Lolita opened her laptop. “Look how small and shiny it is!” she beamed. “I love my new toy. It makes me say ‘Eeeee!’”
“Viviane says it’s really great,” I nodded. “Wow, such a tiny keyboard.”
“I like it. It’s perfect for my six-year-old hands.” She playfully typed in imitation of Chico Marx at a piano. I pulled up a chair as she walked me through the laptop’s features.
I needed a new computer for my children and Lolita offered to stop by to let me get a look at the one Viviane had recommended for her. Shelby was also looking for sales and thinking I should consider buying an Acer. After playing with Lolita’s new toy for a while, we found ourselves talking about red flags.
“You really need to pay attention to red flags.” Lolita adopted her educator’s tone. “They’re very important. If you pay attention to red flags, you avoid a lot of bad stuff.”
“I know, I know. I mean, it’s not like I’m not cognizant of red flags. It’s just my instinct to, you know, try to make people happy. So if the red flag is that a person is unhappy, or even irredeemably miserable, I feel like since I’m generally pretty happy, it’s my duty to try to . . .”
“Fix them.” Lolita finished my sentence. She shook her head. “Not a good instinct.”
“Don’t I know it.” I clucked my tongue. “I mean, I’d like to think I learned that lesson in my marriage. You can’t take on the miseries of others in an effort to make them better. You can’t be responsible for the happiness of others.”
“You can only be a nice person and be careful. That’s why paying attention to red flags is smart.”
“Lesson learned.” I grimaced. “Again. This reminds me of a conversation I had with Charmeine, back when you and I were both dating her. You know, she’s a heavy bottom and she kind of took me under her wing as I was growing my abilities as a dom. We didn’t really play that way—I mean, I’m not even sure I was in her league for that . . .”
“Oh, you could’ve handled her,” Lolita laughed.
“Hmmm, maybe. We found our level. At any rate, we would have these long, rich conversations, and once she told me something like, the reason a top should be really selective in choosing partners for heavy play is that you want to be sure you trust the person. She said that if a bottom got angry, she could, you know, go to the police claiming abuse or some such. Charmeine pointed out that a consensual bruising doesn’t necessarily look different than a nonconsensual one.”
“That’s right.” Lolita nodded. “But that’s not just true of heavy play. Trust is really important.”
“Right. I was mulling that over recently and thought it’s true of my sex life as well. I mean, anyone can get upset and make outrageous claims or do things later regretted. But if someone is so motivated by misery, or obsession, or gossip, or drama, then geez . . . I really shouldn’t be messing with such things.”
Lolita pursed her lips. “How many years have I been telling you that?”
“I suppose I’ve had my ears cleaned. So, in considering partners, I’m going to keep in mind Madeline’s refrain: be nice. If someone isn’t nice, I don’t want anything to do with that person.”
“Hey, I always say ‘play nice.’”
“That you do. You and Madeline are a philosophical matched set.” I thought for a moment. “You know, I was talking to Madeline the other day, and I was telling her about some blog drama. You know a great thing about Madeline? She doesn’t care about sex blogs. She thinks they are mostly pretty ridiculous, which, of course, they are. She reads the ones that are well written, but she is never up to speed on blog drama because, you know, she has a life.”
Lolita nodded, listening.
“I don’t usually bother her with such things, because we talk about things like, well, life. So anyway, I had to give the backstory for the blog drama for her to understand what I was trying to explain. So she listened quietly, and then she said, ‘May I ask you a question? Why do you bother with such people?’ I said, ‘Well, you know’ . . . and I realized I didn’t really have a good answer.”
“You want to fix people. That’s your answer.”
“Right. Well, and obviously, Madeline gets that. So she says, ‘Jefferson, you know some amazing people. You know Lolita.’”
“That was nice of her,” Lolita smiled. “Madeline is amazing.”
“You both are. I adore you, Lolita.” Lolita made a shy face and raised a finger to her lip. I grinned. “So anyway, Madeline goes on. ‘Who was that photographer we met in Williamsburg, with the new baby?’ And I said, ‘Harvey.’ She said, ‘Harvey. His work was great and he thinks you’re a genius. When was the last time you saw him?’ I said I hadn’t seen him since that day. She said, ‘You know that was two years ago.’”
“Wow.”
“Right? So she goes on, listing a few of my friends she’s met, non-sex friends, and asking when I last saw them. And I realized that in some cases, it had been some time. Madeline was getting a little stern; I could hear it in her voice. Then she said this: you have wasted too much time on people who do not deserve your time.”
Lolita tapped a finger on the table. “Good for her. You needed to hear that.”
I nodded. “She was really giving it to me, too. She was breaking it down for me. People who call you names are not nice people, she said. People who blog mean things are not nice people. People who gossip and write stuff about you without asking you about it, or even telling you about it, are not nice people. Why would you waste time on them? You can totally trade up.’ And I was like, ‘Wow, that’s harsh, Madeline. People aren’t disposable.’”
“I don’t think that’s what she was saying,” Lolita interrupted. “It sounds like she was saying, you can be more selective.”
I tapped my forehead. “Yes. She explained, and yes, that was her point. She said, ‘If people are mean or disrespectful to you, you are perfectly within your rights to cut them off. You can do better.’ And I was, like, ‘Smart lady, where were you when I was getting married?’’
“You’re lucky you know Madeline,” Lolita smiled. “She’s smart and she’s nice.”
“Yes. Easy on the eyes, too.”
Lolita laughed. “She’s bee-yoo-tiful.”
I shrugged. “If you like that type.”
Showing posts with label sexblog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexblog. Show all posts
Monday, March 30, 2009
Monday, June 04, 2007
Package Tour
Care for a little summer reading?
While digging through my Archives, I came across the story of Belle, a recently divorced Southerner who showed up at my door looking to break a spell of unintentional abstinence.
When she headed home, her spell was broken, but good.
I’ve collected her story into a continuous narrative, which you can read at:
Package Tour
Keep it in mind as you plan your Summer vacation.
As the story concerns a cute bespectacled young woman, I’ve added photographs of other cute bespectacled young women, courtesy of the good people at Abby Winters.
Speaking of Summer vacation, don’t forget to send your submissions to our swimsuit edition.
Happy reading.
While digging through my Archives, I came across the story of Belle, a recently divorced Southerner who showed up at my door looking to break a spell of unintentional abstinence.
When she headed home, her spell was broken, but good.
I’ve collected her story into a continuous narrative, which you can read at:
Package Tour
Keep it in mind as you plan your Summer vacation.
As the story concerns a cute bespectacled young woman, I’ve added photographs of other cute bespectacled young women, courtesy of the good people at Abby Winters.
Speaking of Summer vacation, don’t forget to send your submissions to our swimsuit edition.
Happy reading.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Counting
Avah looked up instinctively as she crawled around the corner.
I tugged down on her jaw, gripping it firmly, my thumb on her chin, two fingers under her tongue.
Her eyes dropped. Her nude ass rose. Good.
We had first met just a few minutes earlier, yet already, we each knew how to respond to the other.
We had prepared the way.
Our first correspondence had been friendly and flirtatious. I was glad to see photographs of the pretty young woman who had contacted me. She read my blog, and so she had some insights into my life. I asked about hers.
I asked about her past experiences, and what had drawn her to me. She revealed a rather jagged and fast-paced sexual history.
She was nineteen when she wrote to me, on the cusp of her twentieth birthday. She had lost her virginity at the age of seventeen. In the intervening two-to-three years, she had lost track of the number of men she had fucked.
“How can that be?” I asked. “Did you run out of fingers and toes to count?”
“No,” she replied. “I was an escort for a while when I was eighteen—at least, until my mom found out and made me stop.”
Avah had joined an agency that knew how to make good use of a fresh-faced teenager. She would book a New Jersey motel room and spend a day seeing a succession of clients, primarily men she would never see again. At the end of a working day, she would tuck a few hundreds into her purse. The agency would put much more into their accounts.
It was a sweet deal—for the agency.
Since her forced retirement from whoring, Avah had been involved with a few boyfriends, including one who would occasionally tie her with ropes. Avah writhed under the restraints and came to see herself as submissive, although she wasn’t sure how to pursue this with her boyfriend.
She considered herself bisexual, although she had little experience with women.
She had never had an orgasm with a partner.
I released her jaw from my fist. “Get on the bed,” I directed.
Avah nodded and lifted her arms to the bed. Slowly, with the deference of a chastened dog, she crawled onto it.
“On your back.”
She rolled off her knees, settling back into the duvet.
I kept her eyes in mine as I removed my shirt. I watched her eyes lower as I removed my jeans. For the first time, she saw the cock she had already had in her mouth and throat.
I lay next to her. I took her face in hand and lowered my lips to hers.
Her mouth opened. A sigh was trapped in her chest.
My fingers moved lightly across her flesh as I kissed her firmly. My mind was searching for her responses, adding tactile sensations to the information it had gathered on Avah.
I took my time. We made out like the kid she still was.
“Are you ready for rope?” I asked.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Good.” I reached over a corner of the bed to retrieve a line. I wrapped it around her wrist, knotting it loosely.
“Slip knots on a first date,” I whispered, reaching for the opposite corner of the bed.
“I know,” she nodded. She had read that somewhere in my blog. I tied another knot.
I sat back on my knees, looking over her pale skin. I settled on the girlish pink of her nipples. I pinched one, watching it turn white when I released my hold.
“May we try clothespins?” I asked. She nodded, watching my hand reach for a drawer.
I gathered a fold of nipple and flesh from a breast much smaller than my palm.
She sucked in her breath as I attached the first clothespin. “Shhhh,” my voice soothed as the second snapped into place.
Avah drew deep breaths as the sensations rushed to her head. Her hands balled into fists. I watched as her toes curled, waiting for them to relax.
I leaned forward to kiss her neck. I traced a tongue to her clavicle, kissing again as I made my way to her breast. I kissed and licked as the clothespin bobbed, providing the axis around which I traveled.
I took the underside of her breast lightly in my teeth and held it. Her breathing accelerated as my incisors gradually dug deeper. I increased the pressure until she writhed. I held it longer and then suddenly released her.
“Ahhh-unhh!” she moaned, twisting. The sharp pain of the bite competed with the sustained pinch of the clothespins.
I watched her face, my hands rubbing her belly. Her brow furrowed and then relaxed as she calmed her contortions, willing herself into composure.
She knew what to do. She knew what to anticipate.
My teeth sank into the soft underside of another breast.
My mouth’s tour of her body left the oval of my teeth’s imprint repeated across her torso. In some places, small bites nestled inside larger ones, creating pink flowers that would blossom into purple bouquets in the following hours. My garden was somewhat formal in its symmetry.
In time, my mouth arrived at the conclusion of it meandering, unhurried path. My destination was damp in expectation.
I leisurely lapped at Avah’s clit. She breathed out in relief that I had finally arrived.
I suckled and tongued, giving her head in different modes, trying on rhythms and patterns for this pussy new to my mouth, and so misused by other men.
I found sensations that resonated with Avah’s body, filing them away and moving to others. I wasn’t pursuing her elusive orgasm—not yet, anyway. This was more of a fact-finding mission to collect data preliminary to later use.
Two fingers curved into her.
Avah’s legs spread as I filled her cunt for the first time. Her back arched as now, for the first time, she felt a pressure her own fingers had been unable to produce—and no other lover had bothered to try.
My fingers pushed gently. Firmly. Pressing. Rhythmically. Screwing. Pulsing. I watched her face, rubbing her thighs and torso, learning.
I pulled out. She collapsed slightly, sighing.
I opened a nightstand drawer. “I’m going to fuck you now,” I informed her.
She opened her eyes. “Okay.” I smiled, kissing her cheek. We both knew, in that moment, that she would have refused me nothing, just as I was prepared to give her something she needed.
We both knew that we wanted that trust.
I watched as, for the first time, my cock vanished into her shaved folds. I thought of the uncounted men who had used Avah’s body, trading small folds of cash for this moment of feeling her tight teenage cunt close in on them.
All that effort, I thought, lowering my body to hers, and no one had bothered to take care of her. Stupid, really, that men pay for so little, when there is so much more to be had—if one learns to appreciate what is given.
I fucked her slowly, kissing her cheeks and mouth, nestling my face in her hair. I bit into her arm as she flinched, unable to move away from my mouth.
I sat back, pushing her thighs forward. I fucked harder. She squirmed and moaned.
“Is this hitting that same place as my fingers?” I asked.
She opened her eyes and nodded.
“Good,” I smiled. I pounded hard, fucking her with a measured ferocity.
She zoned out. I caressed her hair.
My phone rang. Avah opened her eyes.
“This is very rude of me,” I shrugged. “But I do need to take that.”
Avah nodded, panting.
I reached for the nightstand. “Hello? Yeah, how’s it going?” I pushed deep into Avah, then back lightly. “Good. Yeah, it’s going very well. I like her.” I smiled at Avah. She smiled back. I fucked her a little faster. “Yeah, I think she likes me too. So where are you? . . . Uh huh . . . No, no it’s cool. Come on over. The door is open.” I fucked slower. “Her? No, no worries. This one does what I tell her. See you soon.”
I returned the phone to its receiver.
“Friend of mine,” I said, pinning Avah’s legs back. I reached for the rope, lashing her calves to her wrists as we fucked.
I offered no further explanation of the phone call. She knew better than to ask.
I fucked her through different rhythms, finding the ones that worked. A few times, she seemed close to orgasm, but never made the leap.
I lowered myself to her.
“Okay, now, I want to try something,” I said, looking into her eyes. “Are you with me?”
She nodded.
“All right. Now, I’m going to fuck up into you, just like this.” I pushed in and up, back and forth, in a regular pattern. “Now, you push down onto me.” Her pussy clenched on my cock. “Good! You are so swollen and tight now. And that sense, that ‘pushing down’ is what your body has been doing when you are about to cum. I’m going to keep fucking you, just like this.” I pushed in and out, repeating an unwavering beat. “You push down and focus.” I kissed her. “I’m not stopping. I’m not cumming. We’ll take all the time we need.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling a little nervously.
“No pressure,” I said, kissing her lips. “Just try this.”
“Okay.”
I took her shoulders in my arms. Together, we chased her orgasm.
Soon, she panted and pushed and moaned. She fell limp.
“Ugh,” she complained. “No good.”
“You were close?” I said, slowing.
“So close,” she said. “What’s wrong with me?”
I slapped her. “Nothing is wrong with you.” I resumed our rhythm. “Again.”
Her eyes flashed as her cheek grew red. I felt her pussy clench on me.
“Good girl.” I smiled. “Let’s try again.”
We were pulsing in our motion. I loomed over her, dripping sweat from my brow. I held her throat in my hand as she gasped, flush and intent.
My front door opened.
Avah’s eyes widened.
“Ignore it,” I commanded. “Keep fucking.”
Avah nodded and closed her eyes.
My front door closed.
I spit on two fingers and circled Avah’s clit. She gasped. We were getting close to the combination. I could feel the tumblers falling into place.
Focus, girl, I thought.
“Harder . . .” she whispered.
“The fucking or the fingers?” I said forcibly.
“The fingers . . .”
I quickly untied a leg and arm. I brought her hand to her pussy.
“Rub your own God damned clit.” I barked. “I’m fucking.”
Avah’s back grew rigid. Her pussy was swollen and full after so much fucking. Her clit was twitching. In the next room sat someone she didn’t know, someone who heard every sound we made.
She gasped.
“Give it.” I ordered. “Give me what I want and I swear to God, I’ll beat the shit out of you.”
She sucked a breath. “Oh my God, oh my God . . .”
“That’s it,” I urged, pressing in, refusing to be expelled by the coming earthquake.
Avah convulsed. Her cunt pushed and pulled. Soon enough, she shuddered and cried out.
“Mother fuck, my God, oh my God!”
“Yeah, yeah!” I laughed. I fucked her even harder now.
Three years of sex with countless men, and finally, Avah got her orgasm.
We kissed.
I untied her and we relaxed in one another’s arms.
“Honey,” I panted. “You done good.”
Avah looked at me. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she laughed.
“You’re sweet,” I smiled. I kissed her forehead then turned to face the door. “Hey, Meg!”
“Yeah?” a voice called back.
“Come here. I’m going to beat up this girl. You want to watch?”
“Yeah!” she called back. “Just a sec.”
I turned to Avah. “You don’t mind if I cane you in front of my friend, do you?”
Avah laughed nervously. “I guess not . . . ”
“Good girl.” I squeezed her hand. “Just keeping doing what I say, and you’ll be fine.”
Meg joined us. I introduced Avah, and suggested Meg settle into a comfortable chair at the side of the bed.
I retrieved my cane.
“On your knees, all fours,” I commanded. Avah did as instructed, her face in the pillows.
“No, no,” I reprimanded. “Stupid girl.” I tapped the bed with my cane. “Look at Meg. See where she is sitting? Meg wants a good show. Face your ass to Meg.”
Avah looked up. She crabwalked into a more suitable position.
“Good.” I leaned next to Meg, sizing up her view. “Now, spread your knees, Avah. Meg wants to see more pussy.”
Avah complied.
“All set, Meg?” I asked.
“Oh yes, this is a great view,” she nodded.
“Any requests?”
“Shouldn’t she get a birthday spanking?” Meg suggested. “And count off each one?”
“Splendid idea,” I smiled. I kissed Meg. “And one to grow on.”
“Of course,” Meg nodded.
“Oh, God,” Avah whimpered.
“Now, now, none of that. Ready?”
Avah wriggled her hips. She drew a deep breath. “Ready.”
Avah cursed as she counted the stripes that would keep her standing for the next two weeks. She called me a monster when I delivered two blows for her seventeenth year, marking her deeply for the loss of her virginity.
She hated me as she waited anxiously for the twenty-first blow.
It came down hard and diagonal, bringing all the other blows to vivid, exquisite agony.
I put down the cane and took Avah in my arms.
We talked in low voices, kissing as she came around. In time she was laughing and trading jokes with Meg.
“I’m glad we met,” I said, petting her hair. “I hope you enjoyed your birthday?”
“Oh yeah, this was the best birthday ever!” she laughed.
“Good.” I kissed her lightly. “Now, get dressed and get the hell out of my apartment. I have company.”
“Oh!” Avah sat up. “Sure, of course . . .”
Meg and I chatted as Avah retrieved her clothes and returned to the bedroom. She began to put on her panties.
“Unh unh,” I said, holding out a hand. “Those are mine.”
“You’re taking my panties?” she asked.
“First date.” I said, nodding.
“He’s got quite a collection,” Meg agreed.
Avah handed over the panties. “That’s my nicest pair, too,” she winced. “Black lace and everything.”
“Of course they are your nicest,” I said, taking them to my nose. “It was a first date, after all.”
Avah shouted as the denim of her tight jeans touched the fresh welts on her ass. Meg cooed in sympathy.
I showed Avah to the door, kissing her goodbye.
“Did you have a good time?” she asked.
“Honey, we’re just getting started.” I smiled.
I locked the door behind her. I returned to the bedroom and flopped over my bed.
“She’s cute,” Meg observed.
“Oh, she’s a keeper all right,” I nodded. I reached over to touch Meg’s calf. “So, you want to fuck?”
I tugged down on her jaw, gripping it firmly, my thumb on her chin, two fingers under her tongue.
Her eyes dropped. Her nude ass rose. Good.
We had first met just a few minutes earlier, yet already, we each knew how to respond to the other.
We had prepared the way.
Our first correspondence had been friendly and flirtatious. I was glad to see photographs of the pretty young woman who had contacted me. She read my blog, and so she had some insights into my life. I asked about hers.
I asked about her past experiences, and what had drawn her to me. She revealed a rather jagged and fast-paced sexual history.
She was nineteen when she wrote to me, on the cusp of her twentieth birthday. She had lost her virginity at the age of seventeen. In the intervening two-to-three years, she had lost track of the number of men she had fucked.
“How can that be?” I asked. “Did you run out of fingers and toes to count?”
“No,” she replied. “I was an escort for a while when I was eighteen—at least, until my mom found out and made me stop.”
Avah had joined an agency that knew how to make good use of a fresh-faced teenager. She would book a New Jersey motel room and spend a day seeing a succession of clients, primarily men she would never see again. At the end of a working day, she would tuck a few hundreds into her purse. The agency would put much more into their accounts.
It was a sweet deal—for the agency.
Since her forced retirement from whoring, Avah had been involved with a few boyfriends, including one who would occasionally tie her with ropes. Avah writhed under the restraints and came to see herself as submissive, although she wasn’t sure how to pursue this with her boyfriend.
She considered herself bisexual, although she had little experience with women.
She had never had an orgasm with a partner.
I released her jaw from my fist. “Get on the bed,” I directed.
Avah nodded and lifted her arms to the bed. Slowly, with the deference of a chastened dog, she crawled onto it.
“On your back.”
She rolled off her knees, settling back into the duvet.
I kept her eyes in mine as I removed my shirt. I watched her eyes lower as I removed my jeans. For the first time, she saw the cock she had already had in her mouth and throat.
I lay next to her. I took her face in hand and lowered my lips to hers.
Her mouth opened. A sigh was trapped in her chest.
My fingers moved lightly across her flesh as I kissed her firmly. My mind was searching for her responses, adding tactile sensations to the information it had gathered on Avah.
I took my time. We made out like the kid she still was.
“Are you ready for rope?” I asked.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Good.” I reached over a corner of the bed to retrieve a line. I wrapped it around her wrist, knotting it loosely.
“Slip knots on a first date,” I whispered, reaching for the opposite corner of the bed.
“I know,” she nodded. She had read that somewhere in my blog. I tied another knot.
I sat back on my knees, looking over her pale skin. I settled on the girlish pink of her nipples. I pinched one, watching it turn white when I released my hold.
“May we try clothespins?” I asked. She nodded, watching my hand reach for a drawer.
I gathered a fold of nipple and flesh from a breast much smaller than my palm.
She sucked in her breath as I attached the first clothespin. “Shhhh,” my voice soothed as the second snapped into place.
Avah drew deep breaths as the sensations rushed to her head. Her hands balled into fists. I watched as her toes curled, waiting for them to relax.
I leaned forward to kiss her neck. I traced a tongue to her clavicle, kissing again as I made my way to her breast. I kissed and licked as the clothespin bobbed, providing the axis around which I traveled.
I took the underside of her breast lightly in my teeth and held it. Her breathing accelerated as my incisors gradually dug deeper. I increased the pressure until she writhed. I held it longer and then suddenly released her.
“Ahhh-unhh!” she moaned, twisting. The sharp pain of the bite competed with the sustained pinch of the clothespins.
I watched her face, my hands rubbing her belly. Her brow furrowed and then relaxed as she calmed her contortions, willing herself into composure.
She knew what to do. She knew what to anticipate.
My teeth sank into the soft underside of another breast.
My mouth’s tour of her body left the oval of my teeth’s imprint repeated across her torso. In some places, small bites nestled inside larger ones, creating pink flowers that would blossom into purple bouquets in the following hours. My garden was somewhat formal in its symmetry.
In time, my mouth arrived at the conclusion of it meandering, unhurried path. My destination was damp in expectation.
I leisurely lapped at Avah’s clit. She breathed out in relief that I had finally arrived.
I suckled and tongued, giving her head in different modes, trying on rhythms and patterns for this pussy new to my mouth, and so misused by other men.
I found sensations that resonated with Avah’s body, filing them away and moving to others. I wasn’t pursuing her elusive orgasm—not yet, anyway. This was more of a fact-finding mission to collect data preliminary to later use.
Two fingers curved into her.
Avah’s legs spread as I filled her cunt for the first time. Her back arched as now, for the first time, she felt a pressure her own fingers had been unable to produce—and no other lover had bothered to try.
My fingers pushed gently. Firmly. Pressing. Rhythmically. Screwing. Pulsing. I watched her face, rubbing her thighs and torso, learning.
I pulled out. She collapsed slightly, sighing.
I opened a nightstand drawer. “I’m going to fuck you now,” I informed her.
She opened her eyes. “Okay.” I smiled, kissing her cheek. We both knew, in that moment, that she would have refused me nothing, just as I was prepared to give her something she needed.
We both knew that we wanted that trust.
I watched as, for the first time, my cock vanished into her shaved folds. I thought of the uncounted men who had used Avah’s body, trading small folds of cash for this moment of feeling her tight teenage cunt close in on them.
All that effort, I thought, lowering my body to hers, and no one had bothered to take care of her. Stupid, really, that men pay for so little, when there is so much more to be had—if one learns to appreciate what is given.
I fucked her slowly, kissing her cheeks and mouth, nestling my face in her hair. I bit into her arm as she flinched, unable to move away from my mouth.
I sat back, pushing her thighs forward. I fucked harder. She squirmed and moaned.
“Is this hitting that same place as my fingers?” I asked.
She opened her eyes and nodded.
“Good,” I smiled. I pounded hard, fucking her with a measured ferocity.
She zoned out. I caressed her hair.
My phone rang. Avah opened her eyes.
“This is very rude of me,” I shrugged. “But I do need to take that.”
Avah nodded, panting.
I reached for the nightstand. “Hello? Yeah, how’s it going?” I pushed deep into Avah, then back lightly. “Good. Yeah, it’s going very well. I like her.” I smiled at Avah. She smiled back. I fucked her a little faster. “Yeah, I think she likes me too. So where are you? . . . Uh huh . . . No, no it’s cool. Come on over. The door is open.” I fucked slower. “Her? No, no worries. This one does what I tell her. See you soon.”
I returned the phone to its receiver.
“Friend of mine,” I said, pinning Avah’s legs back. I reached for the rope, lashing her calves to her wrists as we fucked.
I offered no further explanation of the phone call. She knew better than to ask.
I fucked her through different rhythms, finding the ones that worked. A few times, she seemed close to orgasm, but never made the leap.
I lowered myself to her.
“Okay, now, I want to try something,” I said, looking into her eyes. “Are you with me?”
She nodded.
“All right. Now, I’m going to fuck up into you, just like this.” I pushed in and up, back and forth, in a regular pattern. “Now, you push down onto me.” Her pussy clenched on my cock. “Good! You are so swollen and tight now. And that sense, that ‘pushing down’ is what your body has been doing when you are about to cum. I’m going to keep fucking you, just like this.” I pushed in and out, repeating an unwavering beat. “You push down and focus.” I kissed her. “I’m not stopping. I’m not cumming. We’ll take all the time we need.”
“Okay,” she said, smiling a little nervously.
“No pressure,” I said, kissing her lips. “Just try this.”
“Okay.”
I took her shoulders in my arms. Together, we chased her orgasm.
Soon, she panted and pushed and moaned. She fell limp.
“Ugh,” she complained. “No good.”
“You were close?” I said, slowing.
“So close,” she said. “What’s wrong with me?”
I slapped her. “Nothing is wrong with you.” I resumed our rhythm. “Again.”
Her eyes flashed as her cheek grew red. I felt her pussy clench on me.
“Good girl.” I smiled. “Let’s try again.”
We were pulsing in our motion. I loomed over her, dripping sweat from my brow. I held her throat in my hand as she gasped, flush and intent.
My front door opened.
Avah’s eyes widened.
“Ignore it,” I commanded. “Keep fucking.”
Avah nodded and closed her eyes.
My front door closed.
I spit on two fingers and circled Avah’s clit. She gasped. We were getting close to the combination. I could feel the tumblers falling into place.
Focus, girl, I thought.
“Harder . . .” she whispered.
“The fucking or the fingers?” I said forcibly.
“The fingers . . .”
I quickly untied a leg and arm. I brought her hand to her pussy.
“Rub your own God damned clit.” I barked. “I’m fucking.”
Avah’s back grew rigid. Her pussy was swollen and full after so much fucking. Her clit was twitching. In the next room sat someone she didn’t know, someone who heard every sound we made.
She gasped.
“Give it.” I ordered. “Give me what I want and I swear to God, I’ll beat the shit out of you.”
She sucked a breath. “Oh my God, oh my God . . .”
“That’s it,” I urged, pressing in, refusing to be expelled by the coming earthquake.
Avah convulsed. Her cunt pushed and pulled. Soon enough, she shuddered and cried out.
“Mother fuck, my God, oh my God!”
“Yeah, yeah!” I laughed. I fucked her even harder now.
Three years of sex with countless men, and finally, Avah got her orgasm.
We kissed.
I untied her and we relaxed in one another’s arms.
“Honey,” I panted. “You done good.”
Avah looked at me. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she laughed.
“You’re sweet,” I smiled. I kissed her forehead then turned to face the door. “Hey, Meg!”
“Yeah?” a voice called back.
“Come here. I’m going to beat up this girl. You want to watch?”
“Yeah!” she called back. “Just a sec.”
I turned to Avah. “You don’t mind if I cane you in front of my friend, do you?”
Avah laughed nervously. “I guess not . . . ”
“Good girl.” I squeezed her hand. “Just keeping doing what I say, and you’ll be fine.”
Meg joined us. I introduced Avah, and suggested Meg settle into a comfortable chair at the side of the bed.
I retrieved my cane.
“On your knees, all fours,” I commanded. Avah did as instructed, her face in the pillows.
“No, no,” I reprimanded. “Stupid girl.” I tapped the bed with my cane. “Look at Meg. See where she is sitting? Meg wants a good show. Face your ass to Meg.”
Avah looked up. She crabwalked into a more suitable position.
“Good.” I leaned next to Meg, sizing up her view. “Now, spread your knees, Avah. Meg wants to see more pussy.”
Avah complied.
“All set, Meg?” I asked.
“Oh yes, this is a great view,” she nodded.
“Any requests?”
“Shouldn’t she get a birthday spanking?” Meg suggested. “And count off each one?”
“Splendid idea,” I smiled. I kissed Meg. “And one to grow on.”
“Of course,” Meg nodded.
“Oh, God,” Avah whimpered.
“Now, now, none of that. Ready?”
Avah wriggled her hips. She drew a deep breath. “Ready.”
Avah cursed as she counted the stripes that would keep her standing for the next two weeks. She called me a monster when I delivered two blows for her seventeenth year, marking her deeply for the loss of her virginity.
She hated me as she waited anxiously for the twenty-first blow.
It came down hard and diagonal, bringing all the other blows to vivid, exquisite agony.
I put down the cane and took Avah in my arms.
We talked in low voices, kissing as she came around. In time she was laughing and trading jokes with Meg.
“I’m glad we met,” I said, petting her hair. “I hope you enjoyed your birthday?”
“Oh yeah, this was the best birthday ever!” she laughed.
“Good.” I kissed her lightly. “Now, get dressed and get the hell out of my apartment. I have company.”
“Oh!” Avah sat up. “Sure, of course . . .”
Meg and I chatted as Avah retrieved her clothes and returned to the bedroom. She began to put on her panties.
“Unh unh,” I said, holding out a hand. “Those are mine.”
“You’re taking my panties?” she asked.
“First date.” I said, nodding.
“He’s got quite a collection,” Meg agreed.
Avah handed over the panties. “That’s my nicest pair, too,” she winced. “Black lace and everything.”
“Of course they are your nicest,” I said, taking them to my nose. “It was a first date, after all.”
Avah shouted as the denim of her tight jeans touched the fresh welts on her ass. Meg cooed in sympathy.
I showed Avah to the door, kissing her goodbye.
“Did you have a good time?” she asked.
“Honey, we’re just getting started.” I smiled.
I locked the door behind her. I returned to the bedroom and flopped over my bed.
“She’s cute,” Meg observed.
“Oh, she’s a keeper all right,” I nodded. I reached over to touch Meg’s calf. “So, you want to fuck?”
Monday, April 09, 2007
Fleshbot and Travels
This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot takes the show on the road with sex on the go, as our sex bloggers get it on in cars or motel rooms, making the most of their vacations.
Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me waxing Meg as I did my part to crush her six-month abstinence.
Speaking of travels, I am just back from Spring Fire—the citified edition of Dark Odyssey, aka Sex Camp—where a few of us sex bloggers were among the presenters. I’ll tell you all about it eventually, but right now, I need to put something on these bruises and do something about this hangover.
I also need to prepare for tonight’s orgy. No rest for the wicked.
Thanks to everyone at Spring Fire who came up to shake my hand. And a special thanks to those of you who took the time to suck my dick. I knew my readers were hot. Who knew so many of you are such gifted cocksuckers?
Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me waxing Meg as I did my part to crush her six-month abstinence.
Speaking of travels, I am just back from Spring Fire—the citified edition of Dark Odyssey, aka Sex Camp—where a few of us sex bloggers were among the presenters. I’ll tell you all about it eventually, but right now, I need to put something on these bruises and do something about this hangover.
I also need to prepare for tonight’s orgy. No rest for the wicked.
Thanks to everyone at Spring Fire who came up to shake my hand. And a special thanks to those of you who took the time to suck my dick. I knew my readers were hot. Who knew so many of you are such gifted cocksuckers?
Friday, April 06, 2007
Torture
Rachel Kramer Bussel had a novel idea to promote the release of her two new collections of erotica about domination and submission. (She’s on Top deals with female domination of male submissives; He’s on Top deals with male domination of female submissives.) The clever editrix is taking her books on a virtual book tour across the blogosphere. Each day this month, a different sex blogger will feature a tale of domination and/or submission.
Today, it’s my turn.
When my date was assigned, I noticed a happy convergence with two other events worth celebrating. One year ago this weekend, Avah entered her twenties. She entered my life on the same day.
Happy anniversary and happy birthday, Avah mine.
The door clicked shut.
Avah looked up. She grumbled and pulled her down comforter tight. She was dreaming, she was dreaming . . . she opened her eyes suddenly and looked at the clock. It was just after nine.
She sat up and reached for her glasses. Blinking the world into focus, she picked up her laptop and clicked it on.
She read over the instant messages from the night before.
The door clicked open. Avah looked up.
“Are you up?” a voice whispered.
“Yeah, I’m up,” Avah answered.
The door pushed open. “Surprise!” Avah’s roommate rushed in, holding a bouquet of mylar balloons. “Surprise, surprise! Happy birthday, happy birthday!”
Avah clapped. “Oh my God, you are too sweet!”
Tanya sat on Avah’s bed, laughing. “It’s a big birthday! You’re twenty! You’re not a teenager any more.” Tanya pulled the balloons overhead. “I was hoping to get these back before you woke up. They don’t have much of a selection here, but at least there was one that said ‘happy birthday.’ Oh, and this cute one with the bear.”
Avah giggled. “It’s really too sweet. You are just too much.”
Tanya handed over the balloons with an exaggerated flourish. Avah put down her laptop and took the bundle of ribbons.
A screen on the laptop was open.
Tomorrow you are mine, finally.
At ten thirty, Avah’s phone rang. She looked at the receiver and smiled.
“Hi, Mom!”
“Good morning, baby. I hope I didn’t wake you up?”
“Mom, I’ve been up for over an hour.” Avah pulled on the ribbon of a balloon, making the bear dance.
“Oh, good. I know you like to sleep in on the weekends, so . . . well, anyway, happy birthday, baby! I can’t believe how big you are!”
Avah laughed. “Thanks, Mom. So twenty years ago, that was a big day for you, huh?”
“Oh, I’ll say it was!” her mother laughed. “Did I ever tell you how long it took us to get to the hospital that day? God, the traffic was torture.”
“Only every year, Mom,” Avah smiled.
A little before noon, Avah put on her jacket and walked to the campus parking lot. She unlocked her car door, turned the ignition, and popped in a CD. For the first time, she drove into the city alone.
The traffic at the tunnel was torture.
She parked near the park where she played lacrosse most weekends. She walked to an unfamiliar apartment building. At the entrance, she reached into her pink bag and pulled out a slip of paper. She lifted the receiver on an intercom, looked at her paper, and dialed a code.
A man’s voice answered.
“Good girl. Come in, take the elevator, knock on the door.”
The intercom went dead.
The door buzzed. Avah walked into the building lobby.
She took the elevator. She arrived at the door. She looked down at her slip of paper, then up at the door. She drew a breath, straightened her hair, and knocked.
I opened the door, smiling.
“I can’t believe we finally meet,” I said. “It’s been weeks of torture. Come in, come in.”
Avah stepped into my apartment. I closed the door and stood close in front of her. I kissed her cheek, and then her lips.
I kissed her deeply.
“Avah,” I whispered. “Take off your coat.”
Avah stooped to put down her bag. She removed her coat and handed it to me. “Thank you,” I said. I dropped the coat on the floor.
“Avah,” I whispered. “Take off your clothes.”
Avah began to unbutton her shirt. She looked down as she worked the buttons, her cheeks flushing red.
I stood back, watching.
Her hands were steady as she handed me the shirt. “Thank you,” I said. I dropped the shirt on the floor.
She looked up at me. I kept my eyes on hers, waiting. She had very pretty eyes, I noted.
Avah looked down, and began to unfasten her jeans. Her blush deepened as she unzipped. She wriggled her hips as she worked the tight jeans down her thighs.
She stepped from one leg, and then the other. She handed her jeans to me. “Thank you,” I said. I dropped the jeans to the floor.
Avah stood before me, stripped to her underwear. Her pale flesh looked vulnerable and exposed, still marked by the pink striations from the folds in her clothes. I stepped forward, lightly touching her thighs. They were still cold from the outdoors.
“Close your eyes,” I whispered. “Let me look at you.”
Lids lowered over Avah’s pretty eyes.
“Hands to your side, please.”
Avah’s arms dropped to her hips. I gripped her wrists in place, reassuring her that she was doing very well. I kissed her cheek, and released her wrists.
I stood back a few steps. I would take my time to admire the body Avah had delivered to me. She was pale, but her paleness differed from my own. My pale is blue and paper-thin; you can see right through to the veins and bones inside. Avah’s pale was pink and rosy, her flesh soft and full of life; even now, covered in goosebumps, her body exuded warmth and fecundity.
I stepped forward, touching the cheek of a child’s face. My hand dropped to touch the belly of a woman’s body.
I slowly walked around her body. I reached around her back to her belly, moving up to cup her small breasts. As I gripped her breasts, my erection pressed against my jeans.
I unfastened her bra, allowing it to fall to the floor.
Avah twitched slightly.
I returned to view the front of her body. Her breasts were such morsels, such a contrast to her full hips and ass.
I took her panties in hand and pulled them down. Avah flinched, but held her position.
I crossed the room and sat. I looked to her, recording her in my mind’s eye.
I have an excellent visual memory. I would retain this moment for later recall.
For now, I would take the time to savor the reality I would later revisit.
In my time, I called her name. “Avah. Drop to your knees.”
Avah lowered herself hesitantly, using her hand to guide her blind eyes. Her knees felt the cold of an unfamiliar wooden floor.
I stood. “Spread your legs.”
Avah spread her knees.
“Hands on the floor, palm down.”
Avah leaned forward, splaying her hands on the floor.
“No,” I corrected. “Head up.”
Avah arched her back, raising her head.
I took her chin in my hand. “Good,” I commended, my voice low. “Now, keep your eyes closed. I’m giving you my cock. Your introduction to this cock will not be visual. First, you will feel it in you . . .” I unzipped my jeans. “ . . . smelling it, tasting it . . .” I took her jaw in my hands and squeezed, forcing her mouth open. “ . . . learning it.”
I pushed my cock slowly into her mouth. Slowly, fraction by fraction, I slid myself beyond her lips, over her tongue, into her throat.
Avah gagged, but only slightly.
I pulled back and slapped her face. “No gagging.”
Avah furrowed her brow. She breathed deeply and exhaled.
“Good.” I began to ease back into her, beyond her lips, over her tongue, into her throat.
I held myself in her.
“Good, good . . .” I commended, petting her hair.
I kept myself in her, petting her. She couldn’t breath, yet she didn’t complain.
I can use her, I thought.
I pulled back slightly, clearing her throat, but keeping myself deep in her mouth. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled. She exhaled rapidly, then drew another breath.
Even as she struggled for oxygen, her tongue never ceased to swivel under my cock.
Good. I like perseverance.
I pulled out and tucked my cock back into my jeans. I zipped up.
I leaned forward. “Avah,” I whispered into her ear. “You are doing very well.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. I realized that I had barely registered her voice in our first moments together.
Good. I like quiet moments.
I put my fingers in her mouth. Her lips closed tight on my knuckles.
“All fours,” I commanded. “Eyes closed. Follow me.”
I walked backwards, using Avah's jaw as a handle as I guided her to my bedroom.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
In Which Lily Attends an Orgy!
Here's Lily making her first foray to my orgy.
What do you wear to an orgy? When I inquired, Jefferson had gone right for the punch line I’d fed him: “Wear something that will look good on my floor.” Hmm.
I assumed that clothes are superfluous at these affairs, but I wasn’t planning on getting naked. At least not very. As I had told Jefferson, and myself, I was going as an observer only. Or, less politely, and more lasciviously, a voyeur.
It just seemed like the logical next step in my brave new world of Living Somewhat Dangerously. I had to go.
Accordingly, I turned up at Jefferson’s one Tuesday night, fashionably late at 8:30.
Outside his door, I could hear voices. Talking, not grunting. “Hi!” Jefferson greeted me. I sloped inside, feeling awkward in my maternal quilted coat and galoshes. I caught a glimpse of his guests: they were all women!
What kind of orgy was this? I had been worried that I’d be the only woman, but instead it was a veritable girl-fest! There were three girls in the living room, all younger than me, and cute. Jefferson introduced me to Avah, and an elegant brunette, and did not introduce me to a remarkably pretty girl whose name, I later learned, was Cody. She had long, straight black hair—dyed I thought—and had a kind of fragile, Suicide Girl quality. I’d kind of like to look like that.
(more . . . )
What do you wear to an orgy? When I inquired, Jefferson had gone right for the punch line I’d fed him: “Wear something that will look good on my floor.” Hmm.
I assumed that clothes are superfluous at these affairs, but I wasn’t planning on getting naked. At least not very. As I had told Jefferson, and myself, I was going as an observer only. Or, less politely, and more lasciviously, a voyeur.
It just seemed like the logical next step in my brave new world of Living Somewhat Dangerously. I had to go.
Accordingly, I turned up at Jefferson’s one Tuesday night, fashionably late at 8:30.
Outside his door, I could hear voices. Talking, not grunting. “Hi!” Jefferson greeted me. I sloped inside, feeling awkward in my maternal quilted coat and galoshes. I caught a glimpse of his guests: they were all women!
What kind of orgy was this? I had been worried that I’d be the only woman, but instead it was a veritable girl-fest! There were three girls in the living room, all younger than me, and cute. Jefferson introduced me to Avah, and an elegant brunette, and did not introduce me to a remarkably pretty girl whose name, I later learned, was Cody. She had long, straight black hair—dyed I thought—and had a kind of fragile, Suicide Girl quality. I’d kind of like to look like that.
(more . . . )
Tess's Bitch
Tess had assumed it would be a platonic date.
A reader had sent a note saying that she enjoyed Tess’s blog, especially as she, too, was a novice submissive bisexual in an open relationship. After some correspondence, they decided to meet for dinner.
Tess was early. She passed the time by buying restraints at Babeland.
Gina met Tess outside the restaurant. Tess discovered that her correspondent was rather beautiful.
Dinner was put on hold when Tess and Gina allowed themselves to be picked up at a bar by a "pot-bellied freak."
He led the two women back to his apartment, where he promptly set the mood by doing a few lines of coke. The women passed on his offer to share.
As the pot-bellied freak struggled in vain to get hard—for cocaine and erections do not mix—the two attractive women he was failing to fuck busied themselves by playing with one another’s breasts. The pot-bellied freak watched, flopping his useless cock as he yammered about his “really hot girlfriend.”
Tess grew bored of the limp-dicked cokehead pot-bellied freak. She buttoned her blouse and took her new girlfriend to dinner.
Over a meal at an Ethiopian restaurant, their conversation naturally turned to submission and blogs.
“And Jefferson’s blog,” Tess said, picking up spicy potatoes with folded bread. “You have to read that.” She took a bite, and then added. “He’d love you. He would eat you up.”
“Oh, really?” Gina said. She took a sip of water. “Huh.”
Shortly afterwards, I received an email.
Tess told me to email you, so I am, because of course I do what she tells me to do. ;-)
Gina said she enjoyed reading my blog, especially the parts about parenting, as she had two young children of her own. She concluded:
I would love to meet you sometime. And Tess seems to think you'll like me. ;-) So, there is that LOL.
Gina
We traded notes. She had a sense of humor. It seemed Tess had made a good call.
We traded photographs. She had long red hair. It seemed Tess had made a very good call.
I contacted Tess to ask what she thought of her new friend. “Jefferson, don’t you get enough play without stealing my bitches?” she teased. “Actually, you’ll like Gina. She’s really sweet. And God, her skin—so pale and translucent, so milky!”
I thanked Tess and made a date with Gina. She said she could meet for a few hours, as her husband would watch the kids.
“Oh, you’re married?” I asked.
“No. Well, yes. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when we meet.”
I agreed. After all, I’m accustomed to long stories.
A reader had sent a note saying that she enjoyed Tess’s blog, especially as she, too, was a novice submissive bisexual in an open relationship. After some correspondence, they decided to meet for dinner.
Tess was early. She passed the time by buying restraints at Babeland.
Gina met Tess outside the restaurant. Tess discovered that her correspondent was rather beautiful.
Dinner was put on hold when Tess and Gina allowed themselves to be picked up at a bar by a "pot-bellied freak."
He led the two women back to his apartment, where he promptly set the mood by doing a few lines of coke. The women passed on his offer to share.
As the pot-bellied freak struggled in vain to get hard—for cocaine and erections do not mix—the two attractive women he was failing to fuck busied themselves by playing with one another’s breasts. The pot-bellied freak watched, flopping his useless cock as he yammered about his “really hot girlfriend.”
Tess grew bored of the limp-dicked cokehead pot-bellied freak. She buttoned her blouse and took her new girlfriend to dinner.
Over a meal at an Ethiopian restaurant, their conversation naturally turned to submission and blogs.
“And Jefferson’s blog,” Tess said, picking up spicy potatoes with folded bread. “You have to read that.” She took a bite, and then added. “He’d love you. He would eat you up.”
“Oh, really?” Gina said. She took a sip of water. “Huh.”
Shortly afterwards, I received an email.
Tess told me to email you, so I am, because of course I do what she tells me to do. ;-)
Gina said she enjoyed reading my blog, especially the parts about parenting, as she had two young children of her own. She concluded:
I would love to meet you sometime. And Tess seems to think you'll like me. ;-) So, there is that LOL.
Gina
We traded notes. She had a sense of humor. It seemed Tess had made a good call.
We traded photographs. She had long red hair. It seemed Tess had made a very good call.
I contacted Tess to ask what she thought of her new friend. “Jefferson, don’t you get enough play without stealing my bitches?” she teased. “Actually, you’ll like Gina. She’s really sweet. And God, her skin—so pale and translucent, so milky!”
I thanked Tess and made a date with Gina. She said she could meet for a few hours, as her husband would watch the kids.
“Oh, you’re married?” I asked.
“No. Well, yes. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when we meet.”
I agreed. After all, I’m accustomed to long stories.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Five Questions
My sweetheart Viviane is running a series of interviews with sex bloggers, asking each of us the same five questions. You can read my responses at Viviane’s Sex Carnival today—or heck, you can just read them here.
When did you start blogging?
My blog began in November 2004 with an email to my friend Audacia Ray. I was new to dating after the end of my marriage, and she provided a sympathetic ear as I sorted out my return to sex after fifteen years of heterosexual monogamy that was all but abstinent.
When I wrote to tell Audacia about one particularly exhilarating date, she replied that I needed to post these stories in a blog. I didn’t know about blogs, as I only read hers. She came to my place and we drank bourbon as she helped me to launch One Life, Take Two. My email to her became my first post.
What do you like about blogging?
Initially, I thought that my blog would provide an outlet for writing about my experiences while allowing me to try my hand at erotica, a new genre for me as a writer. I assumed my readership would be small and anonymous, as I intended to share my blog with few people I knew.
In a short time, I began to receive correspondence from readers. I found that many related to my experiences with divorce, dating, parenting and/or bisexuality. I also began to understand that many people were getting off on my life and my writing.
With that, my interest in blogging expanded. I was satisfied that it offered an easy opportunity to publish. I was newly excited that this writing provided me not only with readers, but also with community.
Plus, it gets me laid like crazy. Seriously, this shit is bananas.
Is blogging a major or minor way of connecting to other people for you?
One Life, Take Two has provided me with many friends, both online and offline. It has also become a factor in my sexuality, as I have sex with my readers. The blog has opened avenues for experiences that were new to me, particularly within BDSM.
Now, most people who are involved in my sex life read my blog. Many met me through it. This allows a degree of transparency that would otherwise have been inconceivable, feeding my strong fetish for honesty.
Perhaps most significantly, my blog has introduced me to people I have come to love.
Where's your blog? Do you use a free hosted service (Blogger, Wordpress, Livejournal, AOL, Google Pages, etc.) or do you have your own domain and web server?
My blog is at Blogger, which has served me well.
What do you do to promote your blog or your writing (using tags in your post, blog roll, del.icio.us, Digg, Pingoat)?
Over time, my blog has become part of an informal network of interconnected sex blogs. As many of my friends and lovers are also bloggers, I often find myself written about elsewhere. Of course, we exchange links.
My esteemed webmistress Viviane advises me in the use of tags, feeds, pings and other devices to drive traffic my way. Many readers first discover me through the Sex Blog Roundup I compile each weekend for Fleshbot.
When did you start blogging?
My blog began in November 2004 with an email to my friend Audacia Ray. I was new to dating after the end of my marriage, and she provided a sympathetic ear as I sorted out my return to sex after fifteen years of heterosexual monogamy that was all but abstinent.
When I wrote to tell Audacia about one particularly exhilarating date, she replied that I needed to post these stories in a blog. I didn’t know about blogs, as I only read hers. She came to my place and we drank bourbon as she helped me to launch One Life, Take Two. My email to her became my first post.
What do you like about blogging?
Initially, I thought that my blog would provide an outlet for writing about my experiences while allowing me to try my hand at erotica, a new genre for me as a writer. I assumed my readership would be small and anonymous, as I intended to share my blog with few people I knew.
In a short time, I began to receive correspondence from readers. I found that many related to my experiences with divorce, dating, parenting and/or bisexuality. I also began to understand that many people were getting off on my life and my writing.
With that, my interest in blogging expanded. I was satisfied that it offered an easy opportunity to publish. I was newly excited that this writing provided me not only with readers, but also with community.
Plus, it gets me laid like crazy. Seriously, this shit is bananas.
Is blogging a major or minor way of connecting to other people for you?
One Life, Take Two has provided me with many friends, both online and offline. It has also become a factor in my sexuality, as I have sex with my readers. The blog has opened avenues for experiences that were new to me, particularly within BDSM.
Now, most people who are involved in my sex life read my blog. Many met me through it. This allows a degree of transparency that would otherwise have been inconceivable, feeding my strong fetish for honesty.
Perhaps most significantly, my blog has introduced me to people I have come to love.
Where's your blog? Do you use a free hosted service (Blogger, Wordpress, Livejournal, AOL, Google Pages, etc.) or do you have your own domain and web server?
My blog is at Blogger, which has served me well.
What do you do to promote your blog or your writing (using tags in your post, blog roll, del.icio.us, Digg, Pingoat)?
Over time, my blog has become part of an informal network of interconnected sex blogs. As many of my friends and lovers are also bloggers, I often find myself written about elsewhere. Of course, we exchange links.
My esteemed webmistress Viviane advises me in the use of tags, feeds, pings and other devices to drive traffic my way. Many readers first discover me through the Sex Blog Roundup I compile each weekend for Fleshbot.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Metacognition
“I’m not sure where we are speaking,” Simone said, looking around the conference room. “I mean, the chairs are arranged here, so maybe we’re talking before the movie?”
“They wouldn’t have you speak beforehand, would they?” I asked. “How would the Q&A work?”
“The screening is in the theater,” Dacia said. “You’re probably talking afterwards. The chairs are just screwy here because they are. New School fucks up.”
Simone laughed.
“I’m sorry, excuse me,” Jamye said, taking Simone’s elbow. “I just need to introduce you to someone. Sorry guys!”
“It’s cool,” Dacia said. Jamye pulled Simone to a cluster of people. Dacia turned to me. “She’s super cute.”
“Simone? Or Jamye?”
“Well, both, but I was referring to Simone.”
“I have an enduring crush on Jamye Waxman,” I nodded. “She pushes all my ‘Rhoda’ buttons. I want to have hot Mary-loves-Rhoda lesbian sex with her on my sofa bed. But yeah, your star is adorable. And she’s so nice.”
“Yeah, she’s nice,” Dacia said. “I can’t wait to watch her fuck again.”
Dacia and I were at a reception preceding the premiere of Simone Valentino’s new porn flick, Afrodite Superstar. The executive producer was Candida Royalle, a friend of ours who was launching a new line of African-American films aimed at women and couples.
We like to support Candida’s work any time, but we were particularly eager to attend this function, as Simone is also the star of Dacia’s new release, The Bi Apple.
As we talked, a man announced that everyone should adjourn to the theatre for the screening. Dacia walked ahead with Jamye and Simone. I followed, chatting with Veronica Vera.
Dacia and I caught up in the theatre and found two seats near the middle.
Dacia turned to me. “I was meaning to ask you—how was the last party? Were you hypertexting?”
“Was I what?” I said, raising my eyebrows.
“Showing my movie at your orgy. There must’ve been some metacognition.”
There sure was.
The Bi Apple concerns a sex researcher, played by Simone Valentino, whose work brings her to an apartment in New York City where people meet for orgies and bi sex. As she watches sex and scribbles observations in her notebook, Simone finds herself drawn into the activities—masturbating as two men kiss, dreaming of sex with a woman, and finally, doing the deed with two bi fellows.
Anyone who knows Dacia—personally or through her writing—would recognize her in the character of Simone’s sex researcher. And anyone who knows me—personally or through my writing—would draw parallels to Dacia’s experiences at my bisexual orgies.
So with the film’s release, I thought: how better to celebrate art’s imitation of life than to bring the onscreen sex back home to roost? I decided to show The Bi Apple at my next orgy.
It was a big party, with a number of novices in the mix. My friend Lily was attending her second orgy at my place. Her ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend Wendy was also there. When Wendy broke up with a boyfriend (not her former ex, now Lily’s new ex, but a newer ex), Lily had suggested that Wendy contact me for breakup sex therapy. Wendy and I had some very fine sex as a result, and now she was at my party.
Avah was there, chatting with her new buddy Lolita, who had brought Boymeat and his girlfriend. A couple that Dacia had introduced to the party was there, chatting with another couple, as well as a third couple I like to fuck. Bugs dropped in, as did her friend Callie, who brought homemade mint brownies.
With so many women, I had called in lots of men. Our mainstays Jake, Thomas, John and Mmmark were there, as well as two recent additions: Jed, a straight boy who loves strap-ons and sucking dick, and Fred, a bodybuilder and porn actor who had never been to an orgy—off camera, that is. Funny thing was, he didn’t have that much group experience outside of his porn appearances. The first time we met, he said his biggest fantasy was to have a girl blow him as she fucked a man.
“Did you ever do that?” he asked.
I took his dick from my mouth. “Now and then,” I shrugged.
I had also invited a crossover from my male orgy, a gay man who hadn’t been with a woman in years but admitted to being “bi curious.” He’s handsome and sensuous, which I like, but above all, I adore that he laughs when I describe his thick hair as a “Franz Kafka ‘fro.”
It began as a chatty party. You know how it is with girls at orgies—they love to trade recipes and talk smut.
After a while, I spoke up.
“Everyone, can I have your attention please? Hello?”
“Shhh,” Jed said. “Jefferson’s got something to say.”
“Thanks, Jed.” I looked around. “Well, friends, tonight we have a special treat. Our friend Dacia has created her first porn film, and we have it. This is not her debut as a porn actor—that was another film. This is her debut as a director.”
Thomas looked around. “Hey, where is Dacia? Is she coming?”
“Alas, no,” I replied. “Dacia doesn’t do our orgies so much these days. I may have to retire her jersey eventually. But, as many of you know, her film is partly inspired by her experiences at our shindig . . . and a number of us saw her get naked for the party celebrating the release of The Bi Apple . . .”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Boymeat interrupted. “We have your blue balloon.”
Avah laughed. “You do?”
“Yeah,” his girlfriend nodded. “Some Hispanic kids gave it to us in the subway that night. So now it’s at our apartment.”
“My goodness,” I grinned. “You have to chronicle its further adventures.”
“Well, I think its high times have passed,” Boymeat said. “It’s retired now.”
“Do give it our love,” I smiled. “Now, anyway, some of you old timers will recall that we used to play porn at the orgies.”
“Yeah, what happened to the porn?” Thomas asked. He looked at Jake. “I loved the porn.”
“Well, everyone loved the porn,” I said. “And that was the problem. I kept finding groups of naked people sitting around watching the screens.”
“Tsk. You should be making your own porn,” Lolita admonished.
“My sentiments exactly,” I said. “So tonight, I am showing porn. But I warn you, if it kills the sex, I’m turning it off. In fact, to facilitate our usual level of activity, I suggest we watch it nude.”
Lolita pulled off her t-shirt. “Let’s go,” she smiled.
I pulled off my shirt. “Friends? To the bedroom.”
I hit “play” as everyone undressed.
A bass note hit as Simone cruised the city streets.
“God, I love porn music!” Wendy cried.
“You know, Dacia got her brother to compose the music,” I said.
“That’s fucking hot,” Avah said.
“The family that porns together . . .” Callie added.
“Do you mind if I stay to . . . watch?” Simone asked a couple as they fucked.
“Do you mind if I stay to . . . fuck?” I asked Avah. I picked up a condom as she spread her legs and grinned.
“Tucker, you need to concentrate,” Trixie whined. “Sex can be so much more intense if your chakras are aligned.”
“Get on the bed,” Jake ordered Callie.
“On my back or stomach?” Callie asked.
“Who the fuck cares?” Jake shrugged.
“I’m just going to shower,” Tucker said as he passed a nude man shaving at a sink.
“Cool,” the man said.
“You,” I pointed to my gay friend. “C’mere.”
He crossed the room and stood beside me. I pulled out of Avah.
“This is my friend, Colin,” I said to her, tearing off my condom. “He’s going to fuck you now.”
“Hey, Colin,” Avah smiled.
“It was just so . . . unprofessional,” Simone said quietly. “I shouldn’t have given in.”
“Hey, Callie,” I whispered, fucking her.
“Yeah?” she whispered.
“Check out the cute muscle boy.”
“Yeah, he’s hot.”
I kissed her. “Want to trade his cock?”
“Hmmm,” she nodded.
I stood, keeping my dick in Callie. “Hey Fred, c’mere.”
Fred walked over from side of the room, where he had been leaning against a wall. “Me?”
“Yeah,” I smiled. I took his cock in my hand. “Mind if we blow you a bit?”
“Uh . . . no,” he said, putting his hands on his waist.
“Awesome.” I took his cock in my mouth and fucked Callie with renewed vigor.
After a bit, I passed his cock to her mouth.
He caught my eye. “Fuck, bro.”
I winked as I moved in and out of Callie. “One fantasy, down.”
“Hmmmm,” Simone sighed. “I’d really like to get my cock in that ass.”
“I have some lube over here,” Josh offered. “And a harness for you.”
“Hey, where’s Josh?” Avah asked.
“Yeah, wasn’t he supposed to be here tonight?” Callie asked.
“He was,” I answered. “Along with his wife, whom I’ve never fucked . . . uh, met. I guess they are not coming tonight.”
“Oh shit, I’m coming,” Josh said.
“Come on me,” Simone moaned.
“Oh, God,” Wendy sighed.
“Unh, take it,” I whispered.
Wendy trembled. Her body shook under me. “God . . . unh, God damn it . . .”
“Take it . . . ” I said.
“Unh, ooh . . .” Wendy’s body went still as she stopped breathing. For a moment, she was absent. “Unh, oh shit . . . fuck!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I laughed into her mouth.
“God damn it, unh!”
“Go, go,” I said, pulling her hair.
“Fuck me!”
“I am, I am.”
I felt Wendy splashing on my cock. She bucked and twisted, and then went limp under me.
She looked up at me. “Fuck, man.”
“No shit,” I smiled.
“While you were having your fun,” Thomas said, “The porn ended.”
I looked back at the blue screen on my television.
“Yeah,” I kissed Wendy. “The porn ended.”
Dacia elbowed me. “That’s Mister Marcus.”
I looked at the screen. The denouement of Afrodite Superstar played out. “That’s one fine wall of man.”
She nodded. “No shit. I met him at AVN. He was so mellow. ‘Hey, how’s it going.’ I should’ve fucked him.”
“You’ve thought of this?” Simone asked.
“Yeah, I’ve thought of this so much . . .” Mister Marcus said, his voice low and sexed. He reached for a condom.
“Yeah,” I nodded, low and Barry White. “Magnum.”
Dacia laughed. “Sweet.”
“They wouldn’t have you speak beforehand, would they?” I asked. “How would the Q&A work?”
“The screening is in the theater,” Dacia said. “You’re probably talking afterwards. The chairs are just screwy here because they are. New School fucks up.”
Simone laughed.
“I’m sorry, excuse me,” Jamye said, taking Simone’s elbow. “I just need to introduce you to someone. Sorry guys!”
“It’s cool,” Dacia said. Jamye pulled Simone to a cluster of people. Dacia turned to me. “She’s super cute.”
“Simone? Or Jamye?”
“Well, both, but I was referring to Simone.”
“I have an enduring crush on Jamye Waxman,” I nodded. “She pushes all my ‘Rhoda’ buttons. I want to have hot Mary-loves-Rhoda lesbian sex with her on my sofa bed. But yeah, your star is adorable. And she’s so nice.”
“Yeah, she’s nice,” Dacia said. “I can’t wait to watch her fuck again.”
Dacia and I were at a reception preceding the premiere of Simone Valentino’s new porn flick, Afrodite Superstar. The executive producer was Candida Royalle, a friend of ours who was launching a new line of African-American films aimed at women and couples.
We like to support Candida’s work any time, but we were particularly eager to attend this function, as Simone is also the star of Dacia’s new release, The Bi Apple.
As we talked, a man announced that everyone should adjourn to the theatre for the screening. Dacia walked ahead with Jamye and Simone. I followed, chatting with Veronica Vera.
Dacia and I caught up in the theatre and found two seats near the middle.
Dacia turned to me. “I was meaning to ask you—how was the last party? Were you hypertexting?”
“Was I what?” I said, raising my eyebrows.
“Showing my movie at your orgy. There must’ve been some metacognition.”
There sure was.
The Bi Apple concerns a sex researcher, played by Simone Valentino, whose work brings her to an apartment in New York City where people meet for orgies and bi sex. As she watches sex and scribbles observations in her notebook, Simone finds herself drawn into the activities—masturbating as two men kiss, dreaming of sex with a woman, and finally, doing the deed with two bi fellows.
Anyone who knows Dacia—personally or through her writing—would recognize her in the character of Simone’s sex researcher. And anyone who knows me—personally or through my writing—would draw parallels to Dacia’s experiences at my bisexual orgies.
So with the film’s release, I thought: how better to celebrate art’s imitation of life than to bring the onscreen sex back home to roost? I decided to show The Bi Apple at my next orgy.
It was a big party, with a number of novices in the mix. My friend Lily was attending her second orgy at my place. Her ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend Wendy was also there. When Wendy broke up with a boyfriend (not her former ex, now Lily’s new ex, but a newer ex), Lily had suggested that Wendy contact me for breakup sex therapy. Wendy and I had some very fine sex as a result, and now she was at my party.
Avah was there, chatting with her new buddy Lolita, who had brought Boymeat and his girlfriend. A couple that Dacia had introduced to the party was there, chatting with another couple, as well as a third couple I like to fuck. Bugs dropped in, as did her friend Callie, who brought homemade mint brownies.
With so many women, I had called in lots of men. Our mainstays Jake, Thomas, John and Mmmark were there, as well as two recent additions: Jed, a straight boy who loves strap-ons and sucking dick, and Fred, a bodybuilder and porn actor who had never been to an orgy—off camera, that is. Funny thing was, he didn’t have that much group experience outside of his porn appearances. The first time we met, he said his biggest fantasy was to have a girl blow him as she fucked a man.
“Did you ever do that?” he asked.
I took his dick from my mouth. “Now and then,” I shrugged.
I had also invited a crossover from my male orgy, a gay man who hadn’t been with a woman in years but admitted to being “bi curious.” He’s handsome and sensuous, which I like, but above all, I adore that he laughs when I describe his thick hair as a “Franz Kafka ‘fro.”
It began as a chatty party. You know how it is with girls at orgies—they love to trade recipes and talk smut.
After a while, I spoke up.
“Everyone, can I have your attention please? Hello?”
“Shhh,” Jed said. “Jefferson’s got something to say.”
“Thanks, Jed.” I looked around. “Well, friends, tonight we have a special treat. Our friend Dacia has created her first porn film, and we have it. This is not her debut as a porn actor—that was another film. This is her debut as a director.”
Thomas looked around. “Hey, where is Dacia? Is she coming?”
“Alas, no,” I replied. “Dacia doesn’t do our orgies so much these days. I may have to retire her jersey eventually. But, as many of you know, her film is partly inspired by her experiences at our shindig . . . and a number of us saw her get naked for the party celebrating the release of The Bi Apple . . .”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Boymeat interrupted. “We have your blue balloon.”
Avah laughed. “You do?”
“Yeah,” his girlfriend nodded. “Some Hispanic kids gave it to us in the subway that night. So now it’s at our apartment.”
“My goodness,” I grinned. “You have to chronicle its further adventures.”
“Well, I think its high times have passed,” Boymeat said. “It’s retired now.”
“Do give it our love,” I smiled. “Now, anyway, some of you old timers will recall that we used to play porn at the orgies.”
“Yeah, what happened to the porn?” Thomas asked. He looked at Jake. “I loved the porn.”
“Well, everyone loved the porn,” I said. “And that was the problem. I kept finding groups of naked people sitting around watching the screens.”
“Tsk. You should be making your own porn,” Lolita admonished.
“My sentiments exactly,” I said. “So tonight, I am showing porn. But I warn you, if it kills the sex, I’m turning it off. In fact, to facilitate our usual level of activity, I suggest we watch it nude.”
Lolita pulled off her t-shirt. “Let’s go,” she smiled.
I pulled off my shirt. “Friends? To the bedroom.”
I hit “play” as everyone undressed.
A bass note hit as Simone cruised the city streets.
“God, I love porn music!” Wendy cried.
“You know, Dacia got her brother to compose the music,” I said.
“That’s fucking hot,” Avah said.
“The family that porns together . . .” Callie added.
“Do you mind if I stay to . . . watch?” Simone asked a couple as they fucked.
“Do you mind if I stay to . . . fuck?” I asked Avah. I picked up a condom as she spread her legs and grinned.
“Tucker, you need to concentrate,” Trixie whined. “Sex can be so much more intense if your chakras are aligned.”
“Get on the bed,” Jake ordered Callie.
“On my back or stomach?” Callie asked.
“Who the fuck cares?” Jake shrugged.
“I’m just going to shower,” Tucker said as he passed a nude man shaving at a sink.
“Cool,” the man said.
“You,” I pointed to my gay friend. “C’mere.”
He crossed the room and stood beside me. I pulled out of Avah.
“This is my friend, Colin,” I said to her, tearing off my condom. “He’s going to fuck you now.”
“Hey, Colin,” Avah smiled.
“It was just so . . . unprofessional,” Simone said quietly. “I shouldn’t have given in.”
“Hey, Callie,” I whispered, fucking her.
“Yeah?” she whispered.
“Check out the cute muscle boy.”
“Yeah, he’s hot.”
I kissed her. “Want to trade his cock?”
“Hmmm,” she nodded.
I stood, keeping my dick in Callie. “Hey Fred, c’mere.”
Fred walked over from side of the room, where he had been leaning against a wall. “Me?”
“Yeah,” I smiled. I took his cock in my hand. “Mind if we blow you a bit?”
“Uh . . . no,” he said, putting his hands on his waist.
“Awesome.” I took his cock in my mouth and fucked Callie with renewed vigor.
After a bit, I passed his cock to her mouth.
He caught my eye. “Fuck, bro.”
I winked as I moved in and out of Callie. “One fantasy, down.”
“Hmmmm,” Simone sighed. “I’d really like to get my cock in that ass.”
“I have some lube over here,” Josh offered. “And a harness for you.”
“Hey, where’s Josh?” Avah asked.
“Yeah, wasn’t he supposed to be here tonight?” Callie asked.
“He was,” I answered. “Along with his wife, whom I’ve never fucked . . . uh, met. I guess they are not coming tonight.”
“Oh shit, I’m coming,” Josh said.
“Come on me,” Simone moaned.
“Oh, God,” Wendy sighed.
“Unh, take it,” I whispered.
Wendy trembled. Her body shook under me. “God . . . unh, God damn it . . .”
“Take it . . . ” I said.
“Unh, ooh . . .” Wendy’s body went still as she stopped breathing. For a moment, she was absent. “Unh, oh shit . . . fuck!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I laughed into her mouth.
“God damn it, unh!”
“Go, go,” I said, pulling her hair.
“Fuck me!”
“I am, I am.”
I felt Wendy splashing on my cock. She bucked and twisted, and then went limp under me.
She looked up at me. “Fuck, man.”
“No shit,” I smiled.
“While you were having your fun,” Thomas said, “The porn ended.”
I looked back at the blue screen on my television.
“Yeah,” I kissed Wendy. “The porn ended.”
Dacia elbowed me. “That’s Mister Marcus.”
I looked at the screen. The denouement of Afrodite Superstar played out. “That’s one fine wall of man.”
She nodded. “No shit. I met him at AVN. He was so mellow. ‘Hey, how’s it going.’ I should’ve fucked him.”
“You’ve thought of this?” Simone asked.
“Yeah, I’ve thought of this so much . . .” Mister Marcus said, his voice low and sexed. He reached for a condom.
“Yeah,” I nodded, low and Barry White. “Magnum.”
Dacia laughed. “Sweet.”
Piercing
“Hey, Dad!”
“Hey, Lillie-pins.” I switched my phone to the other ear as I poured water into a teakettle. “What’s shaking, sugar?”
“Guess what? Mom said it was okay!”
“Great! What did Mom say was okay?”
“She said I could get my ears pierced!” Lillie giggled.
“Really? Wow, that’s so cool. So, do you want to do it?”
“Yes, duh, Dad. That’s why I asked Mom. Only you have to do it, ‘cause Mom is scared of needles. She’ll faint.”
“I know. But that’s cool, we’ll take care of it. You want to do it this weekend?”
“Can we? And can I get Hello Kitty earrings?”
“We can, but first you will have to get a starter set. I don’t know if we can get Hello Kitty for that.”
“I know, Dad, and I know I have to turn them and clean them with a Q-tip, ‘cause that’s what Cindy had to do.”
“That’s right. So yeah, let’s do that this weekend. Can I speak with your Mom?”
“Sure, Dad. She’s upstairs, so I will go there.”
I listened as Lillie’s feet stomped up stairs. She continued to talk, though I couldn’t make out her words. I wasn’t sure she was talking to me anyway; Lillie often talks to fill the air.
One day, she’ll make a great talk show host.
The teakettle whistled. I turned off the gas.
“Jefferson?”
“Hey, Lucy. So you are cool with Lillie getting earrings?”
Lucy laughed. “So she told you that? Yes, it’s fine with me, but you have to take her to do it. I’ll faint.”
“I know.” I poured hot water into a coffee press.
“Aren’t you impressed that I’m cool about this?”
I nearly spilled the water. “No, I mean . . . well, yes, I guess I am impressed. Thanks for being easy about this. You sure you’re okay with it?”
“Eh, all the kids are doing it.”
“Right.”
“And it’s reversible.”
“Right.”
“So why not, right?”
“Right. Well, here’s hoping we handle her first tattoo this well.”
Lucy laughed. “Oh God, that will happen before we’re ready, right?”
I laughed. “Yeah, yeah.”
We said goodbye and Lucy returned the phone to Lillie. I talked to our daughter for a bit longer, then said goodbye.
Lucy and I had consulted on something concerning the children, and we had agreed. We had even laughed together.
Well, I thought, pouring my coffee: it only took us four years of separation to manage a civilized conversation.
Perhaps progress comes in dribs and drabs.
I sent an email to Bridget. “Are you around Saturday? How about you join us as we get Lillie’s ears pierced?”
“Are you KIDDING??” she replied. “No WAY do you get her ears pierced without me. But you’d better check with Lucy, Snooks. She’ll kill you if you do this without checking with her.
“God, do you think they have Hello Kitty earrings? With little rubies for noses? God, I’m doomed. Doomed! There are SO many cute earrings!”
I assured Bridget that Lucy had given her permission, and promised that if Hello Kitty earrings existed, she could put them on Lillie.
Now we had a problem to solve. Where would we get her ears pierced?
If we lived in the suburbs, this would not be a question. Every shopping mall has at least one place where young girls can get their ears pierced.
I mean, that’s how we did it when I was a young girl.
When I was nineteen, my red-haired girlfriend Pablo decided that I should wear an earring.
Pablo knew that my best friend Peabo had worn an earring since ninth grade. He was the first boy I knew to have one. My brothers had asked if the single ring in one ear signified that he was gay or that he was a drug dealer.
“Neither,” I said. “He’s just, you know, cool.”
My brother Jesse scrunched his nose. “That’s not cool. I think it’s gay.”
“He’s not gay,” I asserted, rolling my eyes.
Jesse shrugged. “So he sells pot, right?”
These days, Southern boys wear earrings as readily as they wear backwards baseball caps. But when I was a teen in the Deep South, boys with earrings were as rare a sight as snow tires on Subarus.
Pablo took me to Spencer’s to get my ear pierced. She plunked down eight dollars and held my hand as another teenager put a needle to my ear.
“This will hurt,” I winced.
“You’ll feel a pinch,” the shop girl warned me.
“Take it like a man,” Pablo scowled.
The shop girl pulled the trigger.
“Ouch! Shhh-yet!” I responded. “Fuck!”
That was more than a pinch, I complained.
“You look so hot,” Pablo said, her eyes sparking. She took me home and fucked me.
Then she pulled back my hair and made up my eyes. For the rest of the decade, I would bang my head androgynous and glam.
“Dad, this will hurt like a pinch, right?”
I looked at Lillie. “That’s right, honey.”
Lillie raised her fingers to her ears and squeezed. “That doesn’t hurt.”
I combed my fingers through her red hair. “It may hurt a little more than that. But you are a brave girl. And it will be over lickety-split.”
Still, I had no ideas about where to have the deed done. There are no Spencer’s in the city, if those tacky teen stores even exist anymore.
Now and then, Manhattanites feels deprived. Here, there are neither malls nor gas stations, neither Wal-Marts nor Costcos, and now and then, that hurts.
I asked our ten-year-old friend Cindy where she had her ears pierced.
“My doctor did it,” she replied.
“Well, I hate to make a doctor’s appointment over this,” I said, scratching my neck. “Don’t a lot of the girls at school get them done at Halloway’s?”
Cindy looked at me as if I had just appeared from a time machine. “Are you kidding? Everyone who gets their ears pierced at Halloway’s gets infected. Everyone! It’s the worst place, ever. Don’t go there, ever!”
“Okay, okay,” I agreed, chastened.
Bridget and I consulted.
“Should you guys come to New Jersey?” she suggested. “At least we have malls here.”
“We could, but . . . gee, come on! Is it really impossible for a child to get her ears pierced in Manhattan? I mean, what about all those places on Saint Mark’s Place?”
“I think Lillie wants earrings,” Bridget laughed. “Not a tattoo.”
“They do piercings, too. At least that’s what the neon signs say. Come on, we’ll check it out. If we don’t find a place, we’ll go to Jersey.”
Bridget sighed. “I’ll bring my car, just in case.”
Bridget picked us up on Saturday. True to her luck, she parked on Third and Eighth, just across from the Continental Divide.
“You and Lillie walk ahead to see what you find,” Bridget told me. “I’m taking the boys to the comic book store.”
“Really?” Collie asked. “Can we get a game?”
“Shush,” she whispered. “Not in front of your father.”
“Yeah, Collie,” Jason winked. “We . . . don’t . . . want . . . a . . game . . .”
“You people must think I’m pretty s-t-o-o-p-i-d,” I said, taking Lillie’s hand.
We walked ahead as Bridget ushered the boys down steps into the shop.
“Dad,” Lillie said. “You spelled that wrong.”
I squeezed her hand. “I did it on purpose, honey.”
We stopped into a place offering piercings. In the window, a young woman grimaced as a pair of dice was tattooed into her forearm.
I approached the woman behind the counter. She was about twenty and pale, with tattoos visible on her exposed arms.
“Hello, good afternoon,” I began. “My daughter is interested in having her ears pierced. Can we do that here?”
The woman brushed the black bangs from her face and looked down at Lillie. Lillie smiled. The woman looked back at me, not acknowledging Lillie.
“No, no way.” She scratched her nose ring. “You have to be sixteen to have anything done here.”
Lillie looked to me.
“Oh, okay.” I asked. “Earrings too, huh? Well, do you know any place we can go?”
“No.” She went back to doodling a dragon. “Everything is sixteen and up.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “Thanks.”
I took Lillie’s hand and walked to the door. She looked over at the woman getting tattooed.
“Do I have to wait until I’m sixteen?” she asked.
“No, baby. You just have to wait until we get the answer we want.”
We crossed the street and went into a t-shirt shop offering piercings.
I approached a man selling sunglasses. “Hello, good afternoon,” I said. “My daughter would like to have her ears pierced. Can we do that here?”
The man looked down at Lillie. She smiled.
He pointed to the counter. “You talk to Mo, he’s the boss here.”
I looked to the register. “Mo is the man with the beard?”
“Yes,” he nodded, rubbing his bare chin. “Beard.”
“Thank you,” I smiled. “Shukran.”
He smiled, surprised, catching my eye. “’afwan, al-‘affu, sir.”
I waited as Mo tended on a customer. He finished and looked to me. “Yes sir, what can be done for you?”
“This is my daughter,” I said, pointing to Lillie. Lillie smiled. “She would like to have her ears pierced. Can we do that here?”
Mo looked to Lillie and returned her smile. “You are such a beautiful girl,” he said, offering his hand. Lillie reached up and shook it. “Such lovely red hair.” He looked back to me. “This is your daughter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come,” he said. “We will do this.” He gestured to another man and introduced him to me as his son. “My son will do this for your daughter. Follow him, please, to the back room.”
“You are kind, shukran,” I said. “One moment, please. I want to bring her brothers.”
“She has brothers?” Mo smiled, then laughed. “Good, bring the brothers.”
I thanked Mo again, took Lillie’s hand, and crossed the street. A bell rang as I opened the door.
I found Bridget with her arms full of games, comic books and Star Wars memorabilia. The boys were looking through boxes of comics.
“What, what’s up, Snooks?” Bridget asked.
“We found a place,” I said. I tugged her arm. “Come back for this, we need to move on it.”
“Oh!” Bridget unloaded her arms on a stack of boxes. “Okay, okay—hey boys, come on. We have to help your dad.”
Jason looked up, slightly dazed from so many comics. He saw me and took Collie’s arm. “Come on, Collie, we need to go.”
“Wait, hang on,” Collie said. “Can I bring Han Solo?”
We told him to drop Han Solo for now.
Lillie pointed out a Family Guy plush as we left the store.
“Here are my boys!” I told Mo. “And our friend Bridget.”
“Welcome, welcome,” Mo smiled. He raised an arm. “Please, Yassine will help you.” He spoke to another man in Arabic. The man smiled and pointed us to the back of the store. Mo turned to help a man holding two t-shirts.
“This way,” Yassine said, opening a door.
We followed into a white room with fluorescent lights and linoleum floors. There were mirrors on medicine cabinets, and the strong scent of rubbing alcohol.
I looked to my left to see a shirtless man sitting on an exam table. Paper crinkled under him as he spoke in low tones to an intent bearded man.
As he spoke, the bearded man drew lines on his back.
“Please,” Yassine said, taking a folding chair. “You will sit here. What is your name?”
Lillie looked to me.
“Tell him your name, baby.”
“Lillie,” she replied. She pressed close to me.
“Lillie,” Yassine repeated, dropping to his knees. “Such a beautiful name.” He touched her hair. “Please, Lillie, sit in this chair. We will take only a moment.” He turned to a counter and opened a few boxes.
He returned with a selection of starter earrings. Lillie looked over the sets.
I looked over her shoulder. “No Hello Kitty, but remember, this just gets you started.”
“We’ll get Hello Kitty later,” Bridget assured her. “What do you think of those blue ones? Like your eyes?”
Lillie looked at the box, and pointed to the blue ones.
“Nice,” Yassine said, taking them from the box. “One moment, please.” He stood and went back to the counter.
Lillie looked at me, scared.
“Lillie, do you want to sit in my lap?” Bridget moved her bag from one hand to another, and extended her arms.
Lillie shook her head and sat in the chair. I crouched by her side. I put an arm on her waist.
“I’m here, baby,” I said quietly.
“Are you okay, Lillie?” Jason asked in a sweet, babyish tone. I smiled at him. Collie and Lillie have a secret language. Jason touches her by talking as though she were still two years old.
Lillie nodded.
I pulled her boo-boo blanket from a bag and put it in her lap.
She took it up and put a thumb in her mouth.
Collie watched as the bearded man drew lines on the shirtless man.
“I’m going to wait outside,” he said quietly. He looked pale.
I looked up at Bridget. “Keep the door open, okay Collie?”
“Okay.” He opened the door and stood just outside.
I whispered to Jason. “Stand near the door, okay?”
Jason moved to the door.
Yassine returned and stooped near Lillie. “Now, I will make a mark, a little mark, with a pen. You see the pen?” He held it up. Lillie nodded. “Good. This, it will help me put the earrings in the right place.”
“It won’t hurt,” I added.
Bridget fidgeted.
Yassine leaned forward, his brow creased. He took Lillie’s chin in his hand and studied her face. He looked from right to left, and back again.
I held her hand.
She looked at me, and then looked forward.
Yassine placed a purple mark on her left earlobe.
Lillie drew a quick breath. She exhaled.
“That was just a mark,” I said. “Just a marker to show him where to put the ring.”
Lillie nodded, not looking at me. Her eyes were focused on an empty corner across the room.
Jason looked at Collie. Collie stared at a t-shirt outside the room, hanging on a wall in the shop. It read, “WTF?”
I looked up at Bridget. She glanced to my left, nodding to the men preparing a tattoo. She looked back at me. I pursed my lips and shrugged.
“There.” Yassine looked at Lillie, then back to Bridget. “Like this, you like?”
Bridget stooped to look at Lillie. She pushed back her hair and studied her ear lobes. “Perfect. Jefferson?”
I looked. The target dots were absolutely symmetrical. “Very good,” I said, nodding to Yassine. I looked at Lillie. “You ready to have earrings, love?”
Lillie put her thumb in her mouth. She looked at me and nodded.
“Okay,” I said to Yassine. “Lillie’s ready.”
Jason leaned out the door. “Lillie’s ready,” he repeated to Collie.
“Okay,” Collie nodded. He looked away from the door and stared at a novelty license plate. It read, “FCKBSH.”
Yassine approached with a gun. “This will hurt,” he said. “Like a pinch.”
He placed the gun on my daughter’s ear. He pulled the trigger.
A jolt ran through Lillie’s body.
I grabbed her tight.
“You okay?” I whispered.
She nodded.
“You ready for the next ear?” I asked.
She shook her head, sucking her thumb. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Oh, baby.” I held her close.
“You’re very brave,” Bridget grimaced, clutching Lillie’s coat.
Yassine leaned close. “It will be better, the next one.” He wrapped an arm around Lillie.
We sat there for a moment as Lillie recovered. My arms were around her. Her eyes were on a far corner. And Yassine held her back.
I thought perhaps I should say a word to Yassine. I didn’t think the hug of a stranger who had just punctured her ear was going to offer much comfort to Lillie. Maybe it would be better if he stepped away.
But then, I thought better of it. Let’s ride this out. Poor Yassine was none too happy to have injured beautiful Lillie.
I looked up. “Ready?” I asked.
Lillie nodded.
I looked at Yassine. “Ready?”
He nodded.
“She’s ready for the next one,” Jason repeated to Collie.
Collie nodded. He looked at another t-shirt. It read, “Come As You Are.”
The bearded tattoo artist watched as Lillie jolted again.
“All done,” I whispered. She began to sob.
I took her up in my arms, thanked Yassine, and left the room.
Bridget patted Yassine’s back and passed us to pay the tab.
I rocked Lillie in my arms among the t-shirts.
Collie tugged my sleeve. “I don’t feel well.”
I looked down. He was so pale. I knew the look. “Let’s get outside,” I said. I carried Lillie, pushing him ahead. Jason followed behind.
Once outside, I directed Collie to a corner of the building, littered with cigarette butts. “If you feel sick, it’s okay,” I said.
“Are you okay?” Bridget asked, coming out after us.
“Collie . . . ,” Jason began.
Collie grew weak as he stood staring at the building corner. The life was quickly draining from his tiny frame.
“Can you hold Lillie’s hand?” I asked Bridget, dropping my daughter to her feet.
“Dad . . .” Lillie complained, weakly.
“Shh,” I said. Bridget reached for Lillie. I picked up Collie, resting his head on my shoulder.
“Come with me,” Bridget said, taking Lillie’s hand. Jason followed, looking back at his brother and father.
“It hurt . . . ,” Collie murmured into my neck.
“She’s fine,” I said. “It hurt, but she’s fine.”
His body went limp in my arms.
I caught up with Bridget and the kids outside the Saint Mark’s Hotel.
“Is Collie okay?” Bridget asked.
“He fainted,” I said. “Let’s go sit in your car.”
Collie recovered in the car. I held him in my arms as Lillie offered reassurances that she was fine.
When he was alert, Bridget drove a couple of blocks to a restaurant that serves macaroni and cheese. We ordered too much for us to eat.
Collie ate more than I did.
Lillie kept running to the bathroom to see her earrings in a mirror.
Jason and Bridget talked sports and comics.
I sipped coffee, loving how happy my children were. I grinned at Bridget. She reached across the table to pat my hand.
“Hey, Lillie-pins.” I switched my phone to the other ear as I poured water into a teakettle. “What’s shaking, sugar?”
“Guess what? Mom said it was okay!”
“Great! What did Mom say was okay?”
“She said I could get my ears pierced!” Lillie giggled.
“Really? Wow, that’s so cool. So, do you want to do it?”
“Yes, duh, Dad. That’s why I asked Mom. Only you have to do it, ‘cause Mom is scared of needles. She’ll faint.”
“I know. But that’s cool, we’ll take care of it. You want to do it this weekend?”
“Can we? And can I get Hello Kitty earrings?”
“We can, but first you will have to get a starter set. I don’t know if we can get Hello Kitty for that.”
“I know, Dad, and I know I have to turn them and clean them with a Q-tip, ‘cause that’s what Cindy had to do.”
“That’s right. So yeah, let’s do that this weekend. Can I speak with your Mom?”
“Sure, Dad. She’s upstairs, so I will go there.”
I listened as Lillie’s feet stomped up stairs. She continued to talk, though I couldn’t make out her words. I wasn’t sure she was talking to me anyway; Lillie often talks to fill the air.
One day, she’ll make a great talk show host.
The teakettle whistled. I turned off the gas.
“Jefferson?”
“Hey, Lucy. So you are cool with Lillie getting earrings?”
Lucy laughed. “So she told you that? Yes, it’s fine with me, but you have to take her to do it. I’ll faint.”
“I know.” I poured hot water into a coffee press.
“Aren’t you impressed that I’m cool about this?”
I nearly spilled the water. “No, I mean . . . well, yes, I guess I am impressed. Thanks for being easy about this. You sure you’re okay with it?”
“Eh, all the kids are doing it.”
“Right.”
“And it’s reversible.”
“Right.”
“So why not, right?”
“Right. Well, here’s hoping we handle her first tattoo this well.”
Lucy laughed. “Oh God, that will happen before we’re ready, right?”
I laughed. “Yeah, yeah.”
We said goodbye and Lucy returned the phone to Lillie. I talked to our daughter for a bit longer, then said goodbye.
Lucy and I had consulted on something concerning the children, and we had agreed. We had even laughed together.
Well, I thought, pouring my coffee: it only took us four years of separation to manage a civilized conversation.
Perhaps progress comes in dribs and drabs.
I sent an email to Bridget. “Are you around Saturday? How about you join us as we get Lillie’s ears pierced?”
“Are you KIDDING??” she replied. “No WAY do you get her ears pierced without me. But you’d better check with Lucy, Snooks. She’ll kill you if you do this without checking with her.
“God, do you think they have Hello Kitty earrings? With little rubies for noses? God, I’m doomed. Doomed! There are SO many cute earrings!”
I assured Bridget that Lucy had given her permission, and promised that if Hello Kitty earrings existed, she could put them on Lillie.
Now we had a problem to solve. Where would we get her ears pierced?
If we lived in the suburbs, this would not be a question. Every shopping mall has at least one place where young girls can get their ears pierced.
I mean, that’s how we did it when I was a young girl.
When I was nineteen, my red-haired girlfriend Pablo decided that I should wear an earring.
Pablo knew that my best friend Peabo had worn an earring since ninth grade. He was the first boy I knew to have one. My brothers had asked if the single ring in one ear signified that he was gay or that he was a drug dealer.
“Neither,” I said. “He’s just, you know, cool.”
My brother Jesse scrunched his nose. “That’s not cool. I think it’s gay.”
“He’s not gay,” I asserted, rolling my eyes.
Jesse shrugged. “So he sells pot, right?”
These days, Southern boys wear earrings as readily as they wear backwards baseball caps. But when I was a teen in the Deep South, boys with earrings were as rare a sight as snow tires on Subarus.
Pablo took me to Spencer’s to get my ear pierced. She plunked down eight dollars and held my hand as another teenager put a needle to my ear.
“This will hurt,” I winced.
“You’ll feel a pinch,” the shop girl warned me.
“Take it like a man,” Pablo scowled.
The shop girl pulled the trigger.
“Ouch! Shhh-yet!” I responded. “Fuck!”
That was more than a pinch, I complained.
“You look so hot,” Pablo said, her eyes sparking. She took me home and fucked me.
Then she pulled back my hair and made up my eyes. For the rest of the decade, I would bang my head androgynous and glam.
“Dad, this will hurt like a pinch, right?”
I looked at Lillie. “That’s right, honey.”
Lillie raised her fingers to her ears and squeezed. “That doesn’t hurt.”
I combed my fingers through her red hair. “It may hurt a little more than that. But you are a brave girl. And it will be over lickety-split.”
Still, I had no ideas about where to have the deed done. There are no Spencer’s in the city, if those tacky teen stores even exist anymore.
Now and then, Manhattanites feels deprived. Here, there are neither malls nor gas stations, neither Wal-Marts nor Costcos, and now and then, that hurts.
I asked our ten-year-old friend Cindy where she had her ears pierced.
“My doctor did it,” she replied.
“Well, I hate to make a doctor’s appointment over this,” I said, scratching my neck. “Don’t a lot of the girls at school get them done at Halloway’s?”
Cindy looked at me as if I had just appeared from a time machine. “Are you kidding? Everyone who gets their ears pierced at Halloway’s gets infected. Everyone! It’s the worst place, ever. Don’t go there, ever!”
“Okay, okay,” I agreed, chastened.
Bridget and I consulted.
“Should you guys come to New Jersey?” she suggested. “At least we have malls here.”
“We could, but . . . gee, come on! Is it really impossible for a child to get her ears pierced in Manhattan? I mean, what about all those places on Saint Mark’s Place?”
“I think Lillie wants earrings,” Bridget laughed. “Not a tattoo.”
“They do piercings, too. At least that’s what the neon signs say. Come on, we’ll check it out. If we don’t find a place, we’ll go to Jersey.”
Bridget sighed. “I’ll bring my car, just in case.”
Bridget picked us up on Saturday. True to her luck, she parked on Third and Eighth, just across from the Continental Divide.
“You and Lillie walk ahead to see what you find,” Bridget told me. “I’m taking the boys to the comic book store.”
“Really?” Collie asked. “Can we get a game?”
“Shush,” she whispered. “Not in front of your father.”
“Yeah, Collie,” Jason winked. “We . . . don’t . . . want . . . a . . game . . .”
“You people must think I’m pretty s-t-o-o-p-i-d,” I said, taking Lillie’s hand.
We walked ahead as Bridget ushered the boys down steps into the shop.
“Dad,” Lillie said. “You spelled that wrong.”
I squeezed her hand. “I did it on purpose, honey.”
We stopped into a place offering piercings. In the window, a young woman grimaced as a pair of dice was tattooed into her forearm.
I approached the woman behind the counter. She was about twenty and pale, with tattoos visible on her exposed arms.
“Hello, good afternoon,” I began. “My daughter is interested in having her ears pierced. Can we do that here?”
The woman brushed the black bangs from her face and looked down at Lillie. Lillie smiled. The woman looked back at me, not acknowledging Lillie.
“No, no way.” She scratched her nose ring. “You have to be sixteen to have anything done here.”
Lillie looked to me.
“Oh, okay.” I asked. “Earrings too, huh? Well, do you know any place we can go?”
“No.” She went back to doodling a dragon. “Everything is sixteen and up.”
“Okay.” I smiled. “Thanks.”
I took Lillie’s hand and walked to the door. She looked over at the woman getting tattooed.
“Do I have to wait until I’m sixteen?” she asked.
“No, baby. You just have to wait until we get the answer we want.”
We crossed the street and went into a t-shirt shop offering piercings.
I approached a man selling sunglasses. “Hello, good afternoon,” I said. “My daughter would like to have her ears pierced. Can we do that here?”
The man looked down at Lillie. She smiled.
He pointed to the counter. “You talk to Mo, he’s the boss here.”
I looked to the register. “Mo is the man with the beard?”
“Yes,” he nodded, rubbing his bare chin. “Beard.”
“Thank you,” I smiled. “Shukran.”
He smiled, surprised, catching my eye. “’afwan, al-‘affu, sir.”
I waited as Mo tended on a customer. He finished and looked to me. “Yes sir, what can be done for you?”
“This is my daughter,” I said, pointing to Lillie. Lillie smiled. “She would like to have her ears pierced. Can we do that here?”
Mo looked to Lillie and returned her smile. “You are such a beautiful girl,” he said, offering his hand. Lillie reached up and shook it. “Such lovely red hair.” He looked back to me. “This is your daughter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come,” he said. “We will do this.” He gestured to another man and introduced him to me as his son. “My son will do this for your daughter. Follow him, please, to the back room.”
“You are kind, shukran,” I said. “One moment, please. I want to bring her brothers.”
“She has brothers?” Mo smiled, then laughed. “Good, bring the brothers.”
I thanked Mo again, took Lillie’s hand, and crossed the street. A bell rang as I opened the door.
I found Bridget with her arms full of games, comic books and Star Wars memorabilia. The boys were looking through boxes of comics.
“What, what’s up, Snooks?” Bridget asked.
“We found a place,” I said. I tugged her arm. “Come back for this, we need to move on it.”
“Oh!” Bridget unloaded her arms on a stack of boxes. “Okay, okay—hey boys, come on. We have to help your dad.”
Jason looked up, slightly dazed from so many comics. He saw me and took Collie’s arm. “Come on, Collie, we need to go.”
“Wait, hang on,” Collie said. “Can I bring Han Solo?”
We told him to drop Han Solo for now.
Lillie pointed out a Family Guy plush as we left the store.
“Here are my boys!” I told Mo. “And our friend Bridget.”
“Welcome, welcome,” Mo smiled. He raised an arm. “Please, Yassine will help you.” He spoke to another man in Arabic. The man smiled and pointed us to the back of the store. Mo turned to help a man holding two t-shirts.
“This way,” Yassine said, opening a door.
We followed into a white room with fluorescent lights and linoleum floors. There were mirrors on medicine cabinets, and the strong scent of rubbing alcohol.
I looked to my left to see a shirtless man sitting on an exam table. Paper crinkled under him as he spoke in low tones to an intent bearded man.
As he spoke, the bearded man drew lines on his back.
“Please,” Yassine said, taking a folding chair. “You will sit here. What is your name?”
Lillie looked to me.
“Tell him your name, baby.”
“Lillie,” she replied. She pressed close to me.
“Lillie,” Yassine repeated, dropping to his knees. “Such a beautiful name.” He touched her hair. “Please, Lillie, sit in this chair. We will take only a moment.” He turned to a counter and opened a few boxes.
He returned with a selection of starter earrings. Lillie looked over the sets.
I looked over her shoulder. “No Hello Kitty, but remember, this just gets you started.”
“We’ll get Hello Kitty later,” Bridget assured her. “What do you think of those blue ones? Like your eyes?”
Lillie looked at the box, and pointed to the blue ones.
“Nice,” Yassine said, taking them from the box. “One moment, please.” He stood and went back to the counter.
Lillie looked at me, scared.
“Lillie, do you want to sit in my lap?” Bridget moved her bag from one hand to another, and extended her arms.
Lillie shook her head and sat in the chair. I crouched by her side. I put an arm on her waist.
“I’m here, baby,” I said quietly.
“Are you okay, Lillie?” Jason asked in a sweet, babyish tone. I smiled at him. Collie and Lillie have a secret language. Jason touches her by talking as though she were still two years old.
Lillie nodded.
I pulled her boo-boo blanket from a bag and put it in her lap.
She took it up and put a thumb in her mouth.
Collie watched as the bearded man drew lines on the shirtless man.
“I’m going to wait outside,” he said quietly. He looked pale.
I looked up at Bridget. “Keep the door open, okay Collie?”
“Okay.” He opened the door and stood just outside.
I whispered to Jason. “Stand near the door, okay?”
Jason moved to the door.
Yassine returned and stooped near Lillie. “Now, I will make a mark, a little mark, with a pen. You see the pen?” He held it up. Lillie nodded. “Good. This, it will help me put the earrings in the right place.”
“It won’t hurt,” I added.
Bridget fidgeted.
Yassine leaned forward, his brow creased. He took Lillie’s chin in his hand and studied her face. He looked from right to left, and back again.
I held her hand.
She looked at me, and then looked forward.
Yassine placed a purple mark on her left earlobe.
Lillie drew a quick breath. She exhaled.
“That was just a mark,” I said. “Just a marker to show him where to put the ring.”
Lillie nodded, not looking at me. Her eyes were focused on an empty corner across the room.
Jason looked at Collie. Collie stared at a t-shirt outside the room, hanging on a wall in the shop. It read, “WTF?”
I looked up at Bridget. She glanced to my left, nodding to the men preparing a tattoo. She looked back at me. I pursed my lips and shrugged.
“There.” Yassine looked at Lillie, then back to Bridget. “Like this, you like?”
Bridget stooped to look at Lillie. She pushed back her hair and studied her ear lobes. “Perfect. Jefferson?”
I looked. The target dots were absolutely symmetrical. “Very good,” I said, nodding to Yassine. I looked at Lillie. “You ready to have earrings, love?”
Lillie put her thumb in her mouth. She looked at me and nodded.
“Okay,” I said to Yassine. “Lillie’s ready.”
Jason leaned out the door. “Lillie’s ready,” he repeated to Collie.
“Okay,” Collie nodded. He looked away from the door and stared at a novelty license plate. It read, “FCKBSH.”
Yassine approached with a gun. “This will hurt,” he said. “Like a pinch.”
He placed the gun on my daughter’s ear. He pulled the trigger.
A jolt ran through Lillie’s body.
I grabbed her tight.
“You okay?” I whispered.
She nodded.
“You ready for the next ear?” I asked.
She shook her head, sucking her thumb. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Oh, baby.” I held her close.
“You’re very brave,” Bridget grimaced, clutching Lillie’s coat.
Yassine leaned close. “It will be better, the next one.” He wrapped an arm around Lillie.
We sat there for a moment as Lillie recovered. My arms were around her. Her eyes were on a far corner. And Yassine held her back.
I thought perhaps I should say a word to Yassine. I didn’t think the hug of a stranger who had just punctured her ear was going to offer much comfort to Lillie. Maybe it would be better if he stepped away.
But then, I thought better of it. Let’s ride this out. Poor Yassine was none too happy to have injured beautiful Lillie.
I looked up. “Ready?” I asked.
Lillie nodded.
I looked at Yassine. “Ready?”
He nodded.
“She’s ready for the next one,” Jason repeated to Collie.
Collie nodded. He looked at another t-shirt. It read, “Come As You Are.”
The bearded tattoo artist watched as Lillie jolted again.
“All done,” I whispered. She began to sob.
I took her up in my arms, thanked Yassine, and left the room.
Bridget patted Yassine’s back and passed us to pay the tab.
I rocked Lillie in my arms among the t-shirts.
Collie tugged my sleeve. “I don’t feel well.”
I looked down. He was so pale. I knew the look. “Let’s get outside,” I said. I carried Lillie, pushing him ahead. Jason followed behind.
Once outside, I directed Collie to a corner of the building, littered with cigarette butts. “If you feel sick, it’s okay,” I said.
“Are you okay?” Bridget asked, coming out after us.
“Collie . . . ,” Jason began.
Collie grew weak as he stood staring at the building corner. The life was quickly draining from his tiny frame.
“Can you hold Lillie’s hand?” I asked Bridget, dropping my daughter to her feet.
“Dad . . .” Lillie complained, weakly.
“Shh,” I said. Bridget reached for Lillie. I picked up Collie, resting his head on my shoulder.
“Come with me,” Bridget said, taking Lillie’s hand. Jason followed, looking back at his brother and father.
“It hurt . . . ,” Collie murmured into my neck.
“She’s fine,” I said. “It hurt, but she’s fine.”
His body went limp in my arms.
I caught up with Bridget and the kids outside the Saint Mark’s Hotel.
“Is Collie okay?” Bridget asked.
“He fainted,” I said. “Let’s go sit in your car.”
Collie recovered in the car. I held him in my arms as Lillie offered reassurances that she was fine.
When he was alert, Bridget drove a couple of blocks to a restaurant that serves macaroni and cheese. We ordered too much for us to eat.
Collie ate more than I did.
Lillie kept running to the bathroom to see her earrings in a mirror.
Jason and Bridget talked sports and comics.
I sipped coffee, loving how happy my children were. I grinned at Bridget. She reached across the table to pat my hand.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Fleshbot and Wanderlust
This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot lifts the veil on married couples for whom the honeymoon never ended. Read up on the monogamists, the swingers, the dungeonistas—and my crush of the week, Homme and Femme, and their girlfriend, Siobhan.
If I ever head back up the aisle, I’m taking notes from these folks.
Speaking of “been there, done that,” this week I had sex in the Bronx. It was perfectly steamy sex—involving a bed, a floor and the unexpected arrival of a roommate—but even more, it was landmark sex, as I had never before had sex in the northernmost of the city’s five boroughs.
Now, only Staten Island remains unfucked on my sex map of the city that never sleeps for all the sleeping around.
You might think that with all the sex I have, I would have long since burned through the city’s neighborhoods. But in fact, since the demise of my late marriage, my pants are most often dropped within my own home. I take good advantage of one of New York’s finest attractions: you can get anything delivered.
As I mentally scratched the Bronx from my list of virgin territories, my mind wandered to larger maps. I pondered the Manifest Destiny of my libido’s open borders.
Of these fifty United States, I have had sex in only sixteen, plus the District of Columbia. It’s as if my nation of sex has yet to find its Louisiana Purchase.
Of the one-hundred-and-ninety-two constituent states of the United Nations, only fifteen have stamped my sexual passport. Five of these came from a tour of Central America that proved to be un viage muy ambicioso. If not for that insatiable isthmus and the United States, I’d have an unacceptably short itinerary.
Still, I’m closing in on the continents, with only two of seven left with pristine shores. One of these seems a readily addressed oversight, but how will I ever manage Antarctica?
Bronx, my Bronx, you have awakened my wanderlust. Oh, to feel the salt spray of the Staten Island ferry.
If I ever head back up the aisle, I’m taking notes from these folks.
Speaking of “been there, done that,” this week I had sex in the Bronx. It was perfectly steamy sex—involving a bed, a floor and the unexpected arrival of a roommate—but even more, it was landmark sex, as I had never before had sex in the northernmost of the city’s five boroughs.
Now, only Staten Island remains unfucked on my sex map of the city that never sleeps for all the sleeping around.
You might think that with all the sex I have, I would have long since burned through the city’s neighborhoods. But in fact, since the demise of my late marriage, my pants are most often dropped within my own home. I take good advantage of one of New York’s finest attractions: you can get anything delivered.
As I mentally scratched the Bronx from my list of virgin territories, my mind wandered to larger maps. I pondered the Manifest Destiny of my libido’s open borders.
Of these fifty United States, I have had sex in only sixteen, plus the District of Columbia. It’s as if my nation of sex has yet to find its Louisiana Purchase.
Of the one-hundred-and-ninety-two constituent states of the United Nations, only fifteen have stamped my sexual passport. Five of these came from a tour of Central America that proved to be un viage muy ambicioso. If not for that insatiable isthmus and the United States, I’d have an unacceptably short itinerary.
Still, I’m closing in on the continents, with only two of seven left with pristine shores. One of these seems a readily addressed oversight, but how will I ever manage Antarctica?
Bronx, my Bronx, you have awakened my wanderlust. Oh, to feel the salt spray of the Staten Island ferry.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Omelettes
I sat on the bed next to Fawn as her face emerged from a t-shirt.
“Your hair is a mess,” I smiled, tucking a black strand behind her ear.
“Sorry,” she grinned nervously, looking away. She ran her fingers through her hair and looked up at me. Her pale blue eyes were clear and unblinking.
“So . . . ,” she began. Her hands dropped to her bare lap and rested there, palms up. “Anyway, this is me.”
My hand moved down her neck to her shoulder. “And this is us—alone, finally.”
“Yeah, I know. So, um, I’m sorry I’m not skinny,” she said. She nodded to the door. “Like Jenn.”
I touched her cheek with my fingers. “Jenn seems very nice. She obviously cares about you.”
“Yeah, Jenn’s cool.” Fawn looked to her palms. Her face turned to rest in the cup of my palm. She closed her eyes.
I took her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “Hey.”
She looked up. “Yeah?”
“Jenn’s here because she knows you wanted to be here.” I stroked her black hair. “You’re here because you wanted to be here. You’re here because I wanted you here.”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
She smiled. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
I smiled. “Good.” I leaned forward. Our lips met.
As we kissed, my fingers traveled lightly over her body, now bare but for her panties. She touched my t-shirt and felt the fabric of my pajamas.
I inhaled deeply as she quivered, savoring her response to my touch.
Her hand found my cock, hard inside my clothes.
I listened as I entered her. I moved slowly into her body, imagining my cock as an expansive tendril that would grow long and fat to fill her entirely, or to retract at any hesitation.
She breathed deeply, holding my shoulders firm as, for the second time in her life, her body took another body into her.
I rested in Fawn, listening to her breath. My face was nestled into her neck. I pulled back to look into her face. Her eyes were tightly closed.
“Hey.”
She opened her eyes. She turned her chin down, smiling slyly. I grinned, suspecting that she was giving me a look practiced in mirrors and webcams.
“Does this feel good?” I asked, moving gently inside her body.
She laughed. “Are you kidding? This is amazing.”
“Oh yeah?” I kissed her nose. “How about this?”
I fucked her with more vigor, pulling back, pushing forward.
“Oh, God yeah.” She laughed again.
“All right.” I sat back, pushing her thighs forward. I raised her ankles to my lips, lightly kissing her left calf. My cock pressed up and deep into her. I rocked back and forth. “And this?”
She looked up at me as her mouth dropped. “Oh . . . fuck yeah.”
I caressed her face. “That’s all I need to know, Fawn. You can just relax now while we fuck.”
We had our basic vocabulary. We were close and tender. We were hot and rough. We were submissive and dominant.
It only takes three letters to spell “l-u-v.”
We had traded so many mash notes to finally be here, in my bed, after midnight with her friends making out in the next room.
Fawn wanted to trade in her inexperience and add luster to the novice’s sexual resume she had amassed with her first high school boyfriend. I wanted her to trust me and to be content that she had made the right decision in being with me—and perhaps, along the way, to add a few notches to the brand-new bedpost of her sexuality.
After our first hour and change, we peeled our bodies apart.
“You still doing okay?” I panted.
“Oh yeah, my God,” she said, catching her breath. “That was . . . this is . . .”
I took her hand. “Right?”
We lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I looked to my clock.
“Look, it’s really late. Let’s sleep. But look, I’m probably going to wake you for sex at three or four. So don’t be surprised.”
She laughed. I liked her laugh, especially now that I heard it so often. “That is fine by me.”
“Good.” I turned to curl against her. I yawned. “If you need me, or you wake up and I’m hard, just elbow me and climb on.”
She put a hand to my head, suddenly maternal. “Shhh, you just sleep.”
I was out immediately.
We woke up fucking. One of us initiated it. Hard to say who did what, as we were both asleep.
The next morning, my face was buried between her legs when I heard giggles. I looked up. Shapes scurried past the open bedroom door.
One of us must’ve gone to the bathroom overnight and left the door ajar. Or maybe it had been pushed open.
Her friends had watched as my mouth pulled orgasms from Fawn.
“Oh shit, did they really see me?” she asked, coiling her legs to her torso.
“Uh, maybe,” I said, pulling her to me. “Was that embarrassing?”
She looked to one side. “Do you think they saw my chest?”
The focus of her bashfulness seemed a tad incongruous, given that I was licking her pussy when the giggles passed by. Still, I could see she was unnerved by the prospect of having her breasts exposed.
“I suppose so.” I pinched a nipple. “Here, let me close the door.”
I closed the bedroom door and came back to her. She relaxed as we kissed.
I went down on her again.
She gushed in my mouth. I waited a moment before I made her do it again.
I kissed my way up her body.
“Wow,” she said, glancing at a clock. “That’s a record. Ten times in one hou . . .”
Her voice trailed as I entered her.
She rested her eyes on mine as my palm squeezed a breast.
Fawn stayed in bed as I emerged to face the music.
“Hey,” Jenn grinned. “You two were pretty noisy in there.”
I shrugged. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”
Paolo laughed. “Shit, man.” He held out his palm. I shook his hand.
“Coffee?” I asked.
Fawn came out of the bedroom fully dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. She sat next to Jenn on the couch as I rattled pans in the kitchen.
I prepared a breakfast of omelettes with thyme and sweet sausage, bacon and toast. Jenn said it was the best omelette she had ever been served.
Paolo watched as I made them. I talked him through the steps.
After breakfast, Paolo and Jenn disappeared for a while. I sat talking with Fawn. The vulnerability of the early morning was gone. She was once more locked up in her clothes, her body, her veneer.
I kept my blue eyes on her pale mirrors. I held her hand. We talked about things, passing the time.
It took Jenn forever to locate her cell phone, but she found it.
At the door, I kissed Jenn’s cheek and hugged Paolo as he pulled me close, once, strong and tight.
I kissed Fawn’s lips, soft and slow.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“Shit, thank you,” she said, dropping her forehead to my lips.
Later, Fawn phoned to say they returned home with no mishaps.
It turned out that it was the carburetor, and it cost less than a hundred dollars to repair.
Jenn dumped her boyfriend and hooked up with Paolo.
Jenn and Fawn had a falling out. They were no longer best friends forever.
Fawn made plans to see me again. A few weeks later, she had a new boyfriend.
I never saw her again, as she doesn’t cheat.
I’m her friend. I wouldn’t want her to cheat.
As I made breakfast that morning after meeting Fawn, I reflected on an unexpected threshold I had crossed. In my nascent career as a chicken hawk, I had reached a new apex—or nadir, depending on one’s point of view.
I had now slept with someone younger than my eldest daughter.
“Your hair is a mess,” I smiled, tucking a black strand behind her ear.
“Sorry,” she grinned nervously, looking away. She ran her fingers through her hair and looked up at me. Her pale blue eyes were clear and unblinking.
“So . . . ,” she began. Her hands dropped to her bare lap and rested there, palms up. “Anyway, this is me.”
My hand moved down her neck to her shoulder. “And this is us—alone, finally.”
“Yeah, I know. So, um, I’m sorry I’m not skinny,” she said. She nodded to the door. “Like Jenn.”
I touched her cheek with my fingers. “Jenn seems very nice. She obviously cares about you.”
“Yeah, Jenn’s cool.” Fawn looked to her palms. Her face turned to rest in the cup of my palm. She closed her eyes.
I took her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “Hey.”
She looked up. “Yeah?”
“Jenn’s here because she knows you wanted to be here.” I stroked her black hair. “You’re here because you wanted to be here. You’re here because I wanted you here.”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
She smiled. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
I smiled. “Good.” I leaned forward. Our lips met.
As we kissed, my fingers traveled lightly over her body, now bare but for her panties. She touched my t-shirt and felt the fabric of my pajamas.
I inhaled deeply as she quivered, savoring her response to my touch.
Her hand found my cock, hard inside my clothes.
I listened as I entered her. I moved slowly into her body, imagining my cock as an expansive tendril that would grow long and fat to fill her entirely, or to retract at any hesitation.
She breathed deeply, holding my shoulders firm as, for the second time in her life, her body took another body into her.
I rested in Fawn, listening to her breath. My face was nestled into her neck. I pulled back to look into her face. Her eyes were tightly closed.
“Hey.”
She opened her eyes. She turned her chin down, smiling slyly. I grinned, suspecting that she was giving me a look practiced in mirrors and webcams.
“Does this feel good?” I asked, moving gently inside her body.
She laughed. “Are you kidding? This is amazing.”
“Oh yeah?” I kissed her nose. “How about this?”
I fucked her with more vigor, pulling back, pushing forward.
“Oh, God yeah.” She laughed again.
“All right.” I sat back, pushing her thighs forward. I raised her ankles to my lips, lightly kissing her left calf. My cock pressed up and deep into her. I rocked back and forth. “And this?”
She looked up at me as her mouth dropped. “Oh . . . fuck yeah.”
I caressed her face. “That’s all I need to know, Fawn. You can just relax now while we fuck.”
We had our basic vocabulary. We were close and tender. We were hot and rough. We were submissive and dominant.
It only takes three letters to spell “l-u-v.”
We had traded so many mash notes to finally be here, in my bed, after midnight with her friends making out in the next room.
Fawn wanted to trade in her inexperience and add luster to the novice’s sexual resume she had amassed with her first high school boyfriend. I wanted her to trust me and to be content that she had made the right decision in being with me—and perhaps, along the way, to add a few notches to the brand-new bedpost of her sexuality.
After our first hour and change, we peeled our bodies apart.
“You still doing okay?” I panted.
“Oh yeah, my God,” she said, catching her breath. “That was . . . this is . . .”
I took her hand. “Right?”
We lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I looked to my clock.
“Look, it’s really late. Let’s sleep. But look, I’m probably going to wake you for sex at three or four. So don’t be surprised.”
She laughed. I liked her laugh, especially now that I heard it so often. “That is fine by me.”
“Good.” I turned to curl against her. I yawned. “If you need me, or you wake up and I’m hard, just elbow me and climb on.”
She put a hand to my head, suddenly maternal. “Shhh, you just sleep.”
I was out immediately.
We woke up fucking. One of us initiated it. Hard to say who did what, as we were both asleep.
The next morning, my face was buried between her legs when I heard giggles. I looked up. Shapes scurried past the open bedroom door.
One of us must’ve gone to the bathroom overnight and left the door ajar. Or maybe it had been pushed open.
Her friends had watched as my mouth pulled orgasms from Fawn.
“Oh shit, did they really see me?” she asked, coiling her legs to her torso.
“Uh, maybe,” I said, pulling her to me. “Was that embarrassing?”
She looked to one side. “Do you think they saw my chest?”
The focus of her bashfulness seemed a tad incongruous, given that I was licking her pussy when the giggles passed by. Still, I could see she was unnerved by the prospect of having her breasts exposed.
“I suppose so.” I pinched a nipple. “Here, let me close the door.”
I closed the bedroom door and came back to her. She relaxed as we kissed.
I went down on her again.
She gushed in my mouth. I waited a moment before I made her do it again.
I kissed my way up her body.
“Wow,” she said, glancing at a clock. “That’s a record. Ten times in one hou . . .”
Her voice trailed as I entered her.
She rested her eyes on mine as my palm squeezed a breast.
Fawn stayed in bed as I emerged to face the music.
“Hey,” Jenn grinned. “You two were pretty noisy in there.”
I shrugged. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”
Paolo laughed. “Shit, man.” He held out his palm. I shook his hand.
“Coffee?” I asked.
Fawn came out of the bedroom fully dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. She sat next to Jenn on the couch as I rattled pans in the kitchen.
I prepared a breakfast of omelettes with thyme and sweet sausage, bacon and toast. Jenn said it was the best omelette she had ever been served.
Paolo watched as I made them. I talked him through the steps.
After breakfast, Paolo and Jenn disappeared for a while. I sat talking with Fawn. The vulnerability of the early morning was gone. She was once more locked up in her clothes, her body, her veneer.
I kept my blue eyes on her pale mirrors. I held her hand. We talked about things, passing the time.
It took Jenn forever to locate her cell phone, but she found it.
At the door, I kissed Jenn’s cheek and hugged Paolo as he pulled me close, once, strong and tight.
I kissed Fawn’s lips, soft and slow.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“Shit, thank you,” she said, dropping her forehead to my lips.
Later, Fawn phoned to say they returned home with no mishaps.
It turned out that it was the carburetor, and it cost less than a hundred dollars to repair.
Jenn dumped her boyfriend and hooked up with Paolo.
Jenn and Fawn had a falling out. They were no longer best friends forever.
Fawn made plans to see me again. A few weeks later, she had a new boyfriend.
I never saw her again, as she doesn’t cheat.
I’m her friend. I wouldn’t want her to cheat.
As I made breakfast that morning after meeting Fawn, I reflected on an unexpected threshold I had crossed. In my nascent career as a chicken hawk, I had reached a new apex—or nadir, depending on one’s point of view.
I had now slept with someone younger than my eldest daughter.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Fleshbot and Girls Next Door
This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot pays a social call on the girls next door, those neighborly gals who seem just like your sister or mom—though the stories they tell have no place at family hour.
Speaking of the girls next door, pay a visit to the girls in the next blog. I have recently shown up in the writing of a few of my friends and lovers; here’s a handy map for those of you who enjoy stalking me.
Lily rethinks my casting for her first threesome, replacing my best supporting actor with one of her own. Read forward in her blog to follow subsequent developments.
Anna Smash is drawing near the conclusion of her smoking hot series on our weekend together. It kind of breaks my heart to see it ending again.
And finally, Madeline raises the bar on scripting blowjobs—just as she will raise hell that I included her in a roundup of “women who fuck Jefferson.”
You can even listen to Madeline’s twang as she reads a tale that was featured on Playboy Radio.
Hey, remind me to tell you a story about Madeline. I think I’ve got a few.
Speaking of the girls next door, pay a visit to the girls in the next blog. I have recently shown up in the writing of a few of my friends and lovers; here’s a handy map for those of you who enjoy stalking me.
Lily rethinks my casting for her first threesome, replacing my best supporting actor with one of her own. Read forward in her blog to follow subsequent developments.
Anna Smash is drawing near the conclusion of her smoking hot series on our weekend together. It kind of breaks my heart to see it ending again.
And finally, Madeline raises the bar on scripting blowjobs—just as she will raise hell that I included her in a roundup of “women who fuck Jefferson.”
You can even listen to Madeline’s twang as she reads a tale that was featured on Playboy Radio.
Hey, remind me to tell you a story about Madeline. I think I’ve got a few.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Steak
TIME: Tuesday, March 13, 9:18pm.
SCENE: A crowded living room. Thumping music plays low under vibrant overlapping conversations.
JEFFERSON turns to THOMAS.
JEFFERSON (sotto voce): Oh right, today’s the thirteenth. You know what that makes tomorrow?
THOMAS: The fourteenth?
JEFFERSON: That’s right. And the fourteenth is “Steak and Blowjob Day.”
THOMAS: It is? There’s such a thing?
ENSEMBLE falls silent. From the couch, a chorus of FOUR WOMEN speaks in unison.
FOUR WOMEN: Oh no, you don’t!
JEFFERSON: What? What did I say?
FOUR WOMEN: That holiday does not apply to you!
BUGS: You don’t believe in Valentine’s Day.
CALLIE: You have to believe in Valentine’s Day to get a “Steak and Blowjob Day.”
LILY: Its true, I think those things are reciprocal.
AVAH: See? Told you.
JEFFERSON: Is it too late to repent?
FOUR WOMEN: You have eleven months to find out!
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 12:13am.
SCENE: An orgy. ENSEMBLE is nude on a bed, entangled in sex. In a nearby chair, JEFFERSON is receiving a blowjob from WOMAN. The time is visible on a nearby clock.
AVAH (petting WOMAN’s hair): God, that’s hot.
JEFFERSON (smiles as he takes AVAH’s breast in hand): Yeah, she’s such a sweet cocksucker.
AVAH (kisses JEFFERSON’s cheek): Did you notice the time? Happy “Steak and Blowjob Day.”
JEFFERSON (kisses AVAH): Aw, thanks. Can I get that medium rare, baked potato—butter, chives—with a glass of Cabernet?
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 8:16am.
SCENE: A bedroom. Tables and shelves are covered with condoms, wine glasses and water bottles. The floor is strewn with condom wrappers and clothing.
JEFFERSON and AVAH stir under a blanket. They kiss.
JEFFERSON: Good morning, Avah.
AVAH: Good morning, baby. You didn’t snore that much last night.
JEFFERSON (reaches for condom and opens wrapper): Oh good, I’m glad.
AVAH (watches as JEFFERSON rolls condom on his cock): That’s it? No foreplay?
JEFFERSON (turns to lay on AVAH): I said “good morning,” didn’t I?
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 10:12am.
SCENE: The blanket is on the floor. AVAH and JEFFERSON are covered in sweat. JEFFERSON rolls off AVAH’s body.
JEFFERSON (panting): When did it get so hot in here?
AVAH (breathing deep): January. When they turned on the heat. I opened the windows last night.
JEFFERSON: Yeah, smart move. (JEFFERSON strokes AVAH’s arm.) Take a rest, honey. Then you can suck my dick.
AVAH: But you didn’t do Valentine’s Day. That means I can’t do “Steak and Blowjob Day.”
JEFFERSON: I didn’t ask for a steak. I want you to suck me off.
AVAH: But . . .
JEFFERSON: Tell you what. I’ve got an idea.
AVAH (smiles): What’s your idea?
JEFFERSON leans to AVAH’s ear and whispers.
AVAH: Awww . . . okay, let me get my hair clip.
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 11:23am.
SCENE: A dining room table set with a flower vase and two place settings. JEFFERSON enters, nude, holding two plates.
JEFFERSON: Ta-da! (JEFFERSON kisses AVAH’s head.)
AVAH: Wow, that is so sweet.
JEFFERSON: As promised: pancakes in the shape of hearts. Want butter?
AVAH: You are too much.
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 8:03pm.
SCENE: A kitchen. JEFFERSON is cooking, wearing shorts and a black t-shirt. COLLIE enters, holding phone.
COLLIE: Dad? Mom wants to talk to you.
JEFFERSON: She does? Okay, thanks. (JEFFERSON puts down wooden spoon and takes phone. COLLIE exits.) Hello?
LUCY: Jefferson, it’s after eight.
JEFFERSON (looks at clock): Yes, it is.
LUCY: Collie tells me that Lillie hasn’t finished her homework and she’s watching television. And she had a nap?
JEFFERSON (adds pepper to a saucepan): Uh huh.
LUCY: Jefferson, it’s so important that Lillie do her homework immediately after school. She can not nap then.
JEFFERSON (sips wine): She fell asleep reading.
LUCY: You have to wake her up! Jefferson, if she doesn’t do her homework before school in the mornings, she will get lower marks. She’s in second grade, Jefferson. She has to learn these things now.
JEFFERSON (draws breath): It’s unfortunate that you are relying on Collie as the supervisor of Lillie’s homework. She’s got twelve hours until school resumes. She can get it done.
LUCY: That’s your answer? Twelve hours? So—what? She does it at midnight? Four in the morning? What if she doesn’t do it?
JEFFERSON: Those are all possibilities. Another is: what if she does do it?
LUCY (her voice rises): Jefferson, it’s so important that she does her homework immediately after school . . .
JEFFERSON: I’m here if you want to have a constructive dialogue about the children. But I am not here if you want to use Collie or Lillie to call and impulsively yell at me.
LUCY (shouting): I am not yelling at you!
JEFFERSON (his voice steady and robotic): You are shouting at me. That is not constructive. This conversation is now over. Goodbye. (JEFFERSON closes the phone. He takes the spoon and stirs a saucepan. He reaches for a glass of wine.) Kids! Five minutes! (JEFFERSON looks at the phone. It does not ring.)
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 10:13pm.
SCENE: JEFFERSON watches television with his thirteen-year-old son JASON.
JEFFERSON: Holy smokes . . . Claire is Jack’s sister.
WOMAN’S VOICE: But . . . I don’t understand. You’re paying the bills? Who are you?
MAN’S VOICE: Claire . . . I’m your father.
JEFFERSON: Bang!
JASON (sitting up): Oh, snap! How did you know that?!
JEFFERSON: Shh! I’ll tell you during the commercial.
They sit in silence watching television.
ANNOUNCER: Disturbing footage tonight as a teenager is beaten to death at boot camp—captured by surveillance cameras. That, and is Spring here to stay? Accucast weather, at eleven.
JASON: What was that you made for dinner again?
JEFFERSON: Pepper steak with onions and peppers, with Spanish rice. Did you like it?
JASON: That was great, Dad. You should make that more often.
JEFFERSON (smiles): Yeah, I really should.
CURTAIN
SCENE: A crowded living room. Thumping music plays low under vibrant overlapping conversations.
JEFFERSON turns to THOMAS.
JEFFERSON (sotto voce): Oh right, today’s the thirteenth. You know what that makes tomorrow?
THOMAS: The fourteenth?
JEFFERSON: That’s right. And the fourteenth is “Steak and Blowjob Day.”
THOMAS: It is? There’s such a thing?
ENSEMBLE falls silent. From the couch, a chorus of FOUR WOMEN speaks in unison.
FOUR WOMEN: Oh no, you don’t!
JEFFERSON: What? What did I say?
FOUR WOMEN: That holiday does not apply to you!
BUGS: You don’t believe in Valentine’s Day.
CALLIE: You have to believe in Valentine’s Day to get a “Steak and Blowjob Day.”
LILY: Its true, I think those things are reciprocal.
AVAH: See? Told you.
JEFFERSON: Is it too late to repent?
FOUR WOMEN: You have eleven months to find out!
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 12:13am.
SCENE: An orgy. ENSEMBLE is nude on a bed, entangled in sex. In a nearby chair, JEFFERSON is receiving a blowjob from WOMAN. The time is visible on a nearby clock.
AVAH (petting WOMAN’s hair): God, that’s hot.
JEFFERSON (smiles as he takes AVAH’s breast in hand): Yeah, she’s such a sweet cocksucker.
AVAH (kisses JEFFERSON’s cheek): Did you notice the time? Happy “Steak and Blowjob Day.”
JEFFERSON (kisses AVAH): Aw, thanks. Can I get that medium rare, baked potato—butter, chives—with a glass of Cabernet?
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 8:16am.
SCENE: A bedroom. Tables and shelves are covered with condoms, wine glasses and water bottles. The floor is strewn with condom wrappers and clothing.
JEFFERSON and AVAH stir under a blanket. They kiss.
JEFFERSON: Good morning, Avah.
AVAH: Good morning, baby. You didn’t snore that much last night.
JEFFERSON (reaches for condom and opens wrapper): Oh good, I’m glad.
AVAH (watches as JEFFERSON rolls condom on his cock): That’s it? No foreplay?
JEFFERSON (turns to lay on AVAH): I said “good morning,” didn’t I?
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 10:12am.
SCENE: The blanket is on the floor. AVAH and JEFFERSON are covered in sweat. JEFFERSON rolls off AVAH’s body.
JEFFERSON (panting): When did it get so hot in here?
AVAH (breathing deep): January. When they turned on the heat. I opened the windows last night.
JEFFERSON: Yeah, smart move. (JEFFERSON strokes AVAH’s arm.) Take a rest, honey. Then you can suck my dick.
AVAH: But you didn’t do Valentine’s Day. That means I can’t do “Steak and Blowjob Day.”
JEFFERSON: I didn’t ask for a steak. I want you to suck me off.
AVAH: But . . .
JEFFERSON: Tell you what. I’ve got an idea.
AVAH (smiles): What’s your idea?
JEFFERSON leans to AVAH’s ear and whispers.
AVAH: Awww . . . okay, let me get my hair clip.
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 11:23am.
SCENE: A dining room table set with a flower vase and two place settings. JEFFERSON enters, nude, holding two plates.
JEFFERSON: Ta-da! (JEFFERSON kisses AVAH’s head.)
AVAH: Wow, that is so sweet.
JEFFERSON: As promised: pancakes in the shape of hearts. Want butter?
AVAH: You are too much.
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 8:03pm.
SCENE: A kitchen. JEFFERSON is cooking, wearing shorts and a black t-shirt. COLLIE enters, holding phone.
COLLIE: Dad? Mom wants to talk to you.
JEFFERSON: She does? Okay, thanks. (JEFFERSON puts down wooden spoon and takes phone. COLLIE exits.) Hello?
LUCY: Jefferson, it’s after eight.
JEFFERSON (looks at clock): Yes, it is.
LUCY: Collie tells me that Lillie hasn’t finished her homework and she’s watching television. And she had a nap?
JEFFERSON (adds pepper to a saucepan): Uh huh.
LUCY: Jefferson, it’s so important that Lillie do her homework immediately after school. She can not nap then.
JEFFERSON (sips wine): She fell asleep reading.
LUCY: You have to wake her up! Jefferson, if she doesn’t do her homework before school in the mornings, she will get lower marks. She’s in second grade, Jefferson. She has to learn these things now.
JEFFERSON (draws breath): It’s unfortunate that you are relying on Collie as the supervisor of Lillie’s homework. She’s got twelve hours until school resumes. She can get it done.
LUCY: That’s your answer? Twelve hours? So—what? She does it at midnight? Four in the morning? What if she doesn’t do it?
JEFFERSON: Those are all possibilities. Another is: what if she does do it?
LUCY (her voice rises): Jefferson, it’s so important that she does her homework immediately after school . . .
JEFFERSON: I’m here if you want to have a constructive dialogue about the children. But I am not here if you want to use Collie or Lillie to call and impulsively yell at me.
LUCY (shouting): I am not yelling at you!
JEFFERSON (his voice steady and robotic): You are shouting at me. That is not constructive. This conversation is now over. Goodbye. (JEFFERSON closes the phone. He takes the spoon and stirs a saucepan. He reaches for a glass of wine.) Kids! Five minutes! (JEFFERSON looks at the phone. It does not ring.)
TIME: Wednesday, March 14, 10:13pm.
SCENE: JEFFERSON watches television with his thirteen-year-old son JASON.
JEFFERSON: Holy smokes . . . Claire is Jack’s sister.
WOMAN’S VOICE: But . . . I don’t understand. You’re paying the bills? Who are you?
MAN’S VOICE: Claire . . . I’m your father.
JEFFERSON: Bang!
JASON (sitting up): Oh, snap! How did you know that?!
JEFFERSON: Shh! I’ll tell you during the commercial.
They sit in silence watching television.
ANNOUNCER: Disturbing footage tonight as a teenager is beaten to death at boot camp—captured by surveillance cameras. That, and is Spring here to stay? Accucast weather, at eleven.
JASON: What was that you made for dinner again?
JEFFERSON: Pepper steak with onions and peppers, with Spanish rice. Did you like it?
JASON: That was great, Dad. You should make that more often.
JEFFERSON (smiles): Yeah, I really should.
CURTAIN
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Slumber Party
“Oh my God, we made it alive!” Fawn laughed as I kissed her cheek. She wrapped her arms around me. “I’m so glad to finally meet you, Jefferson!”
“Likewise, honey. It’s been a long time coming. And you must be Jenn?”
“Nice to meet you, too,” she said, stopping just short of adding “sir.” We leaned forward from our hips to buss cheeks without otherwise touching.
I took Paolo’s hand. “And tonight’s knight in shining armor. Nice save, Paolo.”
“’sup, man,” Paolo said, wrapping one arm around my shoulder to pull me into a brief embrace.
I invited my guests inside and took their coats. Underneath his puffy black coat, Paolo wore a puffy black sweatshirt and puffy black pants. He didn’t remove his oversized black baseball cap.
Jenn looked around the living room, sweeping the long blonde hair from her shoulders as she glanced at book titles on my shelves. She was tall, with an erect bearing and a fresh-scrubbed beauty that reminded me of Christie Brinkley, circa my senior year in high school, before Jenn was born.
“This was one night I would love to forget,” Fawn said, falling back on the couch.
“Perhaps your evening is now improving,” I smiled, sitting beside her.
“Well, anything would be better than having my car die on the highway and waiting in that growdy gas station,” she said. “I have no idea what’s wrong with my car.”
“It’s the carburetor,” Jenn diagnosed as she pulled down a book.
“It’s going to be three hundred dollars, whatever it is,” Fawn predicted.
Paolo sat on a chair.
“Anyway, we finally meet, Jefferson,” Fawn went on. She grinned. She was instantly familiar, something I had found endearing in our correspondence. Fawn had the easy air of someone who quickly makes people feel like her best friend. She had only just arrived, but she seemed settled and at ease.
I smiled, taking in her pale blue eyes, black hair and milky skin.
“Yeah, it’s great to see you, too,” I nodded.
We talked for a while. Jenn joined in the conversation as she continued her tour of my bookcases. Paolo sat quietly, listening.
I relaxed, shifting gear from a long day—kids up and off to school, project deadline, housecleaning, gay orgy, and now, a teenage slumber party.
As midnight approached, I wondered how the night should progress. Fawn was here to have sex with me, and everyone knew this. It would probably be my responsibility to initiate that transition. But how? Should I offer a snack to Jenn and Paolo, and then excuse Fawn and myself to my bedroom? Wouldn’t that be a tad awkward?
In my life since marriage, I’ve grown accustomed to meeting people for sex. But this had the sense of a more distant social interaction. I tried to remember: how did we work this in high school?
“I’m so wired, still,” Fawn said, tapping a hand on her jeans. “You know what I would love to do? Veg to a movie.”
That was one way to do it.
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “Have you seen Secretary?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “I really want to.”
“What’s Secretary?” Jenn asked.
“It’s like a movie about this submissive secretary who works for this guy who’s totally OCD. Right, Jefferson?”
Paolo laughed. “Sounds whack.”
Jenn winced.
“No, it’s not like you think,” I assured them. “Let’s go to the other room and give it a spin.”
We moved to my bedroom. Jenn sat in a chair, with Paolo sitting on the floor between her knees. I left them to watch cartoons as I prepared a snack and Fawn went to the bathroom.
I came back with popcorn and drinks—lemonade for my underage guests, bourbon for myself.
Fawn returned. She had stripped to an oversized t-shirt and panties.
She cuddled next to me on the bed. I kissed her hair and clicked the remote.
I had seen the movie more times than I could count. But I was glad to take this moment for down time, to unwind and feel Fawn so close.
My hand caressed her back. I felt her bra strap.
“Sit up, honey,” I whispered.
She sat forward, her eyes on James Spader. I unfastened the clasp on her bra. Her arms retreated inside her shirt and reemerged with a black bra. She handed it to me. I tossed it on a nearby chair.
She sat back in my arms.
“Much better,” I whispered, my hand cupping a breast. I toyed with her nipple as it grew hard.
I licked her ear and touched her thighs as Maggie Gyllenhaal wet her wedding gown. Fawn wrapped her bare leg over mine, resting a hand on my chest.
I stole a glance at Jenn and Paolo. Their eyes were on the screen as he rested a cheek on her knee. They didn’t notice our discreet touches, or they pretended not to notice.
James drove away, waving to Maggie. She waved back and looked into the camera.
“I love that movie,” Fawn said.
“Whack,” Paolo laughed.
Jenn turned a head to her shoulder. "That guy from Boston Legal is kinda hot."
"Totally," Fawn agreed.
We talked for bit more until our conversation was punctured by yawns. I made a bed for Jenn and Paolo as they said good night to Fawn.
They closed the door to their room. I closed the door to mine.
I looked into Fawn’s azure eyes.
They vanished as she pulled off her t-shirt.
“Likewise, honey. It’s been a long time coming. And you must be Jenn?”
“Nice to meet you, too,” she said, stopping just short of adding “sir.” We leaned forward from our hips to buss cheeks without otherwise touching.
I took Paolo’s hand. “And tonight’s knight in shining armor. Nice save, Paolo.”
“’sup, man,” Paolo said, wrapping one arm around my shoulder to pull me into a brief embrace.
I invited my guests inside and took their coats. Underneath his puffy black coat, Paolo wore a puffy black sweatshirt and puffy black pants. He didn’t remove his oversized black baseball cap.
Jenn looked around the living room, sweeping the long blonde hair from her shoulders as she glanced at book titles on my shelves. She was tall, with an erect bearing and a fresh-scrubbed beauty that reminded me of Christie Brinkley, circa my senior year in high school, before Jenn was born.
“This was one night I would love to forget,” Fawn said, falling back on the couch.
“Perhaps your evening is now improving,” I smiled, sitting beside her.
“Well, anything would be better than having my car die on the highway and waiting in that growdy gas station,” she said. “I have no idea what’s wrong with my car.”
“It’s the carburetor,” Jenn diagnosed as she pulled down a book.
“It’s going to be three hundred dollars, whatever it is,” Fawn predicted.
Paolo sat on a chair.
“Anyway, we finally meet, Jefferson,” Fawn went on. She grinned. She was instantly familiar, something I had found endearing in our correspondence. Fawn had the easy air of someone who quickly makes people feel like her best friend. She had only just arrived, but she seemed settled and at ease.
I smiled, taking in her pale blue eyes, black hair and milky skin.
“Yeah, it’s great to see you, too,” I nodded.
We talked for a while. Jenn joined in the conversation as she continued her tour of my bookcases. Paolo sat quietly, listening.
I relaxed, shifting gear from a long day—kids up and off to school, project deadline, housecleaning, gay orgy, and now, a teenage slumber party.
As midnight approached, I wondered how the night should progress. Fawn was here to have sex with me, and everyone knew this. It would probably be my responsibility to initiate that transition. But how? Should I offer a snack to Jenn and Paolo, and then excuse Fawn and myself to my bedroom? Wouldn’t that be a tad awkward?
In my life since marriage, I’ve grown accustomed to meeting people for sex. But this had the sense of a more distant social interaction. I tried to remember: how did we work this in high school?
“I’m so wired, still,” Fawn said, tapping a hand on her jeans. “You know what I would love to do? Veg to a movie.”
That was one way to do it.
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “Have you seen Secretary?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “I really want to.”
“What’s Secretary?” Jenn asked.
“It’s like a movie about this submissive secretary who works for this guy who’s totally OCD. Right, Jefferson?”
Paolo laughed. “Sounds whack.”
Jenn winced.
“No, it’s not like you think,” I assured them. “Let’s go to the other room and give it a spin.”
We moved to my bedroom. Jenn sat in a chair, with Paolo sitting on the floor between her knees. I left them to watch cartoons as I prepared a snack and Fawn went to the bathroom.
I came back with popcorn and drinks—lemonade for my underage guests, bourbon for myself.
Fawn returned. She had stripped to an oversized t-shirt and panties.
She cuddled next to me on the bed. I kissed her hair and clicked the remote.
I had seen the movie more times than I could count. But I was glad to take this moment for down time, to unwind and feel Fawn so close.
My hand caressed her back. I felt her bra strap.
“Sit up, honey,” I whispered.
She sat forward, her eyes on James Spader. I unfastened the clasp on her bra. Her arms retreated inside her shirt and reemerged with a black bra. She handed it to me. I tossed it on a nearby chair.
She sat back in my arms.
“Much better,” I whispered, my hand cupping a breast. I toyed with her nipple as it grew hard.
I licked her ear and touched her thighs as Maggie Gyllenhaal wet her wedding gown. Fawn wrapped her bare leg over mine, resting a hand on my chest.
I stole a glance at Jenn and Paolo. Their eyes were on the screen as he rested a cheek on her knee. They didn’t notice our discreet touches, or they pretended not to notice.
James drove away, waving to Maggie. She waved back and looked into the camera.
“I love that movie,” Fawn said.
“Whack,” Paolo laughed.
Jenn turned a head to her shoulder. "That guy from Boston Legal is kinda hot."
"Totally," Fawn agreed.
We talked for bit more until our conversation was punctured by yawns. I made a bed for Jenn and Paolo as they said good night to Fawn.
They closed the door to their room. I closed the door to mine.
I looked into Fawn’s azure eyes.
They vanished as she pulled off her t-shirt.
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