HNT

Halo organized a photo shoot that involved painting on flesh, and recruited Ava Amnesia and me among her models. Her plan was to script our bodies with emotional and sexual words using the phonetic alphabet; you can see that my foot is labeled lasivies, or "lascivious." I'll cop to that.

Late in the shoot, smudges of paint accentuated the bruises already coloring Ava's breasts from bitings I'd given her over several days. Additional colors transferred to her body from mine when we, um, mixed paint.

HNT

If she keeps clothespins on her night stand, and she doesn't have a clothesline, it's worth asking why.

Nippelettes Vibrating Clamps

Nippelettes Vibrating Clamps

She wrote to ask for my advice. She was in a slump with her boyfriend and curious about many things she had never tried. How hot is voyeurism, really, she wondered? What’s the best way for a straight woman to find female sex partners? Submission sounded like something she might like to try, but then again, so did domination. If someone was interested in group sex, should she try a threesome first?

Also, she wanted to know, what’s the deal with nipple clamps? She liked having her breasts kissed. Her boyfriend had even pinched her nipples a few times, and that was arousing. But wouldn’t clamps hurt? Did they require much preparation?

These were all subjects ripe for discussion. We traded a few notes and decided it might be easier simply to talk in person.

After we had fucked for a couple of hours, she reminded me about the nipple clamps. “Let’s see what you keep in your toy chest, Jefferson,” she said, turning on her hip. “I need a minute to get my legs back anyway.”

I retrieved a chest. I dug past dildos and butt plugs to get to toys more geared to sensation play—sharps and such—trying a few on her flesh to demonstrate their various uses. Finally, I arrived at an assortment of nipple clamps. I handed her a pair to examine.

“Before you shop for nipple clamps,” I began, my tone switching to demonstration mode, “You may want to try playing with your nipples with things at hand. Touching and pinching yourself, for example, or asking your boyfriend to do so. You might also try using clothespins. It’s easy to try out sensations before you shop for toys, and smart, too. That makes you a better consumer, because you have a clearer sense of what you like.”

“I never even considered using clothespins!” she said, weighing chained clamps in her palm. “You're like the Martha Stewart of sex. Clothespins have never seemed sexy before now.”

“Clothespins are great fun, though once you try them, you realize the benefits of clamps: clothespins don't have variable settings. It’s handy to identify pervertibles,” I nodded. “So many common things can be converted to perverted uses—hence, ‘pervertibles.’”

“Pervertibles,” she repeated. “I get sex and new vocabulary words. Nice.” She twisted a small knob on the clamps she was holding. “I was totally unaware of the different settings on nipple clamps. How do they work?”

“Here.” I picked up a pair of Nippelettes Vibrating Clamps. “I think you’ll enjoy these. They vibrate—see this button on the bottom? That turns them on and off. Here, give me your hand.” I turned on the vibrator and put a clamp in her palm.

“Ooh, I do like that!” she smiled.

“Nice, right? They get power from watch batteries. This set came with extra batteries and so far, I haven’t yet needed to replace them. Here, let’s try them out. But first, let’s get you ready.” Tacking back the clamps, I switched off the vibrator and leaned forward to take a nipple in my mouth. I held it lightly in my teeth, flicking my tongue rapidly over the small bit of trapped flesh.

“Oh!” she responded, surprised by my unexpected attachment to her breast. She relaxed after a moment. “Damn, I love how that feels.” I took her other nipple between my fingers and squeezed. Her back arched, lifting her small waist under my arm. I pressed back, holding her firmly in place. Her nipples grew hard from my attentions and my resistance to her movement.

I pulled back. “Oh, that’s nice,” I said, admiring her eraser-shaped nipples. “Now, the adjustment mechanism is pretty simple. You just squeeze the handle to the preferred length, twist the knob a little . . .” I attached a clamp to her breast. “ . . . and then tighten again once it’s in place. See? How does that feel?”

“Hmm. I can take a little more.”

“More pressure? Okay.” I tightened the knob until it pinched more firmly, and then turned on the vibrator. “Okay, how’s that?”

“Damn.” Her head fell back slightly. “Oh, that feels good.” I repeated the steps with her other nipple and watched as her body stilled and relaxed.

I put a finger between her legs. “Say, you do like this, don’t you? You’re very wet.” I kissed her belly, then lowered my face to her pussy. I lapped slowly before building speed, matching the movement of my tongue on her clit to the sensation on her breasts, imaging my mouth an extension of the mechanical clamps.

She came quickly. “Oh shit, Jefferson, that was so intense,” she sighed. “I really needed to come like that. It was so, um . . .”

I lifted my tongue from her clit. “Intense?”

Her belly trembled under the flat of my palm. “Uh, yeah,” she laughed. “That’s the word.”

“I’m glad you so enjoyed the clamps,” I sat up, taking each clamp in a hand. “Now, let’s get them off. I should warn you though . . .” I opened the handles and waited a moment. She gasped. “It can feel even more intense as the blood rushes back.”

Her hands quickly cupped her breasts. “Oh yes, it does!” she exclaimed.

I reached for a condom. “Fun, right? Now let me enjoy how much this all affected you.”

A few days later, she had a date with her boyfriend. In the interim, she had picked up a pair of nipple clamps like those we had used. “He’s very excited about trying these,” she told me. “Thanks again for the advice.”

“My pleasure,” I replied. “Maybe you’ll even get to try them on him.”

HNT

Have you ever encountered tits that were just begging for trouble?

HNT

Rope practice. Just look at that slippage on the right. Tsk. Still so much to learn.

Milk

Her skin was milky, I thought, just as Tess had said.

As Gina sat talking, I reflected on Tess’s description of her new girlfriend: “God, her skin—so pale and translucent, so milky!”

I sipped my bourbon, listening.

Gina sat very erect as we talked about books. She had browsed my bookcases and asked what I was reading. I pointed to my copy of Saul Bellow’s Adventures of Augie March. She reads my blog, so she knew that it had been recommended to me.

Gina told me she had just picked up a new book of erotica.

“Oh, right, of course you read erotica,” I smiled.

“That’s how I met you,” she nodded. “And Tess.”

“Tess is lovely,” I said. “She giggles if you look at her crooked, which is hot.”

Gina laughed. “She’s a good writer, too. So, what else do you read? Do you read science fiction at all?” she asked.

“No,” I said, hoping my eyelids didn’t flutter. “I mean, I used to love comics, but somehow, I never caught on with science fiction.” I searched my mind. “Ray Bradbury, you know, when I was a kid.” She nodded. I nodded in response and went on. “I liked that one about the time machine, you know, with the path and the squashed butterfly.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she smiled.

I smiled. “Yeah, that blew my seventh-grade mind,” I grinned. I sipped my bourbon, glad that I had connected on a subject rather alien to me. As the bourbon stung my tongue, I suddenly regretted the comment about seventh grade.

“Mysteries?”

“No.” I needed to take care here; we were each readers, which is a connection, but not the same type of readers, which might prove awkward.

“No, not really. I mean, some Dashiell Hammett, some Raymond Chandler . . . but no, not really.” I looked into my hand. I swirled the bourbon. The ice tinkled against glass. “No P. D. James.” I looked up into her eyes. “I’ve never read Anne Rice.” I raised the glass to my lips and paused. I lowered it and looked back. I confessed my shame. “I’ve . . . I’ve never read Stephen King.”

She smiled. She looked over her shoulder. “You have a lot of books, though . . . ” she noted.

“I’ve read Harry Potter!” I interrupted. “You know, the first two books. I read them to my son when he was younger. But then . . . you know . . .” I sipped my bourbon and swallowed hard. I shrugged and came out with it. “Well, then he began to read them on his own, and well . . . I was bored with Harry Potter, so . . .”

She laughed. I put down my glass.

“God, I’m sorry, but that stuff reads like it was a checklist dictated into a tape recorder. ‘And here we have the talking paintings—check! And here are the giant chess pieces—check!’”

“Don’t forget the brooms,” she laughed. “Check!”

“And the capes,” I added. “Whatever, it was worth a few billion for someone who needed the money.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “And you know, they were actually good books.”

“Sorry,” I grimaced. I reached for my drink. “I’m not really a snob. I just don’t read enough fiction, so I miss a few genres now and then.” I took a sip. “I should read erotica, eventually.”

She folded her hands and smiled. “Yeah, think about that—once you stop living it, maybe. So anyway, this book I’m reading . . .”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Tell me about it.”

I listened, taking her in. Her long red hair hung behind her, its ends resting on the couch behind her hips. Smart glasses framed her caramel eyes. Her tight jeans and blousy shirt revealed a lean figure; she had been trained as a dancer, she mentioned.

Her lips were pale and lovely. Tess had told me how youthful she seemed—she was twenty-seven, but could’ve passed for someone a decade younger.

As she talked, she mentioned her husband in passing.

“Oh yeah, that,” she said, recalling something. “I should tell you about him. See, we’re separated, recently . . .”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I clucked.

“Yeah, well, me too, but it’s okay,” She nodded. “It wasn’t my idea, but, you know . . .”

“That’s hard,” I commiserated.

“Yeah.” She caught my eye. “You want to hear the worst part?”

“If you want to tell me.”

“He told me he wanted a divorce while I was still pregnant with the baby.”

“Ouch!” I grimaced. “Yeah, that’s pretty low.”

“Yeah, right? But see, it’s not like that. He’s not a bad person. He just . . .” She looked up, thinking of the right words. “He just knows that he wants to be in love with someone else.”

“Oh, wow. So . . . there’s someone else . . .”

“No.” She shook her head. “There’s no one else. He just wants there to be.”

“He wants . . .” I repeated, not getting it.

“See, he realizes that while he loves me, and our two girls, very much, he doesn’t think this is the relationship he is meant to have. So he wants to be free to look for that relationship.”

“Oh, I guess that kind of makes sense.”

“Right? I mean, I said, ‘Why don’t we have an open relationship, then? You can date other women, and if you met someone, then . . . well, that’s what happened.’ But he’s not like that. He can’t date someone else while he’s with me. So, he has to be free to look.”

“Well, it sounds tough.” I said. “But kind of honorable, in a way.”

“Yeah, he’s very upright like that. And he’s so great with our girls.”

“You have two girls, you said?”

“Yes, four and eighteen months.”

“He’s with them tonight, while you’re here, right? Does he know that you’re seeing me, and . . .”

“Oh yes, he knows. He likes your blog, actually.”

I picked up my glass. “He reads my blog and he knows you’re here. Well . . . cheers.” I took a sip.

“I know, it’s unusual, but . . . well, it’s life.” She paused. “And man, the sex is so much better.”

I nodded and smiled. “Well, yeah, I hear that. I can’t say I miss being tied to my wife’s libido.”

“Right. Well, I meant that, yes, I like having new lovers. But I meant with him.”

“Oh, you still have sex?”

“Well, we live together,” she shrugged. “Different rooms, but . . . yeah. Only now, it’s different. We’re getting into kinkier stuff, dom/sub, and it’s really hot.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded, flashing her eyes. “Really hot.”

I grinned. I reached to touch her hair. She leaned slightly to my touch.

Talking about her husband and children led her to speak about renovations they were doing to the house in light of the recent change in their relationship. She focused on the kitchen, speaking in some detail about additions. She was talking at length as I listened, allowing the familiarity of her own voice to still her nerves. She was, after all, meeting a new person for sex.

“ . . . and a new coffee pot,” she went on. “Weirdest thing, lately, I’ve developed a lactose intolerance, which is sad, really, because I always like milk in my coffee, and the substitutes are just . . . not good. Bleh.”

She paused and looked at me.

“I like half and half,” I offered.

“I am so sorry,” she said. “I’m just going on and on.”

“It’s fine, really. You’re nervous. May I make a suggestion?”

“Please,” she said, her body slumping.

I stood and held out my hand. “Come on. Let’s go have some really hot sex.”

“That’s a good suggestion,” she laughed. “Whew. Yes. Let’s do that.”

She looked around my bedroom. “So, this is where it all goes down?”

I stood next to her. “Yes.” I took her face in my hands. “It goes down here.” I touched my lips to hers. Her mouth parted for mine.

I rested a hand on the small of her back, under her hair, pressing lightly to feel her muscle tone. I pulled back and smiled. I took her glasses and placed them on a nightstand. “Clothes off, Gina,” I said softly.

Gina’s eyes dropped. She raised the shirt over her breasts and shoulders. I touched her belly.

She handed me the shirt. I tossed it aside.

She reached behind her back. Her bra fell forward. I took it, throwing it to land near her shirt.

I caressed her left breast, admiring its pale areola and its nipples like pencil erasers.

“Pretty,” I said, leaning to kiss her neck. My mouth grazed her clavicle, her chest, a nipple. My lips returned to hers, barely touching. Her eyes closed in expectation.

I fell back abruptly, landing on the bed. She laughed.

“The pants, the pants!” I motioned impatiently. “Let’s see all of you—now, now!”

“Okay, okay,” she said. She stood on her toes and turned in place, giggling slightly. She stood still to unfasten her jeans. “You can undress too, you know.”

“Pshhh,” I said, waving a hand dismissively.

She was wearing pink panties, probably “date panties.” I stood to remove them.

“Now,” I said, kneeling before her. “Now, I can touch you.” I traced fingers up the back of her dancer’s legs, lightly nuzzling her bare pudendum with my nose. I inhaled deeply, carrying her fragrance with me as my face traveled over her navel to her hips, up to her breasts and finally, to rest with her face.

We kissed.

I took her hand and lay her back on the bed. She watched as I slowly undressed by the lamp’s light.

She suddenly looked around. “Wait, what time is it? I need to call my kids to tuck them in at eight.”

“We have about an hour before bedtime,” I said, crawling over her. “You let me mind the hour.” I kissed her eyelids. “You just relax.”

My lips moved around her face and back down her body. I paid attention, savoring these first moments together.

My lips moved around her breast. She sighed as her nipple grew hard in my mouth. I caressed her breast in slow, deep circles, sucking with steady rhythm.

I was rewarded as her milk streamed into me.

I moaned in appreciation. She ran her fingers though my hair, quietly, as her back arched.

I licked her inside my mouth, tasting her warm sweetness. My hands massaged as she let down into me. I’m here, I thought. Give yourself to me.

I drank her slowly, licking and nibbling, making my suckling erotic and arousing. My fingers confirmed the wetness between her legs. I found her clit and massaged as I sucked.

She sighed deeply. I licked again. Just cum, I thought. Cum as I drink you.

I moved to nurse from her other breast. A finger entered her. Another followed.

I drank more intently, more selfishly, slurping and gulping noisily.

I swallowed a draught and edged up her neck. I kissed her deeply.

“So sweet,” I smiled. Her gentle face was beatific in lamplight, her long red hair splayed across the pillows. I leaned into her neck. “I’m going to fuck you now,” I whispered.

She nodded.

After so much talk, she was now so quiet.

I entered her easily, holding her close under me. I fucked her fully, getting to know her responses as filled her, rocked back, and filled her again.

We fucked quietly, intently.

“Nicole was right,” she whispered, breaking the silence.

“Nicole?” I asked. “You mean Tess?”

“Well, yeah, Tess was right, too.” She put her hands on my shoulders. “I meant Nicole, the teenager . . .”

“Oh, Nicole,” I kissed her neck.

Gina pulled me close. “She was right to see you.”

I put my lips to her ear. “I’ll be sure to tell her you think so,” I whispered. “When next I kiss her.” I brought my mouth to hers.

I sat back, keeping my cock inside her as I pulled her legs up to rest on my chest and shoulders. I lowered myself again, bringing her legs down as my face moved to hers.

I kissed her as her calves framed her face.

“Impressive,” I said.

“Dancer,” she smiled.

“Yeah, well, my dancer,” I smiled in response. “The fact that you can do this allows me to do this.” I pivoted back on my hips and thrust upwards.

“Unh,” she gasped. “God.”

I fucked into her forcefully, pressing up just inside her body.

Her face glowed. Her eyes were inward, leaving me.

I kept a deep, steady rhythm. I noticed the time. Ten minutes.

I fucked her closer.

Five minutes.

I fell close to kiss her. “Gina?”

“Hmmm?”

“Call your babies, mama.”

She snapped alert. “Is it eight?”

I nodded to the clock. “Yeah. Make your call. We have things to do.”

I pulled out and kissed her forehead. She reached for her phone. I went to the bathroom to wash up as she made her call.

She shut her phone as I returned to the room. I set a glass of water on the nightstand. “Babies all tucked?” I sipped from a second water glass.

“No,” she put down the phone, exacerbated. “There’s no answer. Maybe he has them out or something.”

“Do you need to keep calling, or . . .”

“No, it’s fine. I just hate to miss talking to them at bedtime.”

“I know the feeling,” I said. “So, if you’re done with the call, it’s time for me to fuck you up the ass.”

“You’re so direct!” she laughed.

I opened a cabinet and took down a bottle of lube. “I find it works best to be direct.” I opened the bottle and poured lube into my palm. I closed my hand to warm the liquid before applying it to her hole.

“I guess that’s best if you want to get your way.”

“It’s best for me to give you what you want,” I replied, massaging her hole. “Besides, I’m increasingly convinced that anal sex should be a part of any first date. Just sorta gets it out of the way, you know?”

I slid a finger into her.

“Unh.” She closed her eyes. “Hmm, well, it’s going to be a tight fit. It’s been a long time.”

“I don’t mind a tight fit.” I reached for a condom. “Anyway, stick with me, and it won’t be a long time anymore.”

“Hmm, nice. So, do you want me on my knees or on my back, like this?”

“On your back. You’re pretty so I want to look at you.” I raised her thighs, bringing her ass up. “Now, if you were homely, I’d have to flip you over.”

She laughed ass I entered her cunt.

“Hmmmm,” she nodded. “That’s not my ass, you know.”

“I know. It’s just so hard to tear myself away from your pussy.”

“I don’t mind at all . . .” She fell back into the silence that envelops her as she’s fucked.

Wordlessly, I took my cock from her and gave it back to another hole.

Her head turned as she moaned lightly.

“Shhh,” I said, caressing the legs on my shoulders. “I’ve got you,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”

She reached to touch my forearm.

I let my cock rest I her body, moving slowly to take in the contrast of between the lushness of her pussy and the tight grip of her sphincter.

As she faded again, I fucked into her harder.

I pounded and pounded, wiping the sweat that dripped from my brow.

I reached down to take a breast in hand. I squeezed firmly. A long arc of milk shot up.

“Hot damn,” I admired as the fountain splashed on her flesh.

She opened her eyes and grinned. “Not every girl you fuck can do that trick.”

“No, they can’t,” I said, taking both breasts in hand. “You are a girl with many unusual attributes.” I turned the stream to face me, never giving up my pace on her ass. I opened my mouth as milk splashed on my face and waiting tongue.

She laughed out loud.

“Oh, fuck you’re hot,” I exclaimed. I pulled out and licked her from my lips. “Bend the hell over, mama. I’m spanking your ass.”

She kept laughing as she turned over.

The next day, I wrote to thank Tess for inviting me to Gina. “Thanks for sharing your bitch, girlfriend,” I wrote. “She’s a solid-gold keeper.”

I also said as much to Gina, letting her know that I very much looked forward to second date.

“Me too!” she replied. “That was incredible. Thanks." She told her bottom still smarted, which she enjoyed.

“I told my husband how hot it was," she went on. "He wants to know if he can watch next time.”

Blue Balloon

It was the end of the line for me.

I couldn’t complain. Life is fleeting for my kind, and I had enjoyed a pretty good run. Still, I hadn’t imagined that I would meet such a grisly fate.

I was moments from being crushed by the next downtown local.

That’s when he found me.

“Oh my God, where did you get that balloon?” Avah laughed.

Jefferson tugged on my ribbon. “It was hiding behind a post. Can I keep it? Can I keep it? Pleeease?”

“Only if you take care of it,” Avah smiled. “Balloons are a big responsibility, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Jefferson nodded. He poked me. “You’re my new best friend, blue balloon. And I’m taking you on an adventure.”

The train that had been destined to destroy me sped into the station. It did not splatter me into blue confetti and a wisp of helium; instead, it took me, intact, along with my new protectors, to my very first concert.

I heard that it was Avah’s second.

“It’s going to be very hard to be the hottest people here tonight,” Jefferson said. “I mean, look at this crowd.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Avah replied, patting his hand. “We’re very hot.”

I scanned the concert hall. Apparently, I was the only balloon in attendance. That might have made me feel conspicuous and uncomfortable, but instead, I felt rather unique.

“I think I’m in the minority,” Avah noted. “Being a girl.”

“Maybe,” Jefferson agreed. “But you remain in the majority by virtue of being a cocksucker.”

The lights went down and Jefferson tucked me under his seat. I felt as cozy as an egg waiting to hatch.

My skin began to shake to unpleasant loud thumps.

“What do you think?” Avah shouted.

“I think it is the worst opening act I’ve ever seen, bar none,” Jefferson shouted back.

A loud voice slurred that the act was from Kingston, Ohio. “Let me amend that,” Jefferson added. “This is also the worst band I’ve ever seen from Kingston, Ohio. Tonight, at a gay club in Kingston, someone is asking someone else, ‘Hey, where are those two annoying faggots? You know, the really fucked up ones with no talent?’”

The lights came back on.

An hour and a half passed.

Of course, I can’t tell time—I’m a balloon, not a clock. I know how much time passed because Avah kept asking, “Is it supposed to take so long before the real band comes on?”

Finally, the lights dimmed again. Everyone stood and cheered. Jefferson tucked me between his knees so that I wouldn't float away.

Suddenly, my skin began to vibrate. My helium began to throb. What was happening to me?

“God, I’m so excited!” Avah said, squeezing Jefferson. “The Scissor Sisters!”

“Awesome fabulous,” Jefferson nodded.

Scissors? Balloons dread scissors. When they cut my ribbon, I thought I was going to pop dead.

But this sensation was like nothing else. If I had exploded on the spot, I would have evaporated a happy balloon.

I bounced contentedly between Jefferson’s knees.



At one point Avah shouted that Jefferson was filthy, and contended that she, Avah, was gorgeous. The roar of the crowd stretched my skin.

“C’mere, blue balloon,” Jefferson said. “I want you to see something.”

He held my ribbon so that I was level with his eyes. I blinked as bright lights shone through me, turning my blue to greens and violets.

And then, I saw them. Projected over the stage, as large as a movie screen—two bouncing pink balloons. The balloons shook and shimmied, back and forth, as I had never imagined balloons might do.

I wriggled open my knot, just a little, to let out a whistle. It was that exciting!

After the concert, I was led back onto a subway, once again thwarting death.

We emerged in lower Manhattan. My helium contracted in the cold night air.

My innards relaxed as we entered a place called the Pussycat Lounge.

I blinked as once again, lights filled me.

Jefferson and Avah pulled me through a crowd. At a table, they met Simon Valentino, a beautiful porn actress who was signing copies of her new movie, The Bi Apple.

I gathered this was a party for the movie, directed by Jefferson’s friend Audacia Ray. It’s about an apartment in New York City where people meet for bisexual orgies.

Pretty improbable scenario, if you ask me. Still, balloons have an affinity for apples, so I kept an open mind.

Jefferson seemed to know a lot of people. A handsome man named Mmmark let Jefferson sip from his cup of bourbon. A beautiful woman named Les admired his leather motorcycle jacket.

Another fellow, Thomas, said it looked like Jefferson had picked up his jacket in the nineteen seventies.

“Near enough,” Jefferson nodded.

“You should’ve left it there,” Thomas said.

“Thanks for the consult, Mary,” Jefferson replied. “By the way, you’re sporting a nice jacket. They carry Miami Vice in boys’ sizes?”

I was floating pretty high by this point, so some things got lost in the din. But I was drawn back when Lolita approached Jefferson.

“Have you ever played with electricity?” she asked.

Jefferson gripped my ribbon. “Uh, no,” he stammered.

“I’d like to put an njoy plug up your ass, wire it to a connector on your cock, and shock you,” she grinned. “You’d do that, right?”

Avah clapped. “You should totally do that,” she giggled.

“See?” Lolita said. “Avah’s on my side.”

“You want to fry my cock? How about . . . well, can we just wait and see about that?”

Lolita turned to Avah. “He’ll do it. You can watch.”

“Oh, goodie!” Avah smiled.

A crowd of people pushed toward a stage, where two naked women were licking each other’s bodies. I floated up for a better view.



Pretty soon, Audacia Ray joined the performers. She was accompanied by a woman with a spiky Mohawk. Spikes scare me, so I was especially concerned when I saw so many pink balloons bouncing on stage. What if they should burst?!

Evidently, though, those balloons were made of sturdy stuff. The spikes poked and prodded, but the balloons only bounced all the more.

I squeaked with joy.

Soon, we were back on another subway, joined by a group of people from the Pussycat Lounge. When we emerged into the cold again, Jefferson looked around and smiled.

“Two weeks ago, I was in Paris watching Rufus Wainwright sing Judy Garland. Tonight, I saw the Scissor Sisters, went to a bi porn release party in titty bar, and now I’m on Christopher Street after midnight. Man oh man, am I queer or what?”

“Yes baby, you’re queer, all right,” Avah smiled.

“Oh, it’s not like it used to be around here,” Selina said, looking wistfully at the Duplex. “Too many yuppies now.”

Several tables were pushed together at a restaurant. Jefferson tied me to his chair so that I could survey the room.

The waiter was round, like me. He seemed to enjoy having so many people talking about sex at his restaurant. He tried to participate, though he felt a little awkward about it.

“This man offered me his telephone number,” he complained to Boymeat. “But I’m not gay.”

“You should keep an open mind,” Boymeat suggested.

“ . . . but we’ll keep the man’s number,” Jefferson added.

Later, the waiter brought Jefferson some mustard and added, as an unordered side, that he had recently had sex with a teenage Swedish tourist. “It was so hot,” the waiter noted.

“I’ve seen old porn films like that,” Jefferson nodded. “Actually, I think ‘Teenage Swedish Tourist’ was one of the titles.”

When the waiter left, Boymeat turned to Jefferson. “He needs us. We should totally . . .”

“Yes,” Jefferson agreed. “We totally should.”

“So, did you read my fantasy about Jefferson in chains?” Lolita asked Avah.

“Yeah, that’s a nice one.”

Lolita nodded. “Yeah, and he’s already said he would do it.”

“Wait,” Jefferson interrupted. “What am I doing?”

“I’m telling Avah how I’m going to put you in cut-off Daisy Duke shorts.”

“Yeah, I think you mentioned that. But what’s this about chains?”

Lolita smiled. “It’s a new inspiration. I want to do you up like Christina Ricci in Black Snake Moan.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to chains.”

“Oh, you should totally do that,” Avah laughed.

“See?” Lolita pointed. “Avah’s on my side. You have to do it.”

“What I have to do is keep you two separated,” Jefferson sighed. He changed the subject by asking a man across the table about toys that go up people’s asses.

I had certainly been rescued by an interesting group.

Outside, the crowd said goodbyes. Some were looking for cabs, others were headed to the subway.

Jefferson was too cold to linger. He took Avah’s arm in his, held my ribbon and walked quickly down Christopher Street.

A train was coming into the station as we cleared the turnstiles.

“Should we wait on the others?” Avah asked.

“It’s after three in the morning and they are dawdling, so no, let’s go,” Jefferson replied. “Quick, get on the train.”

A chime sounded. Jefferson held me close.

“Blue balloon, I need you to wait here. Tell our friends we went ahead.” He held my ribbon outside the closing doors. “Thank you for a lovely night.”

Suddenly, a hand took me from Jefferson.

“Hey, thanks man,” a young man laughed. “Yo, check it out,” he called to his friends. “That guy just gave me a balloon.”

I looked back. The doors had closed and the train began to leave the station.

Through a wiindow, I saw Jefferson kiss Avah as my new protector tugged me away.

Oyster Shells

“All right,” I said, stroking the condom on my cock. “Hop on.”

“Right,” Nicole said. She lifted herself and began dropping her hips to me.

“Wait, wait,” I said, scooting down the bed. “You’re still coming in a little low. See? When you're a bit higher, you can slide right on. Got it?”

She lowered herself fully, so that I was inside her. “Oh yeah, I see what you mean,” she nodded, beginning to gyrate.

“You’re a fast learner,” I smiled. I crossed my arms behind my head. “Now, do it again.”

“Seriously?” she stopped.

“Yes. Show me, and this time, do it yourself.”

A grin emerged on the only part of her face that was visible. “Yes, sir.”

She lifted herself from me, and looked behind her to my cock. She reached between her legs, took my cock, and slowly guided it back into her.

“Nice, nice!” I commended. “Why, soon you won’t need me here at all.”

Her laughter convulsed on my cock.

We had fallen asleep fucking and now we awoke fucking. Our arms and legs had been entangled as we slept.

Without quite meaning to, in a very short time, we had crossed over to a place where our bodies felt out of kilter if they were not conjoined.

As we fucked, she complained that she really had to go to the bathroom.

“Do you remember the last time we left this bed?” I asked.

She tilted her head. “It was sometime last night . . . right?”

“I asked because I can’t recall,” I said, pushing into her.

She fell forward to kiss me.

Later, she reiterated her need to pee.

“I thought you took care of that,” I said, pumping into her.

“I remember meaning to, but I don’t think I ever did.”

“Huh.”

We kissed.

Suddenly she pulled back. “No, seriously, I really need to pee.”

“Wait, what are you . . . no, no!” She pulled herself from my cock. I grabbed her wrist. “What can you be thinking?” I asked anxiously.

“God, please, God, you have to let me go,” she laughed. “We are ridiculous.”

“You’ll come back?” I asked, turning my body so that my head fell slightly from the side of the bed. I looked up with pleading eyes. “I won’t have to go looking for you?”

“Of course.” She lowered her face and kissed me, her mouth deep and open. “Right after a cigarette.”

“A cigarette?” I grabbed her thigh and pulled her close to my face. “Can’t you see what those things are doing to you, Nicole? What they are doing to us?”

I pulled her thigh to my mouth to kiss her flesh. I nibbled.

I reached up and took her ass, bringing her pussy to my mouth. I latched on to her clit.

“Oh, that’s very hot, but I really do have to pee.”

“Pleth dowd,” I said, tugging on her hips.

“What?”

“Pleth dowd. Pleth dowd on die mouf.”

“Press down? Like this?” She squatted slightly, pressing her clit into my tongue. “Unh, yeah, like this, I see.”

“Gweat. Dow, thuck die dick.”

Her hands stepped down my body until her face reached my cock. She took it in her mouth and effortlessly into her throat.

“Hmmph, puh-feck.” I held her hips firm as I burrowed my nose into her cunt, my tongue swirling on her clit. I mused that as she had only just given her first blowjob the night before, then this must be her first time to sixty-nine with a man.

I’d have to remember to ask if she’d ever done it with a girl.

Maybe we should be making a list of all these firsts, I pondered . . .

“Jefferson?”

“Yed?” I tongued her slit.

“Jefferson, I really do need to pee.”

“Do ahead.” I darted my tongue in and out of her body.

“Jefferson.” Her hands stepped back up my torso. “I don’t know that I’m quite ready to urinate in your mouth.”

I looked up and smiled. “Chicken.”

She took my hands from her hips. “I’ll be back. I don’t want me out of bed any more that you do.”

“Buck buck.”

She stopped at the door, looking back to me. “Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets/The muttering retreats/Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels/And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells.”

“Source?”

“T. S. Eliot,” she answered. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”

“I should’ve known that one,” I said, flipping onto my belly. “Smart girl.”

“I go to smart school,” she said, turning on the ball of her feet. “And yes, you should’ve.”

I grinned. My eyes followed as she left the doorway, scanning the rosy bite marks on her back, the pink stripes on her ass.

We were vanquishing every virginity we encountered.

As we fucked during the previous evening, just hours after first meeting, I told her I was weary of pussy and wanted to break in her ass.

“I suspected you might,” she smiled. “Obviously, I’ve never done that.”

“Yet many are the asses I’ve deflowered,” I kissed her. “Tell your ass to meet me at the foot of the bed, up in the air, in one moment. I’ll be the guy with the hard on.”

I duly arrived at the appointed destination to find her ass waiting.

“Why, hello, ass,” I smiled as I rolled on a fresh condom. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

She giggled.

I leaned forward to tongue her hole.

“Oh!” she gasped.

Another virginity gone, I supposed. I tongued her deeply to open and relax her, though she seemed perfectly at ease.

As I applied lube generously to her ass and my cock, I explained what she should expect and assured her that we could stop at any time. She nodded into a pillow.

I entered her slowly. “Okay?” I asked.

She breathed, nodding. I pushed in. Instinctively, she pushed back to take me.

“I’m all the way in,” I said quietly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m . . . fine,” she said, getting accustomed to the sensation.

“I’m going to just let you feel this,” I said, leaning forward to kiss her back. I added a new bite to mark the occasion.

I stood. “Okay, now, slowly, I’m going to move inside you.” I moved gently back and forth.

She held up well.

“You’re certainly taking this like a man,” I commended.

“This feels really good,” she said, her voice steady as her mind created a new file marked "anal sex."

I let her have it a little harder. Her breathing went staccato.

I spanked her. She yelped.

I grabbed her hips and fucked her hard. She groaned.

“You’re doing so well, so well,” I breathed.

“Fuck my ass, Jefferson,” she sighed. “Fuck me.”

I stopped. “No.” I pulled out. I tossed the condom aside. “I have designs on your ass. I don’t want it broken on the first night.” I kissed her neck and whispered into her hair. “You are so brave. You take a rough ass fucking so well.”

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“Now, pretty girl, I’m going to spank you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to do it lightly and, if you don’t ask me to stop, I will do it harder.”

“Okay.”

“And if you don’t ask me to stop, I’m going to use a cat o’nine tails, very lightly.”

“Okay.” She squirmed slightly.

“And if you don’t ask me to stop, I’m going to cane you, again, very lightly.”

“Okay.”

I kissed her. I opened a door to retrieve my arsenal.

I spanked a pink flush to her cheeks and began.

Twenty minutes later, I put down the cane.

“That’s enough,” I said. “I want you to feel this overnight before we go further.” I lay next to her and pulled her into my arms. I kissed her hair. “You don’t have to do it all at once, you know.”

“I want to do it all, at once,” she said to my shoulder.

The next morning, when she returned from her cigarette, I was waiting with a condom.

“Hello, gorgeous,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“Ready for more?” she asked.

“I’m not talking to you,” I said with disdain. “The ass and I have an appointment."

“Oh, great!” She climbed on the bed, raising her hips in the air as before.

“Hello, ass,” I said, licking her hole. “Long time, no see.”

“You’re retarded,” she laughed.

“I might have warned you,” I said, entering her.

Half an hour later, she fell forward, her arms still pinned behind her back.

I staggered, wiping the sweat from my face.

Her skin was flushed, highlighting the purple circles on her shoulder.

My ears were numb to all but our overlapping breathing and my pounding heart.

“Shit, son!” she hooted. She laughed.

I sat down, tearing off the condom. “You,” I pointed to her face. “You can go back to college. But you,” I pointed to her ass. “You're not going anywhere.”

To Shine in Use

I led the Stevens girl and her hourglass figure into my bedroom.

“Lay on my bed, pretty girl,” I instructed.

She sat on the bed and brought her long legs to the duvet. She reclined, letting her head rest on the crook of an arm. Her eyes gravitated to my bookshelves.

She glanced back as I undressed. Her eyes took in my body, recording the image of the man she had traveled to meet. She saw me nude before she knew my name.

She removed her glasses, placing them on a nightstand.

She was quiet as I moved to her side. I lowered my mouth to hers. We kissed, my hands getting to know her body, her hands learning the feel of a man’s body.

I moved to cover her with my torso. I opened my mouth to contain hers, to refocus her tongue and teeth from urgency to ardor. My hands held her cheeks firm before pushing her hair back so that I could see her face.

I pulled back for a look, but my mouth drew me back to hers.

My hips pressed into her. She trembled as before.

“I think we should fuck now,” I said, reaching for a condom.

“Yes, please, let’s,” she said. I could tell she meant for that phrase to sound nonchalant, but it came out fast and tinged with nervousness.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I’m very okay,” she smiled. “Come on, let’s fuck.”

I kissed her as I positioned my cock against her cunt. “I should warn you,” she said. “I’m pretty tight.”

“I know this already,” I said, sliding my head between her wet lips.

“I hear that’s often advantageous for the sensations of the male organ,” she smirked.

“I’ve heard that myself,” I nodded, opening a bottle of lube. “That is, once you get the male organ in there. Here, let me lift your legs up.”

I pressed forward, parting her slowly. She gasped. I pushed a little more, edging my way into her.

Her pussy was tighter than a miser’s heart.

I soothed her thighs and breasts, murmuring as I went deeper into her body.

I dropped my body, pressing our bodies together as we kissed. I felt her pulse race against my chest and though my cock.

“You okay?” I whispered.

“Yes,” she nodded. “God, this is good.”

“It is good, isn’t it?” I kissed her neck and began to slowly move inside her.

She began to move back.

Soon, our fucking followed the fervor of our kisses. I grabbed her shoulders, pressing deep as I flipped us.

“Unh!” she groaned, suddenly on top.

“Now, you grind down on me,” I suggested.

“Oh, that’s incredible,” she nodded. Her face was gone again, vanished into her hair. I caressed her slender waist and palmed her firm ass.

She rode me back and forth before, in an epiphany, finding her rhythm.

“Baby, you are so beautiful,” I said softly. “And you are doing so well.”

“This is so incredible,” she repeated, paying close attention to her body’s sensations as she fucked me, closely studying the effect of sex on herself.

She was cerebral, even in her sensuality.

I pinched a nipple. I raised my head to chew on her breast. I bite hard, holding her flesh in my teeth.

She fucked down on me harder.

I let her enjoy herself for a nice long while before we took a break.

“Sex is really great,” she said, then laughed. “Understatement.”

“I’m a big fan.” I said, standing. “Hey, do you mind if I take some pictures? I want to document your body before we fuck it up too much. That bite on your tit is going to be purple soon.”

“It is?” she said, looking to her breast. “I barely noticed that you bit it.”

“Cool, right?” I retrieved my camera. “So, do you mind?”

“Not at all, for your private viewing.”

“Of course.” I adjusted the lighting. “Though, if we get a nice blurry one, I may ask to post it on my blog. Don’t worry, I’d only do that with your approval.”

“Fine. How do you want me?”

“Just act natural,” I said, snapping. “I’ll adjust my angles.”

We talked as I snapped. I told it that I was only now beginning to photograph my friends in bed. “I’m not the brightest bulb,” I said, peering at the viewfinder. “Three years into this life, and I finally realize I should be documenting it in pictures.”

“You’ve got words,” she replied.

We sat to review the images.

“Look at this one,” I said. “You look just like a fifties pin up.”

“Son, I’m hot,” she laughed.

“The camera loves you,” I said, putting the camera aside. “But now, I guess we can no longer delay the inevitable. We need to see how bad your blowjob is.”

“God, I’m sure it’s awful,” she winced. “I’ve never done it.”

“You’ve never sucked cock at all?” I asked, tugging off my condom and reclining in the pillows.

“Nope,” she shook her head. “Never.”

“Well, that won’t do.” I held my cock forward. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Just try it nice and slow, and I’ll talk you though it.”

“Okay, thanks.” She stepped forward on her knees and lowered her face to my cock. She took it in hand and gingerly licked the shaft.

I petted her hair. “That’s so sweet, so nice . . .”

Her tongue caressed my cock, her pale eyes alternating between my eyes and my cock.

I reached for my camera. “Let me document your first blowjob, pretty.” I snapped some photographs as she brought my cock to her lips. “Aw, that’s just lovely,” I clicked. “Okay, now suck my dick, darling.”

She looked up, her eyes on me and my camera. “’He goes to supper: not where he eats, but where he is eaten.’"

“Source?” I asked.

“Shakespeare,” she said into my cock. “Hamlet.”

“Very smart. Now suck my dick.”

She took my head into her mouth.

“Nice, nice . . .” I commended.

She went lower.

“Good, that’s great . . .”

She went lower still, pulling my cock into her throat.

“Whoa, wha wha wha!” I gasped. I dropped my camera to the bed. “Hang on, whoa!”

She started to pull back. “No, I didn’t mean stop,” I said. “Do that again.”

She swallowed me. I pumped slightly. She had all of me.

I rested my cock in her. She continued to hold me in place.

I fucked slowly. She swirled her tongue.

I took her head in my hands and pushed my cock back into her throat. She didn’t hesitate.

“Okay, come up for air,” I panted.

She sat up and wiped her mouth. “Was that okay?”

“Are you kidding?” I said. “You’ve never sucked cock? Never?”

“Nope, never.”

“Kid, you are a born cocksucker. That’s great head. Really, really great. You must have been absent the day they handed out gag reflexes.”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “But I have a question: how do I breath when you’re in my esophagus?”

“Ah, good question. First, take a deep breath before you swallow me. Second, remember, you don’t have to deep throat the whole time. You can tease with your throat before you plunge my cock back. Also, when you are sucking, you don’t need to keep your lips firm the whole time. You can breath through your mouth.”

“Oh, like this?” she asked, taking my cock back in her mouth. She panted around the sides of my shaft. “Hmmph?”

“Perfect,” I said. “You learn fast. Now, get that cock out of your mouth. I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.”

She sat up. “Yes sir, professor,” she grinned.

“Call me that again,” I said, reaching for a condom, “And I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked.”

“I’ve never been fucked . . . professor.”

“All that is past now,” I said. “Hand me that camera and get your ass to the edge of the bed.”



The next break found us actually leaving the bedroom.

“So, now that we’ve fucked, can I know your name, Jefferson?”

“If you’ll give me yours, pretty girl.”

“You don’t buy ‘Esther?’”

“I do not, no.”

“Smart boy. It’s not my name. I borrowed it from Saul Bellow. Esther Fenchel is one of the eponymous character's love interests in The Adventures of Augie March.” She nodded to the books on a side table. “You should read it, if you can tear yourself away from Valley of the Dolls.”

I laughed. “I embarrassed to say that I haven’t even started Valley of the Dolls.”

“What are you reading?”

“I’m reading this great biography of Bing Crosby . . . ”

“Weren’t you reading that at Christmas?”

I felt a twinge of remorse. “That was just three weeks ago.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“It’s six hundred pages!”

She shrugged. “My name is Nicole,” she said.

I told her my name. “Pleased to meet you, Nicole.”

“Likewise.”

I poured a bourbon and sat to watch as she pulled out a package of Marlboro Lights.

“I should’ve warned you. I’m a chain smoker.”

“You might’ve warned me of a few things,” I said, sipping.

“There were a few things of which I was unaware,” she rejoindered. “And others you needed to discover.” She lit her cigarette and exhaled.

She looked up, resting the cigarette in her fingers. “’Yet all experience is an arch where through gleams that untraveled world, whose margin fades forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use.’”

She flicked an ash.

I swallowed the bourbon that rested in my throat.

“Source?” I asked.

“Tennyson,” she answered, drawing a puff. “Ulysses.”

“Impressive that you quote,” I nodded.

“It’s what I do,” she replied, stamping out a dead butt. “It’s how my mind works. I capture language. I can quote Tennyson, Eliot, Shakespeare . . . and your blog.”

“My blog?” I sputtered.

“Yes, of course.” She drew another cigarette. “Remember when you took my panties?”

“Very well,” I smiled, raising my bourbon. I took a sip.

“Do you recall what you said as you took them?” She lit her smoke.

I furrowed my brow. “What I said? Well, no, not exactly.”

Her lighter clicked on the table. “You said, ‘cute panties, did you wear these for me?’”

I looked at her, not following.

“So I provided the next line, ‘I often wear cute underwear for no reason at all.’”

“’The next line?’” I asked, resting my bourbon in a palm.

“That’s exactly what you said to someone else when you first met. So I replied with her response.”

“Wow, are you serious? I said that? And you can quote it?”

She exhaled a plum of smoke. “That’s how my mind works.”

“Incredible. Well, I suppose I need some new material if I’m getting redundant.”

“Yeah, you may want to work on that. Remember in our web cam conversation, when you wrote ‘you didn’t have to be attractive, but it helps?’ That’s what you said to Celia in your first post.” She took a drag. “Well, a paraphrase, but approximately the same.”

“I hope you don’t think I carry a set of stock lines,” I apologized. “I guess my mind just has its limitations.”

She drew a puff and exhaled. “You don’t have any cause for concern. You’re an excellent writer.”

“Thanks. Well, I’m honored to be in your repertoire . . . though a little daunted by the company of Tennyson, Eliot and the Bard.”

“You have one advantage over them,” she said, flicking an ash.

“What’s that?”

She took another drag. “I can’t fuck dead writers.”

I took a sip of my bourbon. “Nicole, finish your cigarette.”

She put it out. “Done.”

Thesaurus

I could feel her eyes on my back.

We had only spent a moment at the door exchanging glances and bussing cheeks before I took her coat.

We had never met. We didn’t know one another’s names.

Yet she had come to New York to spend a weekend with me.

Now, as I turned to hang her coat in a closet, she was giving me the once over. I took my time, allowing her to look. It was only fair; after all, I had the home court advantage.

I closed the closet door and turned to reciprocate her gaze.

She smirked, shifting her weight from one hip to another.

“You might have told me,” I said, reprimanding her.

“What?” she sassed. “And ruin the surprise?”

I liked that. I stepped forward to take her face in my hands. I kissed her deeply.

She had told me her name was Esther, but I assumed that wasn’t true. No one named girls “Esther” nineteen years ago. Nineteen-year-old girls are named “Ashley” or “Jennifer” or “Madison,” the last after that Daryl Hannah movie that had been popular a few years before they were born.

“Esther,” or whomever it was now standing in my apartment, had contacted me after reading my blog. Her introductory note was complimentary and polite, which is always pleasant, but more unusually, it avoided common words when more exact options were possible. The more syllables per word, the better.

This gal is either wicked smart, I thought, or she’s damned handy with a thesaurus. Either way, I was enticed . . . if not inveigled.

We traded notes now and then until she faded from my inbox. She later wrote to apologize, noting that the end of a semester with a double major could be exceedingly onerous.

Our correspondence resumed.

We never traded photographs. She didn’t request one, and I didn’t really care what she looked like. She had me going with wit and a vocabulary that was gorgeous, lavish, luxurious, splendid and sumptuous—that is to say, in a word provided by my thesaurus, impressive.

After a month or so of trading intermittent bon mots, I asked if she had a web cam. Of course she did; she’s nineteen. I suggested that we instant message with cams.

As her image came into view, I was glad to see that she was easy on the eyes. “You didn’t have to be attractive,” I wrote, “But it helps that you are.”

“Likewise,” she wrote back, her lips slightly pursed.

The truth was, though, that I really couldn’t tell much about her appearance. Her camera was trained on her head and the dorm room behind her. Over one unseen shoulder was a well-crammed bookcase; over the other, a white wall bare but for a poster.

She wore a newsboy cap, pushed forward and down, and glasses that were scarcely visible in the forest of dark hair that hung in her face. Only the lower third of her face was unobstructed.

She was evidently pale and had lips. Beyond that, I couldn’t have picked her out of a line up.

No matter, really. I was glad to put face to words, naturally, but I was after other quarry.

I wanted to take her fine-tuned vocabulary for a spin.

As we traded quips—cracks, jests, sallies, drolleries—I soon realized that I was barely keeping up. She parried my every sentence by three, coming back fast with pithy humor and precisely chosen words, each typed without error and burnished—buffed, polished, shined, furbished—to crystalline sheen.

This much was clear: whoever it was behind those glasses, she wasn’t fudging her smarts. She appeared to be the real deal, the sort who could waltz her way across the Mensa ballroom.

Still, I was only seeing the cards she dealt. I was looking right at this person on my screen, but her face was hidden in a disguise of cap, glasses and hair. I was conversing with her, but she hid herself in a thicket of words. All of that was wrapped up and presented under an unlikely name.

After an exchange that had been agreeable, congenial, pleasing and engaging, we signed out. Our correspondence continued without cameras; we had satisfied that curiosity as well as we could.

Still, other curiosities remained.

Finally, I took a step that was perhaps inevitable, ineluctable, ineludible and certain.

“If you are ever in the city, it would be a pleasure to meet,” I wrote.

“I can come during the winter break,” she replied.

“That would be great,” I said. “And, well, if you need a place to stay, I can put you up.”

“You are certainly complaisant,” she responded. I reached for my dictionary before thanking her for the compliment.

Now, she was in my living room, her masks intact but for the one secret she could no longer keep.

As I kissed her, I placed a hand on her hip.

“You act as though you’re ashamed of it,” I whispered.

“Not at all,” she asserted, her voice firm, revealing none of the open passion of her kiss.

I stood back. “Well, may I at least appreciate it?”

She leaned a hand on a bookcase. “Go right ahead.”

She wore a white cotton shirt, so tight that the buttons barely met. Her nipples were hard and clearly visible, for she wore nothing underneath.

“This is a lovely sight,” I said, caressing her shirt. I nuzzled into her neck. “And your clothing smells so fresh. Still, I want to remove this.”

“Go ahead.”

She began to shudder as my fingers moved down the buttons of her shirt. The front opened to reveal flesh, but I averted my eyes to undo her cuffs. When her wrists were free, I removed her shirt and tossed to one side.

“You’re trembling.”

“It’s cold outside.”

“It’s very warm inside. You’re nervous, and that’s fine.” I pressed my body to hers. “It’s alluring, actually.”

I took her mouth back into mine. Her kiss was immediate and slightly clumsy.

I stood back to stroke her torso. I turned her body so that I could look at her back.

“This is very nice,” I said, touching the black skirt that draped to her knees. “But this, too, needs to go.”

“Yes,” she said, a slight frog in her throat.

“So brave,” I whispered.

I unbuttoned the skirt, unzipped its side, and knelt to lower it to the ground. She stepped from the skirt, gently raising her high heels.

I looked up at her, touching her legs and torso. I savored the responses of her trembling flesh.

“Cute panties,” I observed, touching lace. “Did you wear those for me?”

She stopped trembling, resuming her composure. “I often wear cute underwear for no reason at all,” she smiled.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid these also need to vanish.” I lowered her panties slowly, offering a hand to steady her as she lifted her heels. I put the panties aside and allowed my eyes to take her in.

I nuzzled my nose in the soft, sandy blonde pubic hair that gave away another secret—her dark brown hair was a deliberate choice. Perhaps she had become a brunette for effect, to dramatize her smooth pale skin. But now that I was in on the larger secret, I suspected it was a diversionary tactic, intended to make her appear somewhat mousy, like the bookworm she preferred people to see when they looked at her.

Looking up to her face full of hair, I still had no clear sense of the color of her eyes.

I stood and pushed back her hair. She looked at me, now trembling again. Her eyes were pale, limpid aquamarine, the color of a clear sky viewed from underwater.

I traced a finger to her waist. I needed to address the secret she had kept from me.

“You didn’t tell me about this,” I chastised. “You must’ve assumed I would want to know.”

“Now you know,” she said, shrugging. “I have an hourglass figure.”

“Yes, you do have an hourglass figure. That’s the right word for it. I might’ve said you are built like a brick shithouse.”

She laughed. “Ever the Southern gentleman.”

I nodded and leaned to kiss her. My finger moved across the slight curve of her tight belly, and down to her slit.

I toyed with her moistness.

“Wow,” she said, for once at a loss for words.

I kissed her ear lobe.

“It’s . . . it’s been a very long time,” she added.

“Since?” I whispered.

“Since I’ve been with a man,” she said, shaking under my touch.

I placed a steady hand against the base of her spine. “How long?” My tongue traced the curve of her neck.

“Just that one time,” she answered. “When I was fourteen.”

“How old was the boy?” I nibbled her clavicle.

“My age,” she swallowed. “Well, fifteen.”

“An early predilection for older men,” I noted, cupping a firm breast. “And only girls since then?” I took a nipple in my mouth.

“Unh, yeah. Girls.”

I stood to kiss her. That mouth, so adept in forming words, was still learning to kiss.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t be gentle.”

She held me close. “Who is your favorite modernist poet?” she whispered.

“I go for Frank O’Hara,” I answered, kissing her eyelids each in turn.

She looked into my eyes. “I’m a Stevens girl.”

“We’ll meet at Rilke,” I said, taking her hand. “Now come with me. I want to show you what happens to Stevens girls.”