Friday, August 31, 2007

Richard Kern

Richard Kern



Fleshbot and First Dates

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot stretches back for one last long summer weekend. Before we’re too fully buttoned up in back-to-school clothes, let’s wiggle our toes in the grass once more and let the sun shine where it soon won’t.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find that Wendy gets the warm spot in a post-coital shower that goes unexpectedly golden.

Unlikely as it seems, Lily also forgoes potty training to emerge as the dark horse candidate for Orgy Ass Queen.

Cody discovers that even the most anal retentive perverts can’t hide all the evidence as her barely legal cousin takes a self-guided tour of my bedroom. She’s a little more sly in sneaking in some tender moments behind her cousin’s back, until the inevitable “ew” of discovery.

On the sweet side, Bridget reflects on her lover previous to me, and ponders her year with the only lover she wanted after me.

Educating Erica finds she has more time to blog now that her man Levi is away—unfortunately, there’s less sex to blog, what with the man being absent and all. And so she busies herself by sending me sexy self-portraits to share with you.

For the record, Erica and I aren’t having sex—yet.

Meanwhile, on the clarifying edge of self-identification, Eileen comes out in my class on male bisexuality.

Speaking of clarification, a number of readers have noted that I’ve lately met many new people. That’s true if you judge by my blog; since April, my posts have dealt primarily with first dates.

This was true of stories concerning Fawn, Gina, Eden, Cody, Leah, Lily, Areum, Jacob and Carlos.

Now, if you are a devoted reader of online sex, you may realize that I’ve known a few of these people for quite some time, as some have written about our relationships in their own sex blogs. But even the most erudite smut scholar would be left wondering how things have played out with the others—for that, you’ll just have to stay tuned.

Looking back on these first dates, you may have noticed a trend in how I’ve met sex partners in the past couple of years. Lily, Leah, Jacob and Carlos were first casually encountered through Craig’s List, the city’s most popular site for dates and pick ups. The others found me though my blog.

I meet people for sex through this blog and I provide the URL to anyone with whom I have an ongoing sexual relationship. These practices make me an anomaly among the sex bloggers of my acquaintance, but I find that opening my life in this way supports my desire to be transparent and honest in my sexual relationships. Certainly, those listed above have access to my blog, whether or not they choose to read it.

This involves taking some risks, not the least of which is the sacrifice of a fair measure of privacy. It can also lead to the occasional outbursts of unwanted drama, as anyone who reads my blog also has access to the linked blogs of my other friends and lovers. I have no control over what anyone else writes, nor would I want to edit or hide their disclosures. On the contrary: once I became aware that there are those who stalk me across the blogosphere, I decided to make it easy to do so by compiling a weekly roundup of my sex life as it appears in other blogs.

To me, this is a salutary reward of being out of the closet—you can’t reasonably confront me for hiding what I’ve already given you.

This openness hopefully spares me from repeating the refrain of my first dates. I am bisexual. I have multiple partners. I have no current interest in monogamy. I don’t answer to anyone in choosing my sex partners. These things are unlikely to change in the near future.

I certainly understand why these guidelines would not appeal to some people, and that’s why it’s important they be duly warned. For those who stick around, I add a caveat—don’t come crying to me if you are upset to learn, on some blog or through gossip, of something that proves I am bisexual, I have multiple partners, I am not monogamous, and I don’t answer to anyone in choosing my sex partners. All of that was covered in bold-face type at the very beginning. These things are unlikely to change in the near future.

I am always available talk about my relationships and to work on sustaining them—that is all a part of being open and honest, after all—but if that proves repetitive or unproductive, we may need to accept that this may not be a good relationship to continue.

In my pursuit of honesty and avoidance of drama, I have increasingly realized how great a role this blog plays in my sexuality. It has become a significant actor in my life. Not only do I meet sex partners because of the blog (and through them, often, other sex partners), but also, the blog keeps my contract front and center. With each post, my basic guidelines are reiterated with new evidence. The longevity of the blog—nearly three years by this point—provides a deep archive that demonstrates, over and again, that I mean what I say up front.

I am nothing if not consistent.

Now, I have two more first date stories to relate before I go off on another theme. But before I tell those stories, I’m going to meet to your kind requests for more boy smut. If I’m very clever, I may even be able to weave in some aspects of the upcoming series. Find out in the next two installments of sex with Carlos.

Also, real quick, do me a favor. I’m getting some hits from Best Male Blogs, which offers a good compilation of the minority gender in sex blogging. At this site, blogs are rated by readers. So far, I’ve had only a few ratings and some of these from haters who give low marks (please, bitch, as if). Knock me up a few notches, won’t you, and while you’re there, be sure your favorite male bloggers are also listed.


Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Photo Shoot

I was procrastinating when I should have been multitasking. There was a fresh project waiting. Two cups of coffee into my working day, I had written nothing more than a few phony placeholders for the real words that would eventually come.

Perhaps they would come after a third cup of coffee. Or perhaps after a quick perusal of Men Seeking Men on Craig’s List.

He was procrastinating as well. He was in his office but his mind was on improving his odds in hooking up. His post explained that he had some okay pics but they were a year old and not explicit enough. He sought a photographer to give him a new set.

He posted the pics he no longer favored. He was shirtless in sunglasses, his torso lean and athletic. A second showed him smiling in a club, his hair cropped close.

I wrote him a brief line and sent my own pic.

You look like a very fine muse. Come over and I’ll make you gorgeous. You’ll be beating them off with a stick.

His response took me aback.

Thanks. I think we’ve met. Did you have a sex party at your apartment a few months ago?


The smile at the club was unfamiliar. I didn’t recognize the rippled lines of his flat belly.

I host a lot of sex parties, Carlos. I’m surprised I don’t recognize you, as cute boys rarely escape my notice.


I remember you. We didn’t hook up but I know it was your place. Can you really take pics?


We scheduled a photo shoot for that evening after work. I poured my third cup of coffee. The words flowed from my fingers.

I was still working when he showed up. I opened the door to find him leaning against the opposite wall. A smiled crossed his lips.


“Carlos.” I held out a hand. “Welcome back.”

I remembered him, all right.

Carlos has showed up late to one of my male orgies. By the time he arrived, I was already in the fray, blowing Randall in his white baseball cap. I caught Carlos’s eye as he watched me swallowing cock. I looked back, taking him in before turning my attention to the young man in my mouth.

I might be on my knees a might more than usual tonight, I thought.

Randall warmed up the party, so I left him in the pile on my bed and cruised for the new guy. We passed a few times, looking at one another and nodding. I introduced myself and welcomed him to my apartment.

“Nice place,” he said.

“Thanks,” I smiled.

He put a hand on my hip before moving on. I supposed he wasn’t that interested. Not long afterwards, he left. I hadn’t noticed if he did anything with anyone.

Now that he was back, I asked if he had enjoyed the orgy.

“It was good,” he said, sitting back on the couch. “I’d never been to anything like that, so . . . I guess it was good.”

“Ah, a novice,” I said. I handed him a glass of water and sat next to him. “Did any guys catch your eye?”

“Hmmm, a few.” He rested a hand on my bare thigh. He put down his glass and leaned forward to kiss me.

This boy may have been many things, but “novice” wasn’t one of them. He moved assuredly and kissed me with surprising tenderness, considering we had just met. This might have been considered a second date, come to think of it, although it was certainly our first in clothes.

I ran my fingers lightly over his body, gently favoring the buttons of his striped long-sleeved shirt, gingerly touching the belt loop of his grey pants. He was overdressed for the season in concession to an office job that didn’t mean that much to him. His real clothes were at home, waiting to go out, waiting to provide more appropriate garb for the beauty of a young gay man.

His firm body felt like reality underneath his flimsy disguise.

I pulled my lips from his. I traced the line of his jaw. “Ready for that close up?”

“Hmmm.” He raised his head with a wasted languor that made me want to pour him a martini and massage his black stockinged feet.

I stood. “Come on, handsome.” He raised himself to follow.

In my bedroom, I unbuttoned the buttons on the shirt that was all wrong for him. I unbuckled the belt he doesn’t like, and lowered the pants that help him pull a paycheck. I took down the socks he shouldn’t have to wear.

I stood and opened my blinds. His body glowed in the late afternoon light. The salaryman was gone. In his place stood my muse for the fine art of making dirty pictures.

I didn’t tell him how I saw him now, as he should be seen. I simply kissed him, holding his face in my hands, and lowered him to sit on the bed.

He lay back, raising his arms to rest his head in his hands.

I undressed, dropping my shorts and t-shirt at the foot of the bed. I slowly crawled over his body, lowering my lips to his. As we kissed, I allowed my body to gently brush against his.

My lips moved down his neck, licking at his ear. My mouth found his chest, completely flat against his ribcage. My tongue flicked his tiny nipples to erection.

He closed his eyes, turning his face to one side. He exhaled deeply.

I turned to see his cock throbbing in his blue boxers. How fortuitous, I thought. I had changed the sheets to dark blue, thinking this might accentuate the warm brown of his flesh.

I took his waist in my hands. My fingers could almost meet at his spine. My thumbs stretched toward his navel. I squeezed, growing hungry to devour him.

I reached for my camera.

I snapped the turn of his head, catching the shadow of his Adam’s apple. I crouched over him, bringing his shoulders and biceps into the frame. I stood and looked down, centering on the length of his body from mid-thigh to face.

He opened his eyes and looked up at me, his face impassive. I snapped a fast sequence.

I knelt over his chest, placing my erection on his cheek. The pink of my skin contrasted with his olive complexion and the cool hue of the sheets. I snapped photos with my right hand as my left moved my cock around his face and into his mouth. His eyes looked up as my cock rested in him.

“Good,” I muttered, clicking rapidly.

I stepped off the bed and put my camera on the nightstand. My hands roamed over his boxers then tugged at his waistband. His cock bounced outward as his boxers slowly traveled down his body.

His eyes closed as his cock vanished into my mouth. I buried my nose in his small shock of black hair, breathing in his scent. My tongue moved in waves under his cock. He was the right size for me; he was larger than I might have assumed, given his slender frame, but I could swallow him easily.

I sat back, admiring the sheen of glistening moisture on him. I reached for my camera and added his cock to our growing portfolio.

Holding my camera to one side, I pushed back his legs, raising his ass. From my vantage, his head was framed by his thighs, balls and hole. “Nice,” I murmured. “Open your eyes.” I took a few frames and reviewed them. His face was lost in shadows. I leaned to either side of the bed to turn on lamps. They picked up his features and warmed them, contrasting with the window’s cool light on his legs and ass. “Perfect.” I snapped rapidly.

I poised my cock against his hole, ready to enter him, and snapped. His eyes remained dispassionate. “Great, you look very hot,” I encouraged.

I dropped suddenly, taking his hole in my kiss. He sighed as my tongue swirled around him.

I raised my head and returned my cock to his ass, shooting myself poised to enter his wet hole. “God, that’s so hot,” I nodded, snapping.

His passivity was very arousing. He would take any pose I wanted, do whatever I suggested. I felt I could read him as a type I knew well—we’d never said a word about submission, but I could tell that this slight young Asian boy would melt when I fucked him.

I put the camera aside and opened a drawer on my nightstand. I took out a condom and tore the package. He turned his head to see what I was doing.

“Hmmm, I’m not ready to get fucked,” he said, his voice surprising after so long a silence. “I’m really tight and it’s been a while.”

I put the condom on the nightstand. I massaged his hole with my thumb. “Hmmm, I bet you’re tight,” I agreed. I picked up my camera and shot as the tip of my thumb edged into him. My cock throbbed in anticipation of opening him up.

For now, my teeth took a turn. I nibbled across his body, up his thighs, across his torso. He turned and I sank my incisors into the musculature of his back. I growled at the definition of his buttocks, cupping them in my palms and clicking. He was small by contrast to my large hands, his skin translucent by comparison to the blue veins and red knuckles that held him. “These are turning out so well,” I told him.

He raised his ass instinctively. I took more pictures before my instincts also took over. My tongue drew me back between his cool buttocks. I rose to cover his body with mine, holding him close as I pressed my cock against his ass.

I grabbed the nape of his neck, turning him. I took up my camera, catching the twist of my hip, dropping to extend the perspective on his outstretched body. “Good, good,” I said, now more focused on the shoot than my own arousal. “Stretch out your leg . . . good . . . now raise your elbow . . . okay, look at me . . . good! Perfect!”

I put my cock back in his mouth. I snapped as he began to jerk himself. “Hot, hot!” I said, laughing “Yes! Fuck, you look gorgeous. Keep going, going . . .”

Suddenly, Carlos sprang forward. He pushed me down and flipped me onto my belly. The camera fell against a pillow.

He pushed his hand against the back of my neck. A bottle of lube was opened with a click.

“Fuck, Carlos . . .” I managed as he entered me.

Carlos grabbed my hips and pulled my ass up and back. He thrust into me fast. I clutched the sheet and panted. “God . . . yes, Carlos, God! Fuck me hard, Carlos . . .”

My head whipped to one side as he grabbed my hair and pulled back.

“Yes, God . . .” I gasped. He pulled out off me. I heard the condom hit the floor and the sound his hand furiously moving on his cock.

He leapt to pin my back under him. I closed my eyes as he yanked my hair again.

“Carlos . . .” He grunted as his body shook over me. My ear suddenly clogged and my cheek grew warm. I turned to watch as he shot over my shoulder and into my hair.

His back grew rigid before he slumped. He fell back, sliding off the bed onto the floor.

I turned on one hip, breathing heavily as his cum ran down my face.

“Carlos . . .” I panted.

He struggled to catch his breath. “I’m sorry . . .” he began. “I never do that . . .”

I blinked. “Carlos, no one ever fucks me.”

He sat forward, his brow furrowing. “Oh wow, then I’m really sorry . . .”

“No, Carlos, no,” I said, sitting up. I scurried to sit on the edge of the bed near him. “Carlos, I really, really liked it.”

He looked up and kissed me. I moaned into his mouth, pulling him up onto me.

Later, we stood at the bathroom sink. I washed his cum from my face. He washed mine from his.

“Those pictures we took,” he said. “Those are just for us, okay? Don’t do anything with them.”

“No worries,” I nodded. “They are incredibly hot. If they don’t get you laid, you can just dig a hole and crawl in, ‘cause you’re dead.”

“Hmmm,” he grinned. I smiled at his reflection.

“Hey, you know, tonight is my boy orgy. You want to stick around?”

“No, no, I think I’m good.” He ran a wet hand over his head. “But I’d see you again, if you want.”

I stood and took him in my arms. “I want.” I nestled my mouth near his ear. “And next time, I’m fucking you.”

“No,” he laughed. “Next time, I’m fucking you.”

Carlos returned to my bedroom and resumed the costume of his office. I picked up and prepared for the orgy.

My co-host Jimmy arrived just as I was showing Carlos to the door. They exchanged quick greetings before Carlos said goodbye.

“See you soon,” he said.

“Yeah, very,” I smiled.

I closed the door and joined Jimmy in the kitchen.

Jimmy’s mouth dropped. “You got with that cute Asian twink from that party? I didn’t know he really did anything.”

I reached for my bourbon glass. “Oh, he does anything, all right.”

“Nice work, Mister Jefferson. I’m sure you gave him the full top treatment.”

“You know me all too well,” I smiled, pouring three fingers.

Monday, August 27, 2007

Friday, August 24, 2007

Fleshbot and Reverse Pervertibles

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot takes a pass on fornication, thankyouverymuch, in favor of other pleasures, with just a few frustrations thrown in to keep things lively.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will be busy, as I have been making up for the absence of my summer vacation.

Eileen enjoys the view as her beloved Maymay puts to the test all those practice sessions spent bending over for strap-ons and deep throating bottles.

Lily figures me among her regular lovers when accounting her sexual past and present to someone in her sexual future, and thinks twice about my advice on how to handle a flakey man, deciding along the way to give him her ass virginity.

Wendy proves more receptive to my words of wisdom when pondering what to do about a burning crush, even as she naturally does just as I recommended in regard to said flakey man, to varying results.

Welcome back to Rose, whose silence I so enjoyed when she lived in New York, but whose words I have missed since her blog went dark.

Finally, here’s a shout out to soul sister Selina, who celebrates her birthday today. May each year be more adventurous than the last—which, considering Selina’s annual output of adventure, is a tall order as blessings go.

Speaking of birthdays, my daughter Lillie shares Selina’s astrological sign (they are each Leos, hard as that may be to imagine of these shy, retiring types). This week, we celebrated the arrival of Lillie’s eighth year in accordance with her wishes—dinner with Bridget at “the Italian restaurant, the one with the chocolate cake,” and a party play date with her BFF, Harper.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Lillie instructed. “I want surprises and a piñata.” She giggled at that—Collie and Lillie utilize the word “piñata” as a top-secret euphemism for “penis.”

Nothing gets by me. Still, I recognize that sometimes a piñata is just a piñata.

Bridget volunteered to find a piñata as she went about her errands on the preceding weekend. “What else should I pick up? Do you need a dowel or something to hit it with?”

“Daddy has something to hit it with,” I replied.

“Oh God, please don’t let you daughter find out that you have a riding crop. Or that I do, for that matter.”

“I have a very suitable bamboo cane,” I assured her. VenusRopes had recently presented me a very nice assortment.

“I don’t want to know how you know it will work,” Bridget wrote. “I mean, of course I know how you know, but still . . . wait, do we need a blindfold?”

I paused. “Daddy has a blindfold.”

“I never thought about how kinky a piñata can be,” Bridget replied.

I think it must’ve been Lolita who introduced me to the word “pervertible,” which refers to any innocuous item that can be adapted to perverted ends. Common pervertibles include wooden spoons that double as paddles and clothespins that serve as nipple clamps.

The beating of this birthday piñata called for the adaptive use of “reverse pervertibles”: items used for kink that turn out to have vanilla applications.

Lillie, Harper and I returned from a walk to find Bridget and Collie waiting at home. While we were out, they had secretly decorated for a party. “Surprise!” they shouted. “Happy birthday to you . . .”

“No singing!” Lillie barked. She had already issued orders—no one was to sing “Happy Birthday” or take photographs without express permission. She took Harper by the hand and walked into the darkened dining room. There, she saw the display: a large red bull with gold horns, wearing a wide straw sombrero and a lei featuring a flashing plastic red pepper. This set piece sat atop a paper tablecloth decorated with festive letters spelling “fiesta.”

“That’s the piñata?” Lillie asked.

“Cool!” Harper admired.

Lillie glanced at her peer, then up at Bridget. “Yeah, cool!”

“Glad you like, sweetie.” Bridget turned to me. “You know, it was the only one that wasn’t SpongeBob or Bart Simpson or something that would’ve been just wrong.”

“Oh no, some things should be traditional,” I agreed. “Nice work.”

“Thanks.” She began to look around the room. “But where are we going to hang the thing? There’s a hook on its back, but I didn’t think to bring rope . . .” Bridget paused. “Oh, wait: Daddy has rope.”

“Of course Daddy has rope.”

I retrieved a coil of black nylon and tied the piñata to a broom handle with a few deft shank knots. “You’re getting very good at that,” Bridget admired. “Almost as good as Conrad.” Bridget’s other man is a former sailor; I appreciated the favorable comparison.

I smiled. “I pay attention in class. Now, let’s get this party started.”

I turned on some dance music—well, whattya know? Amy Winehouse was waiting when I hit “play”—and stepped onto a sturdy table. Jason picked up my go-go moves as he sang, “They tried to make me go to rehab, I said-uh no, no, no.”

Lillie was first up. She complained about the blindfold, but rules are rules. She made contact with every blow.

Harper was no less fortunate. Funny how that happens when Daddy’s behind the boom.

Collie attacked with considerable alacrity, tearing a crack across the bull’s midsection. “Another blow for genetics,” Bridget laughed.

I raised the piñata high for Jason, and tried to avoid his blow. Still, he connected each blow like Barry Bonds after a fresh injection. All that awaited was the coup de grâce. The honor fell in turn to the birthday girl.

Lillie brought down a rain of papier-mâché and candy. The children dove to the floor, shouting. I stepped down from the table and put aside the broom.

“Aw, how nice and greedy,” Bridget admired.

I put an arm on her shoulder and thought how like a piñata Bridget can be. Like a piñata, she is sweet inside and I would like to hit her with a stick.

Now, the floor is swept and the children are with their mother. Daddy’s cane, rope and blindfold are packed away and ready for Floating World. If you happen to be there, be sure to say hello.

And if you are sweet inside, please do let me know.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Zuzu's Petals

Leah was my secret. I didn’t talk about her, or blog about her, or invite her to meet my friends at my orgies. We saw each other regularly, and I liked that it was just between us. We drank bourbon, we talked about smart things, we had brilliant sex. Wild horses couldn’t have dragged a word from me about any of it.

She seemed just as content with our discretion. In public, my bite marks were hidden underneath her clothes, the welts from my cane readily felt and easily disguised. In private, she never refused me any request and relished being told what to do.

Leah had a way of compartmentalizing to keep our relationship tidy, maintaining a cool reserve that didn’t interfere with our measured intimacy. She kept a few things at my place—ear plugs to block my snoring, a speculum that we kept forgetting to use—but she always traveled with her own toothbrush.

She knew about my blog, although we didn’t talk about it much. I wasn’t even sure she read it. She also knew about my orgies, but she didn’t ask to attend. I might have assumed she simply wasn’t interested had I not also known that she was, first and foremost, exceptionally well mannered. She would never pry or ask for an invitation to anything.

Being beautiful also worked in her favor. Life had taught her that any invitation she wanted was likely to come to her.

This dame was a class act. Just watching her hold a glass as she talked, resting it in the palm of one hand as she held it between the manicured fingers of the other, I inevitably thought of the word “poise.”

Her innate composure held the same intrigue for me as a house of cards holds for a cat. I was compelled to comprehend it even at the risk of scattering it to pieces.

One evening, I extended an invitation.

“Would you like,” I said, resting my bourbon glass on my knee, “to be my guest for the Bukkake Social Club?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Why, thank you for the charming invitation, but what is that?”

I explained. “Well, as you know, Leah, I host a few orgies each month. One of these is a mixed party of bisexual men and women. It’s very popular, and there are always new men who want to be invited. This puts me in a bind, as we want a good gender ratio. If I add a male, I like to add a female.”

“Naturally. You’re a good host.”

“I do my level best,” I smiled. “So this imbalance finds me in a quandary. I am left with a group of men who are all perfectly satisfactory—attractive, polite and bisexual, or at least bi-friendly—and nothing to do with them. So I was struck by the thought that perhaps I could start a new event for them. And thus was born the Bukkake Social Club.”

I sipped my bourbon. Leah waited, listening.

“The Bukkake Social Club meets every couple of weeks. At each session, I present a different female guest. The gentleman undress and I undress our guest. They then watch as our guest and I have sex. The gentlemen are not permitted to touch our guest, though they are invited to interact with one another if they choose. At the meeting’s end, the gentlemen cum on our guest and then leave.” I took another sip. “And then, you know, we keep fucking.”

Leah laughed. “I’m in. How can I resist an opportunity to be the center of attention?”

“Cheers.” I raised my glass. “And can I tell you something funny about the Bukkake Social Club? I don’t impose a time limit, but a meeting has never once gone over forty-five minutes. One boy will announce that he’s going to cum, and once he does, it’s a chain reaction. They all cum.”

“That’s interesting,” she nodded. “Sort of a tribal male ritual?”

“That, or the porn effect,” I shrugged. “They all know their roles, having seen it often enough in bukkake porn. Either way, they are going to really enjoy making a mess of you.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Leah said, extending a leg to press her toes against my groin.

I put down my glass and extended a hand.

The next day, Leah emailed two pictures for me to forward to the gentlemen. One showed her body as she lay flat on crisp white sheets. The other was shot in a mirror, the camera obscuring her face but revealing her large breasts and slender waist.

The gentlemen responded with terrific enthusiasm.

On the evening the Bukkake Social Club next convened, Leah was late to leave work. Several of the gentlemen had already arrived when I opened the door for her. They stood as one when I introduced her to the room.

“Gentlemen, this is Leah. Leah, may I introduce Timothy, Bill, Jeremy, Max, Chris, Philip, Eric . . .”

Leah raised a hand. “Oh, I’m sorry, I’ll never remember names,” she said. “Unless I have to, and I’d rather not.”

The men laughed nervously. Although many of them had been members of the Bukkake Social Club for a while, the first moments of each session still felt awkward for some.

“Not at all,” I said. “Drink?”

“Yes, please.” Leah looked to the couch. One of the gentlemen moved aside to make room. “Thanks,” she said, sitting at the vacated space near one end.

Leah was chatting with the gentlemen when I returned with her vodka and seltzer. (I had learned that she couldn’t tolerate the quinine of tonic water, and so I kept seltzer for her.) She was a natural, I observed. She could manage any cocktail party with aplomb, even one such as this.

Typically, I preferred that the guest arrive before the gentlemen so that the two of us would have time to get in the right frame of mind. Now, that would just have to happen in a group setting. But it would need to happen reasonably soon, as some of the men needed to get home to dinner with their wives or girlfriends.

There was a knock at the door. “This fellow is late, but he’s lucky we’re off to a late start tonight,” I said, standing. I opened the door to find one of the new guys.

“Hey, Jefferson? Jacob, man. Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries, Jacob. We’re off to a late start.” I took his hand. “Come in, I’ll introduce you.”

He smiled. I closed the door behind him.

My mind flipped through its Rolodex of club applicants. Jacob was bisexual, right? I would need to look back into that. For in that moment at the door, I had catalogued his lips, his smile, and the way he said my name. I was beginning to assemble the necessary ingredients for a hearty crush.

I introduced Jacob to the room. Seating positions were adjusted and the late arrival sat next to the guest of honor.

“So you’re Leah?” he said, offering a hand. “I’m Jacob.” He chuckled as they shook hands. “Interesting way to meet, huh?”

“Oh yes, but how else do you meet the most interesting people?”

“I suppose so,” Jacob nodded. “So how do you know Jefferson?”

Leah looked at me. “Craig’s List, though that seems a long time ago. How do you know him?”

“Craig’s List, too, but kind of indirectly. I know someone who came to this bukkake thing and he told me I had to check it out. So I’m checking it out.”

“Oh right, Robby,” I recalled. “How’s he doing?”

“I guess he’s okay,” Jacob said. “He said hey, sorry he can’t make it.”

“Send him my regards.” Robby was a cute twink who tended to cling to the walls at our events. I pictured Jacob and him naked together, wondering if that’s how they knew one another.

I looked at Jacob. He was watching Leah’s face as she spoke to the other fellows. He caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back.

Leah looked to him, then to me. She seemed to compiling her own catalogue of observations.

“Hey, Leah, can I ask you a question?” Jacob said. “Do you work in midtown?”

Leah moved her glass to her palm. “Yes. Why?”

Jacob ran a hand through his hair. He asked if she worked in a particular building. She did. He asked if she worked for a particular company. She did.

“Yeah, well, so do I. I’ve seen you in the elevators. I thought that was you.”

I cringed. Leah was content with our discretion and now I had brought in a co-worker to watch us fuck.

The two passed a volley of company gossip. I watched the faces of the other gentlemen. This was unprecedented in our social club, and it threatened to upset our decorum. I needed to address this.

“Leah, sorry to interrupt,” I began. “But are you comfortable having Jacob here? I mean, if it’s a problem, we can just have him back another time when you won’t be our guest.”

Leah pushed her hair over a shoulder. “Oh no, I can totally have him fired.”

Jacob nodded. “It’s true, she can so fire my ass.”

The men laughed. “Well, if that is resolved,” I said, standing. “Then I would like to officially open this session of the Bukkake Social Club. Gentlemen?”

The gentlemen stood and began to remove their clothes. Jacob looked around and began to do the same. I remained clothed for now.

Leah sat back with her drink. “Hmm, I’m enjoying this.”

“All for you, pretty,” I smiled, waving a hand to the assembly.

A moment before, there had been a group of guys sitting around, chatting nervously. Now they were gone, replaced by virile bodies, handsome faces and cocks that were filling with anticipation. Leah slowly sipped her drink, letting her eyes take in the men who would soon be so intent on looking at her.

I watched Jacob’s body emerge from his clothes. He pulled off a black t-shirt to reveal a lean torso decorated by old-school tattoos that had no immediately discernible relationship to one another. A Star of David hung from his neck.

“A fellow Jew with tattoos,” Leah smiled approvingly. She raised a fist in the air. “Huzzah!”

“Oh yeah?” Jacob replied, unfastening his wide belt. “You too?” His pants lowered with the jangle of the chain that connected his wallet to a belt loop.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Leah said, lowering her eyes as she first saw Jacob’s thick cock.

I glanced at Jacob’s body, surreptitiously cataloguing. Certainly, there was nothing about his appearance that would quell the threat of an incipient crush.

Physically, he was just little slighter than me. I imagined unzipping my skin and wrapping him in it; the fit would be just right.

Jacob looked around at the other nude men. He brought his palms together with a clap. “Okay,” he said, involuntarily.

“Gentlemen, I recommend that we adjourn to the bedroom.” I took Leah’s hand. “Shall we?”

“You lead, I follow,” she said.

When she stood, I turned her to face the men. I moved her hair to kiss the back of her neck, inhaling deeply. I took her arms behind her back and wrapped them in my right arm. I twirled her suddenly to face the other direction. “Actually,” I said, “Why don’t you lead?”

She stepped forward haltingly, unable to move beyond my restrictions on her body. I pressed myself against her back and turned her to enter the bedroom. The gentlemen followed, forming a semi-circle around the bed.

I released Leah and turned her. I lowered my lips to hers, knowing that my kisses pushed the boundaries of the intimacies she could accept. And yet I kissed her, before witnesses, to remind her that she was vulnerable in my hands.

My hands moved down her body. I pulled her top up and over her head. I kept my eyes on her as I spoke. “Gentlemen, let’s take a moment to revisit the club rules. You are welcome to watch and jerk off. If you want to touch another fellow, make sure it’s okay before you touch. You aren’t to touch Leah . . .”

“It’s okay above the waist,” Leah interjected.

“A fortunate revision, gentlemen.” I turned Leah to face the assembly. I unfastened her bra.

“Whoa,” Timothy said.

Leah smiled. “Before anyone asks: yes, they are real.”

My hands cupped her breasts from behind. “Hmmm, and spectacular.” I lowered my teeth to her shoulder.

Unnnh,” Leah squirmed, closing her eyes. I pinched a nipple.

I stood back and reached around to unfasten her pants. She raised her legs to step from them. I kicked them aside. I ran my hands along her hips, fingering her thong panties, caressing her flat belly, watching over her shoulder as the men gazed at her body. No one was looking at me; I was merely the barker who showcased the main attraction.

I ran a cheek across Leah’s shoulders, a private gesture between us. Her breathing accelerated. My eyes were closed, savoring her scent and touch. When I opened my eyes, I saw Jacob looking at me. I closed my eyes again, smiling inwardly, growing hard in my clothes.

I slipped my hands into the strands of her thong. “Gentlemen, also please recall that you are not to cum on Leah’s face or in her mouth.” I crouched, lowering Leah’s panties as I sank. “That said, we want to give her a good soaking, so when you do cum, please be sure you cover her.” I stood, wrapping my arms around her. “May I suggest you consider her tits as your target?”

“Shit,” Eric said, stroking fast. He looked as if he were ready to explode.

I turned Leah to face me. I undressed and put my hands to her face. “It’s me,” I whispered. “And you.”

Leah nodded. I lead her to the bed and lay her back. I spread her thighs and ran a finger along her slit. “Wet,” I assessed. “Very nice.” I lowered my face to taste her, burrowing my nose into her smooth, soft pubis. She twisted, breathing fast. Her eyes were closed. I knew they would remain closed until I told her to open them.

The men pressed close. Eric knelt on the bed over her body. He raised a hand, but halted. “I can touch you?” he asked. Leah sucked a deep breath and nodded.

Eric’s hand shook slightly as he caressed a breast. Other hands joined his on her. I soon felt Leah quiver in my mouth. I flicked her clit steadily, prepared for her orgasm.

It came quietly as her body bucked, her soft high wail filling my ears. “Fuck, that’s hot,” Chris admired. He looked to another man. “God, she’s so hot.”

“Yes, isn’t she?” I agreed. I took a condom and tore the package. I pulled her to the bed’s edge. She moaned as I entered her. I stood with her legs against my chest, exposing her body to the eyes and hands of the gentlemen. They wanted to see her, not merely watch my back humping over her. In directing this show, I cast myself as a supporting actor.

Leah’s hands went back over her head. I recognized this as a sign of her surrender. Often, I pinned her back as I fucked her. “Jacob, do me a favor,” I asked. “Hold Leah’s arms back, please.”

“Sure.” Jacob dropped his cock and knelt on the bed behind Leah’s head. She crossed her forearms as he took him in his grip. She squirmed against his hold. Jacob held firm.

“Good boy. Thanks.” I pressed back on Leah’s thighs and fucked into her with deep, merciless thrusts. She responded by cumming again. As she came, I saw that she held Jacob’s cock in her confined hands.

As her wail subsided, I nodded at Jacob, gesturing that he should release her arms. He did, and her hands fell away from his cock. I leaned forward and took Leah’s jaw in my right hand. I roughly turned her to face me.

“Open your eyes, Leah.” She opened her eyes, nodding as best she could in my grip. “Come here, Jacob.” I turned my eyes to direct him to kneel at her side. I turned Leah’s face in his direction. “Take a look at Jacob. Isn’t he beautiful?”

She nodded.

“Look at his hair, his face, his body.” Leah’s eyes lowered. “Look at that cock. Don’t you want it?”

She nodded.

“Leah, we have a rule at the Bukkake Social Club. You don’t get to blow the boys. Do you understand that rule?”

She nodded. I could hear the men breathing heavily around me, but I kept my eyes on Leah. I shifted her face from my right hand to my left.

“But Leah,” I continued. “That rule does not apply to me.” I turned my face and took Jacob’s cock in my hand. My eyes locked on his as I took it in my mouth. He nodded as I swallowed him, shoving him in and out of my mouth.

I moved the fingers of my left hand into her mouth, pressing to the back of her tongue as I sucked Jacob’s cock. I pushed deeper into her cunt, keeping her full.

I knew her eyes were open, as I had instructed.

I pulled back and looked at her. I took Jacob’s cock in my hand and guided him a few steps to one side. I leaned over Leah and kissed her. I moved my face back slightly and once again took Jacob in my mouth. His cock brushed lightly over her lips as I sucked him.

Leah opened her mouth to taste him. I pulled her hair with my free hand. She yelped.

I dropped the cock from my mouth, drool running into her face. “You are such a slut, Leah.” I pulled out of her. “Turn over.”

Leah weakly turned on her front, then up on her knees. I lubed her ass and pushed into her. She groaned and fell forward slightly.

“No, Leah, you must remain upright.” I grabbed her shoulder and fucked into her hard. “Godammit, you are hopeless. Jacob, I’m sorry, but can you lend another hand?”

He came to my side. “What can I do?”

I slapped Leah’s ass. She sighed. “I give up. She’s a slut and there’s nothing to be done about it. Go shove your cock in her mouth, please.”

Jacob smiled. “Sure, Jefferson, anything you say.”

“Fucking hot,” Philip said.

Jacob positioned himself in front of Leah’s face, spreading his legs wide to accommodate her elbows. She lowered her mouth to his cock tentatively.

“No Leah, you wanted that cock, you take it.” I grabbed her hair and pushed her up and down Jacob’s shaft. He rested a hand on the back of her neck, so I could focus on her ass. I grabbed her hips and stood back to push into her hard and fast.

“Damn,” Chris said.

“Yeah, with this one, you have to be sure she feels it.” I spanked her, alternating buttocks as if galloping her onward. “How’s that cocksucking, Jacob?”

Jacob looked up, his hands on Leah’s temples. “Feels awesome,” he said, laughing.

“Hold ‘er steady, then, we’re taking ‘er home.” I was having a hell of a good time. I knew Leah had gone pretty far into herself, but we’d get her back in time. As for Jacob, he was a natural wingman.

After an eternity of fucking Leah’s ass at my top speed, I slowed up. “Whew, man, I’m exhausted,” I said, pulling out. “Jacob, drop the blowjob for a second.” I grabbed Leah’s hair and pulled her head back. Jacob retrieved his cock and scooted over the bed’s edge.

I grabbed Leah’s hips and flipped her over. “Get a condom, Jacob. I need a break, so you’re taking over.”

“You’re serious?” Jacob looked from me to Leah.

“Yeah, I’m serious. Seriously beat. Thanks for pitching in.” I tugged the condom from my cock and threw it on the floor. It landed with a thwack.

Jacob opened a condom as I leaned in to Leah’s ear. “You don’t mind if the cute boy fucks you a little bit, do you, Leah?”

She shook her head, eyes closed. “Good girl,” I whispered. I wrapped a forearm around Leah’s head as Jacob spread her legs. He leaned forward on his extended arms and began to jackhammer.

The gentlemen moved closer to watch. I intended to give my cock a break, but I couldn't resist touching myself as he fucked her. Here were two gorgeous people who had just met, fucking in a circle of aroused naked men. And why?

Because I made it happen.

That realization filled me. If I had pockets at that moment, they might have been filled with Zuzu’s petals.

After a time, I checked the clock. We needed to wrap this up to keep on schedule.

“Okay, Jacob, I’m tapping you out.” I kissed Leah’s forehead and stood. “Let’s finish this.”

Jacob slowed his thrusts. “Oh, okay, you want me to stop?”

“Yes, but stay nearby,” I instructed, lubing a new condom. “Leah honey, stay with me.” She nodded, eyes closed, as I pushed into her. I stood with my knees apart and spread back her limber legs. “How’s that view, Eric?”

“Fuck man, that’s fucking hot.” Eric moved closer, tugging fast on his cock.

“You ready to soak her, man?” I asked, rocking back and forth in her.

“Yeah, you want me too?”

“Yeah, man, get it started.”

“Okay, man, I’ve going to pop.” Eric leaned over Leah’s breasts and beat himself furiously, “Shit, shit, shit,” he moaned, spraying Leah’s right breast and neck.

“Shit man, I going to cum,” Chris panted, pressing forward.

I smiled at Jacob. Like clockwork, I thought, as Chris unloaded on Leah’s ribcage.

Timothy and Jeremy were almost simultaneous. The others lined up to make their contributions. Bill kept us waiting for a bit as we offered encouragement.

“C’mon man, bust that nut,” Timothy said, his eyes on Bill’s cock.

“Yeah, I’m gonna cover her . . .” I realized this was the first thing Bill had said all night.

“Do it man, give that slut what she needs.”

Bill pressed his hips forward and grunted. His heavy drops splashed like petals landing in the puddle on Leah’s body.

“Fucking a’, dude,” Eric laughed. “That’s too damn hot.”

“Okay gentlemen, nicely done.” I pulled out and walked around to Leah’s face. I kissed her cheek. “You did very well, pretty. Now I’m going to clean you up. Don’t move.”

I left to retrieve a warm washcloth. The gentlemen tidied up with tissues. Jacob stood watching. He started to remove the condom still on his cock.

I looked up from washing Leah. “Hey, why don’t you fuck her, very gently? That would be nice.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, let’s treat her sweetly. She’s worked very hard.”

Jacob nodded and slowly entered her. Leah moaned softly, as if she now felt him for the first time.

Leah’s belly glistened with the sheen of emulsified semen. The gentlemen each took a moment to thank Leah.

She was alert now, eyes wide open. “Well, thank you, guys. That was really nice.”

“’Nice’ doesn’t begin to describe it,” Eric marveled. “You are smoking.”

“Thanks.” Leah smiled and turned her attention to Jacob. “I especially like this one.”

“Me too.” I put my arm on Jacob’s waist and kissed his neck. “You two take care; I’m going to show out the fellows.” I grabbed my clothes and went to join the men in the living room.

When I returned to the bedroom, Leah and Jacob were stretched out on the bed. They laughed as they talked.

I took off my shirt. “Did you notice the time? We broke the forty-five minute mark, but just barely.”

Jacob looked at the clock. “Are you serious? That wasn’t even an hour, huh?”

“Like clockwork,” Leah nodded.

“Yeah, like clockwork.” I pulled off my shorts. “So what do you think? You two want to break and have drinks, or should we just fuck some more?”

Leah looked to Jacob, then back to me. “Can’t you just make the decisions?”

“Yeah, whatever you want,” Jacob shrugged.

I smiled.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Fleshbot and Blogging, Flogging

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot gives urgent attention to those who simply can’t control their impulses. These folks are pure id.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me tugging at Bridget's memory.

I am also on Maymay’s mind as he reflects on finding me kissing his girlfriend Eileen shortly after I fucked her boyfriend.

You’ll also find me outnumbered, as seven (Count ‘em! Seven!) of the city’s meanest sex blogging gals around took their turns at flogging me.

This excursion into le vice anglaise began innocently enough, as we assembled to be interviewed by BBC’s Channel Four for an upcoming program—excuse me, programme—on sex blogging.

The producers were primarily interested in blogging as it relates to female sexuality, rightly noting that the great majority of sex bloggers are women. Our group bore out that fact, as I was the sole representative of male bloggers.

Well, as you can imagine, things got pretty heated when the questions were geared to the differences between boys and girls. “Are they so different?” we argued.

I often ponder the gender skew in sex blogging, which I just can’t explain satisfactorily. I mean, the fact that so many sex bloggers are under thirty makes sense. Blogging is itself a new medium and it is common for young people to blog their diaries. Once sex comes into play, it’s natural that it would become a subject of great interest. And as the number of sex bloggers increase, the more I read from people over thirty.

But why are women more likely to blog sex? Or, conversely, why are relatively few men drawn to it? Near as I can tell—and this is obviously anecdotal—the gender ratio doesn’t change significantly as sex blogging evolves.

Is it because men are more visual and therefore prefer pornographic images, whereas women are more concerned with communication and therefore interested in written erotica? Are men more invested in sex acts, while women are more reflective about relationships?

Those are the kind of truisms people toss around, but I honestly don’t buy them. I’m just as sentimental and nurturing as the next girl, and the women I know aren’t any less likely than men to be aroused by smut and good sex. Based on my experiences and those of sex bloggers I know, those stereotypes ring false.

Still, perhaps there is something to the attraction to the medium itself. The majority of my readers are women, many of whom respond not just to the blazing hot sex but also to my writing about relationships and parenting. Could it be that my blog appeals to women because I write to women’s concerns? This isn’t intentional if so; certainly, I don’t write to disregard men’s interests.

Or maybe, as my secret girlfriend is fond of asserting, I really am a girl.

We’ll see what the BBC makes of our various musings on all this. On a few subjects, we were generally in agreement. Above all, we commended ourselves for doing something fairly bold, and agreed that sex blogging is empowering to each of us and, we hope, to readers.

That’s about the time that Viviane started pouring mint juleps.

Next thing I knew, I was stripped to my underwear and getting whipped.

Maybe I took one for the patriarchy.

Had I anticipated my martyrdom, I might have worn a loincloth. As it was, everyone got to see my manly blue boxers dotted with yellow rubber duckies.

You can read about it as recounted by Lolita, Viviane and Sinclair. While you are pondering sex blogging and why we do it, also take a look at Wendy’s thoughts.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Dark Odyssey

I’m teaching at Dark Odyssey next month, and the organizers have allowed me to offer a special deal—sign up now, and you may use a discounted rate!

Tell ‘em Jefferson sent you.

Hey everyone! I am teaching at Dark Odyssey: Summer Camp 2007 this year, and here are all the details!

Imagine a vacation that brings together sexuality, spirituality, education, and play in a fun, diverse environment where fantasy becomes reality.

Dark Odyssey: Summer Camp 2007, a journey of sexual exploration for the spiritual and creative sex-positive communities returns for its fifth year. It will be held at a secluded, two hundred acre retreat in Northern Maryland. Our mission is to cross-pollinate ideas and concepts between diverse groups of individuals who desire to explore different areas of sexuality. The Dark Odyssey Community is truly multi-sexual, welcoming people of all genders and sexual orientations. We welcome people interested in everything from sex, Tantra, and BDSM to polyamory, swinging, Paganism, and spirituality; attendees come from all over the world and identify as sex-positive activists, nudists, LGBT, shamans, Masters, slaves, leatherfolk, genderqueers, sex bloggers, crossdressers, body modifiers, radical faeries, and perverts.

The event, from September 12-17, 2006 will feature top-notch sex educators, relationship experts, SM masters, and spiritual teachers from around the world, including:

Barbara Carrellas * Bear * Beth and Preston
Bobby * British "Lucky" Paul * Captain Beatrice & Benedick
Del * Dossie Easton * Felice Shays
Fräulein Rottenmeier * Helen Boyd * Jacq Jones
Jefferson * Jim Deuder * Jon and Carin * Lee Harrington
Levi Halberstadt * Lolita Wolf * Marcus
Margo Eve & Elkor * Mark Michaels & Patricia Johnson * Michelle Zee
Nina Hartley * Reid Mihalko & Marcia Baczynski
Sarah Sloane * Scherzoid * Sir C * Susan B
Suzanne SxySadist * SwitchMe
Tristan Taormino * Whittney Matlock

Check out the complete list of presenter's bios.

And over seventy-five of the most unique, exciting workshops anywhere, with an emphasis on hands-on demonstrations, including:

Beyond Bowed Heads: Rituals for Dominance and submission
Binding Intentions: The Art of Rope Magic
Border Crossing: Challenging Boundaries, Connecting Bodies
Delight in Difficult Dominance
Discipline and Awareness: How To Enhance Life And Play With Body/Mind Techniques
Making Your Move: a Flirting Class
Making Poly/Mono Relationships Work
Pain: Plight-Punishment-Pleasure
Playing in the Dark: Journeys Through Humiliation
Radical Ecstasy
Spiritual Body Modification
Trans-Sex & Identity
Uneven Libidos: When Your Partner Isn’t as Sexual as You
Urban Tantra

Plus, lots more on . . .

Sex: Lick her, Cocksucking, Anal Play, Fisting, G-spot, Threesomes
Identity: What Labels Give Us, What Labels Take Away
Relationships: 'Ethical Sluts' Workshop by author Dossie Easton
BDSM: Ecstatic Caning and Pick-Up Play for Bottoms
Spirituality: Energy Pull Ritual and Walking the Path of Ordeal
And An Entire Track of Classes & Events Devoted to Fireplay

For details, see the complete list of classes and descriptions.

In addition to workshops, Dark Odyssey features creative social activities, nightly special events, erotic rituals, lakeside bonfires, the Sex-O-Rama playspace, and a 10,000 square foot fully equipped dungeon open for play around the clock. Legendary special events include:

Body Beautiful * PT for Perverts * Night in Flames
Energy Pull Ritual * Garden of Carnal Delights * Cupid's Gambit
Fucking Machines Show * Cigars & Chocolate * Cuddle Party
Perverts' Potluck * Fire Spinning * Petting Zoo * Pajama Party

All this happens in a fun camp environment at a retreat with great accommodations: forty cabins with real beds, full bathrooms, hot water showers, and electricity; two swimming pools, canoeing, and hiking; plus, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a midnight snack included.

Unlike a typical conference event, where you have to pay for registration fees, hotel room costs, plus meals, Dark Odyssey is an all-inclusive event.

Current registration rates are good through August 20 (then prices go up), but you can register up until September 12. When you register, select "Club Adventure" under Participating Group to get the group discounted rate!

Dozens of community organizations have signed on as participating groups in Dark Odyssey, and we add new groups every day. Check the website to see if your group is one of them, and you'll be entitled to a registration discount. If your group would like to be added to this list, please contact

Visit our website for more details. We hope you will join us for this exciting event!

Sunday, August 12, 2007

Tanda Blog

Valancy takes the time now and then to drop me a line. Her notes are always a pleasure to read, not least because she is in the habit of sending me racy self-portraits.

Her turn to exhibitionism began with the absence of her boyfriend. As she writes:

Living the semi-nomadic life of a student means not always being close to my guy, so whenever I am particularly horny, and whenever he is particularly far away, I've acquired a tendency to do self-sets for him.

Lucky for me, she also enjoys sending these photographs my way. Lucky for you, she’s started posting some at Tanda Blog.

Turn up the Mika and some her some love today.

A word on naughty photographs: I welcome sexy bits from readers, whether of yourself, your friends, or your special someone. Please ask before you send and affirm that you are at least eighteen years old. All submisssions are kept private unless requested otherwise.

Saturday, August 11, 2007

Fucking Machines


Bridget's Boy(s)

Want to know a secret?

A while ago, my friend Bridget started a secret sex blog. It had a readership of one, yours truly. She started it as a way to catalogue her sex life before meeting me, our times together, and then, the beginnings of her relationship with a new boy who was fast becoming special in her life. Soon, he was also reading her smut.

Now, you can read it too. Bridget has revised her original blog and is opening it to readers.

I hope you will enjoy her insights and humor. But I should warn you: she is much kinkier than me.

Take a look; tell her Jefferson sent you.

Bridget’s Boy(s)

Friday, August 10, 2007

Sex and Submission

Sex and Submission

Fleshbot and Dark Odyssey

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot nudges aside the nubile innocents in favor of the grizzled veterans, giving props to those with the know-how that comes from accumulating a few notches on the bedpost. You want to talk about experience, I tell you, some of these folks have whittled their bedposts down to toothpicks.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me may well wonder when I get any rest. Madeline wakes me at dawn’s first light for a moment alone, while Anna Smash shows up in the middle of the night to find that even then, we are not alone—much to Luxx’s bewildered delight.

For her part, Eden discovers that things that start sweet with Anna Smash can get heated rather quickly. Eden treats Anna like a princess but before you know it, the two are trading fisticuffs.

There are times, though, that you want to be left alone. Calico’s second orgy is marred by the unwanted advances of a boorish male model (and no, not the other male model she so deftly dispatched at a subsequent orgy). Mulling that over, she has a few thoughts about meeting strangers, even in familiar places.

Speaking of mad skills, well, you know I’ve got ‘em. Happily, I’m always glad to share what I know. That’s why you find me teaching at Dark Odyssey during the weekend of September 14-16. That’s right—my friends and I are returning to sex camp.

I’ll be teaching a session on male bisexuality on the scene and another on g-spot stimulation. I hope you will come to share your thoughts on the former, and to spread your legs for the latter. If you plan to attend and want to volunteer to have your g-spot tickled before an audience, drop me a line at

Now pardon me as I anticipate the prospect of getting you off in public.

Abby Winters

Drew R.

Jason and Girlfriend

Bridget told Jason and Collie to bump heads and let her know what they wanted as graduation gifts.

See, last spring Jason was graduating eighth grade and Collie was graduating fifth. My eldest son was off to high school, and my youngest son was headed to middle school. It was a momentous double occasion.

The boys immediately made it clear that they wanted—no, needed—an Xbox 360. The Xbox she gave them last year was great. The upgrade to Xbox Live was even better. But an Xbox 360 would rock.

Bridget had a fucking geek orgasm. She took the boys aside and they conspired. They decided a few things before Bridget brought it to me.

“I think they outgrew the Xbox,” she told me.

“Uh huh,” I nodded. “It has been a few months.”

“Come on, you have to do this. Halo Two! Guitar Hero Two!” she begged. “It’s done anyway. We are so against you on this. Another year or two and we won’t even ask you. They already know I’m the soft touch.”

“Well, I guess we can we hook the Xbox into the new Xbox 360 and then . . . “

“Please, don’t.” She wagged her head. “Don’t.”

The boys graduated. Jason asked about the promised Xbox 360.

“Brother,” I told him. “We are visiting family in July, and then you are camping with your mother. At best, you will see this game in August.”

He waited all of July.

His mother called from a campsite. As she passed the phone around, Jason said hello and asked, “So, did Bridget order the Xbox 360?”

“We’ve talked about it, but . . .”

“Do you know what color it is?”

“No. How’s camping?”

“Is it white or black?”

“No idea. Are you in a tent or a cabin?”

“A tent. Did she mention ‘elite?’”

“I didn’t ask, honey. Are you grilling or what?”

He sighed. “Yeah. You want to talk to Collie?”

Tonight, the kids and I had a date with Bridget. Lillie couldn’t let her go. It had been two months apart, which is too much for my baby girl.

Bridget had been sitting on the Xbox 360, itching to try it out with the boys.

Around midnight, Bridget headed home. Collie and Lillie were asleep. I checked in on Jason. He was putting his preternatural Pete Townsend windmills to Guitar Hero II.

Earlier, Bridget and I had enjoyed his quick mastery of Kansas. An hour later, he preferred The Police.

After she left, I busied myself with writing. By the time I checked back on him, Jason was playing “Search and Destroy.”

“Hey, isn’t that Iggy Pop?” I asked.

“The Stooges,” he corrected, his eyes on the screen. He banged his head, the fingers of his left hand wriggling the push-button frets of a plastic guitar. “You know this?”

“Damn straight, I know it.” I listened. “Cover band. How are you doing?”

Jason squashed yellow buttons as they passed on the screen. “Ninety seven percent.”

“Rock on,” I said. I went back to work, impressed that my son was thinking of Iggy, wondering about song rights.

The next time I checked in, Jason was singing and playing bass to Matthew Sweet’s “Girlfriend.”

(Hear it now at my MySpace.)

Tell you what, when I get to heaven, I want to meet my thirteen-year-old man singing perfect power pop though braces.

Extra credit for connecting to a theme song of his daddy’s secret life.

One day, we can talk about that first part of “Girlfriend,” all that business about the need to love and be loved.

Fuck knows I think about that. Fuck knows that is the hardest part.

And then, maybe we can get intense on that hook at the end.

I want to love somebody
I hear you need somebody to love
Oh, I want to love somebody
I hear you’re looking
For somebody to love

‘cause you need to be back
In the arms of a good friend
And I need to be back
In the arms of a girlfriend

I didn’t know nobody
And then I saw you coming my way
Oh I didn’t know nobody
And then I saw you coming my way

Don’t you need to be back
In the arms of a good friend?
Oh, ‘cause honey believe me
I’d sure love to call you
My girlfriend

Don’t you need to be back
In the arms of a good friend?
Oh, ‘cause honey believe me
I’d sure love to call you
My girlfriend

‘cause you
Got a good thing going baby
You only need somebody to love
Oh, you got a good thing going
You’re only looking
For someone to love
‘cause you need to get back
In the arms of a good friend

And I’m never gonna set you free
No I’m never gonna set you free

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Fifteen Minutes

There are always exceptions to be made.

Do you like Marilyn Manson? I think he’s absolutely vile and therefore, the music is hot. Anyway, I’m contemplating going to his show out in Jersey. I’ll probably get a car service for the trip. If I go, I’d like to bring someone. Any interest?

She’s lesbian, which I believe means that she prefers women to men. That she fucks me doesn’t change that. I’m the last stop on the road to lesbian; every now and then, I make a U-turn to bring one back.

I don’t care about Marilyn Manson one way or another. I would not be likely to travel to New Jersey to see him (it is him, right?) when there are perfectly fine make-up acts to ignore in the city.

But when she offered . . . well, I wasn’t going to say no. My mind doesn’t register the word “no” where she is concerned.

We weren’t interested in the opening acts—I escaped the Eighties without seeing Slayer, and I wasn’t about to ruin my good fortune—so we decided to go late. She offered to meet at my place, and to arrange for the car service to collect us there at eight thirty.

She took care of everything. I felt like a pasha.

Around seven, bleary from staring at my computer screen, I poured a bourbon and went to my bedroom to rest my eyes. I lay naked on bed, arms and legs splayed, exposing myself to the faint summer breeze blowing in from the street below.

I was out cold when she rang.

“Hello?” I croaked.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Come up. I left the door open.” I pushed the buzzer and fell back in my pillows. I looked at the time: it was just after eight. I should shower, I thought.

I heard the front door close. “Jefferson? Where are you?”

“In the bedroom, girl.”

“Its so dark . . . “ I heard her boots softly walking in my direction, bring the jangles of her jewelry along behind.

She appeared as a shadow in my door.

“Ready to rock . . .” I began, weakly.

She was on me like a cat on a mouse.

Her mouth chewed into mine, her long hair enveloping my face. My face rose to her kiss, pressing into her with sudden vigor. I grabbed her bare arms and gripped her tight. She pressed her hands against my chest.

My cock, surprised by the attack, awoke with a start.

I took her jaw in my hand, pulling as if she could come any closer. God damn it, I thought as our mouths swirled into one another, why don’t you fucking kiss me?

Her tongue lapped against my teeth. I bit. She moaned and pushed her cunt against my bare cock. I pushed back into her denim, grinding up into her.

“Fuck.” She sat up and reached behind her. One boot hit the floor, followed by its partner. Her head turned as she unfastened her jeans.

I busied myself by tweaking her nipples through her tank top. Her breasts are small, and she never wears a bra. I twisted the barbell piercings in her bud-like nipples.

She raised herself slightly, tugging at her waist. Her face was already on mine as her pants landed on the floor.

My hands grabbed at her hips, feeling the heavy metal belt she still wore.

“You are so fucking hot,” I growled through gritted teeth. “I want to fucking murder you.”

She groaned, pushing fast against my pubis.

I twisted her arm. “I’ll kill you, I fucking swear it,” I spat.

She came, buckling fast. I wrested my arms between her thighs, grabbing her ass. “Give me that pussy,” I barked. “Fucking give it.”

I pulled her forward by her ass. Her head banged into the wall as her cunt landed on my mouth.

“Unh,” she grunted, from the pain or the pleasure, I don’t know. Didn’t matter. I sucked on the metal bar that pinpointed her clit, wanting her to pour over me. My chin found its way into her as she rode my face hard.

Her head pounded against the wall.

She came again. I pushed her back. She fell slightly to one side. I breathed hard as my eyes went to the clock. Eight twenty six.

I reached to my nightstand for a condom. I didn’t care if we had two minutes or two hours, I had to fuck her.

“What time?” I asked, already abandoning language. “Car?”

“Oh,” she panted. “He’s here. I asked him to wait fifteen minutes.”

I could barely see her in the dusk. She was utterly disheveled. I laughed at the condom in my hand.

“’Fifteen minutes?’” I laughed harder. “Honey, that’s universal code for sex.”

She tugged her hair back into a bun. “Maybe, yeah? Sorry, but I needed that. You ready to go?”

I kissed her cheek and put the condom aside for later.

Marilyn Manson was waiting.

Friday, August 03, 2007



Fleshbot and Passing Time

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot plays peek-a-boo with sex bloggers who enjoy the unexpected. I would give you the lineup, but why ruin the surprise?

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find my debut at Dominatrix Next Door. When Calico found me feeling shy at her first orgy, she came up with a solution—she put my dick in her. She showed similar ingenuity at a subsequent orgy in fending off the advances of a male model—she put my dick in him.

She’s a real problem solver, this one.

Elsewhere at the orgy, Adam and Emma had their plans for a quiet night foiled by the meeting of a lovely couple who simply insisted on being awesome.

Meanwhile, the somewhat shy and retiring Lily found a somewhat shy and retiring boy at the orgy and made a private date for another time. There, she learned his real name, met his pussy and saw his panties.

Speaking of alter egos, the footstool formerly known as Deidre has adopted a new name, Eden, and started her own sex blog. Visit her in The Garden; tell her Jefferson sent you.

Also let her know that my boots require lacing.

Speaking of surprises, I had an unpleasant one when my laptop died recently, taking with it every photograph I have made in the past year. Goodbye to Verdad’s cum shot screen test, farewell to the pinups of Nicole and Anna Smash, and sayanora to the smirk on Madeline’s face after a bukkake party.

Models to places, please. We need to reshoot.

I tend to follow the philosophy of Eeyore when things go wrong—things just go wrong, they always do—and turn my pinned-on tail to the whole mess. It’s technology. It’s supposed to screw up. I’ll learn my lesson (I know, Viviane, I know: back up!), acquire a new laptop, and await the next catastrophe.

I’ll just have to ask my friends to keep getting naked for my camera.

What I do regret most, though, is the loss of the pictures I made of my children. I’ll take more photographs of them, of course, but I can’t ask Jason to restage his first dives head first into a lake, or beg Collie to sing once more at his fourth-grade graduation, or entreat Lillie to remove the grown-up teeth she waited so long to grow.

For those moments, I’ll have to rely on my memory.

But this week, I found my memory shaken by the arrival of pictures from my Mom. She was going through some files on her computer and dug up pictures from seven summers ago Down South.

There was twelve-year-old Rachel, smiling with her still-crooked teeth, long before the braces she was wearing when she met her husband-to-be. There was six-year-old Jason, grinning as he held a basketball over his head, his eyebrows tucked behind his bangs. And there was three-year-old Collie, holding a ball and smiling with all the teeth he possessed, wearing tiny Baby Gap clothes I know I must still have someplace.

No pictures of Lillie, as she was deemed too young to travel that year by her mother, who clung to that as her own excuse to avoid a visit with my family.

I thanked Mom for the photographs. They made me smile in that panged, bittersweet way.

It’s bad enough that I miss my kids this week, as they vacation with their mother.

Now I find myself missing the kids in these photographs, the children they once were, and will never be again.

When my teenaged daughter announced her intentions to marry this summer, my friends elbowed me and teased, “Bet that makes you feel old, huh?”

“Not at all,” I said. “She’s marrying very young! That’s no reflection on my advancing years.”

But these photographs make me feel old. They make me feel the passing of time. I want to grab up those little babies I once knew, once more.

Ah, well. I’m sure to be a grandfather before you know it.