Blake Mason

Dave and Jake

Parking

I stood on the corner, scanning a cluster of people preparing to cross the street. Some had wet hair, some held coffee mugs. Most wore expressions of early morning distraction as they went about the first steps of their commutes.

I didn’t see her lips. I opened my phone and typed, “I’m here.” Hitting send, I noticed a woman on the opposite corner open her phone. I had found her lips. She didn’t notice me, nor would she, as she had no idea what I looked like. I waited for the light to change and crossed to her side.

She smiled as her eyes caught me looking at her. “Good morning,” she said.

“Isn’t it?” I replied. I took her face in my hands and kissed her. I ran my lips across hers, lingering. I had been thinking of her lips for days and I wanted to savor this first taste.

“Hmm, not here.” She pulled back and looked to her side. “This is my daughter’s school. It wouldn’t do to be caught kissing here.”

“Ah, right. Well, then let’s kiss elsewhere. Come with me.” I took her hand and began walking. She fumbled to put away her phone, laughing that she was nervous. I smiled at her. “Good. I like nervous. Come on now, we don’t have much time.”

She had written to me that she was glad to see my blog return and to congratulate me on the outcome of my custody case. She had been reading for a while, having first learned of it through her friend, Phillip, with whom I had traded a few notes as well. She’s known Phillip for most her life, she told me, and they are very good friends; so much so, she went on, that her husband is a little jealous of their friendship. “So we have to play it down in front of him,” she said. “My husband is too much the jealous type. Which is inconvenient now that we have an open relationship. I’m only allowed to flirt with girls and even that is the cause of endless negotiation. It’s hardly worth the effort! Fortunately, I’ve got a great girlfriend now, and he approves. She’s married, too. We’ve got a lot in common.”

“It’s a shame your flirtation is restricted,” I said. “Are you any good at it?”

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to avoid flirting with you, Jefferson,” she replied. “I’m afraid your writing has me too turned on for that.”

“Perhaps you should get your husband’s permission to flirt with me,” I suggested. “I’d hate to cause trouble.”

“That would definitely cause trouble,” she averred. “So I’m just going to flirt without permission. A girl likes to have some secrets.”

“I don’t mind being a secret. Let’s see how well you flirt.” Our correspondence heated up, for it turned out that she flirts very well. She casually dropped a link to a site including her photos. When I failed to notice, she directed me to the link, shaming me for being such a poor stalker. “I may not be much of a stalker,” I said. “But I do know pretty when I see it. And you, my friend, are very pretty. Look at your lips!”

“Thanks. I think my lips are my best feature.”

“I can see why. My gosh, they are so full and seem so soft. They give you a sensuous look. Are your lips as soft as they seem?”

“Yes, I’ve been told they are very soft.”

“Are you much of a kisser? Because it would be a waste to have such lovely lips and be an untalented kisser.”

“I’ve been told that I’m a very good kisser.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Let’s make a kissing date. Would you need permission for that?”

“Hmm, let’s just have a kissing date. My secret.”

Our date was not to last long. She had about half an hour before she needed to leave for her office. I led her to a side street where my car was waiting. “Get in the back seat,” I said, walking to the other side of the car. I realized, too late, that I had failed to open the door for her. My manners were slipping in my haste to have her kiss.

“Your car is very cozy,” she said, bouncing slightly. “Very clever idea, kissing in the back seat.”

“It’s rather high school, isn’t it? I thought it might add to the illicitness of our date.” I leaned forward. “And well timed too, because in half an hour, any car parked on this street could be ticketed. This will keep us on schedule.” My lips touched hers.

“You really do think of everything,” she murmured in my mouth.

“Yes,” I whispered into her. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

She hummed in response. Her lips were as soft as they looked. I nibbled slightly, eliciting a contented coo. I lowered my mouth to her neck, feeling her quiver as I kissed and lightly licked her skin. I bit faintly. “No marks,” she moaned. “Remember, secret . . .”

“But you do like to be marked,” I said, brushing her ear with my cheek. “It’s obvious.”

“Desperately,” she replied. “But I can’t have marks.”

“You can’t have visible marks,” I corrected. “Secret marks are different.”

“Secret . . . ?” she began, but her question was lost in my mouth. I held her face tight in my hands, feeling the warmth of her rising temperature. I closed my eyes and gave over to our kiss. “Look,” she said after a while. “We’ve steamed the windows.”

I glanced up. “So we have. It’s all you. Your body is so warm.” I ran a finger across the slick perspiration on her sternum.

“I know.” She blew a curl from her face. “It’s a little embarrassing.”

“On the contrary.” I licked her collarbone. “It makes me want to kiss you in July. In a sauna.” Her breathing accelerated as I kissed her neck, my hand massaging her hip. She raised a leg to my lap, grazing my pants.

“You’re so hard,” she observed, looking down.

“I’m very aroused,” I agreed, biting into her shoulder through her low-cut top.

“I’m sorry, I have to see . . .” She hurriedly unbuckled my belt and unfastened my jeans. “Wait, I just . . .” she said to herself before slowly unzipping me. “Oh God, that’s just so . . .” With that, she bent to take my cock in her mouth.

“Look at you, look at you,” I said, running my fingers through her curly hair. “Such a pretty little cocksucker.” I pet her hair and leaned back, letting her suck me. “This is just a kissing date, something sweet and innocent,” I reminded her. “But look at what a slut you are.” She moaned, grabbing my leg. “It’s going to be difficult to abide by your guidelines if you disobey them yourself.”

She took her mouth from me. “Secret,” she breathed, then returned to sucking my cock.

“That’s right,” I stroked her hair. “You’re secretly blowing your secret. No one knows.” I turned my head. A man got into the car behind mine, turned the engine and pulled away. He glanced my way, seeing only, I assumed, an indistinct shape through steamed windows.

I lightly touched her ear, watching as her head bobbed. She really is pretty, I thought. I took her hair in my fist and pressed the back of her neck. She took me into her throat. “Such a slutty faggot cocksucker,” I mused. “Can’t control herself. I just wanted a kiss and now she sucks my cock.” She gurgled appreciatively.

“Come here.” I lifted her hair. Spittle connected her lips to my cock as she gasped. “I want more kisses,” I said, bringing her mouth to mine. Her kiss was hot and wet, really more of an interrupted blowjob than a proper kiss. I pulled back on her hair. “Open,” I directed. She opened her mouth. I put three fingers on her tongue and pushed back. She swallowed quietly as my hand entered her throat. I help it there. “Good.” I took a breast in my hand and squeezed. She turned her eyes to watch mine, swallowing the slick saliva that pooled at my fingertips. “Good,” I repeated. I released her breast and moved my hand under her skirt. She was wearing no panties, as I has instructed. “You’re wet,” I told her.

She slid her mouth from my hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, coughing slightly. She moved my forearm from beneath her skirt. “But I promised someone I wouldn’t let you inside me today. I mean, inside me . . . there.”

“Oh, we can honor that promise.” I reached to shift my cock, still wet from her mouth, back into my open jeans. “So you did ask your husband for permission after all?”

“No, he doesn’t know.” She slumped forward slightly, smiling. “I’m being very naughty. No, this is another suitor. Someone who knows I’m with you and is really a little jealous about it.”

I gently took her breast in my hand. “Your girlfriend?”

“No.” She ran her hands through her curls. “Now you’ll think I’m really bad. I have another suitor.”

I shrugged. “That’s no concern of mine, except that your suitor has put a rule on you that affects me.”

“It’s just this one time. Like I said, my suitor is a little jealous that I’m with you.”

I touched her hair. “You’re rather intriguing, aren’t you?”

She laughed. “That’s a compliment coming from you.”

“Shh, shh, shh.” I took a fistful of hair. “Enough talk. Suck my dick.” As she returned to my cock, I pinched small bits of her scalp and gave her hair long, slow tugs. She responded by groaning on my cock. This girl, I knew, wanted to be marked. I sat back and let her blow me. I trained my eyes on the construction workers at the end of the block.

“Come here.” I pulled her hair, She sat up quickly, arching her back, poised to react. Smiling, I returned my fingers to her mouth. She eagerly accepted them. “You’ve given me such nice head. I want to give you something in return.” I pulled her head forward and kissed her neck. My mouth made its way into her hair. I found flesh at the base of her skull and bit. She grunted. Her teeth clamped on my fingers. I bit harder. I continued until she coughed on my hand.

I pulled away. “No visible marks,” I whispered in her ear. “No one knows about that mark but you and me. It’s secret.”

“Oh my God,” she said, rubbing her neck. “That’s so hot. I can already feel that; it’s really going to hurt.”

“I hope it hurts. You’ve been very nice to me.” I nodded toward her lap. “Thanks for wearing the skirt like I asked. Now lift it.” She leaned forward, took the hem of her skirt in her fingers and lifted. “You’re smooth,” I observed. “And you’ve got a nice piercing.”

“I’ve got navel jewelry, too,” she offered.

“Show me.”

She lowered her skirt and raised her shirt. “Nice,” I admired. “No restrictions on your navel.” I leaned forward to lightly bite her belly. I grabbed her naked thighs. “Are your nipples pierced?”

“No . . .”

“Show me.” She raised her shirt higher. I lifted her bra. “You have such pale nipples,” I admired. I squeezed one, watching her squirm. “Good.” I bent forward to taste it, biting softly.

“Unh,” she moaned. “You can bite harder.” I bit much harder. Her thighs wriggled under my hands. “Oh, you make me want to do bad things, to be marked. But I can’t, I can’t.”

I sat back. “Your husband.”

She adjusted her bra. “And my suitor. I promised I’d behave.”

“A promise is a promise.”

She nodded, adjusting her clothes. “Do you want to know who my suitor is?”

“If you care to tell me. I’m not likely to know her.”

“Him.” She wiped her brow. “It’s Phillip.”

“You friend Phillip? The one who reads my blog?”

She nodded. “It’s complicated. We’ve known each other forever and always really liked one another, just so much. But he was married and I was married. Things got complicated last year. My husband got really jealous of him, and then Phillip, he and his wife broke up. So he was available, and my marriage was open now, but still, my husband can’t stand the thought of me and Phillip.” She dropped her hands in her lap. “Phillip’s in love with me. My husband is afraid he’ll take me away.”

“Will he?”

Her lips smiled. “No. No, he won’t. Still, he wants to be my lover. And I want him, so much. So we’re going to have an affair.”

“Going to.” I repeated. “You haven’t initiated it yet.”

“No, but we will soon. That’s why he’s jealous that I’m with you now. Maybe he’s worried that you’ll take me away.”

I took her hand. “You seem to enjoy being desired. But no, I’m not going to take you away from your husband, and I’m not going to take you away from your lover.” I thought a moment. “Though, I may steal your girlfriend.”

“No, no,” she giggled. “She’s married and not nearly as much fun as me.”

“Okay. Then maybe I’ll have sex with your lover instead.”

“Now, that I would really love to see,” she laughed.

“Easily done,” I began. “The two of you can suck my cock, and then you can sit on his face as I fuck his ass. Has he ever . . .” I was cut off by a loud whoop. I looked over my shoulder to see a police car. Two officers looked back at me. “Okay, party over.” I leaned back casually to zip up my jeans.

“Holy crap,” she said, lowering her face to my shoulder.

“Busted,” I said. “Come on, get out of the car. They just want us to move. Parking hours have ended.”

We kissed goodbye quickly on the sidewalk. “So, just to get this straight,” I said. “Your husband does not know about me, but your soon-to-be lover does. And both are jealous men.”

She raised a shoulder. “They both love me very much.”

I touched her face. “I don’t love you. I barely know you. But I am very likely going to be fucking you. Be sure you keep this as simple as you can.”

She nodded. “I will. I’m telling my husband nothing and I’m telling Phillip everything.”

“Are those the guidelines you will keep? Because I can tell Phillip myself. If I blog this, he will know.”

She took my hand. “He would be so jealous.”

“We may have to help him to share.” I kissed the lips that had steamed my windows. “Okay, get going. I need to move my car before I get a ticket.”

“Okay.” She kissed my cheek, smiled and began to walk away. I opened my car door. “Oh wait.” She stopped and turned to me. “Can I be Lola?”

“Excuse me?”

“Can I be Lola in your blog?”

I laughed. “Have a good day, Lola.”

Illegal Grill

“That’s too funny,” Sandra said. She lifted her wine glass. “Her ‘expensive face.’ That’s too much!” She sipped cabernet.

“That face must be worth a fortune, serious money,” I nodded, chewing steak. “The ring tone was the killer for me. I mean, there I was.” I put down my fork and knife and grabbed two fistfuls of air. “I was fucking and fucking this woman, she’s looking up at me and saying, ‘I sink you don’t like me so mush,’ and then, suddenly, the air is filled by ‘The Ride of the Valkyries!’” Sandra sputtered and reached for her napkin. “It was like Apocalypse Now! Only I’m napalming her with overwhelming force and she's simply shrugging it off.” I grinned and reached for my wine.

“It’s so funny that that’s the ring tone she picked for her husband. Pretty foreboding!” Sandra took a bite of salad. “So tell me, do you often hook up with married women?”

“I love this wine,” I hummed. “Nice choice.” Sandra smiled. “Um, well, married women and men, because, remember, that’s also an option. I don’t really seek it out or anything, but it happens now and then. I mean, married men are always looking for bisexual fellows, it seems, so that’s a niche. Married women, sure, that happens pretty frequently. I guess because it’s clear that I’m not looking for a wife myself, so I’m a relatively easy side dish.” I cut into steak, thinking. “Well, I also get with married couples, but I take you to mean cheating spouses.”

“I was referring to that, yes.”

I swallowed. “Great, great steak. Perfect. Well, I suppose I have a lot of sympathy for people who are in sexually unsatisfying marriages, having been there myself. I think we have to be real that wedding rings don’t control our desires, else monogamy is simply a trap.” I reached for my bourbon. “Monogamy is gorgeous when it works, but when it doesn’t . . . “ I took a sip and shuddered.

“But don’t you think,” Sandra leaned over the table, intent, “That instead of cheating, people could just, you know, be honest about that?”

“Yeah, of course, but please. That’s hard. You could sit down your spouse and say, ‘Honey, let’s try something different.’ But it’s natural that this takes more bravery than most people can muster. Especially if they feel they already know the answer. It’s easy to assume that it’s better to cheat than cause strife within the marriage. I suppose.” I skewered my roasted potatoes. “I suppose I have a lot of respect for the coward’s way out. At least it’s a way out.”

“Do you ever feel bad about being ‘the other woman?’” Sandra asked, laughing softly.

“Me? Nah. That’s really an issue between a husband and wife. I’m not the one cheating, I’m just the vehicle for cheating. But like I said, I have sympathy in many cases. I mean, being a faithful husband apparently got me nothing but fifteen years without a blowjob.”

Sandra laughed. “I can’t imagine you going fifteen days without a blowjob, much less fifteen years.”

“Perish the thought,” I said, reaching for the wine bottle. “Fifteen minutes, maybe; beyond that, I get the shakes. But you’re still seeing that married man, right? How’s that going?” I poured wine into Sandra’s glass, refilled my own, and settled back to hear about her affairs.

Sandra comes and goes in my life as she chooses; so far as I’m concerned, she has a lifetime pass. She first showed up in my life having read my blog, recently divorced and looking for some fun. She told me that being a “corporate chick” had made her boring, but if so, I couldn’t see it. She had an easy charm and a lilting drawl that could make an annual report sound flirtatious. We both grew up in the South, in the same years. A former lifetime of iced tea and “yes ma’am” gave us the lingua franca that makes instant let-me-hug-your-neck friends of ex pat Southerners in New York.

During our first conversation over bourbon, I could imagine Sandra as a popular blond cheerleader in high school, her boyfriend a good-looking linebacker. We would meet as equals in the classroom, two of the smart kids, her taking care to be bright without seeming competitive, as Southern girls once did, me developing a crush, wishing she would let her brain shine, wishing she would notice me in some way other than the inevitable recognition that I was too nice to date. In high school, I would’ve been told I was so sweet, and I love you, but not in that way, so let’s just be friends, okay?

Now, as grown ups, we sat on my couch, drinking and talking, both anticipating the first kiss that would certainly lead to my bedroom. Breathing the contented air of Sandra’s adulthood, I didn’t regret a single missed kiss, furtively stolen behind the bleachers. We had found each other at the right time.

She declined to sleep over after we had sex, saying she needed to be ready for work the next morning, and she preferred to leave from her apartment. I could imagine her place as well ordered and reflecting a lifetime of acquiring only what she needed. This proved to be true when I visited her. She apologized for living in a dump—it was a nice Upper East Side apartment with a small patio in back—but it was only temporary, she told me, while her own place was being renovated.

As we fucked on her large bed, she asked if I would mind if she did something a little nasty. I acceded. Sandra climbed off me to dig in a nightstand drawer, retrieving a dildo. “Thanks for not minding this,” she smiled shyly. “It really gets me off.” She lowered herself onto my cock and, after a few moments of kissing and grinding into me, she groaned into my mouth as the dildo entered her ass.

“Here, let me help,” I offered, reaching to hold the dildo in place. “You just cum for me. Can you do that?” She nodded, her hair shaking in my face. Soon, she had done as I asked.

“Well, that was intense,” she gasped.

“Honey, we need to do a few things together,” I smiled. “You game?”

She laughed. “Well, I’m a big girl. What do you have in mind?”

I put a finger to her lip. “Let’s talk about that after I fuck your ass.”

As I left her place that evening, an itinerary was already take shape in my mind.

When I invited her over for sex with a few of my men, she brought a bottle of wine. I thought that was rather classy. The boys were charmed and she enjoyed the admiring attention.

I knew a secret of Sandra’s body. Her first orgasm comes more readily than those that follow. After our times together, I knew where to find them all. As I fucked her before passing her to other men, I whispered, “I’m getting you off.”

“Don’t,” she whispered back. But it was too late. It was already happening. As she caught her breath, she looked at me crossly. “That’s just too easy for you.”

“I know, I’m a bastard.” I smiled, pulled back and looked around. “All yours, boys.”

She had never been with a woman, so I set up a threesome with a friend who was, as it happened, also a Southerner. The two had even been in the same sorority, albeit at different colleges and in different decades. Sandra brought Chardonnay. “That’s one lovely lady,” my friend admired as Sandra tasted her body.

After her place was renovated, she invited me over for a steak dinner. “I have an illegal grill on my terrace,” she confessed. “I could get in trouble, but I know it’s safe. I flirt with the firefighters down the street and I had one of them check it out.”

“The power of positive flirting,” I admired.

I had been late arriving, which she pointed out politely. “Thanks to you, I’ve already opened the wine,” she admonished. “So you’ll have to drink your cocktail alone.”

I kissed her cheek. “I am ashamed to impinge upon your hospitality. Forgive me?”

She frowned. “We’ll see. You may have to forgive me if I do anything untoward, having overserved myself.”

“’Overserved!’” I laughed. “That’s now my favorite Southernism.”

“Don’t try charm on me.” She wagged a finger. “Consider buying a watch.”

She served me a bourbon, poured herself another glass of wine, and we repaired to her terrace. We talked as she grilled, and gradually, I was forgiven.

She was in good spirits as we finished dinner, talking about the two men she most frequently dated—the married man, and one other who lived some distance away.

“I may break it off with the married man,” she mused. “I really prefer my long-distance lover, and after all, this guy is married, so . . .” Her voice trailed as she reached for her wine. “One thing I’ve wanted to ask you: do you think you’ll ever remarry?”

I sipped. “Dunno. How about you?”

“No, now, you answer me. I asked the question. Be serious.”

I shook the ice in my glass. “I never say ‘never,’ but you know, I was married for a long time. Marrying now would be complicated, as it would involve my children, and really, I’m not looking for a new stepmother for my kids. I do know that if I remarried, it would be different. I’d get married as an adult, because I wanted to, not because I am young and that is what one does. I can imagine something when I’m older, something companionate, sensual and warm. And sometimes I imagine starting another family, when my kids are older. It could be a joy to raise kids in a loving marriage. But no, I don’t really think about that much.”

I looked up to see Sandra looking at me intently. “You know what I think?”

“Tell me.” I lifted my bourbon. “What do you think?”

A slight smile crossed her lips. “I think you’re going to marry Madeline.”

“Yeah, we hear that now and then.” I sipped.

“The way you both write . . .” Sandra swirled her glass, looking through wine at a candle. “It’s just so romantic.”

“Thanks.” I let the thought linger in the red glow of her face.

Sandra watched the flame for a moment before looking up from her reverie. “I’m sorry, that was a little rude of me,” she apologized. “It’s just that, with you and the things we talk about, I have a hard time remembering that some things are personal.”

I smiled. “That’s fine. And I appreciate that you understand the distinction.”

She sat back. “Are you ready for dessert? I’ve got a really nice pie.”

“Let’s save that for now. I’ve got another dessert in mind.” I stood. “Here, let’s clear the dishes and reconvene at the couch.”

With candles burning, the lamp low and fresh drinks ignored on the coffee table, I took Sandra in my arms. Her body pressed against me as I kissed her hair, drawing deep scents as my heart accelerated. Her heart picked up my pace and she turned to kiss me. My neck craned as my mouth responded. She lifted onto her knees, hungrily moving into my mouth. I gave back with equal ardor. “Oh, Sandra,” I breathed. “You really do make out so beautifully.”

“Kissing is my favorite thing,” she spoke into my mouth, taking me back. We may have missed our high school kisses, but now we brought to one another a lifetime of kissing others to make this new kiss, singularly ours and in our moment.

I stayed over that night.