendy hipster glasses.
I leave Dacia and Scarlet to eat while I tend to the guests. Raven shows up with a cake. She says Todd is on the way, and that he wasn’t bringing his friend Michael as he had thought.
Bugs shows up, stag. I thought you were bringing that new boy you like? No, she said, he was felled by some virus.
Hmmm. No Michael, no Dirke, no new boy. I try to keep a good gender balance at these gatherings, and I was suddenly down by three men.
Jake and Todd arrive. Nick arrives, toting a bag of porn videos. I invite Nick now and then; he is an old school swinger, which amuses me. He’s around 40, with a great Jersey accent, muscular build, and tattoos that look like they may have been picked up in the Navy. He says he has a girl joining him later.
Tatiana joins us. She’s a very attractive Ukranian woman, an old friend who first introduced me to the group sex scene in the city. As she and I talk, I hear Bugs ask Scarlet how she knows me.
“Oh, through his blog,” she replies.
Bugs turns to me. “You have a blog?” I glare at Scarlet, who looks sheepish.
Jake says, “Wait, you have a blog? Tell us!”
More wine, anyone?
Jake says, “Oh I see—we’ll have to find it.” These computer geek fuckers will find it. It’s only a matter of time.
“Geez, it’s like a convent in here,” Raven says, surveying the crowd.
I’m sure everyone is doing the math, counting girls and boys. In my head, I’m doing a more intricate calculus.
There are more girls than boys. Everyone is bi except Nick and Jose, who are straight.
I am somewhat out of commission, as I am focusing on Scarlet tonight. She is likely to be only with me. So that cancels out.
Dacia does not have sex with Jake or me. She is surely not interested in Nick or Jose. That leaves Todd as her boy of choice.
Tatiana likes me and Todd. I’m sure she will do well with Nick.
Since our last gathering two weeks ago, Raven has been on dates with Jake and Todd. She likes them both, and is very hot on Jake.
And then there’s Laura, who . . .
“Come on, Bugs, let’s get this lezzie party going.” Raven heads to my bedroom, and Bugs follows. A few minutes later, Bugs comes out wearing only panties.
“I can’t just fuck Raven,” she says.
“I’m in,” says Dacia. She heads back. We hear spanking and giggling. I smile at Scarlet. We head back to the bedroom, Scarlet’s hand in mine.
Bugs has Dacia bent over on the bed, her hand going fast at her pussy. Raven is spanking Dacia, whose ass is bright red.
Dacia gushes, soaking Bugs and the sheets. Raven slips her fingers into Dacia, wetting her hands. She flings Dacia juice over everyone, directing them to undress. They don’t take much convincing.
Scarlet and I stay dressed. We go to the back room. By this time, Nick’s date has arrived. She looks like a model, a very tall, thin black woman. Nick is wooing her with kind words and porn. Todd and Tatiana join us and set to fucking immediately.
After a while, Scarlet and I return to the other bedroom. Raven is splayed on the bed. Jake holds back her arms as Bugs fisted her. Dacia sat nearby, watching.
“Oh good, here’s Jefferson. He’ll fuck me,” Raven says. “Come fuck me, Jefferson.”
“No you don’t,” says Bugs, turning to me. “The name of this game is ‘don’t let Raven cum.’ See?” She goes at it on Raven’s pussy. Raven starts to breath heavier. Bugs pulls her hand away. “That’s how it works.”
“That’s so cruel,” says Scarlet. Isn’t it, I reply? Let’s watch.
I sit and pull Scarlet into my lap. I touch her hair as she watches the game. She moves to kiss me. Oh that kiss, the kiss I had to sacrifice earlier. It’s back, and mine.
Marla walks into the room. “Hey baby,” she says to me. “Who’s the girl?”
“My new fiancé, Scarlet.”
“Oh yeah, your new fiancé, huh?” Marla laughs. She kisses me, long and deep. Scarlet nibbles at my neck. I kiss Scarlet.
“We’re going to be roomies tonight,” I tell Marla. The two of them are sleeping over.
“That’s nice,” Marla says, kissing me. I pull up her sweater to lick her belly.
“Unh! Fuck!” Jake has robbed Raven of another orgasm.
“I want a turn,” Dacia says. She dives face first into Raven’s pussy. We hear Tatiana moan in the next room.
“Oh, isn’t that nice? It sounds like she is having a good time cumming,” taunts Bugs.
“Fuck you,” Raven replies. Dacia goes at it, then . . . stops. “Unh! Dammit!”
“That is fun!,” Dacia exclaims. “Who’s next?” Laura hops to action, licking Raven’s pussy with abandon.
Marla watches, her top removed. Scarlet and I are kissing. She tugs at my shirt. “This needs to come off,” she says. It does. I take her shirt off as well, but let her keep that red bra I like. We resume our kisses.
Todd, Tatiana and Nick join us to watch Raven’s torture. Raven casually mentions a B-movie that Todd adores. He takes the bait, and begins to describe it in full detail. Jake is distracted. Laura keeps at it . . . and . . .
“Huuuuuh! Oh yeah!” Raven cums. Game over!
“Now,” I say. “Let’s see how often we can get her off.”
“This is off to a good start,” she says. Dacia’s boyfriend Dirke was sick and unable to come, but they decided she would fly solo—so long as she told him every detail. (Some of her details made their way to her blog .)
I start dinner as we catch up. Scarlet joins us in the kitchen and we make proper introductions. Funny thing is, we all know one another’s blogs, so they have some familiarity without having met.
Which reminded me: I tell Scarlet that Dacia and I prefer to keep our blogs under wraps for now, so please don’t tell anyone at the party about them. She agrees.
I roast herb chicken, make mashed potatoes and buttery Morrocan carrots. I’m behind schedule, and as dinner cooks, I prepare the place for the gathering.
As I move around, I stop now and then to kiss Scarlet. I can’t leave those lips alone.
I’m just putting dinner on the table as guests arrive. The first to show up is a new couple, Laura and Jose. Laura has been flirting with me online a lot, preparing me to be her new toy when her boyfriend moves out of town next month. She’s a dirty blonde, 40, with a nice smile. He’s got trendy hipster glasses.
I leave Dacia and Scarlet to eat while I tend to the guests. Raven shows up with a cake. She says Todd is on the way, and that he wasn’t bringing his friend Michael as he had thought.
Bugs shows up, stag. I thought you were bringing that new boy you like? No, she said, he was felled by some virus.
Hmmm. No Michael, no Dirke, no new boy. I try to keep a good gender balance at these gatherings, and I was suddenly down by three men.
Jake and Todd arrive. Nick arrives, toting a bag of porn videos. I invite Nick now and then; he is an old school swinger, which amuses me. He’s around 40, with a great Jersey accent, muscular build, and tattoos that look like they may have been picked up in the Navy. He says he has a girl joining him later.
Tatiana joins us. She’s a very attractive Ukranian woman, an old friend who first introduced me to the group sex scene in the city. As she and I talk, I hear Bugs ask Scarlet how she knows me.
“Oh, through his blog,” she replies.
Bugs turns to me. “You have a blog?” I glare at Scarlet, who looks sheepish.
Jake says, “Wait, you have a blog? Tell us!”
More wine, anyone?
Jake says, “Oh I see—we’ll have to find it.” These computer geek fuckers will find it. It’s only a matter of time.
“Geez, it’s like a convent in here,” Raven says, surveying the crowd.
I’m sure everyone is doing the math, counting girls and boys. In my head, I’m doing a more intricate calculus.
There are more girls than boys. Everyone is bi except Nick and Jose, who are straight.
I am somewhat out of commission, as I am focusing on Scarlet tonight. She is likely to be only with me. So that cancels out.
Dacia does not have sex with Jake or me. She is surely not interested in Nick or Jose. That leaves Todd as her boy of choice.
Tatiana likes me and Todd. I’m sure she will do well with Nick.
Since our last gathering two weeks ago, Raven has been on dates with Jake and Todd. She likes them both, and is very hot on Jake.
And then there’s Laura, who . . .
“Come on, Bugs, let’s get this lezzie party going.” Raven heads to my bedroom, and Bugs follows. A few minutes later, Bugs comes out wearing only panties.
“I can’t just fuck Raven,” she says.
“I’m in,” says Dacia. She heads back. We hear spanking and giggling. I smile at Scarlet. We head back to the bedroom, Scarlet’s hand in mine.
Bugs has Dacia bent over on the bed, her hand going fast at her pussy. Raven is spanking Dacia, whose ass is bright red.
Dacia gushes, soaking Bugs and the sheets. Raven slips her fingers into Dacia, wetting her hands. She flings Dacia juice over everyone, directing them to undress. They don’t take much convincing.
Scarlet and I stay dressed. We go to the back room. By this time, Nick’s date has arrived. She looks like a model, a very tall, thin black woman. Nick is wooing her with kind words and porn. Todd and Tatiana join us and set to fucking immediately.
After a while, Scarlet and I return to the other bedroom. Raven is splayed on the bed. Jake holds back her arms as Bugs fisted her. Dacia sat nearby, watching.
“Oh good, here’s Jefferson. He’ll fuck me,” Raven says. “Come fuck me, Jefferson.”
“No you don’t,” says Bugs, turning to me. “The name of this game is ‘don’t let Raven cum.’ See?” She goes at it on Raven’s pussy. Raven starts to breath heavier. Bugs pulls her hand away. “That’s how it works.”
“That’s so cruel,” says Scarlet. Isn’t it, I reply? Let’s watch.
I sit and pull Scarlet into my lap. I touch her hair as she watches the game. She moves to kiss me. Oh that kiss, the kiss I had to sacrifice earlier. It’s back, and mine.
Marla walks into the room. “Hey baby,” she says to me. “Who’s the girl?”
“My new fiancé, Scarlet.”
“Oh yeah, your new fiancé, huh?” Marla laughs. She kisses me, long and deep. Scarlet nibbles at my neck. I kiss Scarlet.
“We’re going to be roomies tonight,” I tell Marla. The two of them are sleeping over.
“That’s nice,” Marla says, kissing me. I pull up her sweater to lick her belly.
“Unh! Fuck!” Jake has robbed Raven of another orgasm.
“I want a turn,” Dacia says. She dives face first into Raven’s pussy. We hear Tatiana moan in the next room.
“Oh, isn’t that nice? It sounds like she is having a good time cumming,” taunts Bugs.
“Fuck you,” Raven replies. Dacia goes at it, then . . . stops. “Unh! Dammit!”
“That is fun!,” Dacia exclaims. “Who’s next?” Laura hops to action, licking Raven’s pussy with abandon.
Marla watches, her top removed. Scarlet and I are kissing. She tugs at my shirt. “This needs to come off,” she says. It does. I take her shirt off as well, but let her keep that red bra I like. We resume our kisses.
Todd, Tatiana and Nick join us to watch Raven’s torture. Raven casually mentions a B-movie that Todd adores. He takes the bait, and begins to describe it in full detail. Jake is distracted. Laura keeps at it . . . and . . .
“Huuuuuh! Oh yeah!” Raven cums. Game over!
“Now,” I say. “Let’s see how often we can get her off.”
The Edge
I wave at Scarlet from my window, guiding her to my place on the phone. We kiss when she arrives, as I take her coat. We sit and talk, my hands caressing her face. She’s chatty when she’s nervous, and yet she also seems at ease with me.
We discuss the evening ahead. I want to be very clear on her expectations, and limits, for her first orgy.
When she mentions the possibility of sex with other people, she says, “I just don’t want to disappoint anyone.”
“Oh no,” I say. “You shouldn’t sleep with anyone just to avoid disappointing them. These folks understand that this is new to you, and ‘no’ means ‘no’ . . . “
“No, I mean,” she says, “I wouldn’t want them to be disappointed by sex with me."
This girl. How am I going to help her see how hot she is?
We lie in my bed, clothed, and kiss. Soon the clothes are off, though I leave her in her underwear. She is wearing cute black holiday panties and a red bra—so lovely against her pale skin.
Her kisses are still new to me, but already feeling familiar. Her mouth is so playful and searching against mine. She licks my lips, sucks my tongue, and we wrap our lips together.
I press my nude body against her. She presses back. I open her legs and lay between them, pressing into her panties. I can feel her pussy spread under my cock, under the cloth between us.
I sit up, and remover her panties. She is wet and so pink. I lick at her clit and suck her pussy.
My hands move on her body as I devour her, finding their way to her wrists. I take one, and guide it to her side, holding it firmly in place. I find the other, and pull it down. She wriggles her hands. My grip is loose but steady. She knows I have her.
I pull her wrists down, pushing my face harder into her cunt. Her legs go back, giving herself to me.
I want my fingers in her, but my hands are busy holding her down. I release her, and open a drawer. I pull out handcuffs.
I toss a pillow near her hips, and lift her ass onto it. I turn her on her side, pulling her arms back. I cuff her wrists behind her back. I pull her arms to one side, and turn her on her back.
Now I can work on her pussy.
I pull her lips back to expose her clit. It is a juicy round pearl, full and extending from its hood. I put the tip of my tongue on it, isolating it in her sensations. She moves in response.
I lap at it. She squirms, pants a little. I rub my hands on her belly, holding her shaved pubis firmly back.
I slip a finger into her. And another. I’ve learned something about her body. She doesn’t know it herself—our first date was the first time she came from oral sex. I know she will cum again. But I want to see if this particular movement works.
I curve my two fingers inside her, and push back. My mouth sucks her clit, firm, as my fingers push back inside her, against my mouth. Only her clit and between my fingers and mouth. Some tissue, some bone.
She cums, squirming, panting, unh unh unh unh, her arms pulling against the cuffs.
I let up for a moment, but only a moment.
My hands grab her hips, as my mouth pushes into her pussy again. My fingers are back in her, three this time, sometimes four. I fuck her hard with my hand—firm, steady, fierce.
With my free hand, I take her bra and pull. I use it has a reign, to pull her body in time with my hand. She moans and squirms, her head over the side of the bed.
Her nipples are firm and so pretty. I squeeze one hard, and twist it. She cums.
I rub her belly, her chest, her legs, gazing at this pretty pale body she gives me. Her blood is rushing to her head.
I stoop to her mouth, kissing her.
Her head is close to the ground. On my knees, my cock is near her mouth. I open her mouth, and slide my cock in. I fuck her face slowly, flicking a tongue over her nipple inside my mouth.
I want more of her mouth. I pull her head up, and kiss her, her head suspended in air in my hands.
I slide her body onto the bed. I turn her to a side, and release the cuffs. I massage her wrists—they are red.
I hold her close, caressing her hair. She kisses me. “You really got me off,” she says. “Want me to return the favor?”
I do. I like that she uses that expression: return the favor.
Her mouth is fast and deep on me, taking me whole. Soon she can’t take me entire. “Your dick just grew!” she says. “It doesn’t fit anymore.” She keeps at it, and I am alive and electric with her.
She is going to make me cum, so fast at me. I begin to think: don’t cum. Save it. There’s an orgy tonight.
I think: cum. Give it to her.
I can no longer think. I am going to cum. And at that moment, that moment exactly, she pulls her mouth off me. She is stroking me, but the sensation is different.
The orgasm takes over my body. And I do not cum. It is intense and full.
“Oh, I like that,” she smiles. I pull her down and kiss her. I roll on top of her, holding her, my full weight on her, kissing her magic mouth.
It’s getting late. I need to make dinner for her, and for Dacia, who is coming early.
“It’s very hard for me to leave you now,” I tell her. “I know we will be nude again, touching again. And it will be soon. We have all night together, and tomorrow. But from the moment I stand, and until that time, we will be clothed, and I will miss the feel of you so much.”
Scarlet is under my skin.
There’s a knock. Dacia is here.
We discuss the evening ahead. I want to be very clear on her expectations, and limits, for her first orgy.
When she mentions the possibility of sex with other people, she says, “I just don’t want to disappoint anyone.”
“Oh no,” I say. “You shouldn’t sleep with anyone just to avoid disappointing them. These folks understand that this is new to you, and ‘no’ means ‘no’ . . . “
“No, I mean,” she says, “I wouldn’t want them to be disappointed by sex with me."
This girl. How am I going to help her see how hot she is?
We lie in my bed, clothed, and kiss. Soon the clothes are off, though I leave her in her underwear. She is wearing cute black holiday panties and a red bra—so lovely against her pale skin.
Her kisses are still new to me, but already feeling familiar. Her mouth is so playful and searching against mine. She licks my lips, sucks my tongue, and we wrap our lips together.
I press my nude body against her. She presses back. I open her legs and lay between them, pressing into her panties. I can feel her pussy spread under my cock, under the cloth between us.
I sit up, and remover her panties. She is wet and so pink. I lick at her clit and suck her pussy.
My hands move on her body as I devour her, finding their way to her wrists. I take one, and guide it to her side, holding it firmly in place. I find the other, and pull it down. She wriggles her hands. My grip is loose but steady. She knows I have her.
I pull her wrists down, pushing my face harder into her cunt. Her legs go back, giving herself to me.
I want my fingers in her, but my hands are busy holding her down. I release her, and open a drawer. I pull out handcuffs.
I toss a pillow near her hips, and lift her ass onto it. I turn her on her side, pulling her arms back. I cuff her wrists behind her back. I pull her arms to one side, and turn her on her back.
Now I can work on her pussy.
I pull her lips back to expose her clit. It is a juicy round pearl, full and extending from its hood. I put the tip of my tongue on it, isolating it in her sensations. She moves in response.
I lap at it. She squirms, pants a little. I rub my hands on her belly, holding her shaved pubis firmly back.
I slip a finger into her. And another. I’ve learned something about her body. She doesn’t know it herself—our first date was the first time she came from oral sex. I know she will cum again. But I want to see if this particular movement works.
I curve my two fingers inside her, and push back. My mouth sucks her clit, firm, as my fingers push back inside her, against my mouth. Only her clit and between my fingers and mouth. Some tissue, some bone.
She cums, squirming, panting, unh unh unh unh, her arms pulling against the cuffs.
I let up for a moment, but only a moment.
My hands grab her hips, as my mouth pushes into her pussy again. My fingers are back in her, three this time, sometimes four. I fuck her hard with my hand—firm, steady, fierce.
With my free hand, I take her bra and pull. I use it has a reign, to pull her body in time with my hand. She moans and squirms, her head over the side of the bed.
Her nipples are firm and so pretty. I squeeze one hard, and twist it. She cums.
I rub her belly, her chest, her legs, gazing at this pretty pale body she gives me. Her blood is rushing to her head.
I stoop to her mouth, kissing her.
Her head is close to the ground. On my knees, my cock is near her mouth. I open her mouth, and slide my cock in. I fuck her face slowly, flicking a tongue over her nipple inside my mouth.
I want more of her mouth. I pull her head up, and kiss her, her head suspended in air in my hands.
I slide her body onto the bed. I turn her to a side, and release the cuffs. I massage her wrists—they are red.
I hold her close, caressing her hair. She kisses me. “You really got me off,” she says. “Want me to return the favor?”
I do. I like that she uses that expression: return the favor.
Her mouth is fast and deep on me, taking me whole. Soon she can’t take me entire. “Your dick just grew!” she says. “It doesn’t fit anymore.” She keeps at it, and I am alive and electric with her.
She is going to make me cum, so fast at me. I begin to think: don’t cum. Save it. There’s an orgy tonight.
I think: cum. Give it to her.
I can no longer think. I am going to cum. And at that moment, that moment exactly, she pulls her mouth off me. She is stroking me, but the sensation is different.
The orgasm takes over my body. And I do not cum. It is intense and full.
“Oh, I like that,” she smiles. I pull her down and kiss her. I roll on top of her, holding her, my full weight on her, kissing her magic mouth.
It’s getting late. I need to make dinner for her, and for Dacia, who is coming early.
“It’s very hard for me to leave you now,” I tell her. “I know we will be nude again, touching again. And it will be soon. We have all night together, and tomorrow. But from the moment I stand, and until that time, we will be clothed, and I will miss the feel of you so much.”
Scarlet is under my skin.
There’s a knock. Dacia is here.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Exquisite Timing
“What time should I arrive on Tuesday morning?” Scarlet asked. “I can be there at 9:16, or 10:36.”
“That might be too early for me,” I replied. “I have to get some work done. Can you come in the early afternoon?”
“That’s better for me,” she said. “I can sleep late and take a different train. How’s 12:34 sound? I’ll stay over and catch the 1:15 back home the next day.”
Perfect. And perfectly hot. There is nothing like a dame who keeps to a schedule.
Alas, mother nature is no such dame. A cold snap disrupted train schedules throughout the northeast. Scarlet’s two-hour trip took four hours. She was already on the train; there was nothing she could do except phone in with updated arrival times.
When Scarlet was finally about a half hour away, Bridget called to say she would be over in about an hour.
I met Scarlet at Penn Station. She was carrying a backpack of overnight things. We kissed openly in the crowd, which felt exhibitionistic. We made our way to the subway, holding hands and smiling. She leaned on me on the uptown local.
Her public displays of affection were doing it for me.
Once we reached my neighborhood, I camped her at a bookstore for a bit while I went home to collect the gifts. I brought her bag with me.
Bridget called to say she had arrived, and said I should bring a cart to meet her on the street. I got there to find her standing next to a trunk load of gifts, all wrapped and sorted by each child’s name.
“My God . . . ,” I said.
“Surprised? Merry Christmas. Your shopping is done.” She had almost single handedly done every bit of my shopping. I looked at all this stuff, and recalled the questions she had asked. I know she is a bargain shopper, but there was no way she did this much without spending a grand.
We hauled the loot upstairs. She explained the sorting system to me. Soon I stopped listening and started kissing. I pushed her over and lay on top of her, as she liked, and kissed her, thanking her between kisses. She sighed and moaned into my mouth.
She came as I licked her neck. “Please,” she said. “I need you. I need to taste you . . .”
I stood up. Looking her in the eyes, I unbuckled my pants and unzipped. I pulled out the hard cock that had been pressing between her legs. She hungrily took it into her mouth.
I fucked her face nice and slow, easily moving in and out of her. Our eyes were locked on one another, until mine rolled back. I got more forceful. She swirled her tongue under me. “Oh, Bridge, that is so good,” I exhaled.
We kept at it, as I tweaked her nipples under her shirt. Then I pulled out. “Thank you. Now go away.” I kissed her. “You have to go. I am going to be more grateful when I see you in January.”
A few moments later, she was gone. Gifts were piled on the floor.
I phoned Scarlet. “Please come to me,” I asked. We stayed on the phone until she was on the elevator to my apartment.
My dream date with Scarlet was moments away, four hours late, two hours before the first guest of the evening would arrive.
“That might be too early for me,” I replied. “I have to get some work done. Can you come in the early afternoon?”
“That’s better for me,” she said. “I can sleep late and take a different train. How’s 12:34 sound? I’ll stay over and catch the 1:15 back home the next day.”
Perfect. And perfectly hot. There is nothing like a dame who keeps to a schedule.
Alas, mother nature is no such dame. A cold snap disrupted train schedules throughout the northeast. Scarlet’s two-hour trip took four hours. She was already on the train; there was nothing she could do except phone in with updated arrival times.
When Scarlet was finally about a half hour away, Bridget called to say she would be over in about an hour.
I met Scarlet at Penn Station. She was carrying a backpack of overnight things. We kissed openly in the crowd, which felt exhibitionistic. We made our way to the subway, holding hands and smiling. She leaned on me on the uptown local.
Her public displays of affection were doing it for me.
Once we reached my neighborhood, I camped her at a bookstore for a bit while I went home to collect the gifts. I brought her bag with me.
Bridget called to say she had arrived, and said I should bring a cart to meet her on the street. I got there to find her standing next to a trunk load of gifts, all wrapped and sorted by each child’s name.
“My God . . . ,” I said.
“Surprised? Merry Christmas. Your shopping is done.” She had almost single handedly done every bit of my shopping. I looked at all this stuff, and recalled the questions she had asked. I know she is a bargain shopper, but there was no way she did this much without spending a grand.
We hauled the loot upstairs. She explained the sorting system to me. Soon I stopped listening and started kissing. I pushed her over and lay on top of her, as she liked, and kissed her, thanking her between kisses. She sighed and moaned into my mouth.
She came as I licked her neck. “Please,” she said. “I need you. I need to taste you . . .”
I stood up. Looking her in the eyes, I unbuckled my pants and unzipped. I pulled out the hard cock that had been pressing between her legs. She hungrily took it into her mouth.
I fucked her face nice and slow, easily moving in and out of her. Our eyes were locked on one another, until mine rolled back. I got more forceful. She swirled her tongue under me. “Oh, Bridge, that is so good,” I exhaled.
We kept at it, as I tweaked her nipples under her shirt. Then I pulled out. “Thank you. Now go away.” I kissed her. “You have to go. I am going to be more grateful when I see you in January.”
A few moments later, she was gone. Gifts were piled on the floor.
I phoned Scarlet. “Please come to me,” I asked. We stayed on the phone until she was on the elevator to my apartment.
My dream date with Scarlet was moments away, four hours late, two hours before the first guest of the evening would arrive.
Scarlet's Proposal
Scarlet dropped me a line, proposing that she come for another visit, and spend the night this time. She was free Tuesday night. I couldn’t wish for more, I said. In my book, a sleepover with Scarlet would be a dream date.
Just one problem: Tuesday was orgy night.
We met because she is a reader of this blog, and she enjoys the posts about my gatherings. She liked the descriptions of steamy sex, but she was sure she would not fit into such a setting. Alas, it was too late to reschedule the gathering, so it looked as if our dream date would be scuttled by the orgy.
She would be okay with attending, she offered, if she didn’t have to participate. She was very intrigued by the thought of watching.
I explained that no one must participate in such a setting. No matter the situation, you are still in charge of yourself. You must always do only what you are comfortable doing. Our regulars understand the importance of respecting one another’s limits.
It’s also important, and sometimes difficult, to respect one’s own self-imposed limits. In the cold light of day, one can be very certain that a certain thing is okay (watching, for example) and another is not okay (such as participating in certain ways, if at all).
But in the midst of things, it is very easy to get turned on or otherwise distracted from that decision, and act in ways one might later regret. Temptation is very powerful.
She said she wanted to spend the night, and to attend the gathering. We talked about her limits. A happy neo-hippy, she was comfortable with being nude in the group. She was comfortable playing with me. She might decide to play with others, but most likely she would not.
I would very likely be having sex with other people. Was she comfortable with that? Oh of course, she said. She assumed as much. It’s good to have that clear, but truth to tell, I was content only to be with Scarlet and to spend time with Marla. Anything more could wait for another night.
I agreed to be with her throughout the evening, for as long as she needed me. I would see this evening through her eyes, and act as the superego on her untested id. We would have all day together to talk about it beforehand, and the next morning to download her impressions.
Actually, apart from the gathering, there was one other schedule conflict on Tuesday. Just before that started, Bridget was stopping by. She wanted to drop off a few gifts for the kids.
For weeks, she had been peppering our instant messages with queries about the kids’ sizes, their preferences in games and books, and so on. I knew she was up to something. Her generosity is apparently boundless—as is her passion for shopping—and there was little chance of getting past Christmas without some presents flying our way.
Tuesday was the best time for her to drop off the gifts, and I agreed, saying I could only meet for a half hour or so.
Scarlet was coming early. I figured we could hang out a while, and she could give me some time to accept Bridget’s gifts. Then Scarlet and I would have more time together before the gathering.
A lot to do. All it would take was exquisite timing.
Just one problem: Tuesday was orgy night.
We met because she is a reader of this blog, and she enjoys the posts about my gatherings. She liked the descriptions of steamy sex, but she was sure she would not fit into such a setting. Alas, it was too late to reschedule the gathering, so it looked as if our dream date would be scuttled by the orgy.
She would be okay with attending, she offered, if she didn’t have to participate. She was very intrigued by the thought of watching.
I explained that no one must participate in such a setting. No matter the situation, you are still in charge of yourself. You must always do only what you are comfortable doing. Our regulars understand the importance of respecting one another’s limits.
It’s also important, and sometimes difficult, to respect one’s own self-imposed limits. In the cold light of day, one can be very certain that a certain thing is okay (watching, for example) and another is not okay (such as participating in certain ways, if at all).
But in the midst of things, it is very easy to get turned on or otherwise distracted from that decision, and act in ways one might later regret. Temptation is very powerful.
She said she wanted to spend the night, and to attend the gathering. We talked about her limits. A happy neo-hippy, she was comfortable with being nude in the group. She was comfortable playing with me. She might decide to play with others, but most likely she would not.
I would very likely be having sex with other people. Was she comfortable with that? Oh of course, she said. She assumed as much. It’s good to have that clear, but truth to tell, I was content only to be with Scarlet and to spend time with Marla. Anything more could wait for another night.
I agreed to be with her throughout the evening, for as long as she needed me. I would see this evening through her eyes, and act as the superego on her untested id. We would have all day together to talk about it beforehand, and the next morning to download her impressions.
Actually, apart from the gathering, there was one other schedule conflict on Tuesday. Just before that started, Bridget was stopping by. She wanted to drop off a few gifts for the kids.
For weeks, she had been peppering our instant messages with queries about the kids’ sizes, their preferences in games and books, and so on. I knew she was up to something. Her generosity is apparently boundless—as is her passion for shopping—and there was little chance of getting past Christmas without some presents flying our way.
Tuesday was the best time for her to drop off the gifts, and I agreed, saying I could only meet for a half hour or so.
Scarlet was coming early. I figured we could hang out a while, and she could give me some time to accept Bridget’s gifts. Then Scarlet and I would have more time together before the gathering.
A lot to do. All it would take was exquisite timing.
Dream
Jessica came over for a night of meat-and-potatoes loving. We poured some bourbons and talked, splitting a cigar as we listened to 1920s jazz.
We stayed up late until all hours, fucking. I stayed on top—“doing all the work,” as she puts it. We slept until one or the other of us started up again. We would go at it until she came, then sleep until the next round. I waited to come until the very last round the next morning.
I made ham and cheese omelets, with onions and coffee. She was happy and laughed often as we talked.
When she left, I found a Christmas gift had been left behind for me.
As Jessica and I slept during that night, I had a dream.
In the dream, we were in my bed, in the dark. Jessica was giving me head.
My teenage daughter Rachel walked into the room. She looked around and left. “Rachel?” I asked, as Jessica sucked me. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I was just looking for a place to sleep.”
“Why aren’t you in your bed?”
“Well . . . ,” Rachel hesitated. I got up to investigate; Jessica followed.
The apartment was filled with people I didn’t recognize. Two pleasant well-dressed elderly women greeted me. There was a mother in panties, nursing a baby, next to a young man with blonde dred locks. Three young women in flowery party dresses were chatting near the dining table. Other folks milled about.
The room was lit by Sterno flames.
“Who are these people?” I asked, as tamped out the Sternos with my hands. “How did they get here?”
“I dunno . . . ,” Rachel mumbled, looking at her feet.
“Rachel,” I said, sternly. The guy with dreds rode past me on a bike. “Did you leave the apartment?”
“Yes,” she sighed in admission. “But only for a little while. I went to the park and I found someone who needed a place to stay, and then someone else, and then these nice ladies . . .”
“Rachel!” I admonished. “You can not bring people home from the park in the middle of the night.”
“I know,” she said. “Sorry.”
I certainly did not want these people in my home. But now that they were here, I felt I had no choice but to feed them.
I took stock of my pantry. I found a bag of frozen ears of corn, a box of mashed potato flakes, ground beef, and other sundries.
In reality, these foodstuffs are never to be found in my kitchen. They were mainstays of my family’s diet when I was a kid. These are the first things I learned to cook.
I started some mashed potatoes, which evolved into a shepherd’s pie, and then was neither mashed potatoes nor a shepherd’s pie. The corn looked fine, but turned mealy as I boiled it. I heard a baby cry, and thought, hurry, they are hungry. My parents were at the table, asking how much longer until dinner?
There was a knock at the door. A man in a trench coat asked my name. I told him my name. He asked me to sign on a dotted line. I signed.
“Sir, you are hereby subpoenaed to appear in court concerning paternity suits filed by two women.”
“TWO women?” I turn to my parents, incredulous. “How many babies are there? One or two?”
“I’m just serving the papers, sir. The information is in these packages.”
He hands me two envelopes, each marked with the name of a plaintiff. I forget the name of one woman.
The other was Cilla Freick.
We stayed up late until all hours, fucking. I stayed on top—“doing all the work,” as she puts it. We slept until one or the other of us started up again. We would go at it until she came, then sleep until the next round. I waited to come until the very last round the next morning.
I made ham and cheese omelets, with onions and coffee. She was happy and laughed often as we talked.
When she left, I found a Christmas gift had been left behind for me.
As Jessica and I slept during that night, I had a dream.
In the dream, we were in my bed, in the dark. Jessica was giving me head.
My teenage daughter Rachel walked into the room. She looked around and left. “Rachel?” I asked, as Jessica sucked me. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I was just looking for a place to sleep.”
“Why aren’t you in your bed?”
“Well . . . ,” Rachel hesitated. I got up to investigate; Jessica followed.
The apartment was filled with people I didn’t recognize. Two pleasant well-dressed elderly women greeted me. There was a mother in panties, nursing a baby, next to a young man with blonde dred locks. Three young women in flowery party dresses were chatting near the dining table. Other folks milled about.
The room was lit by Sterno flames.
“Who are these people?” I asked, as tamped out the Sternos with my hands. “How did they get here?”
“I dunno . . . ,” Rachel mumbled, looking at her feet.
“Rachel,” I said, sternly. The guy with dreds rode past me on a bike. “Did you leave the apartment?”
“Yes,” she sighed in admission. “But only for a little while. I went to the park and I found someone who needed a place to stay, and then someone else, and then these nice ladies . . .”
“Rachel!” I admonished. “You can not bring people home from the park in the middle of the night.”
“I know,” she said. “Sorry.”
I certainly did not want these people in my home. But now that they were here, I felt I had no choice but to feed them.
I took stock of my pantry. I found a bag of frozen ears of corn, a box of mashed potato flakes, ground beef, and other sundries.
In reality, these foodstuffs are never to be found in my kitchen. They were mainstays of my family’s diet when I was a kid. These are the first things I learned to cook.
I started some mashed potatoes, which evolved into a shepherd’s pie, and then was neither mashed potatoes nor a shepherd’s pie. The corn looked fine, but turned mealy as I boiled it. I heard a baby cry, and thought, hurry, they are hungry. My parents were at the table, asking how much longer until dinner?
There was a knock at the door. A man in a trench coat asked my name. I told him my name. He asked me to sign on a dotted line. I signed.
“Sir, you are hereby subpoenaed to appear in court concerning paternity suits filed by two women.”
“TWO women?” I turn to my parents, incredulous. “How many babies are there? One or two?”
“I’m just serving the papers, sir. The information is in these packages.”
He hands me two envelopes, each marked with the name of a plaintiff. I forget the name of one woman.
The other was Cilla Freick.
Best Laid Plans
My hair was still wet from the shower when Lucy and the kids showed up. We were going to get Christmas gifts for her family.
Lucy and I had created a list and plotted a course. We would drive to a few places in Manhattan and Brooklyn, and make fast work of this.
But the best laid plans of Moms and Dads often go awry. All it takes is a recalcitrant five year old.
Lillie was bored, and miffed that Collie had a toy he refused to share. She whined and moaned about this. It was darned irritating. Sitting in the back seat between them, I tried to get her involved with something else, beseeching Collie to put the toy away.
Lucy sharply told Lillie to stop acting out, that we needed to work together to get things done.
The battle was joined.
The generals in this battle had many tactics in their arsenals. I tried distraction, humor, reason. Lucy cajoled, bribed, reasoned. Collie gave the toy to Lillie, for keeps, forever. But that was no longer the issue.
All volleys were futile. Lillie would best her mom, damn the torpedoes.
In exasperation, Lucy said, “Lillie, I am not going to talk with you for the rest of the day. When we get home, you are staying in your room. I won’t put up with you.”
The car was quiet. We all knew this outburst. We all knew the power of the Silent Treatment.
Lillie looked out the window. I heard her mutter, “She will forget. She always does.”
Lucy’s anger no longer affects me as it once did. But I know its force.
I watch out for the kids.
Lucy and I had created a list and plotted a course. We would drive to a few places in Manhattan and Brooklyn, and make fast work of this.
But the best laid plans of Moms and Dads often go awry. All it takes is a recalcitrant five year old.
Lillie was bored, and miffed that Collie had a toy he refused to share. She whined and moaned about this. It was darned irritating. Sitting in the back seat between them, I tried to get her involved with something else, beseeching Collie to put the toy away.
Lucy sharply told Lillie to stop acting out, that we needed to work together to get things done.
The battle was joined.
The generals in this battle had many tactics in their arsenals. I tried distraction, humor, reason. Lucy cajoled, bribed, reasoned. Collie gave the toy to Lillie, for keeps, forever. But that was no longer the issue.
All volleys were futile. Lillie would best her mom, damn the torpedoes.
In exasperation, Lucy said, “Lillie, I am not going to talk with you for the rest of the day. When we get home, you are staying in your room. I won’t put up with you.”
The car was quiet. We all knew this outburst. We all knew the power of the Silent Treatment.
Lillie looked out the window. I heard her mutter, “She will forget. She always does.”
Lucy’s anger no longer affects me as it once did. But I know its force.
I watch out for the kids.
Just Like a Woman
Marla and I were both feeling very well sexed when she left on Saturday.
Mindful that I still had the weekend to myself, I called Jessica. She wanted a sleepover, and we haven’t been able to arrange that for a while. She’s free Sunday night, so we make a date.
I returned from some errands to find a package from Anna. A Christmas gift for the kids! I called to thank her.
After a few moments, she asked what I was doing after the holiday. Monday night? Busy. Tuesday? Busy.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask. She’s got plans, but offers to come by around 10pm.
She finally shows up after 11:30. She might have called to say she was late, but I don’t mind: a lack of concern with punctuality generally works to my advantage in the long run.
I was watching “Saturday Night Live” when she arrived, and she’s into an easy night of relaxing in front of television. We talk afterwards. It’s late. We’re tired. We get naked, kiss and fall asleep, all snuggled.
I am awakened before dawn by her body on mine. She is sitting on my hard on, sliding it between her wet lips. Her hands fall on my shoulders as she thrusts back and forth, her hair in her eyes. I put my hands on her tits; she sees I am awake.
I thrust up, rubbing on her slippery clit. She cums, and falls on me.
“All better?” I ask. She nods into my neck. We drift off.
We awake early, embraced, kissing. We spend the morning in bed. It’s very tender, as I get her off, and fuck her, in a tightly embraced missionary position, through a few orgasms.
She likes vanilla, and that can be served hot.
She decides that she wants to get me off. She starts sucking me, alternating a tight, rhythmic hand job. She knows this works. “Give yourself over,” she tells me. “Let it go.”
I try. I release my body to her. My cock is hers.
Mentally, I hit a block: she is so intent on getting me off. I want to give her my orgasm. But I also just want to feel this . . .
My body takes over. It hits me, a wave of intense warmth . . . another . . . my legs tremble, my back twists . . .
. . . but no money shot.
“You came didn’t you,” she asks. Uh huh. “But you didn’t cum?” Nuh huh. She’s seen this before.
“Your body behaves just like a woman’s sometimes,” she says, kissing me. “That’s how it feels.”
I make her bacon, eggs and toast, with tea. I head to the shower afterwards; she comes in to kiss me goodbye.
I’ve got shopping to do.
Mindful that I still had the weekend to myself, I called Jessica. She wanted a sleepover, and we haven’t been able to arrange that for a while. She’s free Sunday night, so we make a date.
I returned from some errands to find a package from Anna. A Christmas gift for the kids! I called to thank her.
After a few moments, she asked what I was doing after the holiday. Monday night? Busy. Tuesday? Busy.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask. She’s got plans, but offers to come by around 10pm.
She finally shows up after 11:30. She might have called to say she was late, but I don’t mind: a lack of concern with punctuality generally works to my advantage in the long run.
I was watching “Saturday Night Live” when she arrived, and she’s into an easy night of relaxing in front of television. We talk afterwards. It’s late. We’re tired. We get naked, kiss and fall asleep, all snuggled.
I am awakened before dawn by her body on mine. She is sitting on my hard on, sliding it between her wet lips. Her hands fall on my shoulders as she thrusts back and forth, her hair in her eyes. I put my hands on her tits; she sees I am awake.
I thrust up, rubbing on her slippery clit. She cums, and falls on me.
“All better?” I ask. She nods into my neck. We drift off.
We awake early, embraced, kissing. We spend the morning in bed. It’s very tender, as I get her off, and fuck her, in a tightly embraced missionary position, through a few orgasms.
She likes vanilla, and that can be served hot.
She decides that she wants to get me off. She starts sucking me, alternating a tight, rhythmic hand job. She knows this works. “Give yourself over,” she tells me. “Let it go.”
I try. I release my body to her. My cock is hers.
Mentally, I hit a block: she is so intent on getting me off. I want to give her my orgasm. But I also just want to feel this . . .
My body takes over. It hits me, a wave of intense warmth . . . another . . . my legs tremble, my back twists . . .
. . . but no money shot.
“You came didn’t you,” she asks. Uh huh. “But you didn’t cum?” Nuh huh. She’s seen this before.
“Your body behaves just like a woman’s sometimes,” she says, kissing me. “That’s how it feels.”
I make her bacon, eggs and toast, with tea. I head to the shower afterwards; she comes in to kiss me goodbye.
I’ve got shopping to do.
Date Night
After a casual Friday night movie—an anomaly in my life—Marla and I sat at my place drinking wine. We had a very easy conversation, about this and that. It’s remarkable how relaxing it can be for us to chat, already knowing we are soon to have rough sex.
We were on that topic, and I wanted to know more about her desire to be choked when I’m fucking her. She tries not to analyze it, she said, because she doesn’t want to risk killing the thrill she gets. She wanted to know how it felt for me.
Rough sex is kind of new to me, I said, and choking you last time was a first. It's exciting how hot it gets you. By the time she asked me to choke her, I was already comfortable enough with her to do it. Having my hands on her throat, squeezing her, I felt a rush of control—not of her so much as of myself.
“So you wouldn’t kill me?” she laughed.
Something like that, I said. Like, I couldn’t really let loose and go wild. I needed to stay clear and intent, to secure her as she let go of her own control. I felt responsible, like the designated driver of her body.
“I do let myself go then,” she said. “I’m no longer there. All I can feel is you. It’s nice I can trust you.” We kissed, feverishly.
We undressed and climbed into bed. We were slow, touching one another, holding one another, kissing. She had her mouth on my cock, her eyes on mine. I pet her hair, now and then taking a clump and pulling.
I grabbed her hair, forcing her head up and down my cock. She moaned and drooled on me.
I rolled her over and set to fucking her. She came as we kissed. She kept her eyes open, as do I. It was very tender.
“You know what I want,” she said, her eyes on mine. “Push my face into the pillows. Fuck your slut.”
I pulled out and tossed her over. I pulled up her hips, hard, and kicked her knees apart. I slipped my cock into her, and pounded. I grabbed her hips for leverage.
She groaned and panted. I grunted and fucked. I slapped her ass with my left hand. She sent her ass back to me, slurring into the pillows. My right had reached for her hair and pulled back, fierce.
I slapped her face, popping her several times, rapidly.
“Unnnh, no, nooo.” She reached for my hand. I knew what to do. I slipped it around her neck. I massaged her throat, then went in for the kill.
I yanked her hair. I fucked. She came hard. “Unh yeah, gah yeah!”
The next morning, I made breakfast, eggs and grits, with coffee. Sitting with her over coffee is like visiting an old friend—no rushes, easy, open talk. Her hair flows over her shoulders; she is wearing a t-shirt of mine. I’m in pajama bottoms.
“Nothing better than a half-naked Saturday breakfast,” she said.
The conversation veers to past loves. We commiserate over bad (or nonexistent) sex within a relationship. She tells me about a boyfriend who was pretty good, but for two things: he refused to go down on her, and he couldn’t do it rough.
But heck, I say: you love those things!
True, she says. I couldn’t even get him to call me a slut, or a cocksucker, or anything. But I don’t see you like that, he said. I couldn’t convince him that it’s okay; I know you don’t think of me as a slut. But can’t you treat me like one now and then?
Mental note: I haven’t been verbal enough.
She said, you never can tell what’s going to work. Like, last night when you slapped me. It’s great you try new things, but that doesn’t do it for me.
I apologized. Oh no, she said, it was a good effort.
(I would see her again in a few days. She had a slight black eye, disguised by make up. I was mortified! She laughed it off: “I like to be roughed up, she said. “But I don’t want to look like a battered woman.”
I’m still new to this rough stuff, I think. I have much to learn.)
After breakfast, we take another round. She sucks me nice and slow, fingering herself as she takes me. She feeds me her pussy, and I give it my all, clacking her piercing against my teeth as I suck clit. I slip in one finger, then two . . . my entire hand is in her, thrusting. She pushes into me; I push back.
She gushes. She shoots up my forearm, between my legs, as I milk for more. "Unh yeah, gah yeah!"
She is atonished by the size of her puddle in my sheets. "Promise me you will sleep in my cum tonight," she says, hoarse. Oh yeah, I will, nasty.
As we are resting in each other arms, her fingers gravitate to her mouth, collect spit, and move between her legs. “Damn girl,” I say. “Leave that thing alone! How many times you need to get off?”
She takes my cock. “Let’s jerk off,” she says.
Back in the day, I only jerked off with a girlfriend once. It felt very awkward and silly, like I should just be fucking her. When I was married, it would never have occurred to me to jerk off with my ex—that’s just way too nasty for her.
Nowadays, I love me a good circle jerk.
We kissed to get ourselves going. I kneeled between her legs, stroking myself as her fingers worked her clit. Now and then, I rubbed my cock on her labia, or took pussy juice as lube. “Tease,” she smiled.
Our eyes were on each other’s bodies, catching eyes as we gazed at each other, jerking, jerking.
“I’m going to blow all over you,” I breathe. She rotates her fingers faster, arching her back. I shoot, in waves, covering her belly, her arms, her hands, her thighs. She cums fast as the orgasm takes me over. I shake and pulse. She pushes up into her hand and moans. “Unh yeah, gah yeah!”
“That was the hottest orgasm I have ever seen,” she tells me, smiling. “I’d fucking pay to see that.”
When she left, Marla remembered to take her bracelets. She left a ring in its place.
We were on that topic, and I wanted to know more about her desire to be choked when I’m fucking her. She tries not to analyze it, she said, because she doesn’t want to risk killing the thrill she gets. She wanted to know how it felt for me.
Rough sex is kind of new to me, I said, and choking you last time was a first. It's exciting how hot it gets you. By the time she asked me to choke her, I was already comfortable enough with her to do it. Having my hands on her throat, squeezing her, I felt a rush of control—not of her so much as of myself.
“So you wouldn’t kill me?” she laughed.
Something like that, I said. Like, I couldn’t really let loose and go wild. I needed to stay clear and intent, to secure her as she let go of her own control. I felt responsible, like the designated driver of her body.
“I do let myself go then,” she said. “I’m no longer there. All I can feel is you. It’s nice I can trust you.” We kissed, feverishly.
We undressed and climbed into bed. We were slow, touching one another, holding one another, kissing. She had her mouth on my cock, her eyes on mine. I pet her hair, now and then taking a clump and pulling.
I grabbed her hair, forcing her head up and down my cock. She moaned and drooled on me.
I rolled her over and set to fucking her. She came as we kissed. She kept her eyes open, as do I. It was very tender.
“You know what I want,” she said, her eyes on mine. “Push my face into the pillows. Fuck your slut.”
I pulled out and tossed her over. I pulled up her hips, hard, and kicked her knees apart. I slipped my cock into her, and pounded. I grabbed her hips for leverage.
She groaned and panted. I grunted and fucked. I slapped her ass with my left hand. She sent her ass back to me, slurring into the pillows. My right had reached for her hair and pulled back, fierce.
I slapped her face, popping her several times, rapidly.
“Unnnh, no, nooo.” She reached for my hand. I knew what to do. I slipped it around her neck. I massaged her throat, then went in for the kill.
I yanked her hair. I fucked. She came hard. “Unh yeah, gah yeah!”
The next morning, I made breakfast, eggs and grits, with coffee. Sitting with her over coffee is like visiting an old friend—no rushes, easy, open talk. Her hair flows over her shoulders; she is wearing a t-shirt of mine. I’m in pajama bottoms.
“Nothing better than a half-naked Saturday breakfast,” she said.
The conversation veers to past loves. We commiserate over bad (or nonexistent) sex within a relationship. She tells me about a boyfriend who was pretty good, but for two things: he refused to go down on her, and he couldn’t do it rough.
But heck, I say: you love those things!
True, she says. I couldn’t even get him to call me a slut, or a cocksucker, or anything. But I don’t see you like that, he said. I couldn’t convince him that it’s okay; I know you don’t think of me as a slut. But can’t you treat me like one now and then?
Mental note: I haven’t been verbal enough.
She said, you never can tell what’s going to work. Like, last night when you slapped me. It’s great you try new things, but that doesn’t do it for me.
I apologized. Oh no, she said, it was a good effort.
(I would see her again in a few days. She had a slight black eye, disguised by make up. I was mortified! She laughed it off: “I like to be roughed up, she said. “But I don’t want to look like a battered woman.”
I’m still new to this rough stuff, I think. I have much to learn.)
After breakfast, we take another round. She sucks me nice and slow, fingering herself as she takes me. She feeds me her pussy, and I give it my all, clacking her piercing against my teeth as I suck clit. I slip in one finger, then two . . . my entire hand is in her, thrusting. She pushes into me; I push back.
She gushes. She shoots up my forearm, between my legs, as I milk for more. "Unh yeah, gah yeah!"
She is atonished by the size of her puddle in my sheets. "Promise me you will sleep in my cum tonight," she says, hoarse. Oh yeah, I will, nasty.
As we are resting in each other arms, her fingers gravitate to her mouth, collect spit, and move between her legs. “Damn girl,” I say. “Leave that thing alone! How many times you need to get off?”
She takes my cock. “Let’s jerk off,” she says.
Back in the day, I only jerked off with a girlfriend once. It felt very awkward and silly, like I should just be fucking her. When I was married, it would never have occurred to me to jerk off with my ex—that’s just way too nasty for her.
Nowadays, I love me a good circle jerk.
We kissed to get ourselves going. I kneeled between her legs, stroking myself as her fingers worked her clit. Now and then, I rubbed my cock on her labia, or took pussy juice as lube. “Tease,” she smiled.
Our eyes were on each other’s bodies, catching eyes as we gazed at each other, jerking, jerking.
“I’m going to blow all over you,” I breathe. She rotates her fingers faster, arching her back. I shoot, in waves, covering her belly, her arms, her hands, her thighs. She cums fast as the orgasm takes me over. I shake and pulse. She pushes up into her hand and moans. “Unh yeah, gah yeah!”
“That was the hottest orgasm I have ever seen,” she tells me, smiling. “I’d fucking pay to see that.”
When she left, Marla remembered to take her bracelets. She left a ring in its place.
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Sponteneity
Lucy and I met as coworkers. She says that her earliest memories of me were of the phone calls I would make as my shift ended on Saturday afternoons.
I would be phoning a few friends to see what was going on that night. There was always something. We would meet someplace and find something to do.
Spontaneity vanished from my life when we married. We would plan our social life in advance, and meet our friends together.
This wasn’t always easy, as we had different attitudes toward friendship. She tended to form intense bonds with one person, lasting until she got sick of that friend and moved on to the next.
I liked having a large circle of friends, being close to everyone in it. Once I cared about someone, I was hooked, come hell or high water.
As it played out, our shared social life was determined more by her ethos than by mine. Once we became parents, even that fell to the wayside, as our single friends tired of calling us only to hear that we weren’t going out. We were tending the baby.
Life since my break up hasn’t been all that spontaneous either. Half of the time, I have the kids, so my time is spent with them. When I don’t have the kids, as a rule, my social plans are scheduled a week or so in advance.
May’s investment in my life began to eat up my free weekends. She lives some distance away, so we couldn’t just meet for dinner, or a night together. It was the whole weekend or nothing. When we met, I put aside work, laundry, and so on, to focus on a date lasting several days—particularly once she began to define a “weekend” as lasting three to five days.
The new freedom that was supposed to be a part of my life after marriage did not feel very free at all. My time was too rarely my own.
This weekend was supposed to be like most with May, several days spent entirely in one another’s company. When these plans were altered, I found that, for a change, I was free. I had many things to do, but my time was my own.
Late that afternoon, Marla called. You want to go to a movie?
Let's see, Lucy is picking up Jason at 6pm, the movie is at 8pm . . . sure, I said. Why not?
That felt so liberating. Sure I can go to a movie tonight. I’m free.
We walked arm in arm as we left the theater. I said, “If we had dinner or sex in addition to seeing a movie, this might be considered a date.”
“Well, I’m not hungry,” she laughed.
I guided our stroll back to my place.
I would be phoning a few friends to see what was going on that night. There was always something. We would meet someplace and find something to do.
Spontaneity vanished from my life when we married. We would plan our social life in advance, and meet our friends together.
This wasn’t always easy, as we had different attitudes toward friendship. She tended to form intense bonds with one person, lasting until she got sick of that friend and moved on to the next.
I liked having a large circle of friends, being close to everyone in it. Once I cared about someone, I was hooked, come hell or high water.
As it played out, our shared social life was determined more by her ethos than by mine. Once we became parents, even that fell to the wayside, as our single friends tired of calling us only to hear that we weren’t going out. We were tending the baby.
Life since my break up hasn’t been all that spontaneous either. Half of the time, I have the kids, so my time is spent with them. When I don’t have the kids, as a rule, my social plans are scheduled a week or so in advance.
May’s investment in my life began to eat up my free weekends. She lives some distance away, so we couldn’t just meet for dinner, or a night together. It was the whole weekend or nothing. When we met, I put aside work, laundry, and so on, to focus on a date lasting several days—particularly once she began to define a “weekend” as lasting three to five days.
The new freedom that was supposed to be a part of my life after marriage did not feel very free at all. My time was too rarely my own.
This weekend was supposed to be like most with May, several days spent entirely in one another’s company. When these plans were altered, I found that, for a change, I was free. I had many things to do, but my time was my own.
Late that afternoon, Marla called. You want to go to a movie?
Let's see, Lucy is picking up Jason at 6pm, the movie is at 8pm . . . sure, I said. Why not?
That felt so liberating. Sure I can go to a movie tonight. I’m free.
We walked arm in arm as we left the theater. I said, “If we had dinner or sex in addition to seeing a movie, this might be considered a date.”
“Well, I’m not hungry,” she laughed.
I guided our stroll back to my place.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Sick Day
After several days of coughing and complaining of an “itchy” ear, Jason wakes with a fever. It’s too high for school, so on Friday, he takes a sick day.
I stay home with him, as I can try to do some work from home. My ex Lucy will be taking the kids for the weekend, but she will be unable to pick him up before 6pm.
I cancel a few appointments, but there is one problem: in order to be at a dinner party with May that night, I would need to leave New York by 3pm or so. Looks like I would miss that.
It’s a crazy weekend anyway, the last before Christmas. I have shopping to do, an apartment to scour, and loads of work. I may need to take Jason to the doctor on Saturday morning. And I have to be back in New York by Sunday noon for a work-related holiday function.
Given all of this, I should bag the trip to May’s. At any rate, I’m still annoyed by her reaction to my wanting to spend New Year’s eve with my daughter. I’m really not in the best frame of mind to be all lovey-dovey.
I call May with the bad news.
“Why can’t you leave after Lucy has the kids?” she asks.
It will be rush hour on a weekend, I say, so I wouldn’t be there until very late. I cite all the things going on this weekend and say it’s just not worth the trip to spend one day hanging out with May and her friends.
“So don’t go to your party on Sunday. Then you can stay until Monday.”
Well, I can’t stay until Monday, as I’ve got so much to do. And anyway, I want to attend that party—I work with these people, and I like them.
“So this party is a bigger priority in your life than I am?”
Uh, no. This party is a one-time event. I spend a lot of time with you. We have been on two weeklong vacations together since September. To do that, I had to sacrifice time with my kids, and time for work. I am very behind on work as a result.
“And that is my fault? If we don’t see each other this weekend, we won’t see each other for three weeks!”
I’m not saying that. Look: we have spent a lot of time together lately. We will spend a lot of time together after the holidays. My batteries are charged from all that time. I am secure with us. We can be apart for a few weeks.
“My batteries are NOT charged. I need you. If you can’t come to me, why aren’t you asking me to drive to New York?”
I don’t see much point in it. I need to get things done this weekend, and my son is sick. I can’t say for sure how that will affect things. I really don’t have time to hang out. And anyway, you have all those parties you want to attend with your friends.
“You are a bigger priority in my life than these parties. I see you don’t feel the same about me.” She begins to cry.
“Dad?”
“Hang on a sec . . . yes, Jason?”
“Can you help me please?”
“Okay . . . just a minute, May, Jason needs me.” When I return to the phone, she is in tears.
“I wish you could make me feel loved and wanted. You don’t care whether you see me or not.”
I’m sorry you don’t feel loved or wanted at this moment. But we have spent a lot of time together. You need to focus on that, and not on this momentary set back.
“I can’t! I need you now.”
You need to be grown up about this. You can handle not seeing me this weekend.
“Three weeks! I won’t see you for three weeks!”
By this point, I am getting very annoyed. I know I should be consoling, and loving, and rip at my chest, saying yes yes, I will do anything to be with you this weekend, even if only for an hour, to show how much you mean to me.
But frankly, her whining and intransigence are pissing me off. I have a sick son in the next room, and I am on the phone trying to help her understand why that has taken precedence over partying with her this weekend.
May, I repeat, we have seen a lot of each other lately. We will see each other a lot soon.
“But I need you now! I really need to talk with you about a job I might be offered in California.”
I know all about this job offer. May is forever uncovering cool sounding opportunities that don’t pan out. Like the others, this one might, it might not. I have learned to be encouraging, and offer what best advice I can, without getting her hopes up.
I say that that job sounds interesting, and it is a lot of money, so it is worth looking into.
“But I will never see you!” she weeps. “Why aren’t you begging me not to take it?”
I’m not going to beg you to miss an opportunity you want. But this is premature, isn’t it? I mean, the job isn’t yours yet. I believe you will be a great applicant, but let’s not worry about how it impacts your time with me until it’s a reality.
“It can be a reality, it can, and you don’t care! You don’t care about seeing me.”
Well, that’s not true . . . I was saying . . .
“Look, I need to know now if there is a future for us, so I can make a decision about this job.”
I think we have spent a lot of time together, and things are going well, and I am glad to have you in my life. But do you need to know right this second that we are going to spend the rest of our lives together . . . ?
“I need to know if I am going to go to California alone, or stay here to be with you.”
That is asking too much. Look, I know you are disappointed about this weekend. I am disappointed too. But we have spent a lot of time together lately, and we will spend more time together after the holidays. This momentary disappointment should not precipitate a crisis in our relationship.
I am speaking very calmly, but I am very pissed off.
“You don’t care about me,” she wails.
“Dad! Can you help me again?”
“Just a minute Jason!”
May, I need to go. I understand that you are disappointed about this weekend, and I have said that I am too. Now is not the time to talk about this job opportunity, as you are upset and I need to tend to my sick child. I am going to end this conversation now, and we can talk about the job later.
“When? When can we talk about it?”
Another time, when you aren’t so upset. I need to go. Goodbye.
Sob. “Goodbye.”
I look at the cell. We had talked for over an hour, when she knew I had a sick kid and tons of things to do.
I stay home with him, as I can try to do some work from home. My ex Lucy will be taking the kids for the weekend, but she will be unable to pick him up before 6pm.
I cancel a few appointments, but there is one problem: in order to be at a dinner party with May that night, I would need to leave New York by 3pm or so. Looks like I would miss that.
It’s a crazy weekend anyway, the last before Christmas. I have shopping to do, an apartment to scour, and loads of work. I may need to take Jason to the doctor on Saturday morning. And I have to be back in New York by Sunday noon for a work-related holiday function.
Given all of this, I should bag the trip to May’s. At any rate, I’m still annoyed by her reaction to my wanting to spend New Year’s eve with my daughter. I’m really not in the best frame of mind to be all lovey-dovey.
I call May with the bad news.
“Why can’t you leave after Lucy has the kids?” she asks.
It will be rush hour on a weekend, I say, so I wouldn’t be there until very late. I cite all the things going on this weekend and say it’s just not worth the trip to spend one day hanging out with May and her friends.
“So don’t go to your party on Sunday. Then you can stay until Monday.”
Well, I can’t stay until Monday, as I’ve got so much to do. And anyway, I want to attend that party—I work with these people, and I like them.
“So this party is a bigger priority in your life than I am?”
Uh, no. This party is a one-time event. I spend a lot of time with you. We have been on two weeklong vacations together since September. To do that, I had to sacrifice time with my kids, and time for work. I am very behind on work as a result.
“And that is my fault? If we don’t see each other this weekend, we won’t see each other for three weeks!”
I’m not saying that. Look: we have spent a lot of time together lately. We will spend a lot of time together after the holidays. My batteries are charged from all that time. I am secure with us. We can be apart for a few weeks.
“My batteries are NOT charged. I need you. If you can’t come to me, why aren’t you asking me to drive to New York?”
I don’t see much point in it. I need to get things done this weekend, and my son is sick. I can’t say for sure how that will affect things. I really don’t have time to hang out. And anyway, you have all those parties you want to attend with your friends.
“You are a bigger priority in my life than these parties. I see you don’t feel the same about me.” She begins to cry.
“Dad?”
“Hang on a sec . . . yes, Jason?”
“Can you help me please?”
“Okay . . . just a minute, May, Jason needs me.” When I return to the phone, she is in tears.
“I wish you could make me feel loved and wanted. You don’t care whether you see me or not.”
I’m sorry you don’t feel loved or wanted at this moment. But we have spent a lot of time together. You need to focus on that, and not on this momentary set back.
“I can’t! I need you now.”
You need to be grown up about this. You can handle not seeing me this weekend.
“Three weeks! I won’t see you for three weeks!”
By this point, I am getting very annoyed. I know I should be consoling, and loving, and rip at my chest, saying yes yes, I will do anything to be with you this weekend, even if only for an hour, to show how much you mean to me.
But frankly, her whining and intransigence are pissing me off. I have a sick son in the next room, and I am on the phone trying to help her understand why that has taken precedence over partying with her this weekend.
May, I repeat, we have seen a lot of each other lately. We will see each other a lot soon.
“But I need you now! I really need to talk with you about a job I might be offered in California.”
I know all about this job offer. May is forever uncovering cool sounding opportunities that don’t pan out. Like the others, this one might, it might not. I have learned to be encouraging, and offer what best advice I can, without getting her hopes up.
I say that that job sounds interesting, and it is a lot of money, so it is worth looking into.
“But I will never see you!” she weeps. “Why aren’t you begging me not to take it?”
I’m not going to beg you to miss an opportunity you want. But this is premature, isn’t it? I mean, the job isn’t yours yet. I believe you will be a great applicant, but let’s not worry about how it impacts your time with me until it’s a reality.
“It can be a reality, it can, and you don’t care! You don’t care about seeing me.”
Well, that’s not true . . . I was saying . . .
“Look, I need to know now if there is a future for us, so I can make a decision about this job.”
I think we have spent a lot of time together, and things are going well, and I am glad to have you in my life. But do you need to know right this second that we are going to spend the rest of our lives together . . . ?
“I need to know if I am going to go to California alone, or stay here to be with you.”
That is asking too much. Look, I know you are disappointed about this weekend. I am disappointed too. But we have spent a lot of time together lately, and we will spend more time together after the holidays. This momentary disappointment should not precipitate a crisis in our relationship.
I am speaking very calmly, but I am very pissed off.
“You don’t care about me,” she wails.
“Dad! Can you help me again?”
“Just a minute Jason!”
May, I need to go. I understand that you are disappointed about this weekend, and I have said that I am too. Now is not the time to talk about this job opportunity, as you are upset and I need to tend to my sick child. I am going to end this conversation now, and we can talk about the job later.
“When? When can we talk about it?”
Another time, when you aren’t so upset. I need to go. Goodbye.
Sob. “Goodbye.”
I look at the cell. We had talked for over an hour, when she knew I had a sick kid and tons of things to do.
Chicken Hawk
Reading this blog to date, you might well think I’m a chicken hawk.
That’s gay lingo for older queens who prefer younger men. I’m not often with anyone quite so young as Scarlet—she is exceptional in a few ways, it seems—but the stories so far related have included many about people a good deal younger than I am.
I wouldn’t say that young people are my “thing.” I have nothing against taking on lovers my age or older, and I have.
I will even confess to a “thing” for silver hair. As my ex’s hair shows more strands of gray, one of my regrets that we won’t grow old together is that she is going to age so beautifully. Emmy Lou Harris ain’t got nothing on her.
But I am certainly not against dating younger people, solely because of their youth. I guess it’s as Scarlet suggested: I am more concerned about the person than the date on her or his driver’s license.
When I started dating, I assumed the pool of potential lovers would be disproportionably teeming with twenty- and thirtysomethings. Most of the single people I knew tended to be younger; my older friends were already in relationships. It just made sense that I would meet more young people.
Initially, my lack of prejudice concerning age blinded me to it. Shortly after the end of my marriage, I met Amanda. She was attractive, easy going and smart, a talented writer who enjoyed going to museum openings with me. We had terrific sex too.
One evening, she got on a jag of referring to me as “old dude.” I complained, I’m not THAT old, I’m only 39.
“I’m just kidding you because I’m so young,” she said. Well, sure, you’re like ten years or so younger, but . . .
“Dude, I’m 22.” My jaw dropped. I had no idea of her age. She went on, “I’m closer in age to your daughter Rachel that to you.” She had done the math. I did more: heck, save for my baby daughter, she was closer in age to all my children than she was to me. I was shocked!
By now, I take it in more in stride. But sometimes I think that age may be a factor in ways I don’t consider right away.
I run into difficult patches about commitment and monogamy with Anna and May, both in their mid-thirties. The younger women I meet—Marla, Jessica, and certainly Scarlet and my Celia—seem primarily interested in being together whenever, for whatever, no big deal.
I guess this conforms to stereotypes about biological clocks and fears of spinsterdom, but sometimes experience plays to the stereotypes.
It happens to be a fact of my life at the moment that I prefer the attitude of the younger women I am meeting. They are not on a timetable to settle down, and neither am I.
And to their benefit, the fewer demands a person makes on my time, the more I want time together.
That’s gay lingo for older queens who prefer younger men. I’m not often with anyone quite so young as Scarlet—she is exceptional in a few ways, it seems—but the stories so far related have included many about people a good deal younger than I am.
I wouldn’t say that young people are my “thing.” I have nothing against taking on lovers my age or older, and I have.
I will even confess to a “thing” for silver hair. As my ex’s hair shows more strands of gray, one of my regrets that we won’t grow old together is that she is going to age so beautifully. Emmy Lou Harris ain’t got nothing on her.
But I am certainly not against dating younger people, solely because of their youth. I guess it’s as Scarlet suggested: I am more concerned about the person than the date on her or his driver’s license.
When I started dating, I assumed the pool of potential lovers would be disproportionably teeming with twenty- and thirtysomethings. Most of the single people I knew tended to be younger; my older friends were already in relationships. It just made sense that I would meet more young people.
Initially, my lack of prejudice concerning age blinded me to it. Shortly after the end of my marriage, I met Amanda. She was attractive, easy going and smart, a talented writer who enjoyed going to museum openings with me. We had terrific sex too.
One evening, she got on a jag of referring to me as “old dude.” I complained, I’m not THAT old, I’m only 39.
“I’m just kidding you because I’m so young,” she said. Well, sure, you’re like ten years or so younger, but . . .
“Dude, I’m 22.” My jaw dropped. I had no idea of her age. She went on, “I’m closer in age to your daughter Rachel that to you.” She had done the math. I did more: heck, save for my baby daughter, she was closer in age to all my children than she was to me. I was shocked!
By now, I take it in more in stride. But sometimes I think that age may be a factor in ways I don’t consider right away.
I run into difficult patches about commitment and monogamy with Anna and May, both in their mid-thirties. The younger women I meet—Marla, Jessica, and certainly Scarlet and my Celia—seem primarily interested in being together whenever, for whatever, no big deal.
I guess this conforms to stereotypes about biological clocks and fears of spinsterdom, but sometimes experience plays to the stereotypes.
It happens to be a fact of my life at the moment that I prefer the attitude of the younger women I am meeting. They are not on a timetable to settle down, and neither am I.
And to their benefit, the fewer demands a person makes on my time, the more I want time together.
Friday, December 17, 2004
Getting Blogged
After dropping off the kids, I go to meet Scarlet at Penn Station. Our landmark is the big board of Amtrak arrivals and departures. It’s rush hour, and sure enough, it is crowded as hell.
I am armed with my memory of her picture, her cell phone number, and the news that her hair is now red. I had told her I would be a little late to meet her.
In order to be here at my earliest available moment, per her suggestion, she awoke before dawn and took a two-hour train into the city. This after working her job until midnight. She said he might be carrying a pillow so she could sleep on the train.
I spot her in the crowd. I have no doubt: it’s her. Pillow and all.
I come up behind her. I touch her right shoulder, and then kiss her left one. “Hi.”
She turns in one direction, then back to me. “Whoa, hey there.” We see each other’s faces for the first time. By design, all the safety nets are still in place. We have met in a very public place. Either of us can call it quits.
We lapse into an easy conversation, How was her trip? I am so impressed she is making this effort to meet. Oh, she is fine. It was cold this morning, but the trip was fine. Did I get the kids to school all right? Oh, the usual hassles, nothing major.
I have no idea what she thinks of me, but my first impression of her is most favorable. She speaks easily, openly, as we make conversation. She seems totally at ease. And she is so very pretty.
Her hair is straight, shoulder length and red, or rather, deep brunette with streaks of magenta (“No,” she corrects me, “corvette red and strawberry fields.”) Her brown eyes peer over slender rectangular glasses. She speaks with a slight lisp. When her mouth is at rest, it smiles naturally, in two tender waves.
She is wearing loose schlumpy clothes. Carrying her bag and a pillow, she is vaguely Janis Joplinesque, in a happy Pearl moment.
I take her pillow. As we stroll through rush hour at Penn Station, we may as well be ice-skating through a blizzard of commuters. We are at ease, and in no hurry.
I escort her onto the subway. We arrive near my place. It is cold and windy as we hit the streets.
“It’s cold! Maybe I should have worn underwear,” she says.
We arrive at my place, ditch our coats, and sit. We talk, and mostly, she talks. I’m sure she is nervous. I am too, but she is taking the bigger risk—and on less sleep. I ask questions so that I learn new things about her as she talks. We peck. I toy with her hair.
She notices details about my apartment, her eyes keen to details—almost like she is confirming what she has read in the blog. You do have a lot of books. Does that SpongeBob belong to your kids? Is this the room where the gatherings take place?
“I am not getting cold feet,” she says, more to herself than to me. She removes her shoes. We kiss.
I take her hand and suggest we move into the bedroom. “Oh that looks comfortable,” she says, falling face down into my bed. I lay down on top of her. It’s very cozy.
“This is just what I needed,” she says. “To be held.” I kiss her head, her shoulders. I roll off her, wrapping myself in an embrace around her.
“Let’s undress,” I say, “and feel each other’s flesh.” I take off her socks, and remove her pants. She pulls off my shirt. We are quickly nude. We embrace and neck, and she lies in my arms. I could hold her as she sleeps.
She turns, bringing her mouth to mine. Her kisses are giving and playful; she sucks my tongue into her mouth and teases that she could swallow it whole. Don’t, I say. You might need it later.
It feels so good to hold her, and she’s a great kisser. I tell her so. “Really?” she says, genuinely surprised. “I’ve never heard that I’m a good kisser.” Oh, but she is, and I want more. My fingers are drawn to her hair. She smells so fresh.
“I do have an oral fixation, though,” she allows. This is good to know.
I sit up to look at her. Her arms are on my pillows, her eyes closed, her mouth resting in its smile. Her skin is pale, like mine. She has small breasts, with pearly pink nipples. Her loose clothes have disguised a soft, feminine body, with a slender waist and full hips. Her pubis is shaved, revealing her pink pussy.
I kiss and suck her nipples. She tells me they were once pierced, and can take a lot of pain.
I kiss her belly, caressing her skin, pinching a nipple. Her hips squirm. My tongue wanders south.
“Good luck with that,” she says. “No one has ever made me cum like that.”
Now, now, I tell myself. You can ignore the gauntlet. You don’t have to regard this as a challenge. Not everyone gets off on oral sex.
I set to devouring her. She moans and squirms. At times, her body goes still. “That’s frustrating,” she says. What? “To get so close and not get there.” Did you prefer when I did this, I ask, flicking my tongue on her clit, or this, I ask, wrapping my mouth on her clit and sucking. She can’t say.
I keep an eye on her as I eat her. I play with her nipples. Two fingers enter her, and hook. I penetrate her with a steady rhythm, my mouth working in concert.
She very quickly cums, in waves of moans. Suddenly, she convulses and twists away. She pulls me to her mouth and kisses me.
“You made me shake,” she smiles.
“I’m so glad honey,” I smile back. “Now I’m going to fuck you.”
She watches as I put on a condom, her first real look at my cock. I kiss her, and I am in her. I close her eyes, and watch as she responds to me.
For a while, she is relaxed, content to get fucked, not moving very much. I build a fast steady motion and she begins to moan, and to move. Then, she loses it. I try again. She gets close, but if I break the motion—by shifting my weight, or trying another staccato—she loses momentum.
I slip down to suck her pussy. I give her four fingers, two from each hand, working in counter rhythm. She cums.
“Kudos to you,” she says afterwards. “You made that work for the first time, and then you did it again.” We rest a moment, then I am back in her.
“I want you on top of me,” I say.
“That’s not the best position for me,” she says. “I can’t keep the rhythm.”
“You seem to like a regular beat,”
“I’m a musician,” she says. “I can’t stop counting time.”
I pull her on top of me without removing my cock. “I will help you keep count,” I whisper. She starts to fuck me, as I push up. One two three, one two three, this is the beat, one two three, one two three.
Her hair is in my face. I pull it up and hold it. She slips off beat. I hold her breast, pinch her nipple. Don’t think, I think. Feel this.
My hands go to her hips, and flow with her motions. I keep steady under her. We go for a while, then rest. I am in her arms, listening to her heart pound, kissing her skin.
“You really got me off,” she says. “Can I return the favor?” By all means, I say.
She moves to put her face near my cock. She takes hold and points it at me. “You don’t shave here. Boo to you.” I start to reply, but she has taken my cock full into her mouth.
Her mouth moves up and down fast, soaking me. She is improvising, moving across tempos, and breaking it up with slow deep plunges.
This is so good, I tell her. “Really?’ she smiles? “I’m not really doing anything.” I tell her what she is doing that works: the wetness, the motion of her tongue, the way she gets me excited then slows me down with her deep throat.
She says she’s just keeping her mouth happy, like eating taffy.
As I give myself over to the pleasure coursing through me, I think: this girl got up at dawn to travel two hours so she could suck my dick—just because she likes the way I write. This is a very hot thought.
I think about her reaction to the blog. She has told me she gets off on being dominated, and we’ve been playing so nice. “Honey, you need to decide if you want me to cum, or if you want me to fuck you.”
“I want you to cum. But I am not saying no to getting fucked.”
I pull her hair to get her off my dick. I tell her to bend over so I can fuck her.
“Knock yourself out back there,” she smiles. “The harder the better.”
I start fucking her fast with deep, long strokes. I take a moment to get acquainted with her asshole, massaging it with my thumb. She moans.
I keep the beat, grabbing her hair in one hand.
I grab the skin of her back firm in both hands, and use these hands full of flesh as reigns to ride her harder. Her moans are louder, her breathing faster. I release my hands and slap her ass. Hard, rapid, often, never losing the motion as I fuck her.
I slip the tip of my thumb into her ass, using it as a lever to move her. She yowls.
I grab her hips. I move my hands to the skin of her waist, and grab hold. I squeeze tight and pound. She moves her ass back on to me.
Her hand comes back to mine. I let go of her flesh. I slow my fucking.
I rest inside her. I kiss her back. I nibble her skin.
I tell her I want more of her mouth. She sucks me, and I am so focused on her mouth, and her pretty face.
I flash on our previous conversations—she wants bukkake. Glad I remembered.
I flip her on her back. I squeeze her sweet pink nipple as I cum on her face, in her hair, on her neck and chest. Her eyes are closed, and her smile is so soft and lovely. I kiss her, smearing my cum on her flesh with my hands.
“I smell like man,” she laughs.
“They say it’s good for wrinkles,” I tell her.
“But I don’t have wrinkles.”
“See how well it works?”
We shower together, and as we do I think I would like nothing better than a nice road trip with this funny girl who found me.
I had promised her a grilled cheese sandwich. She put on her sweater and we talked as I cooked. We kept kissing. I couldn’t leave those lips alone.
We ate, then spent some more time in bed, talking, kissing, holding one another. She says she wants to come back. I want that. We compare schedules and make a date.
She is so pretty. I would like her to know that. She doubts it, but how can she?
I take her back to the train station. We walk slowly, holding hands, moving in our own bliss. As we kiss goodbye, she says she has a “perma-grin.”
I tell her I want her to chose a name for me to give her in this blog.
She christens herself “Scarlet.”
I am armed with my memory of her picture, her cell phone number, and the news that her hair is now red. I had told her I would be a little late to meet her.
In order to be here at my earliest available moment, per her suggestion, she awoke before dawn and took a two-hour train into the city. This after working her job until midnight. She said he might be carrying a pillow so she could sleep on the train.
I spot her in the crowd. I have no doubt: it’s her. Pillow and all.
I come up behind her. I touch her right shoulder, and then kiss her left one. “Hi.”
She turns in one direction, then back to me. “Whoa, hey there.” We see each other’s faces for the first time. By design, all the safety nets are still in place. We have met in a very public place. Either of us can call it quits.
We lapse into an easy conversation, How was her trip? I am so impressed she is making this effort to meet. Oh, she is fine. It was cold this morning, but the trip was fine. Did I get the kids to school all right? Oh, the usual hassles, nothing major.
I have no idea what she thinks of me, but my first impression of her is most favorable. She speaks easily, openly, as we make conversation. She seems totally at ease. And she is so very pretty.
Her hair is straight, shoulder length and red, or rather, deep brunette with streaks of magenta (“No,” she corrects me, “corvette red and strawberry fields.”) Her brown eyes peer over slender rectangular glasses. She speaks with a slight lisp. When her mouth is at rest, it smiles naturally, in two tender waves.
She is wearing loose schlumpy clothes. Carrying her bag and a pillow, she is vaguely Janis Joplinesque, in a happy Pearl moment.
I take her pillow. As we stroll through rush hour at Penn Station, we may as well be ice-skating through a blizzard of commuters. We are at ease, and in no hurry.
I escort her onto the subway. We arrive near my place. It is cold and windy as we hit the streets.
“It’s cold! Maybe I should have worn underwear,” she says.
We arrive at my place, ditch our coats, and sit. We talk, and mostly, she talks. I’m sure she is nervous. I am too, but she is taking the bigger risk—and on less sleep. I ask questions so that I learn new things about her as she talks. We peck. I toy with her hair.
She notices details about my apartment, her eyes keen to details—almost like she is confirming what she has read in the blog. You do have a lot of books. Does that SpongeBob belong to your kids? Is this the room where the gatherings take place?
“I am not getting cold feet,” she says, more to herself than to me. She removes her shoes. We kiss.
I take her hand and suggest we move into the bedroom. “Oh that looks comfortable,” she says, falling face down into my bed. I lay down on top of her. It’s very cozy.
“This is just what I needed,” she says. “To be held.” I kiss her head, her shoulders. I roll off her, wrapping myself in an embrace around her.
“Let’s undress,” I say, “and feel each other’s flesh.” I take off her socks, and remove her pants. She pulls off my shirt. We are quickly nude. We embrace and neck, and she lies in my arms. I could hold her as she sleeps.
She turns, bringing her mouth to mine. Her kisses are giving and playful; she sucks my tongue into her mouth and teases that she could swallow it whole. Don’t, I say. You might need it later.
It feels so good to hold her, and she’s a great kisser. I tell her so. “Really?” she says, genuinely surprised. “I’ve never heard that I’m a good kisser.” Oh, but she is, and I want more. My fingers are drawn to her hair. She smells so fresh.
“I do have an oral fixation, though,” she allows. This is good to know.
I sit up to look at her. Her arms are on my pillows, her eyes closed, her mouth resting in its smile. Her skin is pale, like mine. She has small breasts, with pearly pink nipples. Her loose clothes have disguised a soft, feminine body, with a slender waist and full hips. Her pubis is shaved, revealing her pink pussy.
I kiss and suck her nipples. She tells me they were once pierced, and can take a lot of pain.
I kiss her belly, caressing her skin, pinching a nipple. Her hips squirm. My tongue wanders south.
“Good luck with that,” she says. “No one has ever made me cum like that.”
Now, now, I tell myself. You can ignore the gauntlet. You don’t have to regard this as a challenge. Not everyone gets off on oral sex.
I set to devouring her. She moans and squirms. At times, her body goes still. “That’s frustrating,” she says. What? “To get so close and not get there.” Did you prefer when I did this, I ask, flicking my tongue on her clit, or this, I ask, wrapping my mouth on her clit and sucking. She can’t say.
I keep an eye on her as I eat her. I play with her nipples. Two fingers enter her, and hook. I penetrate her with a steady rhythm, my mouth working in concert.
She very quickly cums, in waves of moans. Suddenly, she convulses and twists away. She pulls me to her mouth and kisses me.
“You made me shake,” she smiles.
“I’m so glad honey,” I smile back. “Now I’m going to fuck you.”
She watches as I put on a condom, her first real look at my cock. I kiss her, and I am in her. I close her eyes, and watch as she responds to me.
For a while, she is relaxed, content to get fucked, not moving very much. I build a fast steady motion and she begins to moan, and to move. Then, she loses it. I try again. She gets close, but if I break the motion—by shifting my weight, or trying another staccato—she loses momentum.
I slip down to suck her pussy. I give her four fingers, two from each hand, working in counter rhythm. She cums.
“Kudos to you,” she says afterwards. “You made that work for the first time, and then you did it again.” We rest a moment, then I am back in her.
“I want you on top of me,” I say.
“That’s not the best position for me,” she says. “I can’t keep the rhythm.”
“You seem to like a regular beat,”
“I’m a musician,” she says. “I can’t stop counting time.”
I pull her on top of me without removing my cock. “I will help you keep count,” I whisper. She starts to fuck me, as I push up. One two three, one two three, this is the beat, one two three, one two three.
Her hair is in my face. I pull it up and hold it. She slips off beat. I hold her breast, pinch her nipple. Don’t think, I think. Feel this.
My hands go to her hips, and flow with her motions. I keep steady under her. We go for a while, then rest. I am in her arms, listening to her heart pound, kissing her skin.
“You really got me off,” she says. “Can I return the favor?” By all means, I say.
She moves to put her face near my cock. She takes hold and points it at me. “You don’t shave here. Boo to you.” I start to reply, but she has taken my cock full into her mouth.
Her mouth moves up and down fast, soaking me. She is improvising, moving across tempos, and breaking it up with slow deep plunges.
This is so good, I tell her. “Really?’ she smiles? “I’m not really doing anything.” I tell her what she is doing that works: the wetness, the motion of her tongue, the way she gets me excited then slows me down with her deep throat.
She says she’s just keeping her mouth happy, like eating taffy.
As I give myself over to the pleasure coursing through me, I think: this girl got up at dawn to travel two hours so she could suck my dick—just because she likes the way I write. This is a very hot thought.
I think about her reaction to the blog. She has told me she gets off on being dominated, and we’ve been playing so nice. “Honey, you need to decide if you want me to cum, or if you want me to fuck you.”
“I want you to cum. But I am not saying no to getting fucked.”
I pull her hair to get her off my dick. I tell her to bend over so I can fuck her.
“Knock yourself out back there,” she smiles. “The harder the better.”
I start fucking her fast with deep, long strokes. I take a moment to get acquainted with her asshole, massaging it with my thumb. She moans.
I keep the beat, grabbing her hair in one hand.
I grab the skin of her back firm in both hands, and use these hands full of flesh as reigns to ride her harder. Her moans are louder, her breathing faster. I release my hands and slap her ass. Hard, rapid, often, never losing the motion as I fuck her.
I slip the tip of my thumb into her ass, using it as a lever to move her. She yowls.
I grab her hips. I move my hands to the skin of her waist, and grab hold. I squeeze tight and pound. She moves her ass back on to me.
Her hand comes back to mine. I let go of her flesh. I slow my fucking.
I rest inside her. I kiss her back. I nibble her skin.
I tell her I want more of her mouth. She sucks me, and I am so focused on her mouth, and her pretty face.
I flash on our previous conversations—she wants bukkake. Glad I remembered.
I flip her on her back. I squeeze her sweet pink nipple as I cum on her face, in her hair, on her neck and chest. Her eyes are closed, and her smile is so soft and lovely. I kiss her, smearing my cum on her flesh with my hands.
“I smell like man,” she laughs.
“They say it’s good for wrinkles,” I tell her.
“But I don’t have wrinkles.”
“See how well it works?”
We shower together, and as we do I think I would like nothing better than a nice road trip with this funny girl who found me.
I had promised her a grilled cheese sandwich. She put on her sweater and we talked as I cooked. We kept kissing. I couldn’t leave those lips alone.
We ate, then spent some more time in bed, talking, kissing, holding one another. She says she wants to come back. I want that. We compare schedules and make a date.
She is so pretty. I would like her to know that. She doubts it, but how can she?
I take her back to the train station. We walk slowly, holding hands, moving in our own bliss. As we kiss goodbye, she says she has a “perma-grin.”
I tell her I want her to chose a name for me to give her in this blog.
She christens herself “Scarlet.”
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