Oscar night leaves me feeling that people should be thanked.
We are in the final moments of school break. For me, this means days and days of parenting, nights and nights without sex.
I could not have survived it alone.
First of all, I would like to thank my kids, for being so easy to entertain, and for being so willing to spend most of it indoors, away from snow, chill winds, and awful public art in Central Park.
So many to thank. But above all, I don’t think I could have made it so well without the tender ministrations of my darling Rosie Palms.
Oh Rosie, my Rosie, may I extol your charms to all who listen?
Rosie, who first came to me as a lad, soaped and soaking in a tub during sixth grade, as I flipped through Cosmopolitan magazine.
Rosie, who remained steadfast and true, as I fumbled my way through early romances, always there to pick up where others left off.
Rosie, my faithful mistress during my marriage, patient and understanding when I had so little time for her, obliging when I could afford a longer tete-a-tete.
Rosie, content when I pictured her as male or female, shifting between Ann-Margret or Keanu Reeves, my memories as Debra or Allan.
Rosie, my sidekick who is happy to put me to bed, or to wake me, picturing my past or my future.
Always a lefty, when I am a righty.
Rosie honey, you done me good. Here’s to our future.
Music swells.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Not Hot
A lesson in subversive parenting.
Lillie: “Hey dad, hey dad!”
Dad: “Yes dear, I’m in here.”
Collie: “Don’t tell dad!”
Lillie: “Daa-aa-ad!”
Dad: “In here!”
Lillie: “Dad, Collie said ‘hot,’ and that’s not appropriate to my age!”
Dad: “Excuse me?”
Lillie: “Collie said ‘hot,’ and Mom says that’s not appropriate.”
Collie: “This doesn’t make sense. Do I need to get a dictionary? There are two meanings to the word ‘hot.’ One means sexy. The other means it is hot. It is not a bad word!”
Lillie: “It’s not appropriate to my age!”
Jason: “Oh brother.”
Dad: “I’m afraid I don’t follow. Did your mother say that you should not use the word ‘hot’ in front of your sister?”
Lillie: “Yes!”
Collie: “No!”
Jason: “She said that we should not use the word to mean sexy in front of Lillie.”
Lillie: “Because it’s not appropriate to my age!”
Collie: “I will get a dictionary if I have to!”
Dad: “I don’t think we need a dictionary. Collie, will you please not use the word ‘hot’ to mean sexy in front of your sister?”
Collie: “But . . .”
Dad: “I understand that the word is not a bad word, but you can see that it upsets her. Please don’t do things that upset her.”
Collie: “This is unfair!”
Dad: “Lillie, can Collie use a different word?”
Lillie: “Like what?”
Dad swings out a hip, kisses an index finger, and lightly touches it to his backside.
Dad: “Phssssssssst . . . . sizzlin’!”
Lillie laughs. Collie tries it. Lillie gives it a go. Jason and I join them.
We are no longer hot. We are sizzlin’.
Like bacon.
Lillie: “Hey dad, hey dad!”
Dad: “Yes dear, I’m in here.”
Collie: “Don’t tell dad!”
Lillie: “Daa-aa-ad!”
Dad: “In here!”
Lillie: “Dad, Collie said ‘hot,’ and that’s not appropriate to my age!”
Dad: “Excuse me?”
Lillie: “Collie said ‘hot,’ and Mom says that’s not appropriate.”
Collie: “This doesn’t make sense. Do I need to get a dictionary? There are two meanings to the word ‘hot.’ One means sexy. The other means it is hot. It is not a bad word!”
Lillie: “It’s not appropriate to my age!”
Jason: “Oh brother.”
Dad: “I’m afraid I don’t follow. Did your mother say that you should not use the word ‘hot’ in front of your sister?”
Lillie: “Yes!”
Collie: “No!”
Jason: “She said that we should not use the word to mean sexy in front of Lillie.”
Lillie: “Because it’s not appropriate to my age!”
Collie: “I will get a dictionary if I have to!”
Dad: “I don’t think we need a dictionary. Collie, will you please not use the word ‘hot’ to mean sexy in front of your sister?”
Collie: “But . . .”
Dad: “I understand that the word is not a bad word, but you can see that it upsets her. Please don’t do things that upset her.”
Collie: “This is unfair!”
Dad: “Lillie, can Collie use a different word?”
Lillie: “Like what?”
Dad swings out a hip, kisses an index finger, and lightly touches it to his backside.
Dad: “Phssssssssst . . . . sizzlin’!”
Lillie laughs. Collie tries it. Lillie gives it a go. Jason and I join them.
We are no longer hot. We are sizzlin’.
Like bacon.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Light Bulb
Autumn 1983. I was nineteen.
Peabo and I were boon companions, and had been since the first day of ninth grade. He introduced me to Harry James and the Sex Pistols, cigars and imported beer, live music and long hair.
After we each scrapped our ways out of our respective high schools, we moved into an apartment together and became painters.
It was a great place, affectionately known as the Bohemian Love Pad. We kept the fridge stocked with beer and the floors littered with spare change.
Peabo knew pretty much everything about me, but he did not know of my sexual exploits with Allan or Donnie. I was too ashamed to tell him. I wondered if they were anomalies, or if I was on my way to gay.
Mind you, I had the world’s coolest girlfriend.
Not long after we started dating, she ditched her given name in favor of the appellation “Pablo.” She was smart and funny as hell. She had flaming red hair, pale skin and full lips.
And could she fuck! Pablo loved sex like no one I had ever met.
She delighted in giving head, and I bet she could’ve sucked the chrome off a trailer hitch. She warmed me up to anal sex; she would cum as I fucked her, then put my cock up her ass and cum again.
She was my first lover to be on the Pill, which we regarded as a license to treat her body like my cum dumpster.
Pablo knew about Allan. I told her about it, and not only didn’t she consider it weird—she found it arousing. Pretty soon, we were getting naked with Allan every now and then. She got off watching me suck his dick. He got off fucking my girlfriend.
I wondered: I was getting my dick sucked, I was sucking dick, I was fucking Pablo’s ass—was I using this girl’s libido to get closer to gay sex?
I couldn’t talk about any of this with Peabo. I would not even know how to begin to tell him. How could I explain that despite the fact that he regularly heard me and Pablo going at it like gangbusters, his best chum might be gay?
One day we were sitting around the Bohemian Love Pad, listening to David Bowie’s “Man Who Sold the World.” I said something about Bowie being gay.
“He’s not gay,” Peabo corrected. “He’s bisexual.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means he likes men and women, both.”
A light bulb went off in my mind. God damn it, that’s what I was! I was bisexual!
People sometimes complain that they don’t want their sexualities labeled, but for me, it helped tremendously to know that there was a word for what I was. And that I was not the only freak.
There was me, and there was David Bowie. I was not alone.
Allan, though—that boy was straight.
Around this time, Allan told me that Peabo had asked him if he thought I might be bisexual.
I froze. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him about you and Donnie. I didn’t think it was a big deal that he knew.”
“If you didn’t think it was a big deal, why didn’t you tell him about you and me?”
“Hmmmm, that’s a good point.”
Good point, my ass.
So Peabo and I had The Talk. I explained that I preferred women, and while I had sex with men, I really didn’t like it that much.
“Too bad you don’t like it,” Peabo observed. “Though of course, no one is making you do it.”
Now, that was a good point. I was still not ready to accept my sexuality. But, I was on the right path.
At least I had a name for it.
Peabo’s only disappointment was that I had kept this from him. This was my first intimation that keeping secrets might hurt someone I cared about.
As for Pablo:
On some alternative universe, Pablo and I bought a farmhouse, where we are in love forever, fuck each other and Allan, and raise a passel of red-headed babies, not entirely confident of their paternity, not worrying too much one way or the other.
However, in our universe, I left my hometown to go to art school.
She was hurt, but applied herself to our long-distance relationship. We did very well, actually. She even organized her life to live closer to me as she pursued her own studies.
But when things got going with Lucy, I had to break up with Pablo. She said she understood. But she didn’t want to remain friends. She couldn’t forgive me.
She married a nice fellow. They live in New Jersey. I think she works in Chelsea.
She wants nothing to do with me.
sex,
bisexuality
Peabo and I were boon companions, and had been since the first day of ninth grade. He introduced me to Harry James and the Sex Pistols, cigars and imported beer, live music and long hair.
After we each scrapped our ways out of our respective high schools, we moved into an apartment together and became painters.
It was a great place, affectionately known as the Bohemian Love Pad. We kept the fridge stocked with beer and the floors littered with spare change.
Peabo knew pretty much everything about me, but he did not know of my sexual exploits with Allan or Donnie. I was too ashamed to tell him. I wondered if they were anomalies, or if I was on my way to gay.
Mind you, I had the world’s coolest girlfriend.
Not long after we started dating, she ditched her given name in favor of the appellation “Pablo.” She was smart and funny as hell. She had flaming red hair, pale skin and full lips.
And could she fuck! Pablo loved sex like no one I had ever met.
She delighted in giving head, and I bet she could’ve sucked the chrome off a trailer hitch. She warmed me up to anal sex; she would cum as I fucked her, then put my cock up her ass and cum again.
She was my first lover to be on the Pill, which we regarded as a license to treat her body like my cum dumpster.
Pablo knew about Allan. I told her about it, and not only didn’t she consider it weird—she found it arousing. Pretty soon, we were getting naked with Allan every now and then. She got off watching me suck his dick. He got off fucking my girlfriend.
I wondered: I was getting my dick sucked, I was sucking dick, I was fucking Pablo’s ass—was I using this girl’s libido to get closer to gay sex?
I couldn’t talk about any of this with Peabo. I would not even know how to begin to tell him. How could I explain that despite the fact that he regularly heard me and Pablo going at it like gangbusters, his best chum might be gay?
One day we were sitting around the Bohemian Love Pad, listening to David Bowie’s “Man Who Sold the World.” I said something about Bowie being gay.
“He’s not gay,” Peabo corrected. “He’s bisexual.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means he likes men and women, both.”
A light bulb went off in my mind. God damn it, that’s what I was! I was bisexual!
People sometimes complain that they don’t want their sexualities labeled, but for me, it helped tremendously to know that there was a word for what I was. And that I was not the only freak.
There was me, and there was David Bowie. I was not alone.
Allan, though—that boy was straight.
Around this time, Allan told me that Peabo had asked him if he thought I might be bisexual.
I froze. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him about you and Donnie. I didn’t think it was a big deal that he knew.”
“If you didn’t think it was a big deal, why didn’t you tell him about you and me?”
“Hmmmm, that’s a good point.”
Good point, my ass.
So Peabo and I had The Talk. I explained that I preferred women, and while I had sex with men, I really didn’t like it that much.
“Too bad you don’t like it,” Peabo observed. “Though of course, no one is making you do it.”
Now, that was a good point. I was still not ready to accept my sexuality. But, I was on the right path.
At least I had a name for it.
Peabo’s only disappointment was that I had kept this from him. This was my first intimation that keeping secrets might hurt someone I cared about.
As for Pablo:
On some alternative universe, Pablo and I bought a farmhouse, where we are in love forever, fuck each other and Allan, and raise a passel of red-headed babies, not entirely confident of their paternity, not worrying too much one way or the other.
However, in our universe, I left my hometown to go to art school.
She was hurt, but applied herself to our long-distance relationship. We did very well, actually. She even organized her life to live closer to me as she pursued her own studies.
But when things got going with Lucy, I had to break up with Pablo. She said she understood. But she didn’t want to remain friends. She couldn’t forgive me.
She married a nice fellow. They live in New Jersey. I think she works in Chelsea.
She wants nothing to do with me.
sex,
bisexuality
Saturday
The kids were up late, so we slept in. I made a brunch of bacon, eggs and cheese grits.
Lucy called to see if Lillie wanted to join her on an outing to a nursery in New Jersey. I overheard Lillie’s excitement that Lucy’s pop star boyfriend would be along for the ride.
Being free of Lillie’s constant “Hey Dad” allows me to focus on the shitload of math homework Jason has to do. I need to go out and buy a protractor.
As I wrapped up some online stuff before running my errand, I got an instant message from Peabo, who has been reading the recent posts.
Which reminds me of one last relevant tale from the vault.
My apologies that the previous ones have touched on such dark issues—dead lovers, AIDS, teen abortion, child molestation . . .
I’m a Southern writer. We get Gothic at times.
This one, I promise, will be lighter.
Lucy called to see if Lillie wanted to join her on an outing to a nursery in New Jersey. I overheard Lillie’s excitement that Lucy’s pop star boyfriend would be along for the ride.
Being free of Lillie’s constant “Hey Dad” allows me to focus on the shitload of math homework Jason has to do. I need to go out and buy a protractor.
As I wrapped up some online stuff before running my errand, I got an instant message from Peabo, who has been reading the recent posts.
Which reminds me of one last relevant tale from the vault.
My apologies that the previous ones have touched on such dark issues—dead lovers, AIDS, teen abortion, child molestation . . .
I’m a Southern writer. We get Gothic at times.
This one, I promise, will be lighter.
Prototype
Late summer 1968. I was four years old.
When my mom had her third son, she hired as a part time babysitter a girl from up the street.
I would know her for the rest of my life. At the time, she was about thirteen.
Her younger sister would one day hide in closets with me, and show me hers if I showed her mine. But that was years in the future.
One afternoon, my mom had the baby in her room.
My toddler brother was asleep in his crib.
It was time for my nap.
My babysitter got into my bed and held me.
As I drifted off, she started to wiggle. She took my right hand and put it on her.
I felt roughness, like an SOS pad.
I felt wetness.
She wiggled some more. I kept my hand very still, as she held it to the wetness.
She made noises. I looked at my brother in his crib.
I remember watching out my window as she walked back to her house.
When my mom had her third son, she hired as a part time babysitter a girl from up the street.
I would know her for the rest of my life. At the time, she was about thirteen.
Her younger sister would one day hide in closets with me, and show me hers if I showed her mine. But that was years in the future.
One afternoon, my mom had the baby in her room.
My toddler brother was asleep in his crib.
It was time for my nap.
My babysitter got into my bed and held me.
As I drifted off, she started to wiggle. She took my right hand and put it on her.
I felt roughness, like an SOS pad.
I felt wetness.
She wiggled some more. I kept my hand very still, as she held it to the wetness.
She made noises. I looked at my brother in his crib.
I remember watching out my window as she walked back to her house.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Three
Late summer, 1981. I was seventeen.
In my junior year, I had it bad for Allan, who was an unlikely prospect for conventional romance. I also developed a crush on Joyce, who seemed just as unattainable.
Joyce was a senior who lived in the dorm and had a boyfriend back home. They planned to get married after high school and go to college together.
She was outgoing and silly, as I was, and we had a lot of classes together. It was inevitable that we would bond. She was also terribly cute, with short jet black hair, freckles and blue eyes.
Joyce made a lot of friends in her senior year. Among these was Bill, a very nice writer who, even as a junior, affected tweeds and corduroy. I liked him too. Alas, he had eyes for Joyce, and his affections were returned.
It pained me to be in this unenviable position as Joyce’s best boy pal. The guy whom you love, but he is just too sweet to date.
Bill got the worse end of the stick though. He and Joyce really liked one another, but she was true to her boy back home.
Joyce was terribly sad when school ended. She did not want to return to her hometown and her boyfriend. The idea of marriage seemed anathema. She hated to leave us all behind.
A group of us headed south to the Gulf shore. A friend had family there, and we were all going to camp out in a house they were building.
It was a perpetually unfinished house, like the one on Green Acres. There was furniture in some rooms, and unfinished walls in others. There was only cold water.
Joyce told me that she was going to break up with her boyfriend. She also said she had lost her virginity to Bill a week before.
Peabo, Joyce and I were up late, after everyone else had gone to sleep. We listened to “Frampton Comes Alive!” the only album we could locate. Peabo read aloud selections from a cheesy romance novel he found.
He then proposed that Joyce and I enact these scenes. Silly idea, and it made us nervous to embrace, kiss and so on. But it excited us too.
Peabo found a selection in which a woman undressed. That was too much, I thought. But sure enough, he removed Joyce’s pants. And her panties.
She had the most luxurious straight black pubic hair imaginable.
We sat around, nervously laughing and talking. And then Peabo left us alone. He closed the door behind him.
“Jefferson . . . ,” Joyce said. She kissed me.
I went down on her.
She pulled me up. She undressed me. She took my cock and put it in her.
The sun was rising in the window over her head. We kissed and made love, finally pouring out all those pent up desires for one another.
I came inside her.
We emerged from the bedroom, smiling, glowing. Peabo proposed that we go in search of breakfast. We walked to a grocery store. I held Joyce’s hand.
I was high on love, on life.
A few weeks later Joyce called.
She was pregnant.
She had convinced herself that the baby was Bill’s, not mine. She had to get an abortion, but she could not bring herself to do that if it was our baby.
Only her best friend and I knew. She had scheduled the procedure. We had a few days to raise $150.
I went to friends and told them: I need you to give me money and not ask questions. They complied. We raised the money.
Her best friend and I took Joyce for the appointment. We ate gazpacho while we waited. And then we stayed with her all afternoon, before she had to head back to her hometown.
Joyce was in New York a couple of months ago, with her husband, a really sweet guy. I had them over to meet my kids and drink wine. We ordered Chinese.
After the kids were in bed, Joyce flirted with me and discussed the possibility of an affair—oh dear, maybe we shouldn’t talk about that in front of my husband! What would her children think if she cheated on daddy?
She’s yours if you can handle her, he offered. I can’t keep up.
Of course, we aren’t going to have an affair. That’s just Joyce being Joyce.
In my junior year, I had it bad for Allan, who was an unlikely prospect for conventional romance. I also developed a crush on Joyce, who seemed just as unattainable.
Joyce was a senior who lived in the dorm and had a boyfriend back home. They planned to get married after high school and go to college together.
She was outgoing and silly, as I was, and we had a lot of classes together. It was inevitable that we would bond. She was also terribly cute, with short jet black hair, freckles and blue eyes.
Joyce made a lot of friends in her senior year. Among these was Bill, a very nice writer who, even as a junior, affected tweeds and corduroy. I liked him too. Alas, he had eyes for Joyce, and his affections were returned.
It pained me to be in this unenviable position as Joyce’s best boy pal. The guy whom you love, but he is just too sweet to date.
Bill got the worse end of the stick though. He and Joyce really liked one another, but she was true to her boy back home.
Joyce was terribly sad when school ended. She did not want to return to her hometown and her boyfriend. The idea of marriage seemed anathema. She hated to leave us all behind.
A group of us headed south to the Gulf shore. A friend had family there, and we were all going to camp out in a house they were building.
It was a perpetually unfinished house, like the one on Green Acres. There was furniture in some rooms, and unfinished walls in others. There was only cold water.
Joyce told me that she was going to break up with her boyfriend. She also said she had lost her virginity to Bill a week before.
Peabo, Joyce and I were up late, after everyone else had gone to sleep. We listened to “Frampton Comes Alive!” the only album we could locate. Peabo read aloud selections from a cheesy romance novel he found.
He then proposed that Joyce and I enact these scenes. Silly idea, and it made us nervous to embrace, kiss and so on. But it excited us too.
Peabo found a selection in which a woman undressed. That was too much, I thought. But sure enough, he removed Joyce’s pants. And her panties.
She had the most luxurious straight black pubic hair imaginable.
We sat around, nervously laughing and talking. And then Peabo left us alone. He closed the door behind him.
“Jefferson . . . ,” Joyce said. She kissed me.
I went down on her.
She pulled me up. She undressed me. She took my cock and put it in her.
The sun was rising in the window over her head. We kissed and made love, finally pouring out all those pent up desires for one another.
I came inside her.
We emerged from the bedroom, smiling, glowing. Peabo proposed that we go in search of breakfast. We walked to a grocery store. I held Joyce’s hand.
I was high on love, on life.
A few weeks later Joyce called.
She was pregnant.
She had convinced herself that the baby was Bill’s, not mine. She had to get an abortion, but she could not bring herself to do that if it was our baby.
Only her best friend and I knew. She had scheduled the procedure. We had a few days to raise $150.
I went to friends and told them: I need you to give me money and not ask questions. They complied. We raised the money.
Her best friend and I took Joyce for the appointment. We ate gazpacho while we waited. And then we stayed with her all afternoon, before she had to head back to her hometown.
Joyce was in New York a couple of months ago, with her husband, a really sweet guy. I had them over to meet my kids and drink wine. We ordered Chinese.
After the kids were in bed, Joyce flirted with me and discussed the possibility of an affair—oh dear, maybe we shouldn’t talk about that in front of my husband! What would her children think if she cheated on daddy?
She’s yours if you can handle her, he offered. I can’t keep up.
Of course, we aren’t going to have an affair. That’s just Joyce being Joyce.
Two
Late summer, 1980. I was sixteen.
In the summer of my fifteenth year, a teen disco opened in a strip mall near my house. That became my all time favorite place to hang out.
I had disco fever. Bad.
On that dance floor, I met my first ongoing girlfriend, Rachel. She was a great improvement on Roxanne. My mom liked that she was sweet and responsible. I liked that she laughed a lot, kissed well, and could drive.
I was no longer dependent upon my parents to go out.
She encouraged me to keep making art. At her suggestion, I applied for and received a scholarship to study with a local artist. The artist was a great eccentric, and I learned a lot from her. She taught me to use pastels, to read The New Yorker, and to put lime wedges in my iced tea.
Rachel was also a student, so we saw a lot of each other.
We got fast into heavy petting, but she was keen to save her virginity for marriage. This frustrated us both, until we stumbled onto something that made us happy and kept her virginity intact: oral sex.
She didn’t go down on me; that seemed odd to her. But I went down on her. At first, she would just lay back and let me do it. Then she got more at ease—soon she was riding my face like a rodeo star.
I ate that girl’s pussy for two years.
One summer night when I was sixteen, we were parked in my Chevette. The back seat folded down so that we could fashion a bed. We could lay there and look up through the hatch window at the stars.
I kept blankets and pillows in the trunk.
I was buried between her legs, sucking and licking her to orgasm. After she came, I moved up to hold and kiss her.
I lowered my body into her embrace and it happened: my cock slid into her wet pussy.
I pulled back. She recoiled.
“I am so sorry,” I said. “That wasn’t on purpose . . .”
“Oh my God!” she fretted. Now she was not only not a virgin, she had to worry about getting pregnant.
We were scared stiff all month. Her period came.
I thought: well, either I lost my virginity with Roxanne or I didn’t. But there was no doubt that, for a split second, I was in Rachel.
But could that count? It was over in a flash.
Rachel graduated and went off to college. By that time, we had already grown apart—probably because I was preoccupied with my new friends at my new school.
In the summer of my fifteenth year, a teen disco opened in a strip mall near my house. That became my all time favorite place to hang out.
I had disco fever. Bad.
On that dance floor, I met my first ongoing girlfriend, Rachel. She was a great improvement on Roxanne. My mom liked that she was sweet and responsible. I liked that she laughed a lot, kissed well, and could drive.
I was no longer dependent upon my parents to go out.
She encouraged me to keep making art. At her suggestion, I applied for and received a scholarship to study with a local artist. The artist was a great eccentric, and I learned a lot from her. She taught me to use pastels, to read The New Yorker, and to put lime wedges in my iced tea.
Rachel was also a student, so we saw a lot of each other.
We got fast into heavy petting, but she was keen to save her virginity for marriage. This frustrated us both, until we stumbled onto something that made us happy and kept her virginity intact: oral sex.
She didn’t go down on me; that seemed odd to her. But I went down on her. At first, she would just lay back and let me do it. Then she got more at ease—soon she was riding my face like a rodeo star.
I ate that girl’s pussy for two years.
One summer night when I was sixteen, we were parked in my Chevette. The back seat folded down so that we could fashion a bed. We could lay there and look up through the hatch window at the stars.
I kept blankets and pillows in the trunk.
I was buried between her legs, sucking and licking her to orgasm. After she came, I moved up to hold and kiss her.
I lowered my body into her embrace and it happened: my cock slid into her wet pussy.
I pulled back. She recoiled.
“I am so sorry,” I said. “That wasn’t on purpose . . .”
“Oh my God!” she fretted. Now she was not only not a virgin, she had to worry about getting pregnant.
We were scared stiff all month. Her period came.
I thought: well, either I lost my virginity with Roxanne or I didn’t. But there was no doubt that, for a split second, I was in Rachel.
But could that count? It was over in a flash.
Rachel graduated and went off to college. By that time, we had already grown apart—probably because I was preoccupied with my new friends at my new school.
One
March 15, 1979. I had just turned fifteen.
I was responsible for organizing a party on the theme of the 1960s.
My friend Charlie offered to help. His parents had a great album collection, and a killer stereo system. They were going to be gone overnight; why not come over and make tapes all night long?
On the appointed day, Roxanne showed up on campus.
Roxanne was weird girl who had attended my junior high school. I had run into her recently at a basketball game, and she had taken to following me around. She would show up at my school, or at my house, to hang out and kiss.
She was extremely thin, with long brown hair, brown eyes. She was fourteen.
Her best friend was very cool: an artist, pretty and far less weird than Roxanne. My best friend Peabo took up with her, and so I was more or less stuck with Roxanne to fill out the foursome.
Charlie invited Roxanne to join us in making tapes that night. We rode the school bus to Charlie’s place; everyone on the bus thought it odd that Roxanne was with us—she didn’t even go to this school! they whispered.
We made tapes and drank vodka with Mountain Dew. Roxanne had no way to get home. None of us was old enough to drive.
Eventually, we had to go to sleep. We went to Charlie’s room. An empty house, but we figured we’d all sleep in Charlie’s bed. He turned on the radio.
I made him turn out the lights before I stripped. Not from modesty so much as shame. I was wearing bright red briefs that I hated. I was also very hard.
Roxanne lay between us, wearing panties and a t-shirt. I brushed back her hair and kissed her. My hand massaged her bee-sting breasts.
Charlie’s hand roamed her body, finding my leg. “Oh hey man, that’s my leg,” I said.
“Oh sorry,” Charlie replied.
Roxanne was focused on me, and eventually Charlie left. We stripped. In the living room, Charlie went back to making tapes.
I lost my virginity as the radio played Blondie’s “Heart of Glass,” and Charlie’s played Bob Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay.”
Or did I?
I was on top of her. We were nude. She was wet, I was hard. I came. Was I in her or not? I had no frame of reference. I assume we did it. I just can’t be sure.
We turned the lights on afterwards and stared at each other’s bodies.
She looked so pretty. I really wished she would leave.
Jaws dropped as we stepped onto the bus the next morning. Roxanne and Jefferson had slept at Charlie’s?
It didn’t take that long for everyone to know that I was no longer a virgin. I told Peabo. Charlie told people. And Roxanne had no way to get to her school, so she hung out on campus.
All day.
Everywhere I went, people sang the Police song. “ROOOOOX-annne!”
The relationship ended soon after. Peabo and his girlfriend sat me down in a classroom to ask me how I felt about Roxanne. We had been sitting outside, but they wanted to have this conversation in the classroom.
I thought this was curious. Why did they want to have this conversation now, in this particular room?
I stood and looked around the room. I opened lockers. Sure enough, Roxanne was hiding in a locker. That scrawny kid was folded into a space scarcely large enough for a tennis racquet.
I closed the door, pissed. I said I was leaving to find a lock for the locker.
That was the end of Roxanne. But not the end of “ROOOOOX-annne!” following me through the halls.
That continues to this day.
I was responsible for organizing a party on the theme of the 1960s.
My friend Charlie offered to help. His parents had a great album collection, and a killer stereo system. They were going to be gone overnight; why not come over and make tapes all night long?
On the appointed day, Roxanne showed up on campus.
Roxanne was weird girl who had attended my junior high school. I had run into her recently at a basketball game, and she had taken to following me around. She would show up at my school, or at my house, to hang out and kiss.
She was extremely thin, with long brown hair, brown eyes. She was fourteen.
Her best friend was very cool: an artist, pretty and far less weird than Roxanne. My best friend Peabo took up with her, and so I was more or less stuck with Roxanne to fill out the foursome.
Charlie invited Roxanne to join us in making tapes that night. We rode the school bus to Charlie’s place; everyone on the bus thought it odd that Roxanne was with us—she didn’t even go to this school! they whispered.
We made tapes and drank vodka with Mountain Dew. Roxanne had no way to get home. None of us was old enough to drive.
Eventually, we had to go to sleep. We went to Charlie’s room. An empty house, but we figured we’d all sleep in Charlie’s bed. He turned on the radio.
I made him turn out the lights before I stripped. Not from modesty so much as shame. I was wearing bright red briefs that I hated. I was also very hard.
Roxanne lay between us, wearing panties and a t-shirt. I brushed back her hair and kissed her. My hand massaged her bee-sting breasts.
Charlie’s hand roamed her body, finding my leg. “Oh hey man, that’s my leg,” I said.
“Oh sorry,” Charlie replied.
Roxanne was focused on me, and eventually Charlie left. We stripped. In the living room, Charlie went back to making tapes.
I lost my virginity as the radio played Blondie’s “Heart of Glass,” and Charlie’s played Bob Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay.”
Or did I?
I was on top of her. We were nude. She was wet, I was hard. I came. Was I in her or not? I had no frame of reference. I assume we did it. I just can’t be sure.
We turned the lights on afterwards and stared at each other’s bodies.
She looked so pretty. I really wished she would leave.
Jaws dropped as we stepped onto the bus the next morning. Roxanne and Jefferson had slept at Charlie’s?
It didn’t take that long for everyone to know that I was no longer a virgin. I told Peabo. Charlie told people. And Roxanne had no way to get to her school, so she hung out on campus.
All day.
Everywhere I went, people sang the Police song. “ROOOOOX-annne!”
The relationship ended soon after. Peabo and his girlfriend sat me down in a classroom to ask me how I felt about Roxanne. We had been sitting outside, but they wanted to have this conversation in the classroom.
I thought this was curious. Why did they want to have this conversation now, in this particular room?
I stood and looked around the room. I opened lockers. Sure enough, Roxanne was hiding in a locker. That scrawny kid was folded into a space scarcely large enough for a tennis racquet.
I closed the door, pissed. I said I was leaving to find a lock for the locker.
That was the end of Roxanne. But not the end of “ROOOOOX-annne!” following me through the halls.
That continues to this day.
Snow
Lillie woke up complaining of a fever. I felt her forehead.
“Honey, you don’t have a fever. You are just sitting in the sun. Move to the other side of the couch.”
Collie is on Day Three of wearing only boxer shorts.
Jason is wading through homework, playing trumpet twice a day. He is getting pretty good. He remains very loud.
One more weekend before school resumes. We may get out into the snow today.
But first, I owe you one more from the vault: how it took three at bats for me to knock my virginity out of the park.
Will it surprise you to learn that threesomes were involved?
“Honey, you don’t have a fever. You are just sitting in the sun. Move to the other side of the couch.”
Collie is on Day Three of wearing only boxer shorts.
Jason is wading through homework, playing trumpet twice a day. He is getting pretty good. He remains very loud.
One more weekend before school resumes. We may get out into the snow today.
But first, I owe you one more from the vault: how it took three at bats for me to knock my virginity out of the park.
Will it surprise you to learn that threesomes were involved?
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Donnie Says
It is very hard to summarize a relationship into a single posting in a blog. But I did want you to know Donnie.
The thing hardest to get into a summary is his voice. I didn’t even try.
Instead, I will let him speak for himself, by sharing one of the letters he sent me soon after he moved to New York.
At the time, we had a rule: We had to write back the day we received a letter.
Sweetest Dear,
It’s July 3, 1983 at 5:15 am, and I’m on a sixth floor fire escape in the big Greenwich Village.
The apartment actually belongs to my cherished friend Cheryl, but my cherished friend Stevie is living here in Cheryl’s absence. Cheryl, you see, is at the present living in Dublin (Ireland, y’know) attending the (sniff) Joan White Theatre School. She’s studying the classics and all that shit (oh that word!).
Stevie and I just finished the latest installment of one of our favorite pastimes, which we call “closing the Duplex.”
Insty-Explanation
The Duplex: one of my (and my friends’—i.e., the aforementioned broads) favorite nightspots. Try almost the only nightspot I’ve ever been to here. No joke. No matter, it’s all (almost all) I need.
It’s a mostly gay club in the Village with two floors: the upstairs where I’ve never been which houses various specialty acts (transvestites, torch singers, etc.); and the downstairs where I’ve always been—a piano bar (sing-along style) with light bulbs (one row) along the walls (a la dressing room chic) and framed theatre posters. It’s kind of in a basement, and we are talking MAJOR small. There’s a jukebox, a cigarette machine, and some video/pinball machines in the back. Nothing lavish here.
Everyone screams Broadway tunes for hours. There’s also a little spotlight and microphone if anyone has the urge to wing it one their own. Usually it’s barmaids and bartenders (who are mostly preciously cute) who sing alone. I think you would like it except for the fact that one can’t help but feel a little left out if one doesn’t know any of the words. (Chide, tease.) (Not really.)
It’s very low pressure (none of that Belle’s shit (!) where you get groped by about twenty people while trying to buy a drink) and usually very warm. In a way. I mean, for all the warmth being passed around the place, there’s still the knowledge that in about an hour or so, you’ll be asked to leave, and everyone with go home. Alone. Unless, of course . . .
END
Dawn has broken during the course of this narration.
This is beautiful. This time and space, I mean. I wish you could see and feel it. It’s very warm, but not disgusting yet.
The West Village is this tumbledown motley of multi-colored, flaking brownstones and little ancient churches. I can see a clock tower and an old tall building topped with what looks like a Greek temple, and I can see a tiny square of the Hudson River.
I went on the roof first (Cheryl’s on the top floor), and got views of the Empire State and World Trade that not only ought to be postcards, but were postcards in the first light of dawn. (However, there was nowhere to sit.)
This neighborhood is wonderful. Everywhere is Off-Broadway theatres, boutiques (clever to offensive), clubs, restaurants, and everywhere, EVERYWHERE is every handsome man that God ever made.
And they’re ALL GAY!!!
This pen will burn in hell.
Jefferson. Uh, I am so sleepy. I am so sleepy I just dozed off and almost fell off the fire escape.
So . . . could I bend the . . . uh, rules just a tiny bit? I mean, I promise I’ll finish the letter tomorrow, and the mail doesn’t run until Tuesday. And . . . and . . . ohshutup. I’m going to sleep.
(Ouy fo maerd dna.)
Figure it out, You don’t get anything for free.
P.S. Thank you for the letter. Honestly. How I love you.
The thing hardest to get into a summary is his voice. I didn’t even try.
Instead, I will let him speak for himself, by sharing one of the letters he sent me soon after he moved to New York.
At the time, we had a rule: We had to write back the day we received a letter.
Sweetest Dear,
It’s July 3, 1983 at 5:15 am, and I’m on a sixth floor fire escape in the big Greenwich Village.
The apartment actually belongs to my cherished friend Cheryl, but my cherished friend Stevie is living here in Cheryl’s absence. Cheryl, you see, is at the present living in Dublin (Ireland, y’know) attending the (sniff) Joan White Theatre School. She’s studying the classics and all that shit (oh that word!).
Stevie and I just finished the latest installment of one of our favorite pastimes, which we call “closing the Duplex.”
Insty-Explanation
The Duplex: one of my (and my friends’—i.e., the aforementioned broads) favorite nightspots. Try almost the only nightspot I’ve ever been to here. No joke. No matter, it’s all (almost all) I need.
It’s a mostly gay club in the Village with two floors: the upstairs where I’ve never been which houses various specialty acts (transvestites, torch singers, etc.); and the downstairs where I’ve always been—a piano bar (sing-along style) with light bulbs (one row) along the walls (a la dressing room chic) and framed theatre posters. It’s kind of in a basement, and we are talking MAJOR small. There’s a jukebox, a cigarette machine, and some video/pinball machines in the back. Nothing lavish here.
Everyone screams Broadway tunes for hours. There’s also a little spotlight and microphone if anyone has the urge to wing it one their own. Usually it’s barmaids and bartenders (who are mostly preciously cute) who sing alone. I think you would like it except for the fact that one can’t help but feel a little left out if one doesn’t know any of the words. (Chide, tease.) (Not really.)
It’s very low pressure (none of that Belle’s shit (!) where you get groped by about twenty people while trying to buy a drink) and usually very warm. In a way. I mean, for all the warmth being passed around the place, there’s still the knowledge that in about an hour or so, you’ll be asked to leave, and everyone with go home. Alone. Unless, of course . . .
END
Dawn has broken during the course of this narration.
This is beautiful. This time and space, I mean. I wish you could see and feel it. It’s very warm, but not disgusting yet.
The West Village is this tumbledown motley of multi-colored, flaking brownstones and little ancient churches. I can see a clock tower and an old tall building topped with what looks like a Greek temple, and I can see a tiny square of the Hudson River.
I went on the roof first (Cheryl’s on the top floor), and got views of the Empire State and World Trade that not only ought to be postcards, but were postcards in the first light of dawn. (However, there was nowhere to sit.)
This neighborhood is wonderful. Everywhere is Off-Broadway theatres, boutiques (clever to offensive), clubs, restaurants, and everywhere, EVERYWHERE is every handsome man that God ever made.
And they’re ALL GAY!!!
This pen will burn in hell.
Jefferson. Uh, I am so sleepy. I am so sleepy I just dozed off and almost fell off the fire escape.
So . . . could I bend the . . . uh, rules just a tiny bit? I mean, I promise I’ll finish the letter tomorrow, and the mail doesn’t run until Tuesday. And . . . and . . . ohshutup. I’m going to sleep.
(Ouy fo maerd dna.)
Figure it out, You don’t get anything for free.
P.S. Thank you for the letter. Honestly. How I love you.
Tainted Love
In the autumn of my senior year of high school, my heart was broken for the first time.
Debra was a vivacious and silly girl, with freckles, porcelain skin and wavy hair. She was hanging out with Allan when she got to know me. We decided this was it, and fell fast in love. We held hands, wrote each other notes, the works.
She lost her virginity on the floor of my family’s den. My family was asleep. I built a fire. We had wine. It was so perfectly romantic.
My then nine-year-old brother discovered us the next morning, asleep, naked on a blanket. Poor Debra was mortified—she was a good girl, forever to be considered a slut by my mother.
Debra became the first woman with whom I had sexual intercourse on a regular basis.
I say “regular basis,” but that’s not quite right. See, she had a reason she wanted to lose her virginity that night—her parents were moving her to Seattle at the end of the semester. And she wanted to lose her virginity to someone she loved as intently as we loved one another.
We had a month remaining in which to be lovers.
Our friends became co-conspirators, sneaking me into the girl’s dorm, pretending she was at a sleepover when she was with me, anything we could dream up.
Just as intensely as Debra loved me, so too did she worship Donnie.
Donnie was much admired, without question the most talented actor in our school. I scarcely knew him—we had a few classes together—but everyone extolled his sense of humor. He was also very handsome, with blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled features. He was rail thin.
A skinny blond funny boy—those were my best attributes too. I was a little threatened by Debra adoration of Donnie, but he was gay, so I had no insecurities about our romance.
Debra desperately wanted Donnie and me to be friends. I was game, though the circumstances felt forced.
One evening, I saw him in the window of his dorm.
“Evidently we are supposed to be friends,” I called up.
“So I hear,” he replied. “We’ll see, huh?”
Debra’s last night came too soon. Donnie arranged for me to sleep in his dorm room, though I would actually be sneaking over to the girl’s hall.
Debra’s roommate slept elsewhere. Debra and I stayed up all night, talking, making love, crying.
At dawn, I crept back to Donnie’s room. I feel asleep on the floor.
Donnie woke at eight, and took Debra to the airport. She didn’t want me to do that.
When Donnie left, his friend Chuck felt me up as I slept. I stopped him. Geez, how insensitive. Chuck was a creep.
Donnie didn’t care for Chuck, but he felt responsible to watch out for the other gay kids.
__________
The deflowering of Debra, and our subsequent torrid romance, was the soap opera of the season. Everyone followed it, and expressed their regrets to me when she was gone.
It also identified me the boy who could put an end to a girl’s virginity. Debra’s friends queued up. I was suddenly having a lot of sex.
One night, Donnie and I sat on a porch, watching a party across the street. We talked about Jesus, we talked about Tom Robbins. And just like that, we were friends.
I told him about my experiences with Allan. I had told no one else. He was touched that I confided in him, and asked all the right questions. It felt great to have him to talk with about how mixed up that felt.
He took me to my first gay bar, a small dive called Belle’s. We were underage, but that was no problem. I had free drinks and we danced. Donnie never drank.
It was only a matter of time before we were having sex.
The first time, in his dorm room, he blew me. He complained that it took so long to get me off. Think of it as staying power, I said.
The truth is, though, I was nervous. Donnie was gay. That struck me as somehow different than being with Allan, because we were both straight. Allan and I loved each other, but it was pretty clear that our primary sexual partners were women.
It would be a while before I understood bisexuality.
Donnie and I traded notes throughout the days at school. He put his notes in interesting containers—a cup, a found envelope, a chocolate box. They grew increasingly elaborate in format, requiring me to open secret panels, or to fill in blank areas to read the full text.
I opened up to him in our correspondence.
Donnie fell in love. That scared the hell out of me.
__________
A group of us went skinny-dipping at my house one night. It was late, and by some miracle, my family did not wake up.
We wound up in my room, splayed about naked on the floor, in pitch darkness. I was massaging Jamye, slipping my finger inside her.
Her sister wanted a massage too, so I rubbed her. It was nonsexual, as we didn’t go there.
Anyone else? I offered.
Donnie signed on. I straddled his buttocks and ran my fingers up his spine, branching outward along his muscles. He squirmed under me. He raised his ass. My hand traveled between his legs; he was hard.
Elsewhere in the room were the sounds of couples kissing. I could hear Peabo coo soothing words to Jamye’s sister.
Donnie was sucking me. Loud, wet and fierce.
His mouth felt so good on me. But I worried about the noise. If anyone heard the sounds of sex coming from this corner of the room, they would know it was us.
I would be outed.
I lay back and stretched myself to reach Jamye. Her head was near mine, her body stretched in the other direction.
She was asleep, or feigning sleep. I found her face and kissed her lips. She pretended to sleep through it.
I scooted back to suck her nipples . . . loudly. Donnie stayed on me as I moved, sucking me . . . loudly.
I wiggled to her hips. I raised a leg so that I could get my mouth on her pussy. She moaned softly and ran a hand down my chest, to my belly.
I stopped her hand before she reached my cock. There would have been a surprise there.
Donnie worked me until I was about to cum. I stopped him.
Light was coming in my window. The sun was rising.
I saw my friends off.
__________
Once Donnie confessed his love for me to his best friend Michelle, she set her sights on me. It was a stupid thing, but she wanted anything he had.
She was a gorgeous black girl, and I was easy. We started fucking.
Donnie was hurt. His letters to me were filled with betrayal and anger. And, perversely, with the tenderest expressions of love.
He loved me too intensely. I didn’t know what to do with him.
He would be pissed at me because of Michelle, but forgive me immediately when I agreed that his new favorite song, Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love,” was insanely great.
__________
After graduation, Donnie moved to New York. I came up to see him often. It was a twenty-four hour trip by train, each way, but I couldn’t afford to fly, working for minimum wage in a movie theater.
I came to know the city through his eyes, by his side when I was here, through his words in the letters he wrote.
In the summer of 1985, I was in New York with my parents and grandmother. After being a good tour guide all day, I was given the night off to hang out with Donnie.
He gave me a sex tour of the city. We were twenty-one.
He worked at the box office of a gay cinema in Times Square.
At his theater, men watched porn projected on a vast screen. I saw men walking onto the stage and going behind the screen. “Where are they going?” I asked.
“Behind the looking glass, Mary. Come on.”
I followed him. We walked along a narrow corridor behind the screen; looking up, I saw men fucking, seventeen feet high, as projected light.
We went upstairs. There, we found a park, created from stage props and Astroturf. Men were having sex on park benches. I had never seen men have sex, and now I saw dozens of them.
Donnie held my hand as we toured around.
He took me to a few of his haunts. We ended up at the Anvil, in the meatpacking district. We walked into a bar with a dance floor. Go-go boys in jock straps danced on the bar, and many of the dancers were shirtless. We swam into their midst to dance.
After we were good and sweaty, he took me downstairs.
Porn was being projected on a screen, as men blew each other on plush sofas.
We sat as far as we could from the action. As we talked, a man came over and jerked off in front of us.
Donnie took me further.
There was a narrow corridor, lined with men. They turned and smiled at us as we approached. It was pitch black at the opposite end.
I decided I had seen enough.
Back at Donnie’s tiny studio, we kissed as his roommate slept.
He asked me to keep my socks on as he blew me. Why, I wondered?
He wanted me to fuck him. He had just started to bottom. No, I can’t, I can’t.
I was just too freaked out.
I cabbed back to the hotel. My family was more than freaked to see me drag in at sunrise. I escaped into sleep.
__________
Five years later, I was out of college, and Lucy and I moved to New York. Donnie, of course, was still here. Debra had moved to the city as well.
Donnie helped us unload the truck when we moved. We hung out a fair amount as I settled into the city.
I was pretty much into Lucy then, and certainly not up for sex outside of that relationship. Donnie never brought it up. We were good as friends.
One afternoon, I met Debra for coffee. We had a high time talking and catching up. We were both thrilled to be back in a place where we could be friends again.
After a while, she said, “I should get going. I told Donnie I’d visit him in the hospital.”
I knew what she was going to say next. I had to pretend otherwise. I had to.
“Hospital? What happened?”
Nothing had happened. I knew.
“Jefferson . . .”
Stop. Don’t.
“Donnie has AIDS.”
He had not told me.
I went with her to the hospital.
I saw Donnie almost every day for the next two years.
On the morning he died, I was in a cab, racing to the hospital.
It didn’t matter if I was there when he breathed his last. His family was there. Our friends were there. He was already doped to incomprehension. I had already been with him through the worst of it.
I needed to be there.
The cab’s radio was much too loud. The sun was too bright. The sky was shrill.
Three blocks from the hospital, the song on the radio ended. I heard the opening tones of “Tainted Love.”
He was gone.
I don’t believe in omens, but he did. Donnie delighted in good endings.
Debra was a vivacious and silly girl, with freckles, porcelain skin and wavy hair. She was hanging out with Allan when she got to know me. We decided this was it, and fell fast in love. We held hands, wrote each other notes, the works.
She lost her virginity on the floor of my family’s den. My family was asleep. I built a fire. We had wine. It was so perfectly romantic.
My then nine-year-old brother discovered us the next morning, asleep, naked on a blanket. Poor Debra was mortified—she was a good girl, forever to be considered a slut by my mother.
Debra became the first woman with whom I had sexual intercourse on a regular basis.
I say “regular basis,” but that’s not quite right. See, she had a reason she wanted to lose her virginity that night—her parents were moving her to Seattle at the end of the semester. And she wanted to lose her virginity to someone she loved as intently as we loved one another.
We had a month remaining in which to be lovers.
Our friends became co-conspirators, sneaking me into the girl’s dorm, pretending she was at a sleepover when she was with me, anything we could dream up.
Just as intensely as Debra loved me, so too did she worship Donnie.
Donnie was much admired, without question the most talented actor in our school. I scarcely knew him—we had a few classes together—but everyone extolled his sense of humor. He was also very handsome, with blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled features. He was rail thin.
A skinny blond funny boy—those were my best attributes too. I was a little threatened by Debra adoration of Donnie, but he was gay, so I had no insecurities about our romance.
Debra desperately wanted Donnie and me to be friends. I was game, though the circumstances felt forced.
One evening, I saw him in the window of his dorm.
“Evidently we are supposed to be friends,” I called up.
“So I hear,” he replied. “We’ll see, huh?”
Debra’s last night came too soon. Donnie arranged for me to sleep in his dorm room, though I would actually be sneaking over to the girl’s hall.
Debra’s roommate slept elsewhere. Debra and I stayed up all night, talking, making love, crying.
At dawn, I crept back to Donnie’s room. I feel asleep on the floor.
Donnie woke at eight, and took Debra to the airport. She didn’t want me to do that.
When Donnie left, his friend Chuck felt me up as I slept. I stopped him. Geez, how insensitive. Chuck was a creep.
Donnie didn’t care for Chuck, but he felt responsible to watch out for the other gay kids.
__________
The deflowering of Debra, and our subsequent torrid romance, was the soap opera of the season. Everyone followed it, and expressed their regrets to me when she was gone.
It also identified me the boy who could put an end to a girl’s virginity. Debra’s friends queued up. I was suddenly having a lot of sex.
One night, Donnie and I sat on a porch, watching a party across the street. We talked about Jesus, we talked about Tom Robbins. And just like that, we were friends.
I told him about my experiences with Allan. I had told no one else. He was touched that I confided in him, and asked all the right questions. It felt great to have him to talk with about how mixed up that felt.
He took me to my first gay bar, a small dive called Belle’s. We were underage, but that was no problem. I had free drinks and we danced. Donnie never drank.
It was only a matter of time before we were having sex.
The first time, in his dorm room, he blew me. He complained that it took so long to get me off. Think of it as staying power, I said.
The truth is, though, I was nervous. Donnie was gay. That struck me as somehow different than being with Allan, because we were both straight. Allan and I loved each other, but it was pretty clear that our primary sexual partners were women.
It would be a while before I understood bisexuality.
Donnie and I traded notes throughout the days at school. He put his notes in interesting containers—a cup, a found envelope, a chocolate box. They grew increasingly elaborate in format, requiring me to open secret panels, or to fill in blank areas to read the full text.
I opened up to him in our correspondence.
Donnie fell in love. That scared the hell out of me.
__________
A group of us went skinny-dipping at my house one night. It was late, and by some miracle, my family did not wake up.
We wound up in my room, splayed about naked on the floor, in pitch darkness. I was massaging Jamye, slipping my finger inside her.
Her sister wanted a massage too, so I rubbed her. It was nonsexual, as we didn’t go there.
Anyone else? I offered.
Donnie signed on. I straddled his buttocks and ran my fingers up his spine, branching outward along his muscles. He squirmed under me. He raised his ass. My hand traveled between his legs; he was hard.
Elsewhere in the room were the sounds of couples kissing. I could hear Peabo coo soothing words to Jamye’s sister.
Donnie was sucking me. Loud, wet and fierce.
His mouth felt so good on me. But I worried about the noise. If anyone heard the sounds of sex coming from this corner of the room, they would know it was us.
I would be outed.
I lay back and stretched myself to reach Jamye. Her head was near mine, her body stretched in the other direction.
She was asleep, or feigning sleep. I found her face and kissed her lips. She pretended to sleep through it.
I scooted back to suck her nipples . . . loudly. Donnie stayed on me as I moved, sucking me . . . loudly.
I wiggled to her hips. I raised a leg so that I could get my mouth on her pussy. She moaned softly and ran a hand down my chest, to my belly.
I stopped her hand before she reached my cock. There would have been a surprise there.
Donnie worked me until I was about to cum. I stopped him.
Light was coming in my window. The sun was rising.
I saw my friends off.
__________
Once Donnie confessed his love for me to his best friend Michelle, she set her sights on me. It was a stupid thing, but she wanted anything he had.
She was a gorgeous black girl, and I was easy. We started fucking.
Donnie was hurt. His letters to me were filled with betrayal and anger. And, perversely, with the tenderest expressions of love.
He loved me too intensely. I didn’t know what to do with him.
He would be pissed at me because of Michelle, but forgive me immediately when I agreed that his new favorite song, Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love,” was insanely great.
__________
After graduation, Donnie moved to New York. I came up to see him often. It was a twenty-four hour trip by train, each way, but I couldn’t afford to fly, working for minimum wage in a movie theater.
I came to know the city through his eyes, by his side when I was here, through his words in the letters he wrote.
In the summer of 1985, I was in New York with my parents and grandmother. After being a good tour guide all day, I was given the night off to hang out with Donnie.
He gave me a sex tour of the city. We were twenty-one.
He worked at the box office of a gay cinema in Times Square.
At his theater, men watched porn projected on a vast screen. I saw men walking onto the stage and going behind the screen. “Where are they going?” I asked.
“Behind the looking glass, Mary. Come on.”
I followed him. We walked along a narrow corridor behind the screen; looking up, I saw men fucking, seventeen feet high, as projected light.
We went upstairs. There, we found a park, created from stage props and Astroturf. Men were having sex on park benches. I had never seen men have sex, and now I saw dozens of them.
Donnie held my hand as we toured around.
He took me to a few of his haunts. We ended up at the Anvil, in the meatpacking district. We walked into a bar with a dance floor. Go-go boys in jock straps danced on the bar, and many of the dancers were shirtless. We swam into their midst to dance.
After we were good and sweaty, he took me downstairs.
Porn was being projected on a screen, as men blew each other on plush sofas.
We sat as far as we could from the action. As we talked, a man came over and jerked off in front of us.
Donnie took me further.
There was a narrow corridor, lined with men. They turned and smiled at us as we approached. It was pitch black at the opposite end.
I decided I had seen enough.
Back at Donnie’s tiny studio, we kissed as his roommate slept.
He asked me to keep my socks on as he blew me. Why, I wondered?
He wanted me to fuck him. He had just started to bottom. No, I can’t, I can’t.
I was just too freaked out.
I cabbed back to the hotel. My family was more than freaked to see me drag in at sunrise. I escaped into sleep.
__________
Five years later, I was out of college, and Lucy and I moved to New York. Donnie, of course, was still here. Debra had moved to the city as well.
Donnie helped us unload the truck when we moved. We hung out a fair amount as I settled into the city.
I was pretty much into Lucy then, and certainly not up for sex outside of that relationship. Donnie never brought it up. We were good as friends.
One afternoon, I met Debra for coffee. We had a high time talking and catching up. We were both thrilled to be back in a place where we could be friends again.
After a while, she said, “I should get going. I told Donnie I’d visit him in the hospital.”
I knew what she was going to say next. I had to pretend otherwise. I had to.
“Hospital? What happened?”
Nothing had happened. I knew.
“Jefferson . . .”
Stop. Don’t.
“Donnie has AIDS.”
He had not told me.
I went with her to the hospital.
I saw Donnie almost every day for the next two years.
On the morning he died, I was in a cab, racing to the hospital.
It didn’t matter if I was there when he breathed his last. His family was there. Our friends were there. He was already doped to incomprehension. I had already been with him through the worst of it.
I needed to be there.
The cab’s radio was much too loud. The sun was too bright. The sky was shrill.
Three blocks from the hospital, the song on the radio ended. I heard the opening tones of “Tainted Love.”
He was gone.
I don’t believe in omens, but he did. Donnie delighted in good endings.
Hey Dad
It’s snowing.
It’s been too cold to do much outdoors, so the kids have been playing, or gaming, or watching television.
I’ve got laundry in the dryer. Chicken is marinating in lime juice for dinner.
As I type, Lillie stands at my elbow.
“Hey dad, hey dad!”
“What’s up, sugar britches?”
“Collie and I formed a club. You want to come to a meeting?”
“Sure do!”
The sheets have been stripped from my bed and draped over a chair. We sit on the floor under the sheets with a flashlight and dozens of stuffed animals. Lillie takes attendance.
In my room there are photographs of all my children. There’s a photograph of Allan and my youngest brother, laughing.
And there is a head shot of Donnie, when he was fresh out of acting school. It looks nothing like him.
It’s been too cold to do much outdoors, so the kids have been playing, or gaming, or watching television.
I’ve got laundry in the dryer. Chicken is marinating in lime juice for dinner.
As I type, Lillie stands at my elbow.
“Hey dad, hey dad!”
“What’s up, sugar britches?”
“Collie and I formed a club. You want to come to a meeting?”
“Sure do!”
The sheets have been stripped from my bed and draped over a chair. We sit on the floor under the sheets with a flashlight and dozens of stuffed animals. Lillie takes attendance.
In my room there are photographs of all my children. There’s a photograph of Allan and my youngest brother, laughing.
And there is a head shot of Donnie, when he was fresh out of acting school. It looks nothing like him.
Straight Boys in Love
Love at first sight is real.
September nineteen-eighty, early morning, still life drawing class. I was sixteen.
Allan was standing with some other jock sophomores, leaning against the flat files used to store our drawings. He had his fingers shoved into the pants of his tight jeans. He wore a clinging baseball jersey with red sleeves.
He was smiling.
His smile was broad, stretching between his full cheeks.
His dirty blonde hair was wavy and long on top.
I could draw you a picture of how he looked in that moment, so imprinted is it in my memory.
We didn’t have many opportunities to talk initially, as we were in different classes. He already had a circle of friends, and I was just beginning to meet people at this new school.
One day he mentioned that he needed a ride home. I volunteered to drive him. Soon we were commuting together. I would pick him up in the mornings, and take him home in the afternoons.
During that drive, for about an hour every day, we were alone together. And during those drives, talking and singing along to the early Beatles, we fell in love.
I was sixteen, he was fifteen.
We didn’t talk much at first. I was a little nervous about his beauty and my attraction to him. He was shy, he would later tell me, because he thought I was one of the smart kids—what if I thought he was dumb?
This was before Allan came to realize how smart he was. He developed into a philosopher of sorts; there was nothing he couldn’t talk about until sunrise, thinking through every angle, every permutation, of the most abstract ideas.
But at fifteen, he was still unaware of his uniqueness.
He lived alone with his mom and her mother. To pick him up for school, I would pull up outside his building, honk my horn, and wait for him. If he took too long, I would get out to hurry him along.
One morning, I went to fetch him. He opened the door nude.
His mother and grandmother were gone.
He apologized for being late, saying he just woke up. He needed to iron a shirt and he’d be ready to go. Come sit in my room while I get ready.
I sat on his bed as he ironed. I tried to avert my eyes. The room was a mess, scattered with clothes and junk. He had a smooth body, naturally muscular, still growing out of his baby fat. His small patch of pubic hair was blondish, kind of salt and pepper. His cock was . . .
I couldn’t get over the fact that he was nude, right there, in front of me. My heart was racing.
He sat on the bed next to me.
He kissed me. He kissed me!
He asked me to take off my clothes.
I had never touched a boy. Neither had he.
I undressed and we kissed. I held him close, feeling his hard cock against mine.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I didn’t know what to do with my desire. I only knew I wanted all of him, now, before this moment was taken away.
This might never happen again. How was it happening now?
He took my cock in his mouth. No one had done this before. That sensation flowed over my body.
He turned his body to put his dick in my mouth. I pulled back. I was scared to try that. Then I did it. I held him in my mouth, unsure what to do.
I'm not sure if either of us came. Afterwards, we lay in his bed. He said that would have been very hot if a girl had been there. I agreed. We dressed and went to school.
I was in a daze as the school day unfolded around me. The world was normal. I wasn’t. I was full of feelings about Allan and what we had done. We weren’t gay now, were we?
Things settled over time. Allan and I were very close. We loved each other, and said so, along the lines of saying “Ah love yew, man.”
We had sex now and then, always at his initiation, never as often as I wanted.
We were at a party a year later and had to do a beer run. He and I collected bills and change and headed out in my car.
He drove. He wanted to drive. I swallowed my father's admonishment that under no circumstances was anyone other than me to drive my car.
A few beers often turned him sentimental. He grabbed my leg and proclaimed his love for me, his best friend.
I kiss his cheek and told him I loved him.
He changed course and drove to Jamye’s house. We knew the door was unlocked, and no one was home—Jamye and her sister were at the party we just left.
We went upstairs to her room. We undressed and kissed in her bed.
He said he wanted to fuck me. I had never been on either end of anal sex. I said it was okay if I could do him. Deal.
He lubed with Jamye’s hand lotion. I rolled over. He was in me all at once.
I can’t take it, I said. It’s too much, it’s too much.
Relax, he said, fucking me hard. My head was on fire. I couldn’t find a thought in my brain.
After a while, it was my turn. He pulled out. My mind returned to reality.
I lubed up and entered him.
Shit! Man, no, no! I can’t do it!
Relax, I said.
No, he pulled away. You are too damn big! I just can’t.
We took a quick shower. He kissed my cock. I’m sorry man, he said. I just couldn’t take it.
We bought some beer and headed back to the party.
(I would wind up in that bedroom again that night, after the party.
I was licking Jamye’s pussy—she was all of fourteen at this point—when her sister came in and undressed for bed. She told me Michelle was downstairs looking for me, and Jamye needed to go to sleep.
I kissed Jamye good night and went downstairs. Michelle was mad about something that happened at the party. I knew that her anger was primarily a ruse to get my attention. We made amends and she sucked my cock in the living room.)
Allan never really had a girlfriend. As our circle of friends developed in common, and as he gained in confidence about his brains and his beauty, he tended to sleep with whichever girl was into him at the moment.
I always had a girlfriend. Allan slept with pretty much all of them.
Years later, at my wedding reception, Allan congratulated me on finding such a pretty bride. I thanked him, noting that she was the only girlfriend I had that he had not fucked.
He pushed me, laughing. We then realized this was only a slight exaggeration.
Allan finally found pretty bride of his own.
We grew up to be married men, but kissing and loving one another remained a part of our friendship. Everyone knew we loved each other. His mother used to wonder if he would have been happier with me.
In the summer of two-thousand-and-one, I was back home. He drove over from Atlanta to see me. We met for beer in a garden, and talked for hours.
He dropped me off at my parents afterward. We kissed. I pressed into it, taking his tongue in my mouth.
He laughed. “Ah love yew, man,” he said.
“I love you, baby. Always will.”
That was the last time I saw him. Allan died of a sudden heart attack a year later.
September nineteen-eighty, early morning, still life drawing class. I was sixteen.
Allan was standing with some other jock sophomores, leaning against the flat files used to store our drawings. He had his fingers shoved into the pants of his tight jeans. He wore a clinging baseball jersey with red sleeves.
He was smiling.
His smile was broad, stretching between his full cheeks.
His dirty blonde hair was wavy and long on top.
I could draw you a picture of how he looked in that moment, so imprinted is it in my memory.
We didn’t have many opportunities to talk initially, as we were in different classes. He already had a circle of friends, and I was just beginning to meet people at this new school.
One day he mentioned that he needed a ride home. I volunteered to drive him. Soon we were commuting together. I would pick him up in the mornings, and take him home in the afternoons.
During that drive, for about an hour every day, we were alone together. And during those drives, talking and singing along to the early Beatles, we fell in love.
I was sixteen, he was fifteen.
We didn’t talk much at first. I was a little nervous about his beauty and my attraction to him. He was shy, he would later tell me, because he thought I was one of the smart kids—what if I thought he was dumb?
This was before Allan came to realize how smart he was. He developed into a philosopher of sorts; there was nothing he couldn’t talk about until sunrise, thinking through every angle, every permutation, of the most abstract ideas.
But at fifteen, he was still unaware of his uniqueness.
He lived alone with his mom and her mother. To pick him up for school, I would pull up outside his building, honk my horn, and wait for him. If he took too long, I would get out to hurry him along.
One morning, I went to fetch him. He opened the door nude.
His mother and grandmother were gone.
He apologized for being late, saying he just woke up. He needed to iron a shirt and he’d be ready to go. Come sit in my room while I get ready.
I sat on his bed as he ironed. I tried to avert my eyes. The room was a mess, scattered with clothes and junk. He had a smooth body, naturally muscular, still growing out of his baby fat. His small patch of pubic hair was blondish, kind of salt and pepper. His cock was . . .
I couldn’t get over the fact that he was nude, right there, in front of me. My heart was racing.
He sat on the bed next to me.
He kissed me. He kissed me!
He asked me to take off my clothes.
I had never touched a boy. Neither had he.
I undressed and we kissed. I held him close, feeling his hard cock against mine.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I didn’t know what to do with my desire. I only knew I wanted all of him, now, before this moment was taken away.
This might never happen again. How was it happening now?
He took my cock in his mouth. No one had done this before. That sensation flowed over my body.
He turned his body to put his dick in my mouth. I pulled back. I was scared to try that. Then I did it. I held him in my mouth, unsure what to do.
I'm not sure if either of us came. Afterwards, we lay in his bed. He said that would have been very hot if a girl had been there. I agreed. We dressed and went to school.
I was in a daze as the school day unfolded around me. The world was normal. I wasn’t. I was full of feelings about Allan and what we had done. We weren’t gay now, were we?
Things settled over time. Allan and I were very close. We loved each other, and said so, along the lines of saying “Ah love yew, man.”
We had sex now and then, always at his initiation, never as often as I wanted.
We were at a party a year later and had to do a beer run. He and I collected bills and change and headed out in my car.
He drove. He wanted to drive. I swallowed my father's admonishment that under no circumstances was anyone other than me to drive my car.
A few beers often turned him sentimental. He grabbed my leg and proclaimed his love for me, his best friend.
I kiss his cheek and told him I loved him.
He changed course and drove to Jamye’s house. We knew the door was unlocked, and no one was home—Jamye and her sister were at the party we just left.
We went upstairs to her room. We undressed and kissed in her bed.
He said he wanted to fuck me. I had never been on either end of anal sex. I said it was okay if I could do him. Deal.
He lubed with Jamye’s hand lotion. I rolled over. He was in me all at once.
I can’t take it, I said. It’s too much, it’s too much.
Relax, he said, fucking me hard. My head was on fire. I couldn’t find a thought in my brain.
After a while, it was my turn. He pulled out. My mind returned to reality.
I lubed up and entered him.
Shit! Man, no, no! I can’t do it!
Relax, I said.
No, he pulled away. You are too damn big! I just can’t.
We took a quick shower. He kissed my cock. I’m sorry man, he said. I just couldn’t take it.
We bought some beer and headed back to the party.
(I would wind up in that bedroom again that night, after the party.
I was licking Jamye’s pussy—she was all of fourteen at this point—when her sister came in and undressed for bed. She told me Michelle was downstairs looking for me, and Jamye needed to go to sleep.
I kissed Jamye good night and went downstairs. Michelle was mad about something that happened at the party. I knew that her anger was primarily a ruse to get my attention. We made amends and she sucked my cock in the living room.)
Allan never really had a girlfriend. As our circle of friends developed in common, and as he gained in confidence about his brains and his beauty, he tended to sleep with whichever girl was into him at the moment.
I always had a girlfriend. Allan slept with pretty much all of them.
Years later, at my wedding reception, Allan congratulated me on finding such a pretty bride. I thanked him, noting that she was the only girlfriend I had that he had not fucked.
He pushed me, laughing. We then realized this was only a slight exaggeration.
Allan finally found pretty bride of his own.
We grew up to be married men, but kissing and loving one another remained a part of our friendship. Everyone knew we loved each other. His mother used to wonder if he would have been happier with me.
In the summer of two-thousand-and-one, I was back home. He drove over from Atlanta to see me. We met for beer in a garden, and talked for hours.
He dropped me off at my parents afterward. We kissed. I pressed into it, taking his tongue in my mouth.
He laughed. “Ah love yew, man,” he said.
“I love you, baby. Always will.”
That was the last time I saw him. Allan died of a sudden heart attack a year later.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Program Notes
It’s a good thing I took the opportunity to catch up on my sleep. Winter break has come along in New York City schools.
Wealthy families can get in one last ski trip to Vail. The rest of us are trapped indoors with the kids, suffering from cabin fever.
I will be with my progeny 24/7 for the next five days.
Jesus take me now.
Long time readers know this means no sex for the easiest lay in Manhattan. What better opportunity, then, to fulfill requests for tales from my slutty adolescence?
I’ve combed the vaults and come up with three tales.
The first two will relate how I came to realize I was bisexual when I fell in love with a straight boy and a gay boy fell for me.
The third will tell how I lost my virginity three times before it stuck.
(I’m leading with the boy action as an apologia for those who complain that for a bi boy, I sure am seeing lots of women lately.)
My oldest friend Peabo is among the readers of this blog. I’m glad I told him these stories long ago—though not quite in this detail.
Now, please join me in a bourbon, dear reader, as we return to the Deep South for a few installments of Teen Lust, circa 1980.
Wealthy families can get in one last ski trip to Vail. The rest of us are trapped indoors with the kids, suffering from cabin fever.
I will be with my progeny 24/7 for the next five days.
Jesus take me now.
Long time readers know this means no sex for the easiest lay in Manhattan. What better opportunity, then, to fulfill requests for tales from my slutty adolescence?
I’ve combed the vaults and come up with three tales.
The first two will relate how I came to realize I was bisexual when I fell in love with a straight boy and a gay boy fell for me.
The third will tell how I lost my virginity three times before it stuck.
(I’m leading with the boy action as an apologia for those who complain that for a bi boy, I sure am seeing lots of women lately.)
My oldest friend Peabo is among the readers of this blog. I’m glad I told him these stories long ago—though not quite in this detail.
Now, please join me in a bourbon, dear reader, as we return to the Deep South for a few installments of Teen Lust, circa 1980.
Hotel
A gig took me to Virginia Beach for an overnight trip. I was set up with a nice hotel room, looking out over the ocean.
I arrived on a drizzly winter evening, and walked the beach. I didn’t have to work until the next day, beginning mid-morning.
A town where I don’t know a soul, a free night, a pleasant room . . . nice opportunity for some Southern loving.
Only one thing was lacking: another Southerner to love on.
Most people in this situation might think, now this is why bar pick ups were invented. But I must confess, gentle reader, that I have very little experience with bar picks ups.
Little, as in none.
Now why should this be so? I’m an attractive and outgoing person, who loves to booze and schmooze. Sex with someone I’ve just met? No problem.
I suppose my problem is an aversion to the games I associate with bar pick ups. You know, the girls who flirt to get free drinks, the boys who evaluate you in a glance. Not much appealing in that for me.
My walk took me to a sports bar. I stopped in for dinner and a beer. The place was nearly empty.
I sat at the bar. The bartender poured a pint and brought me a menu. She was sexy, in a tomboyish way that appeals to me. She had a soft athletic body, with tattoos revealed by her much-too-small shirt. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she wore no make up.
She was nice to me, I was nice to her.
At the end of the bar, a waitress was chatting with some of the regulars. She recounted the sad news that her vibrator was now broken. She loved it like no man. She contemplated a memorial service.
The guys hemmed and hawed.
The bartender had climbed onto the bar to reach into a cabinet. You ain’t kidding, she said, looking down as she straddled the area near the regulars. My useless husband ain’t got nothing on my vibrator. I’ll be glad when he’s gone so I can spend more time with it.
Hem. Haw.
One of the guys offered that he might be better than her husband, if she wants to try him after the divorce. She hopped down. Yeah, I’ll keep that offer in mind, little man.
I ain’t that little . . .
Yeah, that’s what they all say.
And so it went, this banter between the men who drank and the women who served drinks.
I had a bourbon, settled up and headed back to my room.
I had a night of decadent self-indulgence planned. Masturbation and a long, deep uninterrupted sleep—two activities I find too little time for back home.
Anna called. How’s the room?
Nice. What are you up to?
Not much. Just laying in my bed naked, masturbating, thinking of you.
Hey, that’s funny. I’m doing the same.
As she touched herself, she talked about things she wanted to do with me. She talked and talked; I listened, interjecting infrequently.
She got herself off over and again. I came.
We talked a bit longer, then said good night around ten thirty. I phoned in a wake up call for nine.
A wake up call for nine. Sweet!
I woke around seven, with light streaming in the windows. I turned over, grabbed a pillow and watched the waves. I was well rested, sated. I drifted back to sleep.
I flew back to the city the following evening, after a day of work. Bridget met me at the airport.
I have been negligent of Bridget, my BBW Sugar Mama. She reminded me daily of how many days had passed since we last had sex.
At seventy-five days, she said that she was due. I agreed. Alas, I couldn’t host this week, as I had guests at my place. Her place was out of the question, as she has a roommate.
So she did what any horny Sugar Mama would do. She got us a hotel room. Oh, but she’s not just any Sugar Mama—she’s got brains, this one. She did some research and got us booked at a fancy hotel at a bargain rate. On her tab, natch.
The room looked out over New York harbor. There was a large bottle of bourbon waiting for me.
She got her clocks cleaned. The calendar was reset. She can now count the days until next time.
I arrived on a drizzly winter evening, and walked the beach. I didn’t have to work until the next day, beginning mid-morning.
A town where I don’t know a soul, a free night, a pleasant room . . . nice opportunity for some Southern loving.
Only one thing was lacking: another Southerner to love on.
Most people in this situation might think, now this is why bar pick ups were invented. But I must confess, gentle reader, that I have very little experience with bar picks ups.
Little, as in none.
Now why should this be so? I’m an attractive and outgoing person, who loves to booze and schmooze. Sex with someone I’ve just met? No problem.
I suppose my problem is an aversion to the games I associate with bar pick ups. You know, the girls who flirt to get free drinks, the boys who evaluate you in a glance. Not much appealing in that for me.
My walk took me to a sports bar. I stopped in for dinner and a beer. The place was nearly empty.
I sat at the bar. The bartender poured a pint and brought me a menu. She was sexy, in a tomboyish way that appeals to me. She had a soft athletic body, with tattoos revealed by her much-too-small shirt. Her hair was up in a ponytail, and she wore no make up.
She was nice to me, I was nice to her.
At the end of the bar, a waitress was chatting with some of the regulars. She recounted the sad news that her vibrator was now broken. She loved it like no man. She contemplated a memorial service.
The guys hemmed and hawed.
The bartender had climbed onto the bar to reach into a cabinet. You ain’t kidding, she said, looking down as she straddled the area near the regulars. My useless husband ain’t got nothing on my vibrator. I’ll be glad when he’s gone so I can spend more time with it.
Hem. Haw.
One of the guys offered that he might be better than her husband, if she wants to try him after the divorce. She hopped down. Yeah, I’ll keep that offer in mind, little man.
I ain’t that little . . .
Yeah, that’s what they all say.
And so it went, this banter between the men who drank and the women who served drinks.
I had a bourbon, settled up and headed back to my room.
I had a night of decadent self-indulgence planned. Masturbation and a long, deep uninterrupted sleep—two activities I find too little time for back home.
Anna called. How’s the room?
Nice. What are you up to?
Not much. Just laying in my bed naked, masturbating, thinking of you.
Hey, that’s funny. I’m doing the same.
As she touched herself, she talked about things she wanted to do with me. She talked and talked; I listened, interjecting infrequently.
She got herself off over and again. I came.
We talked a bit longer, then said good night around ten thirty. I phoned in a wake up call for nine.
A wake up call for nine. Sweet!
I woke around seven, with light streaming in the windows. I turned over, grabbed a pillow and watched the waves. I was well rested, sated. I drifted back to sleep.
I flew back to the city the following evening, after a day of work. Bridget met me at the airport.
I have been negligent of Bridget, my BBW Sugar Mama. She reminded me daily of how many days had passed since we last had sex.
At seventy-five days, she said that she was due. I agreed. Alas, I couldn’t host this week, as I had guests at my place. Her place was out of the question, as she has a roommate.
So she did what any horny Sugar Mama would do. She got us a hotel room. Oh, but she’s not just any Sugar Mama—she’s got brains, this one. She did some research and got us booked at a fancy hotel at a bargain rate. On her tab, natch.
The room looked out over New York harbor. There was a large bottle of bourbon waiting for me.
She got her clocks cleaned. The calendar was reset. She can now count the days until next time.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Plain and Simple
After reading my blog, Mitzi made it plain and simple.
She was interested in sex with me, but wanted nothing to do with the extreme stuff. She wanted her sex vanilla, served regularly.
I was happy to comply.
Since we reached that agreement a few weeks ago, we have been together a fair number of times.
As we fucked missionary style in her bed, she asked if we could meet at my place next time. It would be her first time in my apartment.
Sure, I agreed, slowly moving in and out of her, my face in her neck.
And, uh, can you use the ropes?
Mitzi wanted to expand our definition of “vanilla.”
Before our date, I prepared ropes and restraints, tucking them into hidden places.
As Mitzi and I had sex on my bed, she seemed a little nervous. I asked if this was so and she said yes, she was getting used to being with me in a new environment.
“It’s still me, it’s still us,” I kissed her, tenderly.
One milestone at time. The ropes would go unused.
But we could still move in that direction.
At one point, as I topped her, I held her arms back over her head. I pulled my legs back so that my thighs rested on hers. She was pinned under my full weight as I fucked her.
Her eyes flashed. I pinned her wrists under one hand and put the other over her eyes. She wriggled under me, to see how much she could move.
She could not move.
She asked if I would give her a gangbang. Another man had set one up for her before, and she had liked being taken by so many men. But she no longer trusted the man who made that happen.
She trusted me.
Who were the guys? I asked.
He found them on Craig’s List, she said.
No baby, I assured her. That won’t do. You will get a gangbang with men I know.
We next met at her place.
We had fucked for a while. As we rested, she told me she really me to give her anal sex.
Does that excite you? I asked.
It can, she said. I’ve had it done well, and I’ve had it done badly. I think you would be good.
I hope I would be, I said. I rolled back on top of her, and fucked her pussy until I came.
A few days later, I got an instant message. She wanted to meet at my place. She wanted to be clear: she can take more than vanilla, plain and simple. Could she please, please come over?
I took her coat at the door. I kissed her, sniffing the vanilla body lotion on her neck.
She gave me a bag. Inside was a pint of Haagen Daz ice cream—vanilla.
The girl is good. That’s right sweetie, surrender your vanilla to me. I set the ice cream on the counter to soften.
I walked to my bedroom. She followed. I stripped off my clothes, and threw a pillow on the floor before a chair. I sat. The sun streamed on me from an adjacent window.
“Take off your clothes,” I directed. “And suck my dick.”
She stripped to her underwear, and knelt before me. “You are so thoughtful to provide a pillow for my knees,” she thanked me, taking my cock in her mouth.
Good girl.
I let her suck me for a good long while, enjoying her mouth and her eye contact. I stroked her hair. I knew she was worried to be so exposed by an open window. She has relatives in the building across the street.
I stood up and fucked her face as she kneeled before me, in full view of the window. I held her head firm in my hands.
Slut.
“You do good, girl,” I told her. “Now get up. Lay on my bed.”
She did as instructed.
I rewarded her compliance by climbing on her, doing my best to squish her body as I kissed her. She gave me her mouth so freely.
I reached behind her head and retrieved a rope. Her right hand was secured.
I reached to her left. As I did so, my cock went to her mouth. She sucked it gratefully as I tied down her free hand.
I moved down, grabbing her right ankle. I pulled her body taunt and lashed her leg into place.
I left her other leg free. I might want it flexible.
She watched as I worked, visibly excited. “One more thing,” I said. I reached into my bookcase and retrieved a blindfold. I covered her eyes, taking care to keep her hair loose. I might want it.
I sat for a while, drinking water, watching her wonder where I was, what would happen next.
I opened a condom. Her blind face turned in the direction of that sound. She smiled.
I was in her, fucking her slowly as her pussy grew wet for me, then deep and hard as she gave way. She moaned. I clasped a hand over her mouth.
Soon I pulled out.
She felt my finger in her ass. She felt it grow longer as a butt plug was planted in her.
I fucked her pussy.
She felt my cock in her mouth. Someone was in her ass. Another cock went at her pussy.
My hands worked a dildo and butt plug as she sucked me.
Girl could do a gangbang. No problem.
My torso held her free leg aloft as I fucked her pussy, a finger keeping the butt plug firmly in place. I pulled her hair with the other hand.
If I was doing this right, I hoped, her sense of touch was very confused, thrown off by the denial of vision.
My fingers were in her cunt as I fucked her ass. I filled her ass.
And then I was gone.
She was alone, blind, strapped to my bed.
She felt the pressure of flesh on her chest. I had my cock in her mouth.
I pulled out. She heard me jerking off.
I peeled back her blindfold. Her eyes blinked as I rained white cream on her face.
I left.
I returned eating her vanilla ice cream. “Want some?” I asked. She did. I fed her a big spoonful. Then another.
Another.
I offered another. She opened her mouth. I pulled back the spoon and ate the ice cream.
Stupid. Oldest trick in the book.
I filled a spoonful and rubbed it across her body, watching as it melted on her flesh, pooling in her pierced navel. Rivulets of vanilla ice cream ran down her body—and toward my clean sheets.
I stopped the ice cream with my fingers, and licked them. “If ice cream hits my sheets,” I warned, “It’s your ass.”
I burrowed my mouth on her clit. I licked and sucked her hard. I gave her my fingers.
All of this, all of this, and she had not yet cum in my bed. Not last time, not this time.
She cums easily at her place, but will not cum in my bed.
Bad.
I looked up. Ice cream streamed from her torso onto my sheets.
“No!” I spanked her. “No ice cream on the sheets!” Her hands pulled at the restraints.
She was very aroused.
I freed her. I kissed her. She was sent to wash.
She came back to me. She climbed on my body.
She grinded her body into mine, pushing her clit against my pubis. My cock began to awaken again.
She came.
Good girl.
That night, I sent notes to a few of my boys. We had a gangbang in the offing.
She was interested in sex with me, but wanted nothing to do with the extreme stuff. She wanted her sex vanilla, served regularly.
I was happy to comply.
Since we reached that agreement a few weeks ago, we have been together a fair number of times.
As we fucked missionary style in her bed, she asked if we could meet at my place next time. It would be her first time in my apartment.
Sure, I agreed, slowly moving in and out of her, my face in her neck.
And, uh, can you use the ropes?
Mitzi wanted to expand our definition of “vanilla.”
Before our date, I prepared ropes and restraints, tucking them into hidden places.
As Mitzi and I had sex on my bed, she seemed a little nervous. I asked if this was so and she said yes, she was getting used to being with me in a new environment.
“It’s still me, it’s still us,” I kissed her, tenderly.
One milestone at time. The ropes would go unused.
But we could still move in that direction.
At one point, as I topped her, I held her arms back over her head. I pulled my legs back so that my thighs rested on hers. She was pinned under my full weight as I fucked her.
Her eyes flashed. I pinned her wrists under one hand and put the other over her eyes. She wriggled under me, to see how much she could move.
She could not move.
She asked if I would give her a gangbang. Another man had set one up for her before, and she had liked being taken by so many men. But she no longer trusted the man who made that happen.
She trusted me.
Who were the guys? I asked.
He found them on Craig’s List, she said.
No baby, I assured her. That won’t do. You will get a gangbang with men I know.
We next met at her place.
We had fucked for a while. As we rested, she told me she really me to give her anal sex.
Does that excite you? I asked.
It can, she said. I’ve had it done well, and I’ve had it done badly. I think you would be good.
I hope I would be, I said. I rolled back on top of her, and fucked her pussy until I came.
A few days later, I got an instant message. She wanted to meet at my place. She wanted to be clear: she can take more than vanilla, plain and simple. Could she please, please come over?
I took her coat at the door. I kissed her, sniffing the vanilla body lotion on her neck.
She gave me a bag. Inside was a pint of Haagen Daz ice cream—vanilla.
The girl is good. That’s right sweetie, surrender your vanilla to me. I set the ice cream on the counter to soften.
I walked to my bedroom. She followed. I stripped off my clothes, and threw a pillow on the floor before a chair. I sat. The sun streamed on me from an adjacent window.
“Take off your clothes,” I directed. “And suck my dick.”
She stripped to her underwear, and knelt before me. “You are so thoughtful to provide a pillow for my knees,” she thanked me, taking my cock in her mouth.
Good girl.
I let her suck me for a good long while, enjoying her mouth and her eye contact. I stroked her hair. I knew she was worried to be so exposed by an open window. She has relatives in the building across the street.
I stood up and fucked her face as she kneeled before me, in full view of the window. I held her head firm in my hands.
Slut.
“You do good, girl,” I told her. “Now get up. Lay on my bed.”
She did as instructed.
I rewarded her compliance by climbing on her, doing my best to squish her body as I kissed her. She gave me her mouth so freely.
I reached behind her head and retrieved a rope. Her right hand was secured.
I reached to her left. As I did so, my cock went to her mouth. She sucked it gratefully as I tied down her free hand.
I moved down, grabbing her right ankle. I pulled her body taunt and lashed her leg into place.
I left her other leg free. I might want it flexible.
She watched as I worked, visibly excited. “One more thing,” I said. I reached into my bookcase and retrieved a blindfold. I covered her eyes, taking care to keep her hair loose. I might want it.
I sat for a while, drinking water, watching her wonder where I was, what would happen next.
I opened a condom. Her blind face turned in the direction of that sound. She smiled.
I was in her, fucking her slowly as her pussy grew wet for me, then deep and hard as she gave way. She moaned. I clasped a hand over her mouth.
Soon I pulled out.
She felt my finger in her ass. She felt it grow longer as a butt plug was planted in her.
I fucked her pussy.
She felt my cock in her mouth. Someone was in her ass. Another cock went at her pussy.
My hands worked a dildo and butt plug as she sucked me.
Girl could do a gangbang. No problem.
My torso held her free leg aloft as I fucked her pussy, a finger keeping the butt plug firmly in place. I pulled her hair with the other hand.
If I was doing this right, I hoped, her sense of touch was very confused, thrown off by the denial of vision.
My fingers were in her cunt as I fucked her ass. I filled her ass.
And then I was gone.
She was alone, blind, strapped to my bed.
She felt the pressure of flesh on her chest. I had my cock in her mouth.
I pulled out. She heard me jerking off.
I peeled back her blindfold. Her eyes blinked as I rained white cream on her face.
I left.
I returned eating her vanilla ice cream. “Want some?” I asked. She did. I fed her a big spoonful. Then another.
Another.
I offered another. She opened her mouth. I pulled back the spoon and ate the ice cream.
Stupid. Oldest trick in the book.
I filled a spoonful and rubbed it across her body, watching as it melted on her flesh, pooling in her pierced navel. Rivulets of vanilla ice cream ran down her body—and toward my clean sheets.
I stopped the ice cream with my fingers, and licked them. “If ice cream hits my sheets,” I warned, “It’s your ass.”
I burrowed my mouth on her clit. I licked and sucked her hard. I gave her my fingers.
All of this, all of this, and she had not yet cum in my bed. Not last time, not this time.
She cums easily at her place, but will not cum in my bed.
Bad.
I looked up. Ice cream streamed from her torso onto my sheets.
“No!” I spanked her. “No ice cream on the sheets!” Her hands pulled at the restraints.
She was very aroused.
I freed her. I kissed her. She was sent to wash.
She came back to me. She climbed on my body.
She grinded her body into mine, pushing her clit against my pubis. My cock began to awaken again.
She came.
Good girl.
That night, I sent notes to a few of my boys. We had a gangbang in the offing.
Come Again
“I’ve joined you in being non-monogamous,” Anna announced as I took her coat.
Come again?
We sat on the couch as Anna related the story of a hunky man she had slept with since we last met. She found him on Nerve. They met for drinks, which led to sex at his place. She slept over.
“Sounds like you thought he was hot,” I said. “Think you will see him again soon?”
She didn’t think so. When she raised that possibility the next morning, his response was along the lines of, “Hey, I didn’t say this was forever”—which is about the clumsiest thing possible to say after a sleepover, even a one-night stand.
She took care to be nonchalant in explaining to me that this is sometimes how things are when dating. Sometimes the connection happens, but it still doesn’t work out. Que sera, sera.
Unless I am forgetting something, this is the first time she has had sex with anyone other than me in the year since we met.
She was glad I was taking this news so well.
Sure, I said. It sounds like you had a good time, and you have a level head about it. Still, I just don’t understand how anyone could have sex with you and not want more. You are so attractive, and such a wonderful lover.
Thanks, she said, tossing her head. Well, his loss. The sex was fine, but not as good as with us.
We kissed, and kissing led to undressing and moving to my bed.
She was on me, riding my cock.
“You really aren’t the jealous type, are you?” she asked.
“No, I’m really not.” My hands were on her hips as she rode me.
“Do you think that since I told you about someone I fucked, you can tell me about someone you are seeing?”
That sounded like a fair request. But I knew it was a bad idea. I have been clear with Anna that I am bisexual and seeing other people. But I resist telling her more about specific people, as she will only fixate on that person.
If I told her I was seeing anyone in particular, she would keep asking for more information, trying to ascertain if I liked that person better than I liked her. Which is not relevant.
Still, it’s already a subject of constant inquiry.
I scanned my memory for recent activities, and decided I could test the waters by bringing up my new infatuation with Madeline, my online girlfriend out in the Plains states. Things are hot and heavy with us, but—c’mon—we haven’t met in person. It’s pretty innocent.
(At least, so far.)
Anna stiffened as she listened. She rolled off me.
“I can’t believe you are talking with another woman online,” she said. “What are you looking for with her? Isn’t it enough you have a flesh-and-blood woman in your bed?”
Just as I suspected: she was jealous of a ghost in the machine.
I suggested that maybe she really wasn’t interested in knowing more abut others I’m dating.
We talked about this, a lot, as we often do. We just have different attitudes about jealousy.
She thinks it a natural thing to feel about someone you care for.
I think jealousy is natural, but has more to do with possession and control than love. I want no part of it.
Having reestablished our agreement to disagree on this, we went back to sex.
She was on me again, cumming. And again.
I flipped her. She spread her legs far as I undulated into her.
“I want you to cum,” she pleaded. She is very keen on that lately.
“I will,” I whisper. “Just not yet.”
We fucked a while longer.
“I want you to cum here,” she said, running finger between her neck and breasts. “I want a pearl necklace.”
I was pretty turned on. I can manage that. I pulled out and stripped off the condom as I stood over her. I jerked as she watched.
Her hand slipped to her clit. Her legs opened.
My eyes moved from her face, turned in ecstasy, followed down her body, arched back, to her vagina, opening and closing as she moved herself through waves of pleasure.
This was . . . distracting.
“Please cum for me,” she pleaded. She took my cock in her hands and thrust. “Lay down.”
I complied. She sucked me, alternating with a tough hand job. This tells me she means business.
I flip her and fuck her again. “One more,” I direct. She cums.
“Now!” she orders, pushing me on my back.
She made short work of it. I came fast and furious, convulsing as she held my cock steady.
She sat back satisfied, releasing me.
My hand went to my cock, which was still rock hard. Unusual.
“Kiss me,” I asked. She moved forward and put her lips on mine.
“What are you doing?” she asked, watching me jerk.
“I don’t know, but I feel tingly, like I’m not done,” I panted. “Kiss me.”
Evidently, I wasn’t done. I came again, my body lurching.
She rested a hand on my belly as I twitched and caught my breath.
“That’s a new one,” she smiled.
“Rather unique,” I agreed.
Come again?
We sat on the couch as Anna related the story of a hunky man she had slept with since we last met. She found him on Nerve. They met for drinks, which led to sex at his place. She slept over.
“Sounds like you thought he was hot,” I said. “Think you will see him again soon?”
She didn’t think so. When she raised that possibility the next morning, his response was along the lines of, “Hey, I didn’t say this was forever”—which is about the clumsiest thing possible to say after a sleepover, even a one-night stand.
She took care to be nonchalant in explaining to me that this is sometimes how things are when dating. Sometimes the connection happens, but it still doesn’t work out. Que sera, sera.
Unless I am forgetting something, this is the first time she has had sex with anyone other than me in the year since we met.
She was glad I was taking this news so well.
Sure, I said. It sounds like you had a good time, and you have a level head about it. Still, I just don’t understand how anyone could have sex with you and not want more. You are so attractive, and such a wonderful lover.
Thanks, she said, tossing her head. Well, his loss. The sex was fine, but not as good as with us.
We kissed, and kissing led to undressing and moving to my bed.
She was on me, riding my cock.
“You really aren’t the jealous type, are you?” she asked.
“No, I’m really not.” My hands were on her hips as she rode me.
“Do you think that since I told you about someone I fucked, you can tell me about someone you are seeing?”
That sounded like a fair request. But I knew it was a bad idea. I have been clear with Anna that I am bisexual and seeing other people. But I resist telling her more about specific people, as she will only fixate on that person.
If I told her I was seeing anyone in particular, she would keep asking for more information, trying to ascertain if I liked that person better than I liked her. Which is not relevant.
Still, it’s already a subject of constant inquiry.
I scanned my memory for recent activities, and decided I could test the waters by bringing up my new infatuation with Madeline, my online girlfriend out in the Plains states. Things are hot and heavy with us, but—c’mon—we haven’t met in person. It’s pretty innocent.
(At least, so far.)
Anna stiffened as she listened. She rolled off me.
“I can’t believe you are talking with another woman online,” she said. “What are you looking for with her? Isn’t it enough you have a flesh-and-blood woman in your bed?”
Just as I suspected: she was jealous of a ghost in the machine.
I suggested that maybe she really wasn’t interested in knowing more abut others I’m dating.
We talked about this, a lot, as we often do. We just have different attitudes about jealousy.
She thinks it a natural thing to feel about someone you care for.
I think jealousy is natural, but has more to do with possession and control than love. I want no part of it.
Having reestablished our agreement to disagree on this, we went back to sex.
She was on me again, cumming. And again.
I flipped her. She spread her legs far as I undulated into her.
“I want you to cum,” she pleaded. She is very keen on that lately.
“I will,” I whisper. “Just not yet.”
We fucked a while longer.
“I want you to cum here,” she said, running finger between her neck and breasts. “I want a pearl necklace.”
I was pretty turned on. I can manage that. I pulled out and stripped off the condom as I stood over her. I jerked as she watched.
Her hand slipped to her clit. Her legs opened.
My eyes moved from her face, turned in ecstasy, followed down her body, arched back, to her vagina, opening and closing as she moved herself through waves of pleasure.
This was . . . distracting.
“Please cum for me,” she pleaded. She took my cock in her hands and thrust. “Lay down.”
I complied. She sucked me, alternating with a tough hand job. This tells me she means business.
I flip her and fuck her again. “One more,” I direct. She cums.
“Now!” she orders, pushing me on my back.
She made short work of it. I came fast and furious, convulsing as she held my cock steady.
She sat back satisfied, releasing me.
My hand went to my cock, which was still rock hard. Unusual.
“Kiss me,” I asked. She moved forward and put her lips on mine.
“What are you doing?” she asked, watching me jerk.
“I don’t know, but I feel tingly, like I’m not done,” I panted. “Kiss me.”
Evidently, I wasn’t done. I came again, my body lurching.
She rested a hand on my belly as I twitched and caught my breath.
“That’s a new one,” she smiled.
“Rather unique,” I agreed.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Fresh
I was typing away when I received an instant message introducing me to Tevin, a reader of my blog.
Tevin is twenty, a cute waif with smooth light-toned skin and long dreds. He told me he had been sexually active for a couple of years, having bedded about eight women and five men in that time. He had been with couples, and liked that. He was eager to add ass play to his repertoire.
At the moment, he is seeing a few women, with his eyes set on a bisexual hotie he hopes to make his girlfriend.
I liked his openness, and easy manner. And heck yeah, I liked that he was cute.
He asked about the gatherings. I thought he was a good candidate, and suggested he stop by before the next one to talk about it.
Mona arrived early that night. She had come early to her first party last time, and we liked having that time to talk. We chatted as we light candles. She was eager to reprise her role as “The Enabler,” empowered with the gift for making people do her sexual bidding.
She took on DJ duties, mixing in Martin Luther, Portishead and Barry White.
We were well settled when Tevin arrived. He had a mellow vibe, already at ease with this new situation. He wove into our conversation.
The place began to fill, and it was clear that this was going to be one of our larger parties, including fair number of newbies.
Tigger and her boyfriend arrived bearing gifts: I was presented with an official house dildo! It’s a very nice silicon number, solid black, about eight inches. “Fresh from my dishwasher to you,” Tigger smiled.
The dildo joined the toy chest.
Nate was very effusive. He was talking about art with me, interrupting himself now and then to touch or kiss me. This straight boy has an endearing jones for me; it’s a super turn on, being the one man he seems to feel comfortable with sexually.
He told me that he was moving in with his cool new girlfriend, but he made a point for reserving the right to play with me. Well gosh, thanks! I said.
Raven was coming late. She can be relied on to get people naked, and her absence left it to me to get the party going.
It helped that Nadia had already removed her shirt.
Tevin was happily chatting up Dacia. I targeted them.
“Dacia, I’m concerned that Tevin is not as fresh as he might be,” I said, regretfully.
“I’m not?”
“I think you may be right, Jefferson,” she agreed. “He could use a washing.”
We took him into the bathroom and had him strip, revealing a nice slender body with an outie navel and a big uncut cock.
I ran the shower. Dacia held his long hair aloft as I soaped his body. I paid special attention to soaping his ass, reaching around to massage his balls.
The boy had said he wanted ass play.
I rinsed him, accidentally splashing Dacia’s pants. Wet pants are no good, Dacia bemoaned. Nothing to do but remove them.
Dacia gave Tevin a good second washing.
Dacia toweled off the boy. I took away his clothes, and checked on my other guests.
As we had showered Tevin, people had undressed and started getting busy. A few of the new folks remained clothed, watching, taking it in. Mona tended to them, naturally assuming duties as co-host.
Mona is at ease for a novice. Her maternal instincts freed me to get naked and pour a bourbon.
Tevin was fucking Dacia as she blew Todd. Thomas stood over her, jerking his cock in her face. There bodies were silhouetted against the window blinds, warmed by soft candlelight.
Dacia was taking a hard fucking, surrounded by cock.
“Look,” Jake teased. “Alice is dressed, as usual.” I turned to see shy Alice standing behind me. She shrugged.
I have learned how to deal with her shyness.
I took Alice’s shoulders and pushed her backwards onto a bed. I climbed on the bed, crouching over her on my hands and knees. I kissed her hard. She gave in to my kisses, returning them.
I stood, my eyes locked on hers. I unzipped her short skirt and removed it. No panties.
I peeled off her shirt, and removed her bra. Jake kneeled next to her, bringing her mouth to his rhinoceros horn of a cock. She swallowed as much as she could.
I handed her ankles to Jake, who held them aloft so I could go to work on her pussy. I licked it wet and open, then slipped in two fingers. I pressed into her abdomen with my fist, and finger fucked her g-spot.
She was pinned by the two of us, and overwhelmed. Jake and I know that this gets her out of her mind and into her body. She came.
I removed my fingers and stood. I took a mouthful of bourbon. I opened her pussy, wrapped my lips tight on her labia, and streamed bourbon into her. My fingers followed, fucking it deeper into her body.
She tense and moaned with the intense burn. As the sensation subsided, her body relaxed into my thrusts.
When she came, she was exhausted. Wow, thanks, she said. We kissed.
Raven was sucking Tevin. I dropped my cock into his mouth. He sucked it casually, taking it out to contribute to a conversation, and then taking it back.
Raven made it clear that it was time for Tevin to fuck her. He went had it with the same energy and rhythm he had put into Dacia.
I toured the apartment, checking on the various combinations and the progress of the new folks. With a party this size, everyone can carve out their own path for an evening. Everyone would have different stories to tell afterwards.
I caught up with Tevin again later. He was fucking a girl friend of mine.
I moved my hands along his lean back, down to his palm-sized buttocks, between his cheeks, across his anus, his rock hard perineum, to his cock and her wet cunt. I massaged this trail back and forth, slow and steady.
Tevin asked for the house dildo.
“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing he is an ass virgin. “That thing is kind of big . . .”
“Let him try it,” she suggested.
I lubed the dildo. I fingered his tight, tight hole. Here goes . . .
He took part of the head. “No, no, too much, too much . . .”
“Do you want me to go further?”
“No, no, I can’t.”
His ass needs its own session. He wasn’t ready for a sudden eight inches.
But he was excited by it—to my girl's benefit.
A bourbon later, I sat on the couch next to Nadia.
As we chatted, she rolled a condom on me, and set to sucking my cock.
One of the newbies stood watching. She is a very pretty dark skinned woman, with a lovely long body. She had spent most of the evening in a jump suit but now—thanks to Mona the Enabler—she stood in black lace underwear. Her panties were cut like hot pants.
Smoking.
I signaled her closer.
I leaned my head off the side of the couch. I peeled away her panties at the crotch, and licked the soaked pussy she kept hidden from view.
Nadia was working my cock very well as I sucked this girl’s pussy.
A little of this, and I wanted that girl nude.
I stood. I looked her in the eyes. I told her the panties were mine.
I sat her on the couch, and took them from her. She covered herself with a pillow, laughing.
“Now where to hide them . . .”
“Please don’t hide my underwear!”
“Well, I can’t leave them laying about! You’ll only put them back on. What to do . . . oh, I know.”
I put on the panties.
When I was around fourteen—with a mind open to any and all information I could glean about sex—I read an interview in which Mick Jagger asserted that the proper way for a gentleman to wear panties was reversed, so that the rear covered his cock.
“Mo’ support, know whut I meayn?”
I followed Mick’s advice. I must have looked hot, because Mona just had to dance with me. She pushed her ass to my crotch. I held her hips and we grinded.
I took a break to go back for the bra. Mona put it on me, and we got back to dancing.
The naked girl held her pillow close as Jake moved in.
Natasha really liked the underwear scene. She took me into my bedroom, where we kissed and began to fuck.
I discarded my girly underwear under a chair, but the clever naked girl found them. And I was too busy to stop her.
Soon I was under Natasha, kissing her as Tevin fucked her from the back. Her eyes rolled back.
The next day, I asked Tevin what he thought of the gathering. I was impressed that in one night, he had increased by half the number of women he had slept with in his lifetime.
The party is chill, he said. Really cool people, really great sex.
Think you will be back?
I’m not sure, he said. He is busy courting his bisexual girl. He told her about the party, and she preferred that he not go for now.
Until they figure out their situation, he wants to respect her wishes.
Nice. He’s open with her, and takes her feelings to heart.
Hot bi boy, nice fuck, and a decent person.
Too bad he won’t be around more. He’s got the makings of a fine protégé.
Tevin is twenty, a cute waif with smooth light-toned skin and long dreds. He told me he had been sexually active for a couple of years, having bedded about eight women and five men in that time. He had been with couples, and liked that. He was eager to add ass play to his repertoire.
At the moment, he is seeing a few women, with his eyes set on a bisexual hotie he hopes to make his girlfriend.
I liked his openness, and easy manner. And heck yeah, I liked that he was cute.
He asked about the gatherings. I thought he was a good candidate, and suggested he stop by before the next one to talk about it.
Mona arrived early that night. She had come early to her first party last time, and we liked having that time to talk. We chatted as we light candles. She was eager to reprise her role as “The Enabler,” empowered with the gift for making people do her sexual bidding.
She took on DJ duties, mixing in Martin Luther, Portishead and Barry White.
We were well settled when Tevin arrived. He had a mellow vibe, already at ease with this new situation. He wove into our conversation.
The place began to fill, and it was clear that this was going to be one of our larger parties, including fair number of newbies.
Tigger and her boyfriend arrived bearing gifts: I was presented with an official house dildo! It’s a very nice silicon number, solid black, about eight inches. “Fresh from my dishwasher to you,” Tigger smiled.
The dildo joined the toy chest.
Nate was very effusive. He was talking about art with me, interrupting himself now and then to touch or kiss me. This straight boy has an endearing jones for me; it’s a super turn on, being the one man he seems to feel comfortable with sexually.
He told me that he was moving in with his cool new girlfriend, but he made a point for reserving the right to play with me. Well gosh, thanks! I said.
Raven was coming late. She can be relied on to get people naked, and her absence left it to me to get the party going.
It helped that Nadia had already removed her shirt.
Tevin was happily chatting up Dacia. I targeted them.
“Dacia, I’m concerned that Tevin is not as fresh as he might be,” I said, regretfully.
“I’m not?”
“I think you may be right, Jefferson,” she agreed. “He could use a washing.”
We took him into the bathroom and had him strip, revealing a nice slender body with an outie navel and a big uncut cock.
I ran the shower. Dacia held his long hair aloft as I soaped his body. I paid special attention to soaping his ass, reaching around to massage his balls.
The boy had said he wanted ass play.
I rinsed him, accidentally splashing Dacia’s pants. Wet pants are no good, Dacia bemoaned. Nothing to do but remove them.
Dacia gave Tevin a good second washing.
Dacia toweled off the boy. I took away his clothes, and checked on my other guests.
As we had showered Tevin, people had undressed and started getting busy. A few of the new folks remained clothed, watching, taking it in. Mona tended to them, naturally assuming duties as co-host.
Mona is at ease for a novice. Her maternal instincts freed me to get naked and pour a bourbon.
Tevin was fucking Dacia as she blew Todd. Thomas stood over her, jerking his cock in her face. There bodies were silhouetted against the window blinds, warmed by soft candlelight.
Dacia was taking a hard fucking, surrounded by cock.
“Look,” Jake teased. “Alice is dressed, as usual.” I turned to see shy Alice standing behind me. She shrugged.
I have learned how to deal with her shyness.
I took Alice’s shoulders and pushed her backwards onto a bed. I climbed on the bed, crouching over her on my hands and knees. I kissed her hard. She gave in to my kisses, returning them.
I stood, my eyes locked on hers. I unzipped her short skirt and removed it. No panties.
I peeled off her shirt, and removed her bra. Jake kneeled next to her, bringing her mouth to his rhinoceros horn of a cock. She swallowed as much as she could.
I handed her ankles to Jake, who held them aloft so I could go to work on her pussy. I licked it wet and open, then slipped in two fingers. I pressed into her abdomen with my fist, and finger fucked her g-spot.
She was pinned by the two of us, and overwhelmed. Jake and I know that this gets her out of her mind and into her body. She came.
I removed my fingers and stood. I took a mouthful of bourbon. I opened her pussy, wrapped my lips tight on her labia, and streamed bourbon into her. My fingers followed, fucking it deeper into her body.
She tense and moaned with the intense burn. As the sensation subsided, her body relaxed into my thrusts.
When she came, she was exhausted. Wow, thanks, she said. We kissed.
Raven was sucking Tevin. I dropped my cock into his mouth. He sucked it casually, taking it out to contribute to a conversation, and then taking it back.
Raven made it clear that it was time for Tevin to fuck her. He went had it with the same energy and rhythm he had put into Dacia.
I toured the apartment, checking on the various combinations and the progress of the new folks. With a party this size, everyone can carve out their own path for an evening. Everyone would have different stories to tell afterwards.
I caught up with Tevin again later. He was fucking a girl friend of mine.
I moved my hands along his lean back, down to his palm-sized buttocks, between his cheeks, across his anus, his rock hard perineum, to his cock and her wet cunt. I massaged this trail back and forth, slow and steady.
Tevin asked for the house dildo.
“Are you sure?” I asked, knowing he is an ass virgin. “That thing is kind of big . . .”
“Let him try it,” she suggested.
I lubed the dildo. I fingered his tight, tight hole. Here goes . . .
He took part of the head. “No, no, too much, too much . . .”
“Do you want me to go further?”
“No, no, I can’t.”
His ass needs its own session. He wasn’t ready for a sudden eight inches.
But he was excited by it—to my girl's benefit.
A bourbon later, I sat on the couch next to Nadia.
As we chatted, she rolled a condom on me, and set to sucking my cock.
One of the newbies stood watching. She is a very pretty dark skinned woman, with a lovely long body. She had spent most of the evening in a jump suit but now—thanks to Mona the Enabler—she stood in black lace underwear. Her panties were cut like hot pants.
Smoking.
I signaled her closer.
I leaned my head off the side of the couch. I peeled away her panties at the crotch, and licked the soaked pussy she kept hidden from view.
Nadia was working my cock very well as I sucked this girl’s pussy.
A little of this, and I wanted that girl nude.
I stood. I looked her in the eyes. I told her the panties were mine.
I sat her on the couch, and took them from her. She covered herself with a pillow, laughing.
“Now where to hide them . . .”
“Please don’t hide my underwear!”
“Well, I can’t leave them laying about! You’ll only put them back on. What to do . . . oh, I know.”
I put on the panties.
When I was around fourteen—with a mind open to any and all information I could glean about sex—I read an interview in which Mick Jagger asserted that the proper way for a gentleman to wear panties was reversed, so that the rear covered his cock.
“Mo’ support, know whut I meayn?”
I followed Mick’s advice. I must have looked hot, because Mona just had to dance with me. She pushed her ass to my crotch. I held her hips and we grinded.
I took a break to go back for the bra. Mona put it on me, and we got back to dancing.
The naked girl held her pillow close as Jake moved in.
Natasha really liked the underwear scene. She took me into my bedroom, where we kissed and began to fuck.
I discarded my girly underwear under a chair, but the clever naked girl found them. And I was too busy to stop her.
Soon I was under Natasha, kissing her as Tevin fucked her from the back. Her eyes rolled back.
The next day, I asked Tevin what he thought of the gathering. I was impressed that in one night, he had increased by half the number of women he had slept with in his lifetime.
The party is chill, he said. Really cool people, really great sex.
Think you will be back?
I’m not sure, he said. He is busy courting his bisexual girl. He told her about the party, and she preferred that he not go for now.
Until they figure out their situation, he wants to respect her wishes.
Nice. He’s open with her, and takes her feelings to heart.
Hot bi boy, nice fuck, and a decent person.
Too bad he won’t be around more. He’s got the makings of a fine protégé.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Template
There is no good reason for me to be tossing around the L Word with Shelby.
Shelby is a smart, funny, attractive woman. She thinks well of me, and she likes having sex with me. These things would be true if I did no more than let her know she was nifty.
And yet I get all lovey-dovey. Even more, I elicit that mush from her.
Life is complicated enough. Why introduce the potential fissures of emotions into rock solid no-strings sex?
The answer that comes to me has to do with the fact that I am having sex with so many people, of such divergent interests.
This is all rather novel, so bear with me as I think this through.
I am enjoy being loving with Shelby. I treat Kat like a cock slut, who serves my pleasure at my discretion, and then turn around and deliver sweet vanilla sex to Mitzi.
As each of these women are readers of this blog, they know that I am, by turns, a sappy romantic, an aggressive dom, and an easy lay.
How is this all from the same person?
Now that I have multiple partners, I begin to realize the extent to which my sexuality is shaped by the needs and desires of others.
It’s normal to be responsive to one’s lovers. But for me, it’s more than that. What moves me, what makes me hot, what really gets my pussy wet, is finding someone’s needs.
If it is a need that I can fulfill, then I am on it, big time.
This is not to suggest that I can be all things to all people. I can’t just say the things someone wants to hear. It has to be within me to fulfill that need.
Mitzi needs a nice fun person for regular sex. Kat needs to give in to her inner submissive slut. My actions with them are shaped by these needs.
Shelby needs to know that sex can have to do with love and trust. That has not been part of her life. And now, with me, it is.
It’s a big responsibility to be someone’s first romantic love. Every future romance is somehow measured against the template of that initial genuine emotion.
For Shelby, it’s a responsibility I am happy to assume.
One day, I suppose she may be drawn away by another man, probably someone closer to her own age, with a less complicated life.
If that happens, I will be sure she has a good template in place. She will know how good romantic love can be.
Shelby is a smart, funny, attractive woman. She thinks well of me, and she likes having sex with me. These things would be true if I did no more than let her know she was nifty.
And yet I get all lovey-dovey. Even more, I elicit that mush from her.
Life is complicated enough. Why introduce the potential fissures of emotions into rock solid no-strings sex?
The answer that comes to me has to do with the fact that I am having sex with so many people, of such divergent interests.
This is all rather novel, so bear with me as I think this through.
I am enjoy being loving with Shelby. I treat Kat like a cock slut, who serves my pleasure at my discretion, and then turn around and deliver sweet vanilla sex to Mitzi.
As each of these women are readers of this blog, they know that I am, by turns, a sappy romantic, an aggressive dom, and an easy lay.
How is this all from the same person?
Now that I have multiple partners, I begin to realize the extent to which my sexuality is shaped by the needs and desires of others.
It’s normal to be responsive to one’s lovers. But for me, it’s more than that. What moves me, what makes me hot, what really gets my pussy wet, is finding someone’s needs.
If it is a need that I can fulfill, then I am on it, big time.
This is not to suggest that I can be all things to all people. I can’t just say the things someone wants to hear. It has to be within me to fulfill that need.
Mitzi needs a nice fun person for regular sex. Kat needs to give in to her inner submissive slut. My actions with them are shaped by these needs.
Shelby needs to know that sex can have to do with love and trust. That has not been part of her life. And now, with me, it is.
It’s a big responsibility to be someone’s first romantic love. Every future romance is somehow measured against the template of that initial genuine emotion.
For Shelby, it’s a responsibility I am happy to assume.
One day, I suppose she may be drawn away by another man, probably someone closer to her own age, with a less complicated life.
If that happens, I will be sure she has a good template in place. She will know how good romantic love can be.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Funny Valentine
I was invited to give the keynote address at a conference organized at a university a few hours from the city. My talk was to be delivered on Valentine’s Day.
I mentioned this to Shelby, who yelped when she heard the name of the university. No shit! she said. My friend Meg lives near there. You should stay with her—she could use a good fuck!
I had never met Meg. I knew that she was one of Shelby’s best friends from high school. Shelby had introduced Meg to my blog, leading to a mutual revelation: neither had known that the other enjoyed being submissive and slutty.
Now that was out in the open.
Maybe I can join you and visit her, Shelby offered. But if not, you should still fuck her.
Uh, sounds good, I averred. But can I at least chat with this stranger before I commit to sex and a sleepover with her?
Shelby gave me Meg’s screen name. Meg and I traded a few instant messages, and got along fine. She and Shelby worked out the logistics of our sleepover.
I pondered the fact that I was going to have a threesome with two women whose combined ages equal my own.
On the appointed day, I gave my talk. I was brilliant. There was a lively Q&A, and lots of admiring comments afterwards. One student told me I was an inspiration to her.
Maybe that student considers everyone she meets to be an inspiration. Whatever, I’ll take my kudos when they come.
I spent time at the conference, visited a class, and spent time with a former professor who now teaches there. A light rain was falling.
At the end of the day, Shelby arrived on campus to whisk me away. A friend, Theresa, had given her a ride.
We won’t be having sex with Theresa, Shelby informed me, but she will join us for dinner.
Only Shelby would feel the need to disabuse me of such an assumption.
Theresa was funny, very pretty, and a reasonably good driver. Of course, she knew the evening’s full agenda. Shelby shared my blog with her as well.
(It’s an odd thing, meeting people who already know a lot about you from a blog.)
We headed off to meet Meg, who waited for us in her car. She pulled on to the road and we followed her.
I had still never laid eyes on this woman with whom I had agreed to have sex.
Meg pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store to get ingredients for dinner. We followed. As we stepped out of the car, I finally met Meg.
She is tall, with blondish red hair, freckles and a nice smile. I kissed her hello, studiously avoiding a glimpse at her large breasts. The four us goofed as we shopped for food; the three women had the easy camaraderie of good friends.
Suburban grocery stores are huge, I marveled.
I rode with Meg as we drove to her place. She made dinner. The women chatted about friends, music and such. I sipped bourbon and sat on the floor next to Shelby’s chair. She caressed my hair.
“I’m glad you’re meeting my friends,” she said. So was I. I kissed her knee.
After dinner, Theresa made her farewells, leaving us to the rest of our evening’s plans.
Shelby sprawled out on the couch, nuzzling her head against me. Meg sat in a chair, petting her cat as I pet my Shelby.
My hand touched the flesh of her belly, and she squirmed, so that my hand moved up. I retrieved a nipple and kissed it.
Shelby declared that she was going to the bedroom, and taking me with her. As she tugged my hand, I looked back to Meg. I tilted my head the direction of her bedroom. C’mon.
Shelby lay back on the bed. I unfastened her pants and pulled them down. I sat her up to remove her shirt. As easily as that, this beautiful girl was nude.
As easily as that, I was out of my clothes and on my knees, licking open her smooth slit to seek her clit.
“He really likes this,” Shelby informed Meg.
“I can see that,” Meg observed. “And finally I get to see you naked.”
“You’ve never seen her nude?,” I asked. “Shelby, have you seen Meg naked?”
She had not. Would she like to? She would.
I moved around the bed to where Meg sat. As easily as that, her clothes were on the floor. I moved her legs apart and began to lick her pussy—also shaved, like Shelby’s.
Meg moaned and moved her body in response. Shelby rubbed her legs, noting how smooth they were. She took a breast in her mouth. I squeezed the nipple of the other.
I retrieved a condom, and set to fucking Shelby’s friend.
She was receptive to my thrusts. I pushed back her legs and went at her harder. She writhed, her body scooting involuntarily across the bed. Her arms went back; I pinned down her wrists, and kissed her.
I covered her tits with bites, bringing up hickies in places.
I spanked her ass, covering it will red hands. Meg moaned and squirmed in ecstasy.
Shelby propped herself on one elbow, watching, raising her eyebrows and smiling when I caught her eye.
Meg moved her legs down as we fucked. I asked if she wanted a break. She nodded.
I pulled out and ditched the condom. I moved to the other side of the bed, and fucked her mouth as she lay upside down.
Shelby rested on Meg’s torso to watch.
I asked Shelby to take my position, so that Meg could give her head. They tried, but just weren’t comfortable with that. Meg had been with a woman once before, but wasn’t ready to lick her friend, pretty Shelby.
Oh, that pretty Shelby . . . I was soon fucking her. Meg took in the view, enjoying her respite. I was very tender with my baby.
As she rode my cock at one point, she gave me face full of her hair, knowing that excites me. We were alone, as Meg had left the room.
“I love you,” she whispered. She had never dared utter those three words with me.
“I love you, Shelby. You are very brave.” We kissed.
I had felt those three words banging on my chest, trying hard to get out. I have told her this before, and I don’t want to overwhelm her, so I try to show her in other ways, with other words.
She opened the door herself. We are taking good care of each other, and we take care to define our words, and to understand our relationship.
But for her to use those words takes balls. Opening up is a risk.
Meg had hoped to be asleep around eleven.
Around two, she was about twenty minutes into giving me an extended blowjob.
Sometime after three, I fucked her ass. Shelby watched, drifting to sleep.
It was around four, I guess, when I called it quits. I took Meg’s mouth off my balls, climbed off her chest and kissed her goodnight.
I bushed the hair from Shelby’s face and kissed her cheek. I took a blanket to sleep on the couch, leaving the bed to the two friends.
Shelby found me as I slept, and curled into my arms.
Meg woke us at six. She had to get to work, and Shelby and I had to head to our respective homes.
I mentioned this to Shelby, who yelped when she heard the name of the university. No shit! she said. My friend Meg lives near there. You should stay with her—she could use a good fuck!
I had never met Meg. I knew that she was one of Shelby’s best friends from high school. Shelby had introduced Meg to my blog, leading to a mutual revelation: neither had known that the other enjoyed being submissive and slutty.
Now that was out in the open.
Maybe I can join you and visit her, Shelby offered. But if not, you should still fuck her.
Uh, sounds good, I averred. But can I at least chat with this stranger before I commit to sex and a sleepover with her?
Shelby gave me Meg’s screen name. Meg and I traded a few instant messages, and got along fine. She and Shelby worked out the logistics of our sleepover.
I pondered the fact that I was going to have a threesome with two women whose combined ages equal my own.
On the appointed day, I gave my talk. I was brilliant. There was a lively Q&A, and lots of admiring comments afterwards. One student told me I was an inspiration to her.
Maybe that student considers everyone she meets to be an inspiration. Whatever, I’ll take my kudos when they come.
I spent time at the conference, visited a class, and spent time with a former professor who now teaches there. A light rain was falling.
At the end of the day, Shelby arrived on campus to whisk me away. A friend, Theresa, had given her a ride.
We won’t be having sex with Theresa, Shelby informed me, but she will join us for dinner.
Only Shelby would feel the need to disabuse me of such an assumption.
Theresa was funny, very pretty, and a reasonably good driver. Of course, she knew the evening’s full agenda. Shelby shared my blog with her as well.
(It’s an odd thing, meeting people who already know a lot about you from a blog.)
We headed off to meet Meg, who waited for us in her car. She pulled on to the road and we followed her.
I had still never laid eyes on this woman with whom I had agreed to have sex.
Meg pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store to get ingredients for dinner. We followed. As we stepped out of the car, I finally met Meg.
She is tall, with blondish red hair, freckles and a nice smile. I kissed her hello, studiously avoiding a glimpse at her large breasts. The four us goofed as we shopped for food; the three women had the easy camaraderie of good friends.
Suburban grocery stores are huge, I marveled.
I rode with Meg as we drove to her place. She made dinner. The women chatted about friends, music and such. I sipped bourbon and sat on the floor next to Shelby’s chair. She caressed my hair.
“I’m glad you’re meeting my friends,” she said. So was I. I kissed her knee.
After dinner, Theresa made her farewells, leaving us to the rest of our evening’s plans.
Shelby sprawled out on the couch, nuzzling her head against me. Meg sat in a chair, petting her cat as I pet my Shelby.
My hand touched the flesh of her belly, and she squirmed, so that my hand moved up. I retrieved a nipple and kissed it.
Shelby declared that she was going to the bedroom, and taking me with her. As she tugged my hand, I looked back to Meg. I tilted my head the direction of her bedroom. C’mon.
Shelby lay back on the bed. I unfastened her pants and pulled them down. I sat her up to remove her shirt. As easily as that, this beautiful girl was nude.
As easily as that, I was out of my clothes and on my knees, licking open her smooth slit to seek her clit.
“He really likes this,” Shelby informed Meg.
“I can see that,” Meg observed. “And finally I get to see you naked.”
“You’ve never seen her nude?,” I asked. “Shelby, have you seen Meg naked?”
She had not. Would she like to? She would.
I moved around the bed to where Meg sat. As easily as that, her clothes were on the floor. I moved her legs apart and began to lick her pussy—also shaved, like Shelby’s.
Meg moaned and moved her body in response. Shelby rubbed her legs, noting how smooth they were. She took a breast in her mouth. I squeezed the nipple of the other.
I retrieved a condom, and set to fucking Shelby’s friend.
She was receptive to my thrusts. I pushed back her legs and went at her harder. She writhed, her body scooting involuntarily across the bed. Her arms went back; I pinned down her wrists, and kissed her.
I covered her tits with bites, bringing up hickies in places.
I spanked her ass, covering it will red hands. Meg moaned and squirmed in ecstasy.
Shelby propped herself on one elbow, watching, raising her eyebrows and smiling when I caught her eye.
Meg moved her legs down as we fucked. I asked if she wanted a break. She nodded.
I pulled out and ditched the condom. I moved to the other side of the bed, and fucked her mouth as she lay upside down.
Shelby rested on Meg’s torso to watch.
I asked Shelby to take my position, so that Meg could give her head. They tried, but just weren’t comfortable with that. Meg had been with a woman once before, but wasn’t ready to lick her friend, pretty Shelby.
Oh, that pretty Shelby . . . I was soon fucking her. Meg took in the view, enjoying her respite. I was very tender with my baby.
As she rode my cock at one point, she gave me face full of her hair, knowing that excites me. We were alone, as Meg had left the room.
“I love you,” she whispered. She had never dared utter those three words with me.
“I love you, Shelby. You are very brave.” We kissed.
I had felt those three words banging on my chest, trying hard to get out. I have told her this before, and I don’t want to overwhelm her, so I try to show her in other ways, with other words.
She opened the door herself. We are taking good care of each other, and we take care to define our words, and to understand our relationship.
But for her to use those words takes balls. Opening up is a risk.
Meg had hoped to be asleep around eleven.
Around two, she was about twenty minutes into giving me an extended blowjob.
Sometime after three, I fucked her ass. Shelby watched, drifting to sleep.
It was around four, I guess, when I called it quits. I took Meg’s mouth off my balls, climbed off her chest and kissed her goodnight.
I bushed the hair from Shelby’s face and kissed her cheek. I took a blanket to sleep on the couch, leaving the bed to the two friends.
Shelby found me as I slept, and curled into my arms.
Meg woke us at six. She had to get to work, and Shelby and I had to head to our respective homes.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Fever
It was a long, monotonous day.
The kids went to bed late. At eleven, I poured a bourbon and signed online.
I had a date.
Madeline had written to say that she identified with this blog. She is also a pervert and parent, raising two boys on her own in the Midwest. Our email exchanges were chummy and sweet.
She proposed a date. We were both going to be home Saturday night. We would meet for drinks online once we got the kids to bed.
I settled at my desk and found her online. We caught up on our day, and conversed easily. We really did have a lot in common, it seemed, and it was fun to flirt with her.
We both have webcams. Mine is new and not yet up and running. Hers is used when her boys talk to their dad, who lives overseas. Crank it up, I asked. Let me see you.
She was nervous about that, but relented.
My gosh.
“Uh, you are really gorgeous,” I typed. Now you can see me blush, she replied.
On screen was a stunning woman, smiling. Her face was set off by angular cheek bones, and a toothy smile. Her eye flashed and twinkled as she read my words.
She sipped her bourbon as I sipped mine. Her lamp put her features into soft chiaroscuro, like a webcam painted by Georges de La Tour.
It felt as if we were at an intimate table, not thirteen hundred miles apart.
It was a good first date. We were both a tad nervous, but turned on by one another.
As we talked about our kids and compared war stories, I got an instant message.
Uxorious: My wife and I have a webcam tonight. Will you watch us?
I have traded instant messages with Uxorious for a while. He gets off making videos and digital photographs of his wife. This was the first time he had mentioned a webcam.
Uxorious: I borrowed it from a friend to see if we want one. Will you watch us?
Jefferson: Sure!
Uxorious: She’s very nervous. Tell us what you like, okay?
Jefferson: Sure!
His wife appeared on screen, dressed only in her underwear. I clicked the screen, and dragged it closer to Madeline’s face.
We were talking about a shared affinity for summer rainstorms.
Uxorious: Do you like her tits?
Jefferson: Sure! They are great!
Uxorious: Tell her what to do.
Jefferson: Have her lose the panties and sit down. I want her to spread her legs.
That ought to keep them busy. Madeline had gone to refresh her drink. I did likewise.
She could hear trains in her living room. I used to nap as trains passed by my great-grandmother’s house.
Uxorious: Do you like the way she’s sucking me?
Jefferson: Hot! Let’s see you fuck her.
So did you see The Gates today? she asked. The unfurling looked great on the news. That’s all I saw, I replied, since Lillie was sick. Hopefully, we’ll see it tomorrow. Poor kid, she typed.
Uxorious: That was so good. I came, did you see?
Jefferson: Nice work! You are both super hot!
Uxorious: Thanks for watching. We got off on that.
Jefferson: Anytime! You should get a cam.
Uxorious: I think we will! Talk soon.
Jefferson: Bye.
Madeline and I chatted for a log time, until I fell asleep.
Sunday morning, I did some research and sent her a note.
You know, I wrote, American Airlines flies round trip between your hometown and New York for under $200.
Really?
That night we found ourselves online again. I was indulging my Sunday night ritual of listening to "The Big Broadcast," a program of 1920s-1930s jazz and pop on WFUV. She joined me in listening online.
It was raining outside her windows. The same rain would hit me a day later.
It was our second date. She turned on her webcam.
She undressed and masturbated for me.
The kids went to bed late. At eleven, I poured a bourbon and signed online.
I had a date.
Madeline had written to say that she identified with this blog. She is also a pervert and parent, raising two boys on her own in the Midwest. Our email exchanges were chummy and sweet.
She proposed a date. We were both going to be home Saturday night. We would meet for drinks online once we got the kids to bed.
I settled at my desk and found her online. We caught up on our day, and conversed easily. We really did have a lot in common, it seemed, and it was fun to flirt with her.
We both have webcams. Mine is new and not yet up and running. Hers is used when her boys talk to their dad, who lives overseas. Crank it up, I asked. Let me see you.
She was nervous about that, but relented.
My gosh.
“Uh, you are really gorgeous,” I typed. Now you can see me blush, she replied.
On screen was a stunning woman, smiling. Her face was set off by angular cheek bones, and a toothy smile. Her eye flashed and twinkled as she read my words.
She sipped her bourbon as I sipped mine. Her lamp put her features into soft chiaroscuro, like a webcam painted by Georges de La Tour.
It felt as if we were at an intimate table, not thirteen hundred miles apart.
It was a good first date. We were both a tad nervous, but turned on by one another.
As we talked about our kids and compared war stories, I got an instant message.
Uxorious: My wife and I have a webcam tonight. Will you watch us?
I have traded instant messages with Uxorious for a while. He gets off making videos and digital photographs of his wife. This was the first time he had mentioned a webcam.
Uxorious: I borrowed it from a friend to see if we want one. Will you watch us?
Jefferson: Sure!
Uxorious: She’s very nervous. Tell us what you like, okay?
Jefferson: Sure!
His wife appeared on screen, dressed only in her underwear. I clicked the screen, and dragged it closer to Madeline’s face.
We were talking about a shared affinity for summer rainstorms.
Uxorious: Do you like her tits?
Jefferson: Sure! They are great!
Uxorious: Tell her what to do.
Jefferson: Have her lose the panties and sit down. I want her to spread her legs.
That ought to keep them busy. Madeline had gone to refresh her drink. I did likewise.
She could hear trains in her living room. I used to nap as trains passed by my great-grandmother’s house.
Uxorious: Do you like the way she’s sucking me?
Jefferson: Hot! Let’s see you fuck her.
So did you see The Gates today? she asked. The unfurling looked great on the news. That’s all I saw, I replied, since Lillie was sick. Hopefully, we’ll see it tomorrow. Poor kid, she typed.
Uxorious: That was so good. I came, did you see?
Jefferson: Nice work! You are both super hot!
Uxorious: Thanks for watching. We got off on that.
Jefferson: Anytime! You should get a cam.
Uxorious: I think we will! Talk soon.
Jefferson: Bye.
Madeline and I chatted for a log time, until I fell asleep.
Sunday morning, I did some research and sent her a note.
You know, I wrote, American Airlines flies round trip between your hometown and New York for under $200.
Really?
That night we found ourselves online again. I was indulging my Sunday night ritual of listening to "The Big Broadcast," a program of 1920s-1930s jazz and pop on WFUV. She joined me in listening online.
It was raining outside her windows. The same rain would hit me a day later.
It was our second date. She turned on her webcam.
She undressed and masturbated for me.
Two Times Three
It was show time once more for Marla and me. This time, the lucky voyeur was a married man with a special request: he was bi curious and very inexperienced. Could he, perhaps, play with me?
We were game, and invited him to join us. He very kindly brought a bottle of pinot grigio for her, and bourbon for me.
He was cute, 32, slight and blonde. He had an easy way about him that belied the fact that he was so nervous. We had drinks and talked a bit; I massaged Marla’s feet as we sat.
Marla suggested we take this to the bedroom. I took her hand. He followed us.
She sat me on the bed, then sat on my lap, facing me. We kissed, slow and sensuous, her arms around my head, my hands on her face.
Our voyeur stripped to his underwear and t-shirt.
I pulled off her sweater, kissing the nape of her neck, her cleavage, her belly . . . she threw back her head and grinded her hips onto me.
“Oh, you are wearing too many clothes,” the voyeur complained. He pulled me back on the bed, and unfastened my belt. His hands were shaking as he tried my zipper. Marla helped him.
He kneeled on the floor and pulled down my pants. I don’t wear underwear, so he saw my hard cock in his face.
Marla has wriggled out of her clothes. I pulled off my shirt. The voyeur pulled off his t-shirt, still kneeling by my knees.
I looked at Marla. I pointed at her pussy, then to my lips. “That, here.”
She sat on my mouth, and bent to suck my cock. She gave me long slow plunges. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew she giving good eye contact to the other man in the room.
She took my cock in her hand and held it forward. “You want to try?” she offered him.
He leaned forward and licked my dick. Gingerly, as if it might burn his mouth. His tongue traced up and down my shaft.
Marla took it back. Again my cock was deep in her mouth, then just on her lips. I could easily imagine how she looked to him, taking my dick to her pretty face, turning her large brown eyes on him.
“You need to fuck me,” she told me. She stood off me and bent over the bed. I stood and reached for a condom.
“Having fun?” I asked the voyeur as I sheathed myself. He had shed his underwear, and was jerking himself.
“Oh yeah,” he smiled.
I slipped into Marla. She moaned. I took hold of her hips and gentled moved in and out of her. I built tempo, fucking harder.
The voyeur came into his cupped palm.
“Way to go . . ., “ I said, slowing my thrusts.
“You aren’t done here,” Marla reminded me.
I apologized, and grabbed her hair. I pulled back on those reins as I rode her hard. She came.
The voyeur was already getting dressed. He was very happy, though man, he wished he could fuck Marla.
“Take it home to your wife,” Marla suggested. He did, making the 8:30 train out to the ‘burbs.
Marla and I dressed. I asked if she wanted to stick around for dinner and a movie; I had rented Garden State.
“You know I can’t do that,” she demurred. She was back on with her local boy.
We poured drinks and sat on the couch, taking about her on again/off again relationship with him. I was getting hungry and offered to boil some shrimp. Soon we were gossiping as we peeled and chewed.
My cell rang. It was Donny. What’s up? he asked.
I told him I was hanging out with Marla. Is she cool? he asked, meaning: does she know you’re bi?
Yeah, she’s cool. You want to come over?
“Who’s that?” Marla asked silently. I held up a finger—one sec, I mouthed.
Yeah, I’m on my way, Donny said. I should be there in about twenty minutes.
I told Marla al about Donny. He’s a straight boy who likes me to fuck him, I said, and he is drop dead gorgeous. He’s tall, with a well-built body and a very handsome face. I know you have to get home soon, but if you stick around a bit, you can see a cute boy get fucked.
She was game. I warned her: you will want to fuck him, but he won’t be up for that.
“We’ll see about that,” she scoffed.
He arrived and I made introductions. I offered him a bourbon, and we talked for a bit. After a while, he excused himself to the restroom.
“Fuck!” Marla whispered. “He is a damned fine boy toy.”
We heard the shower. “It’s about that time,” I said.
Donny walked out wearing only a towel. His smooth muscular torso was pebbled with water. “You guys busy?” he asked.
“Not to busy for you,” I said. “Shall we?”
Marla and Donny kissed by the bed, as he took off her shirt. She was still braless from earlier. He dropped the towel and lay on the bed. Marla rubbed his body, and was soon sucking his thick cock.
I undressed and watched. I walked to the other side of the bed and took down Marla’s pants.
I put on a condom and entered her. I fucked her in time to her thrusts on his cock. Donny watched us.
“You got some of that for me?” he asked.
“God, let me see that,” Marla begged.
I withdrew, and tugged off the condom. I put on a fresh one as Donny lubed his ass. Marla sat back on her calves. We smiled at one another. Donny slicked my cock.
I knelt between Donny’s legs, and pushed them back on his torso. Marla squeezed his nipples.
I positioned my cock at his ass, and slowly pressed it forward. Deep, all the way, all at once. His shoulders pulled up, and he closed his eyes.
I quickly moved to pounding him. I like to overwhelm this manly boy. He gives himself over to it, his body going docile as I fucked, pressing his legs back.
Marla worked his body with her hands and mouth. I drew her to my mouth to kiss, and to watch.
I grabbed his hard on, using it as a lever to hold his body as I fucked. I massaged it. He moaned and twisted. I slowed my thrusts and jerked him.
He shot, so much, so much on his torso.
We were all breathless. I pulled out. Donny went to wash up.
I was exhausted. I lay down, Marla next to me. “I didn’t do much with him,” she said, “but this was about the hottest threesome I’ve ever had.”
We all talked for a while, then Donny began to dress. I encouraged him to walk Marla to the subway.
I kissed her goodbye and the door, and hugged him.
Let me know when you are over at his place, Donny said as they walked up the street.
I work very near here, she said. I can be there for you anytime.
We were game, and invited him to join us. He very kindly brought a bottle of pinot grigio for her, and bourbon for me.
He was cute, 32, slight and blonde. He had an easy way about him that belied the fact that he was so nervous. We had drinks and talked a bit; I massaged Marla’s feet as we sat.
Marla suggested we take this to the bedroom. I took her hand. He followed us.
She sat me on the bed, then sat on my lap, facing me. We kissed, slow and sensuous, her arms around my head, my hands on her face.
Our voyeur stripped to his underwear and t-shirt.
I pulled off her sweater, kissing the nape of her neck, her cleavage, her belly . . . she threw back her head and grinded her hips onto me.
“Oh, you are wearing too many clothes,” the voyeur complained. He pulled me back on the bed, and unfastened my belt. His hands were shaking as he tried my zipper. Marla helped him.
He kneeled on the floor and pulled down my pants. I don’t wear underwear, so he saw my hard cock in his face.
Marla has wriggled out of her clothes. I pulled off my shirt. The voyeur pulled off his t-shirt, still kneeling by my knees.
I looked at Marla. I pointed at her pussy, then to my lips. “That, here.”
She sat on my mouth, and bent to suck my cock. She gave me long slow plunges. I couldn’t see her face, but I knew she giving good eye contact to the other man in the room.
She took my cock in her hand and held it forward. “You want to try?” she offered him.
He leaned forward and licked my dick. Gingerly, as if it might burn his mouth. His tongue traced up and down my shaft.
Marla took it back. Again my cock was deep in her mouth, then just on her lips. I could easily imagine how she looked to him, taking my dick to her pretty face, turning her large brown eyes on him.
“You need to fuck me,” she told me. She stood off me and bent over the bed. I stood and reached for a condom.
“Having fun?” I asked the voyeur as I sheathed myself. He had shed his underwear, and was jerking himself.
“Oh yeah,” he smiled.
I slipped into Marla. She moaned. I took hold of her hips and gentled moved in and out of her. I built tempo, fucking harder.
The voyeur came into his cupped palm.
“Way to go . . ., “ I said, slowing my thrusts.
“You aren’t done here,” Marla reminded me.
I apologized, and grabbed her hair. I pulled back on those reins as I rode her hard. She came.
The voyeur was already getting dressed. He was very happy, though man, he wished he could fuck Marla.
“Take it home to your wife,” Marla suggested. He did, making the 8:30 train out to the ‘burbs.
Marla and I dressed. I asked if she wanted to stick around for dinner and a movie; I had rented Garden State.
“You know I can’t do that,” she demurred. She was back on with her local boy.
We poured drinks and sat on the couch, taking about her on again/off again relationship with him. I was getting hungry and offered to boil some shrimp. Soon we were gossiping as we peeled and chewed.
My cell rang. It was Donny. What’s up? he asked.
I told him I was hanging out with Marla. Is she cool? he asked, meaning: does she know you’re bi?
Yeah, she’s cool. You want to come over?
“Who’s that?” Marla asked silently. I held up a finger—one sec, I mouthed.
Yeah, I’m on my way, Donny said. I should be there in about twenty minutes.
I told Marla al about Donny. He’s a straight boy who likes me to fuck him, I said, and he is drop dead gorgeous. He’s tall, with a well-built body and a very handsome face. I know you have to get home soon, but if you stick around a bit, you can see a cute boy get fucked.
She was game. I warned her: you will want to fuck him, but he won’t be up for that.
“We’ll see about that,” she scoffed.
He arrived and I made introductions. I offered him a bourbon, and we talked for a bit. After a while, he excused himself to the restroom.
“Fuck!” Marla whispered. “He is a damned fine boy toy.”
We heard the shower. “It’s about that time,” I said.
Donny walked out wearing only a towel. His smooth muscular torso was pebbled with water. “You guys busy?” he asked.
“Not to busy for you,” I said. “Shall we?”
Marla and Donny kissed by the bed, as he took off her shirt. She was still braless from earlier. He dropped the towel and lay on the bed. Marla rubbed his body, and was soon sucking his thick cock.
I undressed and watched. I walked to the other side of the bed and took down Marla’s pants.
I put on a condom and entered her. I fucked her in time to her thrusts on his cock. Donny watched us.
“You got some of that for me?” he asked.
“God, let me see that,” Marla begged.
I withdrew, and tugged off the condom. I put on a fresh one as Donny lubed his ass. Marla sat back on her calves. We smiled at one another. Donny slicked my cock.
I knelt between Donny’s legs, and pushed them back on his torso. Marla squeezed his nipples.
I positioned my cock at his ass, and slowly pressed it forward. Deep, all the way, all at once. His shoulders pulled up, and he closed his eyes.
I quickly moved to pounding him. I like to overwhelm this manly boy. He gives himself over to it, his body going docile as I fucked, pressing his legs back.
Marla worked his body with her hands and mouth. I drew her to my mouth to kiss, and to watch.
I grabbed his hard on, using it as a lever to hold his body as I fucked. I massaged it. He moaned and twisted. I slowed my thrusts and jerked him.
He shot, so much, so much on his torso.
We were all breathless. I pulled out. Donny went to wash up.
I was exhausted. I lay down, Marla next to me. “I didn’t do much with him,” she said, “but this was about the hottest threesome I’ve ever had.”
We all talked for a while, then Donny began to dress. I encouraged him to walk Marla to the subway.
I kissed her goodbye and the door, and hugged him.
Let me know when you are over at his place, Donny said as they walked up the street.
I work very near here, she said. I can be there for you anytime.
Post-Mortem
“You look like shit. Put on your coat; we’re getting your hair cut.”
May dropped her suitcases and opened a shopping bag. “Here, put this on,” she said, tossing me a blue fleece. I slipped it over my head.
She looked me over, and then ripped the tag off the fleece. “That blue is perfect for your eyes. And look, only ten dollars on sale! Am I good or what?”
It’s been a month or so since May broke up with me via instant message, and over two months since we have seen one another.
She is heading to California soon to begin her new life. She had left a few loose ends in New York—including me—so we agreed to spend a couple of days together.
Although we didn’t say as much, it was clear that we wanted to be sure there were no bad feelings between us once a continent divided us. The relationship we had was over. But it had been a pretty good thing for both of us, and so it didn’t make sense to end it on a sour note.
So for a couple of days, I submitted to the things that had been best about it.
When May first came back into my life, so many years after we were nodding acquaintances in college, I was one month out of my marriage. After establishing that the sex was good—and it was very good—she set to the next task; queer eying me.
May’s a total fag hag, and about the closest you will get to a gay man and still have Tampex in your medicine cabinet.
She went through my closet and threw out anything flannel or ill fitting. I was not allowed to keep socks with holes in them. My bathroom was stocked with moisturizers, conditioners and liquid soaps. I was given a special device to scrub my feet. I had my first manicures and pedicures.
“I’m sure someone else will benefit from all I am doing,” she would fret as she plucked my nose hairs. “I just hope he appreciates it.”
She had shopping to do for the Chinese New Year—her family is Chinese by way of Thailand—so we spent a lot of time in Chinatown, eating Dim Sum, buying fresh seafood, looking for cheap knick knacks.
We did domestic things around my apartment. She installed a dimmer switch in my dining area. I found wood to shore up the bed that had been broken by the recent all male gangbang.
We were both on best behavior, so this would be a good visit, without drama.
This meant that I put aside my objections to a few things.
When we watched Shaun of the Dead and she preferred looking at me to looking at the movie—for about an hour, she just looked at me—I did not object.
When she woke me at four in the morning for sex, I fucked her.
When she woke me again at seven, I fucked her again.
At nine, once again.
When we first started seeing one another, I thought it was pretty hot that she wanted sex all night.
Then, it was like all night, every time.
I’ve got kids! I want to sleep in on weekends! So I put a stop to it. The rule was: no sex until I wake up.
This time, I let her have her way.
The first time we had sex on this visit, tears welled to her eyes. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry,” she said.
“I know,” I smiled, wiping away a tear. “It’s been a long time.” I pretended to believe she was sad about the time we had been apart, rather than about our future apart.
We parted with vague assurances that we would see each other when we could after she moved.
May dropped her suitcases and opened a shopping bag. “Here, put this on,” she said, tossing me a blue fleece. I slipped it over my head.
She looked me over, and then ripped the tag off the fleece. “That blue is perfect for your eyes. And look, only ten dollars on sale! Am I good or what?”
It’s been a month or so since May broke up with me via instant message, and over two months since we have seen one another.
She is heading to California soon to begin her new life. She had left a few loose ends in New York—including me—so we agreed to spend a couple of days together.
Although we didn’t say as much, it was clear that we wanted to be sure there were no bad feelings between us once a continent divided us. The relationship we had was over. But it had been a pretty good thing for both of us, and so it didn’t make sense to end it on a sour note.
So for a couple of days, I submitted to the things that had been best about it.
When May first came back into my life, so many years after we were nodding acquaintances in college, I was one month out of my marriage. After establishing that the sex was good—and it was very good—she set to the next task; queer eying me.
May’s a total fag hag, and about the closest you will get to a gay man and still have Tampex in your medicine cabinet.
She went through my closet and threw out anything flannel or ill fitting. I was not allowed to keep socks with holes in them. My bathroom was stocked with moisturizers, conditioners and liquid soaps. I was given a special device to scrub my feet. I had my first manicures and pedicures.
“I’m sure someone else will benefit from all I am doing,” she would fret as she plucked my nose hairs. “I just hope he appreciates it.”
She had shopping to do for the Chinese New Year—her family is Chinese by way of Thailand—so we spent a lot of time in Chinatown, eating Dim Sum, buying fresh seafood, looking for cheap knick knacks.
We did domestic things around my apartment. She installed a dimmer switch in my dining area. I found wood to shore up the bed that had been broken by the recent all male gangbang.
We were both on best behavior, so this would be a good visit, without drama.
This meant that I put aside my objections to a few things.
When we watched Shaun of the Dead and she preferred looking at me to looking at the movie—for about an hour, she just looked at me—I did not object.
When she woke me at four in the morning for sex, I fucked her.
When she woke me again at seven, I fucked her again.
At nine, once again.
When we first started seeing one another, I thought it was pretty hot that she wanted sex all night.
Then, it was like all night, every time.
I’ve got kids! I want to sleep in on weekends! So I put a stop to it. The rule was: no sex until I wake up.
This time, I let her have her way.
The first time we had sex on this visit, tears welled to her eyes. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry,” she said.
“I know,” I smiled, wiping away a tear. “It’s been a long time.” I pretended to believe she was sad about the time we had been apart, rather than about our future apart.
We parted with vague assurances that we would see each other when we could after she moved.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Sated
The room was filled with sun as Shelby got under the covers next to me. “Did you sleep well?” I asked.
“Yes, but I missed you.” She was in my arms. I kissed her face. “I’m so sore,” she winced.
“You’ve had a lot of sex,” I observed. We touched and kissed as we do. The ardor rose.
“You want to be in me, don’t you?” she whispered.
“More than anything. But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It will be okay if you don’t move much.”
I put on a condom and entered her, holding her, keeping my cock still, then moving it slowly. We kissed, wet and long.
My mind was calmly reciting, “gentle, gentle, gentle, gentle . . .” This gentleness was so retrained, so easy, and so exciting.
I came inside her.
“That’s a first,” she smiled. I held the condom and pulled out. I had never cum in her body.
I lay I her arms, touching her hair.
“I’ve fallen for you hard,” she said. It’s not easy for Shelby to admit this. It can take these days together for her to speak so.
“You are safe with me,” I kissed her. “I’ve fallen for you too. It’s okay. We are in this together.”
We lay quietly, talking until she had to shower and head home.
“Yes, but I missed you.” She was in my arms. I kissed her face. “I’m so sore,” she winced.
“You’ve had a lot of sex,” I observed. We touched and kissed as we do. The ardor rose.
“You want to be in me, don’t you?” she whispered.
“More than anything. But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It will be okay if you don’t move much.”
I put on a condom and entered her, holding her, keeping my cock still, then moving it slowly. We kissed, wet and long.
My mind was calmly reciting, “gentle, gentle, gentle, gentle . . .” This gentleness was so retrained, so easy, and so exciting.
I came inside her.
“That’s a first,” she smiled. I held the condom and pulled out. I had never cum in her body.
I lay I her arms, touching her hair.
“I’ve fallen for you hard,” she said. It’s not easy for Shelby to admit this. It can take these days together for her to speak so.
“You are safe with me,” I kissed her. “I’ve fallen for you too. It’s okay. We are in this together.”
We lay quietly, talking until she had to shower and head home.
Dinner Party
My only other plan for that weekend had involved Tina, a woman who was interested in joining our gatherings. She had not been free to join us at the most recent party, but she was keen to meet me.
“What are you doing Saturday night?” she asked.
“I’ve got a girl friend over,” I said. “You can join us if you like.”
“Oh, that would be fun,” she replied.
Now, most men would probably rest easy knowing they had two women lined up for sex on a Saturday night. I wondered if I could spin this into a small party.
I guess that’s how far gone I am.
To feel the waters, I sent a note to Jake, asking if he wanted to join me and Shelby with Tina. He thought he could make it.
Soon I had an email from Marla: “What, I’m not worthy of weekend parties?”
Jake had mentioned there would be a party at my place. Marla was once more on the outs with her local boy, and so she was free.
By all means, join us, I replied.
Three women, two men . . . maybe I can find another man. First choice Mark; alas, he had a date. Second choice, Thomas; he was out of town. So I tried Todd; he was all for it.
This was shaping into a dinner party. Perhaps I would prepare that great staple of swinging parties: lasagna.
Go to any swinger club, and you will see a pan of lasagna among the foodstuff. Group sex and pasta dishes seem as inexorably linked as lesbianism and softball.
We are the sort of people who cringe at the thought of being part of a “lifestyle,” as many swingers refer to their sex lives. But we are not above eating from the lifestyle cookbook. It could be campy, even.
Another email, from shy Alice. “Hey, I’ll see you at your place on Saturday!”
Mmmm, maybe Jake didn’t get the message that this was a small party. I invited Alice to join us, and asked her to bring Max as well. I soon had confirmation from Max.
Lasagne and sex for eight at nine.
Shelby and I spent the afternoon touring the galleries in Chelsea, and shopping for dinner ingredients at the Fairway.
We also acquired two new chairs, in the time honored New York tradition of dumpster diving.
The chairs had not quite made their way to the dumpster. A neighbor had either redecorated or died, sending back into the world two matching vintage chairs, in pristine condition.
“These are great chairs for oral sex,” I noted. Deep seats, slanted back, low arms. Perfect. We claimed them as our own, and installed them in my bedroom, one on either side of the bed. The previous chairs were retired.
Shelby read as I made a sauce and assembled the lasagna. We showered as it baked.
Tina arrived, with a bottle of vodka and a loaf of garlic bread.
She is a femme Latina, 36, with shoulder length straight hair, and a svelte runner’s body. She was very relaxed and chatty, the kind of person you think you’ve known longer than you have.
Not that we had met in person prior to this.
Marla brought wine and Alice brought a chocolate rose for me. I made a salad and served dinner.
“So, Jefferson,” Marla asked, raising a fork full of salad. “Where are the boys?”
“What boys?” I teased. “Really, I should be enough.”
Geez, where were those dorks? I had four lovely women, a fresh lasagna, and no boys.
Jake called. He would not be out of work until eleven. I called Max, but got no answer.
Finally Todd showed up, carrying his trademark bag of porn and Magnum condoms. I served him dinner.
He turned the dinner conversation to movies, saying he had brought some really great scenes to watch. Marla tried to generalize this to a fine conversation topic—what’s the hottest movie scene?—but Todd was in lecture mode.
Soon we were on a bed, as DJ Film Man Todd spun some favorite scenes from foreign films.
I’m not so keen on these kinds of activities at parties, which tend to monopolize conversation to one person’s interests. I have to say, though, that by the time he got to a scene from Bertolucci’s Dreamers—in which a brother offers his sister’s virginity to their best friend—we were all hot and bothered.
My head was in Marla’s lap. “Would you please take off your pants so I can eat your pussy?” Of course, she replied.
She sat on the edge of the bed as I went at her. Tina sat next to me, in the new oral sex chairs. My hand crawled up Marla’s body, to her breasts, to her throat. She came fast.
“He looks good,” Tina noticed.
“Oh, you have to try Jefferson’s head,” Marla recommended. Tina was ready for that. I turned on my knees and took down her pants. Marla kissed her and removed her shirt and bra.
Tina wore slim red lace panties. I licked them until they were soaked. I pushed them aside, then slipped them down, revealing a very wet shaved pussy. I licked her to climax.
I stood and opened my pants. Tina took my hard cock in her mouth. I grabbed a fist full of hair. She moaned.
Marla wrapped an arm around me. She grabbed her own handful of Tina’s hair.
On the bed, Shelby was nude and straddling Todd’s leg. Alice sucked him as she lay across his chest; he had fingers deep in her. Alice moved aside as Shelby took in Todd’s cock.
Tina looked up at me, and took my cock from her mouth. “I want to see you fuck her,” she said, holding Marla’s hand. No problem. I was just slipping on the condom when I saw Jake in the bedroom doorway.
“Well, look who’s here,” I said to the room. It completely spooked them; all were in a sex fog, and not expecting a dressed man at the door.
“Alice let me in,” he smiled. “How’s it going?”
In a few moments, Jake was nude and fucking Marla on the bed. Shelby was one chair, sitting back at Todd fingered her g spot. I sat in the other chair, as Tina lowered her pussy onto my cock. She rode it hard.
I looked over and saw Shelby watching me. I smiled at her; she grinned.
Marla started to cum. From the porn came the sound of a skinny blonde cumming. Shelby’s pants filled my ears.
“Do you hear that?” Tina asked, fucking me faster. “They are all cumming, the are all cumming . . . “ My cock fell out as she thrust. I moved to put it back in her. She pushed two of my fingers into her. “Deep, deep, hard . . .” she panted.
I obliged, curving my fingers and pressing my other palm against her lower abdomen.
“What is that?” she shouted, looking at me wildly. “What the hell is that?”
“Your g spot . . .” I began, but she could no longer hear.
Her yelps joined those of all the women now cumming in unison.
She sat in my lap after a few orgasms. “You seemed surprised when I massaged your g spot,” I observed.
“I thought that was a myth,” she purred. “Never felt that before.”
Now, that just warms my heart.
For the remainder of the night, I stayed close to Shelby. We made love as Todd fucked Tina. Jake and Marla nestled and talked.
Alice slipped out undetected. Max had called to say he couldn't make it, and she did not want to interrupt us all to say good bye. She knew she was welcome to stay on her own, but without Max, she felt like a third wheel.
Or maybe a seventh wheel?
I'm going to have to talk to Max about this. I thought he was going to take care of Alice at these parties. What gives?
It was late when everyone left. Shelby and I got into bed, wrapped in each other’s limbs.
She woke me during the night. “I’m going to another bed,” she whispered. “You are snoring.”
“Sorry, baby . . .”
“What are you doing Saturday night?” she asked.
“I’ve got a girl friend over,” I said. “You can join us if you like.”
“Oh, that would be fun,” she replied.
Now, most men would probably rest easy knowing they had two women lined up for sex on a Saturday night. I wondered if I could spin this into a small party.
I guess that’s how far gone I am.
To feel the waters, I sent a note to Jake, asking if he wanted to join me and Shelby with Tina. He thought he could make it.
Soon I had an email from Marla: “What, I’m not worthy of weekend parties?”
Jake had mentioned there would be a party at my place. Marla was once more on the outs with her local boy, and so she was free.
By all means, join us, I replied.
Three women, two men . . . maybe I can find another man. First choice Mark; alas, he had a date. Second choice, Thomas; he was out of town. So I tried Todd; he was all for it.
This was shaping into a dinner party. Perhaps I would prepare that great staple of swinging parties: lasagna.
Go to any swinger club, and you will see a pan of lasagna among the foodstuff. Group sex and pasta dishes seem as inexorably linked as lesbianism and softball.
We are the sort of people who cringe at the thought of being part of a “lifestyle,” as many swingers refer to their sex lives. But we are not above eating from the lifestyle cookbook. It could be campy, even.
Another email, from shy Alice. “Hey, I’ll see you at your place on Saturday!”
Mmmm, maybe Jake didn’t get the message that this was a small party. I invited Alice to join us, and asked her to bring Max as well. I soon had confirmation from Max.
Lasagne and sex for eight at nine.
Shelby and I spent the afternoon touring the galleries in Chelsea, and shopping for dinner ingredients at the Fairway.
We also acquired two new chairs, in the time honored New York tradition of dumpster diving.
The chairs had not quite made their way to the dumpster. A neighbor had either redecorated or died, sending back into the world two matching vintage chairs, in pristine condition.
“These are great chairs for oral sex,” I noted. Deep seats, slanted back, low arms. Perfect. We claimed them as our own, and installed them in my bedroom, one on either side of the bed. The previous chairs were retired.
Shelby read as I made a sauce and assembled the lasagna. We showered as it baked.
Tina arrived, with a bottle of vodka and a loaf of garlic bread.
She is a femme Latina, 36, with shoulder length straight hair, and a svelte runner’s body. She was very relaxed and chatty, the kind of person you think you’ve known longer than you have.
Not that we had met in person prior to this.
Marla brought wine and Alice brought a chocolate rose for me. I made a salad and served dinner.
“So, Jefferson,” Marla asked, raising a fork full of salad. “Where are the boys?”
“What boys?” I teased. “Really, I should be enough.”
Geez, where were those dorks? I had four lovely women, a fresh lasagna, and no boys.
Jake called. He would not be out of work until eleven. I called Max, but got no answer.
Finally Todd showed up, carrying his trademark bag of porn and Magnum condoms. I served him dinner.
He turned the dinner conversation to movies, saying he had brought some really great scenes to watch. Marla tried to generalize this to a fine conversation topic—what’s the hottest movie scene?—but Todd was in lecture mode.
Soon we were on a bed, as DJ Film Man Todd spun some favorite scenes from foreign films.
I’m not so keen on these kinds of activities at parties, which tend to monopolize conversation to one person’s interests. I have to say, though, that by the time he got to a scene from Bertolucci’s Dreamers—in which a brother offers his sister’s virginity to their best friend—we were all hot and bothered.
My head was in Marla’s lap. “Would you please take off your pants so I can eat your pussy?” Of course, she replied.
She sat on the edge of the bed as I went at her. Tina sat next to me, in the new oral sex chairs. My hand crawled up Marla’s body, to her breasts, to her throat. She came fast.
“He looks good,” Tina noticed.
“Oh, you have to try Jefferson’s head,” Marla recommended. Tina was ready for that. I turned on my knees and took down her pants. Marla kissed her and removed her shirt and bra.
Tina wore slim red lace panties. I licked them until they were soaked. I pushed them aside, then slipped them down, revealing a very wet shaved pussy. I licked her to climax.
I stood and opened my pants. Tina took my hard cock in her mouth. I grabbed a fist full of hair. She moaned.
Marla wrapped an arm around me. She grabbed her own handful of Tina’s hair.
On the bed, Shelby was nude and straddling Todd’s leg. Alice sucked him as she lay across his chest; he had fingers deep in her. Alice moved aside as Shelby took in Todd’s cock.
Tina looked up at me, and took my cock from her mouth. “I want to see you fuck her,” she said, holding Marla’s hand. No problem. I was just slipping on the condom when I saw Jake in the bedroom doorway.
“Well, look who’s here,” I said to the room. It completely spooked them; all were in a sex fog, and not expecting a dressed man at the door.
“Alice let me in,” he smiled. “How’s it going?”
In a few moments, Jake was nude and fucking Marla on the bed. Shelby was one chair, sitting back at Todd fingered her g spot. I sat in the other chair, as Tina lowered her pussy onto my cock. She rode it hard.
I looked over and saw Shelby watching me. I smiled at her; she grinned.
Marla started to cum. From the porn came the sound of a skinny blonde cumming. Shelby’s pants filled my ears.
“Do you hear that?” Tina asked, fucking me faster. “They are all cumming, the are all cumming . . . “ My cock fell out as she thrust. I moved to put it back in her. She pushed two of my fingers into her. “Deep, deep, hard . . .” she panted.
I obliged, curving my fingers and pressing my other palm against her lower abdomen.
“What is that?” she shouted, looking at me wildly. “What the hell is that?”
“Your g spot . . .” I began, but she could no longer hear.
Her yelps joined those of all the women now cumming in unison.
She sat in my lap after a few orgasms. “You seemed surprised when I massaged your g spot,” I observed.
“I thought that was a myth,” she purred. “Never felt that before.”
Now, that just warms my heart.
For the remainder of the night, I stayed close to Shelby. We made love as Todd fucked Tina. Jake and Marla nestled and talked.
Alice slipped out undetected. Max had called to say he couldn't make it, and she did not want to interrupt us all to say good bye. She knew she was welcome to stay on her own, but without Max, she felt like a third wheel.
Or maybe a seventh wheel?
I'm going to have to talk to Max about this. I thought he was going to take care of Alice at these parties. What gives?
It was late when everyone left. Shelby and I got into bed, wrapped in each other’s limbs.
She woke me during the night. “I’m going to another bed,” she whispered. “You are snoring.”
“Sorry, baby . . .”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)