Jefferson Bites

Jefferson Bites is my new Tumblr blog, providing a bite-sized companion for One Life, Take Two. Please add it to your feeds and blog rolls.

Jefferson Bites

In One Life, Take Two, I’m concerned with such literary devices as character development, story arcs and thematic continuity. My stories tend to be long and, as a result, I sometimes post at a glacial pace. I’ll continue to write sex in this blog, of course. But whereas here I also address such themes as parenting, divorce, custody and online behavior, over there, it’s all smut.

Jefferson Bites provides a site for short erotic vignettes. In my Tumblr blog, I won’t bother introducing characters or take much time in setting scenes, though certainly characters and scenes may recur in either blog. As in this blog, the stories are autobiographical. They are all true. The stories are simply shorter and less complex, so hopefully, I’ll post there with more frequency.

Think of it as the down and dirty side of my blog. Give it a read and enjoy a wank.

Fleshbot and Cliffs Notes

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot goes joyriding with twentysomethings, those children of the eighties who take on adults-only adulthood with monogamy, serial dating, and just plain getting it on.

And speaking of youngsters, students, your professor is here with Cliffs Notes to One Life, Take Two. Pay attention—this will be on the final.

Astute readers have noted that I tend to write series of posts on a particular theme, as when I took all of four months to write about a single weekend in relating the events of Sex Camp. Sometimes, though, the theme is less overtly stated than it was in that case.

Since around the time of my birthday last month, I have focused on one recurring leitmotif. Did you notice? Anyone know what it was? Any hands at all?

Okay, then I will tell you.

Youth and maturity.

I wrote about my teenage daughter’s engagement, my weekend with a nineteen-year-old thesaurus, my jailbait girlfriend’s contention that a cute boy was “too young” for me, my orgy boy toy, the gay escort with a thing for “really, really young boys” and Vanessa del Rio’s three decades in porn.

And, of course, the aforementioned twentysomethings.

I decided to write about youth and maturity for a couple of reasons. Most obviously, because I added another candle to my birthday cake.

Less obviously, because of the war.

I was recently watching the evening news with my son Jason, himself a newly minted teenager. During a segment on soldiers returning from Iraq with missing limbs, Jason observed, “It’s so weird when they call teenagers ‘veterans.’”

I agreed that this sounded odd. We are accustomed to thinking of vets as gray-haired men who march in parades and cry at memorials. And yet these teenaged soldiers, male and female, are also veterans. It’s odd to two generations of Americans—including my children and me—as we remain unsettled in our new life in wartime.

So as I wrote these stories, and read reader’s responses in comments and emails, I was consciously addressing issues of age, maturity and consent. And as I wrote my tales of autobiographical erotica, as I do, I noticed relevant reports in recent news stories—and not just about the war.

For example, consider seventeen-year-old Genarlow Wilson, sentenced to ten years in prison for having consensual oral sex with his fifteen-year-old girlfriend, or the two teenagers convicted of producing and trafficking child pornography when they photographed themselves nude and the female emailed one of those images to the male.

(These and other issues of public policy and sexuality are more smartly considered at the essential Sex and the Public Square.)

As a parent, I want to protect my children from genuine sexual predators. I also want to protect them from overzealous legislation that criminalizes normal adolescent sexuality.

All of that swirled in my head as I wrote my posts about youth and maturity. I paid close attention as these posts elicited some telling responses, as well as some telling silences.

There was a consensus of approval for my reaction to the engagement of my eighteen-year-old daughter. It is her decision to make, and while I have expressed my wish that she would not marry so young, she has the confidence of my enduring love and full support.

By far, the most controversial of my recent posts had to do with Nicole. Some readers viewed my weekend with a nineteen-year-old woman unfavorably, saying that she was much too young to engage in sex with someone my age.

It is notable that this opinion was generally expressed by older women. Men tended to write that I was one lucky dog. Younger women tended to write that Nicole was one lucky dog.

The surprise in these reactions is that there is no surprise to these reactions. They were subjective, based primarily on the anxieties and desires of respondents as opposed to facts related in the tale.

Such is sex.

Apparently, I had tripped over a taboo: heterosexual intergenerational sex.



Andres Serrano "Sex" Series

Why do I emphasize the taboo concerning heterosexuality? Well, as a test case, consider my story of sex with a nineteen-year-old man, which garnered no unfavorable responses (except, of course, that of Shelby, as related in the story).

I suspected there would be a gender gap concerning the comparison of these two stories, and that bore out. Evidently, young women are not to be trusted in choosing older sex partners, whereas its hunky dory for young men to do so.

All of which got me thinking again about the war.

We hold contradictory notions about adolescence and maturity. On the one hand, it is acceptable that eighteen year olds have the right to marry, get tattoos or enlist for military service at a time of war, even as we acknowledge that these decisions are likely to forever alter their lives.

On the other hand, the sexual agency of adolescents makes some people uncomfortable, even when teenagers have sex with partners of the same age, as in the cases cited above.

It is all the more discomfiting if a young woman in late adolescence seeks consensual sex with an older man, a decision that is likely to alter not her life but . . . a weekend. The man is presumed to be “predatory,” as one reader responded, even though the related facts made it clear that Nicole sought out the relationship, and stressed over and again that she is no dummy.

In this case, that presumption stands in opposition to troublesome facts to the contrary. It is a presumption as firmly rooted in cultural bias as that of a younger man being fortunate if an older woman takes him as a lover.

I have two more stories in the series on youth and maturity, and then I am off to other things.

But before I do anything, I need to relate the adventures of a blue balloon.

(I should add: this is the type of post that may draw comments. Be advised that I do not approve vitriolic commentary, particularly that posted anonymously. These are, frankly, a buzzkill for readers. If you comment, please have something relevant to say.

I welcome responses of any kind via email at onelifetaketwo@gmail.com.)

Kharma

John had put on his boxers so I pulled on some pajamas. I didn’t want to be the only man left naked.

We sat on the couch watching as the others opened the bags containing their clothes. Randall pulled on his high tops.

“Nine thirty,” I noted. “That’s early for us these days.”

“Yeah, it’s been going so much later,” John agreed.

For a long time, I could count on the boy parties ending somewhere around nine thirty or ten. The men would show up close to seven, undress and cruise; various spots of activity would emerge; there would be ebbs and flows, a burst of money shots, and the men would be off to get on with their evenings.

It was so dependable, I often had dates after the orgies.

But that had changed in the autumn. Jimmy, the party organizer, had felt a need for fresh meat. He revised his website. He hired cute boys to take off their shirts in nightclubs to hand out flyers. He booked porn stars, go-go dancers and escorts as party attractions.

He even laid out a fruit platter.

Jimmy’s gambit paid off. The parties grew in size, with a new crop of top-shelf talent in the mix. As a result, the guys stayed later, hopped up for more of this refreshed sex crowd.

On this particular night, I hadn’t seen much of John, as he was late to arrive. My orgy boy toy Randall had shown up early; he stripped to his underwear and white baseball cap before settling in my lap to catch up. I caressed his long smooth torso and kissed his soft mahogany skin as he talked about his week—the clubs, the job, the family that doesn’t know he’s gay.

“Who can blame them?” he said, tossing his head. “I mean, look at me. Do I look even remotely gay?”

“You are pretty queeny, princess,” I said, patting his hand.

“Yeah, right? Still, my mother is hoping to arrange a wedding.”

“You can’t get married just yet. You are not allowed to lose your virginity with women on your own; that’s my project. I can’t leave so important a task to you—you’ll only fuck it up.”

He laughed. “You still think you can get me to fuck a girl?”

“It’s not as bad as you think.” I smiled at our recurring joke.

“It’s disgusting, Jefferson. But for you, I might do it.”

“You’re good to me,” I said, kissing his shoulder. “Now come on—let’s get this party started.”

He stood from my lap and reached for my hand.

A few men stood in my bedroom, jerking their cocks and watching porn as they stole glances at one another. This is typical of cruising as a party starts. No one wants to make the first move. This hesitation is not due to shyness; the men prefer to check out the full menu before making their selections.

Me, I already knew what I craved.

“Lay on the bed, princess,” I said.

Randall lay back on the pillows, looking around the room at the eyes on him. I dropped my shorts and leaned over to kiss him.

Randall is cute, and we crush on each other a little, so I like to start him off with soft kisses and gentle touches. I want him to feel my genuine affection, and, as we show off for others, I want our audience to see that my princess is well adored and cared for.

I nuzzled my nose down his flat, smooth belly and tugged his waistband. I looked to his face. His eyes were elsewhere, distracted by the other men.

Such endearing narcissism, I thought. I pulled down his underwear. His cock sprang forward.

“Baby, you shaved.” I gently touched the smooth skin that had replaced the patch I was prepared to groom with my tongue.

Randall looked down. “Yeah,” he smiled. “Do you like it? Just trying something new. I’ve got a date later, so I thought, you know, why not?”

“It’s cute,” I said, taking his shorts down his legs. I kissed his knees and thighs, working my way back to his cock. I took its curve into my hand, and brought it to my mouth.

Randall’s cock is lean and long, like his body, and by this time, I had learned it well. I kept him full in my mouth, edged to my throat, luxuriously savoring it on my tongue.

I knew to take slow care, to allow myself the taste and feel of him. If I worked too hard or too vigorously, my princess would take his cock from me. He didn’t want to cum so soon into a party.

I could restrain myself. I wanted his skin on my tongue for as long as Randall could endure it.

As I blew him, I harbored a fantasy: perhaps one day I would ask Randall for a date, just the two of us. I would tie him to my bed and suck him off, again and again, until he was fully depleted. Then, I would kiss him and let him sleep, my eyes alert for nocturnal erections that I would promptly murder with mouth.

It might do the boy good to have his orgasm out of his control. His youthful bubble of self-absorption might pop with each spurt I took.

“Careful, careful,” Randall whispered, taking his cock from my mouth. I had lost track of myself, nearly going too far.

“Sorry,” I said. “Too close, huh?”

He nodded, his eyes returning to the room. It was growing crowded.

“Okay, then you should blow me,” I said. I tapped his thigh and raised myself. “Get up, I want that spot.”

He nodded, sitting up. He turned the bill of his cap to the back.

I pet Randall’s cap as he blew me. Now in his position, I could see why his eyes had been distracted.

There were some hot men milling about.

A cluster had formed near the door. It centered on a giant man with a shaved head, strong features and a well-sculpted body. He was statuesque as he accepted the admiration of the hands and mouths surrounding him.

Two other bald muscle boys were in the cluster. The others were all handsome, one or two in designer underwear that clung to designer bodies.

Randall looked up. He glanced over at the group. “Come on,” he said, sitting up. He reached for my hand.

I took his hand and stood to follow.

I stood behind Randall, my arms wrapped around his body as he moved close. I kissed his neck as the giant reached out to touch my princess’s chest. I prepared to relinquish Randall to the others.

The giant leaned forward. He stretched over Randall’s shoulder to kiss me, full on the lips.

He wrapped his vast arm around my back, pulling us both to him.

As the giant held us in the cocoon of his embrace, his admirers’ hands and mouths swarmed to light on our bodies. In the penumbra of our patron’s imprimatur, Randall and I were now chosen to share in the acolytes’ ravishing attentions.

My chest leapt. I hadn’t expected to be drawn in, to be made to feel so admired for something so simple, and elusive, as beauty.

I rarely lack for confidence; I am content with my appearance. Nonetheless, I would never mistake the fortune of my good looks for the trappings of the truly beautiful, the physical perfection reserved for gay men who parlay hometown handsomeness into tickets to New York, to be feted with gym memberships and Chelsea apartments, porn films and magazine spreads, weekends on Fire Island, gratis, in exchange for the sheer pleasure others gain in simply being able to fawn upon their perfection, shirtless and godlike.

The giant wanted me in the mix of these handsome men, knowing nothing of me but that I pleased his eye. He seemed prepared to hoist me and my princess onto his wide shoulders as ornaments to the pedestal on which he was placed.

I felt the swell of that potential. I could feel beauty surging from its stations in my chest and mind to my face and my body, ready to be visible, to be praised, to be admired, simply for being.

Randall’s eyes closed, ecstatic.

A sober thought chased way the drug of narcissism.

I had made a wish just weeks before, and it had come true—I had been granted all of my birthday blowjobs. It was not right that I should now be elevated to admiration. It was time for me to give something back.

I mean, fair’s fair.

I nested my head against the giant’s neck. I twisted my hair against his skin and slowly twirled my way across his broad chest and ripped torso. I dropped to my knees, gazing up at him, as I licked his cock.

I swallowed him slowly. He was too big for me to take entirely, but I took enough to show that I meant business. I reached to his ass and pulled him in, letting him know he should not hesitate to fuck my face hard.

He began to give it to me.

I reached to my right and took Randall’s cock in my hand. Another man pressed in; I took his cock in my left. I could feel other men closing against my back, pressing themselves to my skin.

I had positioned myself as the cock slut for this assembly. I would have to perform at my best.

I bobbed my face up and down the giant’s shaft, tonguing him with coaxing pulses. He quickly rewarded me by pulling out and shooting on my neck and chest. He grunted in heaves.

I smiled at him as I reached for another cock.

I alternated my mouth between three cocks now, no longer wasting much time on eye contact. I kept Randall’s cock in my right hand as my lifeline. I stroked him gently, keeping him well on edge.

Another man came for me, raining on my shoulders. I was already at work on another man.

Randall pushed close. I turned to his cock and, looking up, took him in me.

I snaked a hand between his legs and up his back. I took his wrist in my hand and brought it with me as I searched out his other. My mouth worked his cock as I pinned his wrists in my grip.

One day, I would have to tell Randall all the ways I am triggering his submission, but for now, this was my secret.

Another man stood behind my princess. He wrapped his arms through Randall’s, reaching to hold his chest.

With my free hand, I reached to pat the man’s leg, signaling my gratitude. We now had Randall locked between us.

I lowered my lips to the base of Randall’s cock, holding him in my throat. Keeping him in place, I took his thigh and lifted it onto my shoulder. His foot dangled over my ass. His weight rested on his other leg.

I shifted slightly, and then lifted his other leg onto my remaining shoulder. Randall gasped as he fell backwards against the other man.

I began to stand.

We now had Randall suspended between us, his arms locked by the other man, his wrists locked in my hand. I bobbed my mouth up and down his cock. My free hand teased across his torso.

Randall was quivering.

I caught the other man’s eye and looked to the bed behind him. I stepped forward, causing him to step back. He sat on the bed, causing Randall’s head to dip downward. His cap tumbled to the floor.

I stepped again, and the man fell back, with Randall splayed over him.

I released my hold on Randall’s wrists and stooped. I took his knees from my shoulders, never letting his cock from my mouth. I rested my forearm across his belly.

He had stopped me before. Now, I wanted his orgasm.

I knew his cock well enough to play his triggers. He made no effort to contain himself.

I sat back, panting as he shot over his body. He moaned as waves left him.

As it subsided, he looked down at me. He smiled. I smiled back.

Smiling, I lifted Randall’s leg, rolled him off the other man, and set myself to sucking my accomplice’s cock.

We had put on some spectacle for other men, who now closed in on the body prone on the bed. They jerked as they watched me blow him, preparing to use the man’s body as their cum dumpster.

He was hard in my mouth. He leaned his head back to take a cock into his own face.

From my vantage, I watched as man after man came on him, covering him in skeins of jism.

I spit out his cock as he reached to finish himself off. His shot topped off the gobs covering him.

I stood and looked down at him. “Shower?”

He laughed. A couple of the guys helped him up and he followed me into the bathroom. I started up the shower pulled him in after me.

My accomplice introduced himself as Carlos.

After our shower, I ran into John in the hallway.

“Oh hey, I didn’t see you arrive,” I said.

“Yeah, you were busy,” he grinned. “You were really going to town in there!”

I nodded. “Just giving back to kharma.”

We sat to talk as the men began to leave.

Randall tied his shoes and came over to kiss us goodbye.

“Have fun on your date tonight,” I said, nuzzling his cheek.

“This better be a good date, if I’m leaving here,” he said, wrapping a scarf around his neck. “At least, if he doesn’t want to have sex, I’ve already taken care of that.”

“Sex before a date.” I tapped my forehead. “Takes the edge off. You’re a smart fellow.”

“Yeah, right?”

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Jimmy went to answer.

“Aw, poor guy,” John winced. “He missed the party.”

“Yeah, tough,” I shrugged. Jimmy would have to get rid of this late arrival; I was looking forward to an early night.

Jimmy opened the door.

John looked at me.

I raised an eyebrow.

Evidently, kharma had been impressed by my offering.

Cassia Riley

Cassia Riley

New Nude City

Amanda

Hegre

Evi

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.”

Hegre

Amandine

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.”

Hegre

Lana

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.”

15 on 1

15 on 1

Fleshbot and Tall Tales

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot peers inside the skulls of sex bloggers who make good use of their overheated imaginations by dreaming up fantasies of all stripes.

Speaking of imaginative sex bloggers, allow me to introduce the lovely Anna Smash (above), who ‘fesses up at Confessions of an Unmanageable Life. Those of you who enjoy stalking me should skeedaddle over to her site to read about her recent trip to visit me in New York.

It all begins in the one in which we meet. I don’t suppose it would be giving away too much to admit that she landed a very fine addition to my quest for forty-four blowjobs during January, the month of my birth—and still managed to witness a few other contributions to the cause.

How is that going, you may ask? It’s going well, I may answer. I won’t give you the current tally, but please note: we are now in the last week of the month. If you plan to take part in this project, now’s the time to step up! Don’t assume that someone else will do your part—it’s time for you to drop to your knees to make every blowjob count.

Tell your friends!

The end of the month is also the deadline to vote for Dirtyspoke’s Sex Blog Awards.




You’ll find me up for Best Sex Blog, Best Male Sex Blog, and as a team player at Viviane’s Sex Carnival.

Those of you who have first discovered my blog through Dirtyspoke may well wonder: where’s the sex? My apologies. My blog is about my life as a parent and pervert—as stated in my profile—and by chance, the contest hit at a time when I was writing about parenting after an extended digression on perversion.

You might try delving into my archives.

Just to show that I’ve still got my chops, I am once again shifting gears. For the next few posts, you get full throttle smut. It all starts with stories of a visitor to my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex. Nope, not Anna Smash—she’s on that for now. This is another scorcher, one so hot I would doubt it myself if I didn’t have photographs as evidence.

That’s right. Photographs.

Not that you need proof. You know that if I tell a story, it’s true. I write nonfiction, and I am not one to tell tale tales.

I’m not privy to the results in progress, but I do hope the Dirtyspoke award contest is going well. It’s a splendid idea that brings attention to all of the fine folks who write sex blogs.

I’ve exchanged notes with a few of the fellows up for Best Male. There just aren’t that many of us men who blog sex, so naturally we are a convivial bunch. Once the finalists were announced, we patted each other’s asses in the locker room, saying “may the best man win.”

Then we traded blowjobs and hit the showers.

Things are a little more competitive in the Best Sex Blog category, but there again, everyone is on very friendly terms. I’m grateful for that. Frankly, I’ve had enough drama in my life lately.

Like, check this out. The other day I was out running errands, as you do, and as I walked down Third Avenue, I noticed a penny on the sidewalk. I stopped to pick it up. Huh, I grinned—a 1942 wheat penny! I thought the kids would enjoy that.

Just then, I heard a thundering crash. I looked up to see that a bank safe had fallen just inches from where I stood. Why, if I hadn’t stopped to pick up a coin, I might have been crushed by a falling safe! I had found some lucky penny, all right!

I had barely avoided a very bad scrape. But my spirits were lifted by a thoughtful email I found waiting in my inbox.

Practice SAFE sex.

Philip

“Wasn’t that nice?” I asked Elle the next day when she stopped by for tea. “Especially after that whole thing with the falling safe and all.”

“Oh my God!” she said, raising a hand to her mouth. “Are you serious? Jefferson, that’s really scary.”

“No kidding, I was really scared. But why would a safe just fall like that . . .”

I was interrupted by the faint click of my broken doorbell. I excused myself to answer the door.

“Oh my!” I exclaimed.

“What is it?” Elle called, running to my side.

There was a small fire burning in the hallway. Acting on instinct and adrenaline, I quickly stomped out the fire with my stocking feet.

“Oh God, what is that smell?” Anna gagged.

“Ugh—that fire was set to a bag of manure!” I said, retching.

“That’s so disgusting,” Anna said. “Who in the world . . . wait, what is this note?”

She pulled a paper from my door.

Scat.

Nina

“Who is Nina?” Elle asked.

“I don’t know,” I asked, scraping my feet. “A fellow jazz fan, I guess. But that can wait . . . my feet are so gross. Help me to the bathroom, would you?”

Elle held my shoulder as I hobbled to the tub to wash up. Afterwards, she helped me back to the couch.

“You rest,” she said. “I’ll refill your tea.”

“Thanks, Elle, you are very sweet.”

Elle came back with a full cup of tea. I sipped it as we talked. I was really enjoying this opportunity to get to know her better.

After a few moments, though, I began to feel woozy. I hated to be rude to my guest, but I didn’t feel very well.

“Would you excuse me?” I said, struggling to stand. “I think I need to go to the restroom.”

“Oh, of course, Jefferson,” Elle smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

I had just made it to the toilet when I began to vomit. It was an awful, burning sensation, but I did feel a little relief.

That’s when my chest began to feel tight. “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” I thought, opening my medicine cabinet. I tore down medicines for colds, fevers and hemorrhoids before finding what I needed: two aspirin and my portable defibrillator.

“Wow, I felt bad for a minute there,” I sighed, dropping to the couch.

“You . . . you’re all right?” Elle asked.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, patting her hand. “You’re very nice to be concerned, but I’m sure you have better things to do that look after a sick man. Really, I appreciate it, but please, go out and enjoy your day.”

After Elle left, I had a nap. I woke feeling refreshed, thankfully. I was really looking forward to my date with Ilyana that evening. She’s so hot. I would have hated to cancel.

She was just as alluring in person as I had hoped. Not to be too explicit, but we were soon naked and rolling on my bed. She was over me, I was over her, she shuddered, I trembled . . . it was very intense.

I rolled off her to take a break.

“Wow,” I panted. “That was pretty earth shattering for, you know, casual sex.”

“Casual?” she asked. “Did you say ‘casual?’”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “I mean, I can’t believe we just met.”

Ilyana put her face close to mine. “I’m going to make sure you never forget me,” she said, like she really meant it.

“Oh,” I laughed. “Not much danger of that.”

We went at it again. Eventually, I fell asleep in her arms. When I awoke, she was gone.

I guess she had someplace to be, I thought when I awoke.

I was glad she wasn’t there to see what I found in the kitchen.

Somehow, I had managed to leave a pot of water boiling on the stove. I can be such a ditz! This oversight evidently proved tragic when my sweet pet bunny fell into the pot.

“Poor Pinky!” I cried, turning off the heat. “You always were so curious.”

So, like I said, I had a very dramatic week. I’m just lucky to have so many wonderful friends. I’m glad we all get to share in the excitement of this award contest. Best of luck, pals!

I hope you enjoy the smoldering sex I’m sending your way.

InFocus Girls

Evita

Footjob

Footjob