The annual sex issue of Time Out New York mentioned the Bukkake Social Club I host. Not surprisingly, I received a number of emails from people interested in meeting me or joining the club. The following caught my eye:
I read about you in Time Out and I am interested in attending the next gathering.
I'm thirty-one, bi, African American and female. Is there anything else you need? Here's a pic as confirmation that I am of age. I've never done anything like this before.
Take care,
Bijou
Attached was a snapshot of a smiling face, partially obscured by a flash reflected in a mirror. I noticed the email address Bijou had used to contact me. It included her last name and her place of employment. First name, surname, workplace, photograph—I now had all the information I needed to stalk her and possibly get her fired.
At least, that’s what a bad person might do. Fortunately for Bijou, I am not a bad person. I fuck people and I write smut. I’m a good person.
I thanked Bijou for her note and asked why the club appealed to her. Each club meeting features a female special guest of honor whom I fuck as club members watch and jerk off, ultimately dousing her in jism. Did she want to attend as a voyeur or as a guest of honor?
She was interested in watching. Her attraction to voyeurism was new and she wanted to pursue it.
To be honest, I told her, most of the club members are men. But we welcome women, and there are some female regulars. She was interested in knowing more, so we agreed to meet after work. I offered my place, but after reading my blog, she was wary of stepping into my iniquitous den sight unseen. I suggested that we meet in a park. We set a time and place. She gave me her number. I added that to all the information that she had given me, reckoning I now had enough to find her home address, her mother’s maiden name and her credit rating—but only if I knew how to use Google.
The sun was dipping below the tree line as she approached my park bench. I waved, knowing that all she had ever seen of me is my mouth, two fingers and a thumb. She smiled and waved back. I stood and reached up to kiss her cheek. I rested a hand briefly on her braided hair.
“Jefferson! I feel like I know so much about you from your blog.”
“And there you have me at a disadvantage, Bijou. I know nothing about you. Let’s go sit on the grass and fix that.”
“Oh, that’s right, I’m just someone who sent you an email, right? I bet that happens all the time.” We walked toward a knoll shaded from the setting sun.
“I like mail. So, what made you write?”
“Hmmm, I guess that’s a complicated thing,” she began. “I just haven’t had that many experiences and I think it’s time to change that. I mean, I’m over thirty and it’s like I’m still waiting to discover what sex is all about. So maybe I’ll know more if I stop waiting and do something.” She paused. “Oh, and hello!” she laughed. “I don’t know you and I’m telling you all this stuff. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine, really. That part I’m used to. Strangers often tell me all about their sexuality. It’s like ‘howtcha do’ to me.” We found a place to sit. As we watched shirtless men play Frisbee, she began to interview me about my blog. I’m comfortable talking about that, so I answered questions about its origins, my orgies, and how I manage to stay sane with so many lovers.
“I’m envious,” she said. “I don’t think I could ever do any of that. It’s something I’d like in some ways, I think . . . though, you know, on a more human scale.” I laughed. “But it’s not like I’d do anything about it. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Well, you wrote to me, and that’s doing something.”
“Yeah, but please. I’m over thirty and I’ve only been with, like, three people.”
“That must’ve been some night,” I exclaimed.
“No,” she laughed. “It wasn’t all at once.”
“So how many years were with your poly foursome?”
“No, no.” Her laugh gave over to a smile. “No, I mean, I’ve only been with three people, ever. At different times.”
“Oh, now I get it.” I smiled. I watched as a long-haired fellow jumped to catch a Frisbee. He hurled it back before landing on his feet. “Well, if you had good experiences with your three lovers, that’s great. It’s not about accumulating numbers or anything. It’s about what you enjoy.”
Her eyes followed mine. A girl in a bikini jumped to catch the toss. “Yeah, I enjoyed it. I mean, they were women I liked. I just wish I had known more about how to please them.”
I turned to her. “Your three people were all women?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“That’s cool,” I nodded. “But in your note, you said you were bi. If your experience is with women, why don’t you identify as lesbian?”
She shifted, turning to me and folding her legs. “See, that’s just it. I know I’m attracted to men. I’m curious about it. But I’ve just never really had the opportunity to do anything about it. Women, though, you know, that’s easier.”
I faced her. “Okay, so at present, you’re a bi-curious lesbian-oriented bisexual virgin?”
She laughed. “I guess you could say that.”
My face grew solemn. “You must say that,” I intoned. “Labels are very, very important.” She laughed again. “I’m serious,” I went on. “If you don’t wear your sexuality as a badge, how can you know who you are?”
She grinned. “Funny. But yeah, I’m not worried about who I am.”
“In all seriousness, that’s pretty clear.” I looked back the Frisbee players. “Virgin, huh?”
She picked up a stone and tossed it. “I’m not having sex with you.”
“You’re rather presumptuous,” I chided. “Who says I’m interested?”
“What?” she pouted. “I’m not pretty enough for you?”
“Are you kidding?” I looked at her. “You’re hot. You know that, don’t you?”
“I guess. I mean, I hear that. People say it. I guess I could have sex if I wanted to, but, I don’t know, I haven’t met a guy that makes me want to. Plus, I’m just not that turned on by the thought of penetration.”
“So you’d want a guy, but not necessarily to fuck? There’s so much you can do that doesn’t include that, but it’s true, most guys won’t get that right off.”
“That’s true.” She hugged her knees to her chest. “I mean, who knows, I might find I like it more than I expect. What do I know? I wouldn’t know what to do, probably. I’ve never even seen a penis.”
“Never?”
“Nope. I mean, I’ve seen pictures and porn, but not in person.”
“Never? As it, not once? No brothers or cousins or high school romance, or . . .”
“Nope. Never.”
“Wow,” I nodded. “You’ve got so many cherries, it’s like a grove of virginities.”
“Right? That’s what I mean. I’d better get on that. So tell me more about this bukkake thing?”
I lay back on my elbows and told her a few anecdotes from past sessions. She listened intently as I described how an event usually transpired, and the times we make exceptions to the rules, as when I put on show with two women, or the time Leah decided to bring Jacob into the show.
After a while, she turned to watch the Frisbee players as I told her a story of sex she had only seen in porn. “That’s incredible,” she said. “And I can’t believe that was really you. I mean, you seem so normal.”
“Sex is pretty normal,” I shrugged.
“Yeah, but not everyone has sex for an audience.”
“True enough,” I conceded.
She nodded and we fell silent. After a moment, she pulled out her phone. “Hmmm, five forty . . . do you live near here?”
I glanced at her. “I do.”
“I have a class at seven, but I would kind of like to see your place. Can we go over there?”
“Sure, it’s close.” I stood and offered my hand. “Let’s go.”
She took my hand. “I’m not having sex with you,” she reiterated.
“That’s established,” I said. “Anyway, if you ever decided to give me your virginity, we’d need more than a quickie. I’d want that to be a good, long time.”
“Ha, that’s sweet.” We began to walk. “It’s not happening, but that’s nice of you to say.”
As we walked, I surmised correctly that this was the first time she had met anyone online. I encouraged her to be more careful in revealing her personal information, and to get a separate email account that didn’t include her name or workplace. She thanked me for the advice, adding that she really did have a lot to learn.
I unlocked the door at my place, and gestured for her to enter. She stepped in and looked around my living room. “Nice place,” she said. “Huh, you’ve got a lot of books.”
“Just props to impress girls,” I smiled. “Care for the full tour?” I showed her around, relating rooms and furnishings to stories on my blog—the bed that replaced the most recent one broken, the voyeur’s chair, the folding taco futon of death. We returned to the living room to talk.
“It’s so surreal,” she said, her eyes on a vase of flowers. “It’s just so . . . normal. You’re normal, your place is normal.” She paused and looked at me. “And you have so much sex!”
“Yeah, a regular rabbit in sheep’s clothing, that’s me.”
We continued to talk about sex. She asked me questions which I typically answered with examples and stories. Mindful of her class, I kept an eye on the clock. At six thirty, I let her know the time and suggested she may need to be on her way.
She agreed and stood to leave. I sat forward, preparing to walk her to the door. She turned and said, suddenly, “I’m not having sex with you.”
“Obviously,” I said. “There’s no time.”
“I know, but . . . look.” She sat down. “Can I please see your penis?”
I laughed. “Seriously?”
“Did that sound weird?” She laughed. “I know, of course it did. But I thought, well, I’m here, you’re here, and, well . . . I’ve never seen one. Do you mind?”
I patted her hand. “Not a problem. One cherry, gone, that easily.” I stood and posed facing her. I pulled off my t-shirt and tossed it to a chair. Her eyes fell to my torso. I placed my feet squarely under my shoulders and unbuttoned my shorts. Her eyes watched my fingers closely. I dropped my hands. “Oh, I’m not sure you really want to see this penis,” I teased.
“Oh, come on!” she laughed nervously. “Please, that’s mean.”
“Okay, okay. No more jokes. Just penis.” I unzipped my shorts. They dropped to the floor. I stepped free of them, moving slightly closer to her. I put my hands on my hips and let her get an eye full.
“God. Wow.” She sat on the edge of her seat. “Thanks, that’s just . . . wow.”
“So glad you like. May I sit down?”
“Oh, sure,” she said, her eyes never leaving my cock. I moved to the couch and sat an arm’s length from her. I leaned back to give her an unobstructed view, folding my arms behind my head. Moments passed. “Wow,” she finally exhaled. “It’s amazing that it’s just . . . there.”
“Yeah, how about that?” I said, looking down. “Naked dick is awesome.”
She leaned forward. “Do you think . . . would you mind if I touched it?”
“I wish you would,” I smiled. “I’d like that.”
She looked up at my face. “Do you have a condom?”
I laughed. “You want me to wear a condom for a handjob?”
Her face flushed. “Oh, it’s just . . . well, I don’t know you, and . . .”
I patted her hand again. “No, it’s cool. I don’t mind. I’ll be back in a second.” I went to my bedroom and returned with a condom foil. I sat again, this time a little closer to her. “Now, you may not realize this, but it’s difficult to get a condom on a flaccid penis. Do you mind if I stroke myself to get hard?”
She smiled. “Seriously? That would be hot. I can watch?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s hot for me, too.” I began to tug on my cock, feeling it begin to react. “Say, it would also help if we kissed . . .”
“Oh, no,” she said, pulling back. “I can only do that if I love someone.”
“This isn’t love?” I joked. “I feel so used . . .”
“Yeah, like you don’t like that,” she laughed. I smiled and returned to the task at hand. Knowing that this was her initiation in cock was enough to get me hard quickly. It was also arousing to think of the way she valued her kisses. I looked up to her soft, full lips. She didn’t notice; her gaze was entirely ensnared by my hand twisting up and down my shaft.
“Right.” I sighed quietly. “Now comes the condom. Watch carefully.” I scarcely needed to encourage her. She seemed hesitant to blink. I demonstrated how to roll on a condom, and gave myself some more long, slow strokes. “Okay,” I offered, removing my hand. “Enjoy yourself.”
“Wow. Okay.” She moved forward. “It’s just amazing. It really did get bigger.”
“Uh huh.” I returned my palms to the back of my head.
“So much bigger.” She slowly reached out, stopping just before she touched me. “Really? You don’t mind?”
“It’s my pleasure,” I smiled.
She laughed slightly, drew a breath, and touched my cock. Her fingers moved around the condom, shifting the flesh underneath. “Look, it’s like, soft. The skin is soft, even though you’re hard.”
“That’s right. And here, check this out.” I lead her finger to my cock’s center and bottom. “Feel how soft that is? Now feel either side.”
She followed my guiding fingers. “Wow, is that . . . it's not really bone, is it?”
“Nope, not bone. It’s more like a sponge that gets rigid when filled with blood. That softer part in the middle is the urethra.”
She nodded, paying more attention to her fingers than my words. I dropped my hand from hers as she continued to touch and explore. After delicately fingering me for some time, she looked at me and began to imitate my strokes. “Does this feel good?” she asked. “Like this?”
“That feels great. Let me show you something.” I took her index finger and placed if under the head. “Feel this part right here? That’s the most sensitive part and, on most men, stimulating that is going to trigger an orgasm.” I led her finger to the head. “This part? It’s very sensitive. When I’m aroused, it’s almost too sensitive. So when you stroke, focus on the bit under the head, and avoid too much attention to the head itself.” I released her finger. She returned to jerking me.
“Like this?” she asked.
“Just like that. A little less pressure . . . okay. Now that’s perfect.” I sat back and let her give her first handjob.
I sighed softly. “Are you going to cum?” she asked.
“Um, no, I’m not. The condom reduces sensation, so I’m not sure if I can cum from a handjob when I’m wearing one. Anyway, I’ve got a date tonight, so I need to hold off.”
“Oh.” She stroked me with a lighter touch. “So if you came now, you wouldn't be able to later?”
“Different with different guys. With me, yeah, it would be harder to do it again later.”
“Oh.” She watched my cock move in her hand. “That’s too bad. I’d really like to see you cum.”
“Then you’ll have to come back,” I nodded.
“Yeah, come back,” she murmured.
I gave her some more time with my cock before reminding her of her class. “Yeah . . .” she replied. She sat back suddenly. “Oh yeah, I need to go.” She quickly removed her hand, leaving my cock to flop like a metronome. She stood and looked around, as if coming out of a spell. She looked at her hand. “Hey, do you have a bathroom?”
“I do. It’s down the hall.” She hurried away. I heard the sound of running water as she washed her hands vigorously. I stood and dressed. She returned and I showed her to the door. I kissed her cheek and held out my hand. “Nice to meet you. Let’s do it again soon.”
She looked at my hand. “Soon, yeah. Um, do you mind if we don’t shake hands? I just . . .”
“Understood.” I opened the door. “Enjoy your next class.”
“Thanks.” She smiled wanly as she rushed out the door.
A few weeks later, my doorbell rang. “Holy hell,” I said. I stopped what I was doing, walked to the door and glanced through the peephole. I stood behind the door as I opened it. “You’re late,” I scolded.
“I’m sorry,” Bijou apologized. “Is it too late?”
I held up my hands. “What do you think?”
She looked down and laughed. I was nude but for the condom on my erection. “Just like I remembered you,” she giggled.
“Funny. All right, come along.” I led her down the hall to my bedroom. I entered the room just ahead of her. “Everyone, this is Bijou. Bijou, welcome to the club.”
She looked around. There were six naked men jerking off. They looked over the fully dressed woman at the door. “Uh . . . hi, everyone,” she said, waving slightly.
“Nice to meet you,” Ted replied, dropping his cock to wave back.
The woman on the bed raised her head. “Hey, how are you?” she asked.
“I’m good,” Bijou replied, staring as the first cock she had ever seen vanished into the body of a woman she had just met.
“I’m good, too,” the woman said. “Hey, we’ll talk later. I’m kind of getting fucked now. Nice to meet you, though.”
“You too . . . ,” Bijou began. Her voice trailed off as she took a seat in the voyeur’s chair, her eyes unblinking.
Showing posts with label virgin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label virgin. Show all posts
Monday, March 03, 2008
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Genie
He hadn’t meant anything by it. Carlos came over to be photographed and maybe have some sex. It was a simple hook up with a camera thrown in.
That simplicity took a different turn when he fucked me. He had given it to me hard, making me cry out as he pulled my hair and came in my face. He was surprised by what that brought out in him.
I was no less surprised by what it brought out in me.
When he was in my bedroom, nude, under my body, stretched out before my camera, I felt entirely at ease. His beauty was soothing and made me feel confident; far from being intimidated by beauty, I am inspired by it. I could shape and mold his flesh to suit my inspiration in the moment.
He was undressed because I undressed him. He gave me kisses because I took them. He flinched under my bites and nibbles, his cock throbbing. My mouth and hands took him to precisely where I wanted him to be. In those moments with Carlos, I was practiced, assured and unrushed, an artist applying well-honed skills to his craft.
This was before he flipped me over and fucked me. As he pushed into me, pinning down my neck, I was momentarily stunned. This never happened—not the fucking, not the loss of composure, not the surrender of my body. Even more unfamiliar was the sense that I wanted it in that moment, badly, and wanted more of it, immediately.
I would see him again. I might even get fucked again. I didn’t regard getting fucked as an act of submission any more than I regarded fucking as an act of domination. Topping or bottoming are not innately acts of dominance or submission.
Even so, I had to wrap my mind around the sensation I felt in that moment when he flipped me. From my place of confidence and strength as I devoured his beauty—that familiar creative zone of domination—I was turned around and made his prey. He had wanted to take me just as intently as I had wanted to take him.
I wanted more of that.
So far as I knew, Carlos had no interest in anything having to do with domination or submission. He may have just been passive by nature and suddenly felt like fucking. But the raw surge of desire I felt as he fucked me, and the ferocity of his response to it, had clearly affected him as well.
True to form, I gravitated back to the top in my subsequent exchanges with Carlos. The prospect of seeing him again had my creative juices flowing. Without quite meaning to, Carlos was pushing me to want something new with him. I wondered if I could push him as well.
Jefferson: Have you ever been with a girl, Carlos?
Carlos: LOL. No, why?
Jefferson: I want you to fuck a girl for me. How about Tuesday?
Carlos: Are you serious? I don’t know . . .
Jefferson: It’s easy as pie. She’s very pretty—green eyes, sandy blonde hair, your age. You’ll be helping me out, since she has a fantasy about taking a gay boy’s virginity.
Carlos: LOL.
Jefferson: Do me this favor.
Carlos: Maybe I’ll just do you instead.
Jefferson: Carlos, God damn it, can’t you please just do what I tell you to do? Please? How fucking hard is that?
Carlos: LOL.
I had to accept that Carlos might not take my bait. At least, not yet. We barely knew one another, so I would just have to wait to find out if he was interested in allowing me to direct him to new experiences. That is, if I continued to hold his interest at all. Still, I couldn’t let rest my compulsion to test the edges of his susceptibility to suggestion.
Jefferson: I want you to come to the next meeting of my Bukkake Social Club.
Carlos: Bukkake?
Jefferson: Yes. You and a bunch of boys will watch me fuck a girl. The boys are all cool and most are bisexual. Eventually, they all jerk off and cum on the girl.
Carlos: Hot!!
Jefferson: Right? It’s damned hot. And I promise, I won’t make you fuck the girl.
Carlos: LOL. Cool, sounds good.
I considered this a good compromise. He might have had it in mind to fuck me, but this time, he would be watching me fuck a woman. This was something he had never done, nor seen done.
I realized that this invitation put him in the position of a voyeur. I had found myself craving his cock in me. Perhaps that craving now had me trying to put the genie back in the bottle by keeping him in a passive position—or at least by creating a situation in which I would be in charge.
Unfortunately, I could not be in charge of other people’s schedules. It was summer and many of the bukkake club members were out of town or otherwise engaged. Late on the day we planned to meet, I decided that we had too few confirmed responses and cancelled the session. I sent an email to the gentlemen and asked my invited guest to join me later that night for dinner and a sleepover.
I reported the news to Carlos.
Carlos: Too bad. That sounded hot. You still want to meet? I’m so horny today.
Of course, I agreed.
I smiled when I saw him in my peephole. We kissed lightly at the door. I offered him a glass of water as he sat on the couch.
We talked about his day. He talked about his weekend playing tennis with his brother and sister. He touched my face, gently, and kissed me.
My hands searched out his body under his clothes.
In my bedroom, he was passive, as before. He allowed me to undress him, closing his eyes as I toured his body with my touch and my mouth. I took my time, as he showed no sign of hurry.
I held the base of his skull in my hand, swirling my tongue around his throat, when the phone rang. It signaled a guest at the door.
“One sec.” I leaned over his body to reach the receiver. “Yes? Oh, hi . . . did you . . . okay, come on up.” I buzzed the front door open.
Carlos was watching me. I grinned sheepishly.
“What was that?”
“Sight complication.” I leaned to kiss his lips. “You ever been watched before?”
“Watched? You mean, during sex? Uh, no . . .”
I sat up and reached for my shorts. “Cool. That’s about to change.”
His eyes followed me as I left the room.
I opened the front door as the doorbell rang. “Hi Eric, good to see you again.”
“Hey man, good to see you.” Eric took my hand as he entered. His palm was damp from the heat. He looked around the living room. “Am I the first?”
“First and only, I’m afraid. Did you walk here?”
“Yeah, it’s only a couple of miles . . .”
“Then I think you missed my late email. I’m sorry, but we had to cancel at the last minute.”
Eric face fell. “Oh, that’s too bad.” He looked around. “I had sort of saved it up for this.”
“Well, never fear. I’m fooling around with one of the guys in the back. You’re welcome to stay to watch that—you know, as a consolation prize.”
He wiped his forehead. “Huh. Really? Well, sure, okay.”
“Good.” I smiled. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.” I led the way to my bedroom.
“Carlos? I’d like you to meet Eric. Eric, this is Carlos.”
Carlos sat up quickly. His eyes looked over my shoulders to Eric. He could see us both as we entered, as Eric is a good head taller than me.
“Oh, uh, hey.”
“Hey.”
“My apologies that Carlos is already naked,” I said, pulling off my shirt. “We were just . . . you know.” I dropped my shorts and sat next to Carlos.
“No, that’s cool.” Eric looked around. “So should I . . . ?”
“Yes, please.” I waved a hand to the chair beside my bed. “Make yourself comfortable in your voyeur’s seat. We’ll simply resume.”
Eric stepped out of his sneakers. I leaned forward to kiss Carlos. He kissed me back, his eyes on Eric.
I was going to enjoy this.
Eric had been watching me fuck women for over a year. He was quiet and handsome, with a tall athletic body that invariably caught the glances of the other bukkake club members and our female guests. I was touched by his respectful demeanor and returned it with similar manners. He was always a welcome guest in my home.
Carlos had never been watched. I was about to choreograph him through his first live sex show.
I paused as my lips trailed down Carlos’s sternum. “You’ve never watched two boys, have you, Eric?”
He coughed slightly. “No. I mean, porn and stuff, but . . .”
“Oh, I didn’t know you liked that kind of porn.” Carlos twitched as I brushed my cheek across his smooth belly. “I mean, you’re straight and all. Have you ever done much with boys?”
“No.” Eric watched my hand gently pump Carlos’s cock. “A foursome once, but the other guy and me . . . well, we didn’t do much . . .”
“Huh, that sounds really hot,” I nodded, taking Carlos’s cock in my mouth. He sighed and fell back.
I already knew the answers to the questions I asked Eric. My interview was primarily intended for Carlos’s edification and arousal.
My hands cupped his hips as I pulled him deep into me.
Hmm, Carlos, I thought as my tongue waved under him. Let me do things with you.
I looked up. Carlos was watching Eric. I knew Eric’s rhythms well enough to know what had caught Carlos’s eyes. I glanced over to see Eric stroking his cock, his shorts open at the zipper.
I dropped Carlos’s cock from my mouth and crawled up his body. I turned my head to rest my cheek against his. “I forgot to mention that Eric has an enormous cock. Amazing, right?”
Carlos stared ahead. I ground my cock against his. “Yeah.”
Eric stroked faster as we watched.
I sat back on my heels. I pressed Carlos’s thighs back. “I really like to have Eric watch when I’m fucking,” I said, pressing against Carlos’s hole. “He really gets off on it.”
The only sound from Eric’s chair was the friction in his palm.
Carlos barely noticed as I reached for lube and a condom. Eric’s eyes moved from Carlos’s torso to his ass I lubed him.
This time, Carlos raised no protests about being fucked.
I held my slippery head at the edge of his well-greased hole and pushed. “Unh,” Carlos sighed, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, so tight . . .”
I smiled. “Yes, baby, you are incredibly tight.” I pushed forward, gradually giving him the full length of my cock.
“Shit,” Eric whispered.
I looked at him as I slowly pumped. “He has such a tight hole, man.” I pushed Carlo’s leg up to afford a better view for Eric. “See? I’m having to be so gentle.”
“Fuck,” Eric whispered.
I looked down to Carlos’s face. His eyes were closed. He bit his lip.
I pushed back on his thighs, fucking harder.
He turned his face. His brown eyes bore into me.
I fucked him harder still, pivoting my hips.
Carlos turned to watch Eric. I preferred to give Eric his privacy and focused on Carlos.
I barely noticed when Eric removed his shirt. Carlos began to stroke himself.
I pulled Carlos to the edge of the bed. I stood, grabbed his hips, and plowed forcefully.
I heard Eric’s breath accelerate. I knew the sound of his orgasm. I turned slightly to be sure he had a fine line of sight.
“Unh, unh, unh!” Eric grunted.
Carlos pivoted his head. “Do you want to cum on my chest?”
Eric raised a hand and looked at it as though he didn’t recognize it as his own. It dripped on his lap. “Uh, well, I just came.” He reached for a tissue.
“Carlos.” My voice was low.
He looked up at me.
“Carlos,” I said. “Now you cum.”
He nodded. His hand reached for his cock. I looked down to see that he wasn’t fully erect. I spit at his balls. He nodded again, taking up my saliva as his lube.
Eric watched as Carlos shot across his chest and belly.
“Fuck,” Eric murmured.
I leaned forward to kiss Carlos. I kissed him deeply, pressing my body against his, smearing his cum between us. “You are very beautiful, Carlos.”
He looked up. “Thanks.”
I kissed his forehead and stood. I edged my cock out of him and tugged off the condom. I fell back on the bed.
“Whew!” I exhaled, looking at Eric.
“Aren’t you going to cum?” Carlos asked.
“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “Date night.”
Eric laughed. “Anyone I know?”
I looked at the ceiling. “Hmm, probably. You’ve must’ve seen me fuck most of the women I know.”
“That’s awesome.” Eric stood and reached for his shirt. “Well, thanks for the show, guys.”
“You’re leaving?” Carlos asked.
Eric looked at me, his face looking slightly awkward. “Yes, Eric has places to be,” I smiled. “Here, let me show our company to the door.” I picked up my shorts and leaned to kiss Carlos. “Back in a moment.”
At the door, I shook Eric’s hand. “Thanks for being so understanding about the change of plans.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” he smiled. “I’d like to see that again, if that’s cool.”
I patted his back. “I’m pretty sure Carlos would like that too.” I opened the door. “Next time, Eric.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
I undressed again before getting back into bed with Carlos. Wordlessly, I kissed him.
“That was very nice, Carlos.” I kissed him again.
“That was really hot,” he nodded. “How do you know him?”
“I know people.” I ran a finger on his arm and kissed his shoulder. “Thanks for letting me fuck you. I knew he would get off on that. And . . . “ I kissed his cheek. “So did I.”
“It was nice,” he said. “Sorry if I was too tight. It’s just been a while.”
“You don’t bottom much?”
“Not any more. I mean, it used to be all I did. Everyone assumed I was a bottom, I guess because I’m young and the way I look or whatever. But I tried topping and I really liked it. So that’s what I do.”
I nodded. “You top really well. And you bottom well, too. You’re lucky—I’m a terrible bottom.”
He laughed. “I thought you were pretty good.”
I grimaced and looked away. “No, that’s nice, thanks, but I know I’m really bad at it.” I sighed. “I guess I just don’t do it enough to get any good.”
Carlos smiled. “Then you should do it more.”
Maybe Carlos could take my bait after all. I leaned forward and pressed him back. I lay over him and kissed his lips.
“Carlos,” I murmured. “I want to be versatile, just like you.”
He grabbed my ass and laughed.
That simplicity took a different turn when he fucked me. He had given it to me hard, making me cry out as he pulled my hair and came in my face. He was surprised by what that brought out in him.
I was no less surprised by what it brought out in me.
When he was in my bedroom, nude, under my body, stretched out before my camera, I felt entirely at ease. His beauty was soothing and made me feel confident; far from being intimidated by beauty, I am inspired by it. I could shape and mold his flesh to suit my inspiration in the moment.
He was undressed because I undressed him. He gave me kisses because I took them. He flinched under my bites and nibbles, his cock throbbing. My mouth and hands took him to precisely where I wanted him to be. In those moments with Carlos, I was practiced, assured and unrushed, an artist applying well-honed skills to his craft.
This was before he flipped me over and fucked me. As he pushed into me, pinning down my neck, I was momentarily stunned. This never happened—not the fucking, not the loss of composure, not the surrender of my body. Even more unfamiliar was the sense that I wanted it in that moment, badly, and wanted more of it, immediately.
I would see him again. I might even get fucked again. I didn’t regard getting fucked as an act of submission any more than I regarded fucking as an act of domination. Topping or bottoming are not innately acts of dominance or submission.
Even so, I had to wrap my mind around the sensation I felt in that moment when he flipped me. From my place of confidence and strength as I devoured his beauty—that familiar creative zone of domination—I was turned around and made his prey. He had wanted to take me just as intently as I had wanted to take him.
I wanted more of that.
So far as I knew, Carlos had no interest in anything having to do with domination or submission. He may have just been passive by nature and suddenly felt like fucking. But the raw surge of desire I felt as he fucked me, and the ferocity of his response to it, had clearly affected him as well.
True to form, I gravitated back to the top in my subsequent exchanges with Carlos. The prospect of seeing him again had my creative juices flowing. Without quite meaning to, Carlos was pushing me to want something new with him. I wondered if I could push him as well.
Jefferson: Have you ever been with a girl, Carlos?
Carlos: LOL. No, why?
Jefferson: I want you to fuck a girl for me. How about Tuesday?
Carlos: Are you serious? I don’t know . . .
Jefferson: It’s easy as pie. She’s very pretty—green eyes, sandy blonde hair, your age. You’ll be helping me out, since she has a fantasy about taking a gay boy’s virginity.
Carlos: LOL.
Jefferson: Do me this favor.
Carlos: Maybe I’ll just do you instead.
Jefferson: Carlos, God damn it, can’t you please just do what I tell you to do? Please? How fucking hard is that?
Carlos: LOL.
I had to accept that Carlos might not take my bait. At least, not yet. We barely knew one another, so I would just have to wait to find out if he was interested in allowing me to direct him to new experiences. That is, if I continued to hold his interest at all. Still, I couldn’t let rest my compulsion to test the edges of his susceptibility to suggestion.
Jefferson: I want you to come to the next meeting of my Bukkake Social Club.
Carlos: Bukkake?
Jefferson: Yes. You and a bunch of boys will watch me fuck a girl. The boys are all cool and most are bisexual. Eventually, they all jerk off and cum on the girl.
Carlos: Hot!!
Jefferson: Right? It’s damned hot. And I promise, I won’t make you fuck the girl.
Carlos: LOL. Cool, sounds good.
I considered this a good compromise. He might have had it in mind to fuck me, but this time, he would be watching me fuck a woman. This was something he had never done, nor seen done.
I realized that this invitation put him in the position of a voyeur. I had found myself craving his cock in me. Perhaps that craving now had me trying to put the genie back in the bottle by keeping him in a passive position—or at least by creating a situation in which I would be in charge.
Unfortunately, I could not be in charge of other people’s schedules. It was summer and many of the bukkake club members were out of town or otherwise engaged. Late on the day we planned to meet, I decided that we had too few confirmed responses and cancelled the session. I sent an email to the gentlemen and asked my invited guest to join me later that night for dinner and a sleepover.
I reported the news to Carlos.
Carlos: Too bad. That sounded hot. You still want to meet? I’m so horny today.
Of course, I agreed.
I smiled when I saw him in my peephole. We kissed lightly at the door. I offered him a glass of water as he sat on the couch.
We talked about his day. He talked about his weekend playing tennis with his brother and sister. He touched my face, gently, and kissed me.
My hands searched out his body under his clothes.
In my bedroom, he was passive, as before. He allowed me to undress him, closing his eyes as I toured his body with my touch and my mouth. I took my time, as he showed no sign of hurry.
I held the base of his skull in my hand, swirling my tongue around his throat, when the phone rang. It signaled a guest at the door.
“One sec.” I leaned over his body to reach the receiver. “Yes? Oh, hi . . . did you . . . okay, come on up.” I buzzed the front door open.
Carlos was watching me. I grinned sheepishly.
“What was that?”
“Sight complication.” I leaned to kiss his lips. “You ever been watched before?”
“Watched? You mean, during sex? Uh, no . . .”
I sat up and reached for my shorts. “Cool. That’s about to change.”
His eyes followed me as I left the room.
I opened the front door as the doorbell rang. “Hi Eric, good to see you again.”
“Hey man, good to see you.” Eric took my hand as he entered. His palm was damp from the heat. He looked around the living room. “Am I the first?”
“First and only, I’m afraid. Did you walk here?”
“Yeah, it’s only a couple of miles . . .”
“Then I think you missed my late email. I’m sorry, but we had to cancel at the last minute.”
Eric face fell. “Oh, that’s too bad.” He looked around. “I had sort of saved it up for this.”
“Well, never fear. I’m fooling around with one of the guys in the back. You’re welcome to stay to watch that—you know, as a consolation prize.”
He wiped his forehead. “Huh. Really? Well, sure, okay.”
“Good.” I smiled. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.” I led the way to my bedroom.
“Carlos? I’d like you to meet Eric. Eric, this is Carlos.”
Carlos sat up quickly. His eyes looked over my shoulders to Eric. He could see us both as we entered, as Eric is a good head taller than me.
“Oh, uh, hey.”
“Hey.”
“My apologies that Carlos is already naked,” I said, pulling off my shirt. “We were just . . . you know.” I dropped my shorts and sat next to Carlos.
“No, that’s cool.” Eric looked around. “So should I . . . ?”
“Yes, please.” I waved a hand to the chair beside my bed. “Make yourself comfortable in your voyeur’s seat. We’ll simply resume.”
Eric stepped out of his sneakers. I leaned forward to kiss Carlos. He kissed me back, his eyes on Eric.
I was going to enjoy this.
Eric had been watching me fuck women for over a year. He was quiet and handsome, with a tall athletic body that invariably caught the glances of the other bukkake club members and our female guests. I was touched by his respectful demeanor and returned it with similar manners. He was always a welcome guest in my home.
Carlos had never been watched. I was about to choreograph him through his first live sex show.
I paused as my lips trailed down Carlos’s sternum. “You’ve never watched two boys, have you, Eric?”
He coughed slightly. “No. I mean, porn and stuff, but . . .”
“Oh, I didn’t know you liked that kind of porn.” Carlos twitched as I brushed my cheek across his smooth belly. “I mean, you’re straight and all. Have you ever done much with boys?”
“No.” Eric watched my hand gently pump Carlos’s cock. “A foursome once, but the other guy and me . . . well, we didn’t do much . . .”
“Huh, that sounds really hot,” I nodded, taking Carlos’s cock in my mouth. He sighed and fell back.
I already knew the answers to the questions I asked Eric. My interview was primarily intended for Carlos’s edification and arousal.
My hands cupped his hips as I pulled him deep into me.
Hmm, Carlos, I thought as my tongue waved under him. Let me do things with you.
I looked up. Carlos was watching Eric. I knew Eric’s rhythms well enough to know what had caught Carlos’s eyes. I glanced over to see Eric stroking his cock, his shorts open at the zipper.
I dropped Carlos’s cock from my mouth and crawled up his body. I turned my head to rest my cheek against his. “I forgot to mention that Eric has an enormous cock. Amazing, right?”
Carlos stared ahead. I ground my cock against his. “Yeah.”
Eric stroked faster as we watched.
I sat back on my heels. I pressed Carlos’s thighs back. “I really like to have Eric watch when I’m fucking,” I said, pressing against Carlos’s hole. “He really gets off on it.”
The only sound from Eric’s chair was the friction in his palm.
Carlos barely noticed as I reached for lube and a condom. Eric’s eyes moved from Carlos’s torso to his ass I lubed him.
This time, Carlos raised no protests about being fucked.
I held my slippery head at the edge of his well-greased hole and pushed. “Unh,” Carlos sighed, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry, so tight . . .”
I smiled. “Yes, baby, you are incredibly tight.” I pushed forward, gradually giving him the full length of my cock.
“Shit,” Eric whispered.
I looked at him as I slowly pumped. “He has such a tight hole, man.” I pushed Carlo’s leg up to afford a better view for Eric. “See? I’m having to be so gentle.”
“Fuck,” Eric whispered.
I looked down to Carlos’s face. His eyes were closed. He bit his lip.
I pushed back on his thighs, fucking harder.
He turned his face. His brown eyes bore into me.
I fucked him harder still, pivoting my hips.
Carlos turned to watch Eric. I preferred to give Eric his privacy and focused on Carlos.
I barely noticed when Eric removed his shirt. Carlos began to stroke himself.
I pulled Carlos to the edge of the bed. I stood, grabbed his hips, and plowed forcefully.
I heard Eric’s breath accelerate. I knew the sound of his orgasm. I turned slightly to be sure he had a fine line of sight.
“Unh, unh, unh!” Eric grunted.
Carlos pivoted his head. “Do you want to cum on my chest?”
Eric raised a hand and looked at it as though he didn’t recognize it as his own. It dripped on his lap. “Uh, well, I just came.” He reached for a tissue.
“Carlos.” My voice was low.
He looked up at me.
“Carlos,” I said. “Now you cum.”
He nodded. His hand reached for his cock. I looked down to see that he wasn’t fully erect. I spit at his balls. He nodded again, taking up my saliva as his lube.
Eric watched as Carlos shot across his chest and belly.
“Fuck,” Eric murmured.
I leaned forward to kiss Carlos. I kissed him deeply, pressing my body against his, smearing his cum between us. “You are very beautiful, Carlos.”
He looked up. “Thanks.”
I kissed his forehead and stood. I edged my cock out of him and tugged off the condom. I fell back on the bed.
“Whew!” I exhaled, looking at Eric.
“Aren’t you going to cum?” Carlos asked.
“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “Date night.”
Eric laughed. “Anyone I know?”
I looked at the ceiling. “Hmm, probably. You’ve must’ve seen me fuck most of the women I know.”
“That’s awesome.” Eric stood and reached for his shirt. “Well, thanks for the show, guys.”
“You’re leaving?” Carlos asked.
Eric looked at me, his face looking slightly awkward. “Yes, Eric has places to be,” I smiled. “Here, let me show our company to the door.” I picked up my shorts and leaned to kiss Carlos. “Back in a moment.”
At the door, I shook Eric’s hand. “Thanks for being so understanding about the change of plans.”
“Oh, that’s cool,” he smiled. “I’d like to see that again, if that’s cool.”
I patted his back. “I’m pretty sure Carlos would like that too.” I opened the door. “Next time, Eric.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
I undressed again before getting back into bed with Carlos. Wordlessly, I kissed him.
“That was very nice, Carlos.” I kissed him again.
“That was really hot,” he nodded. “How do you know him?”
“I know people.” I ran a finger on his arm and kissed his shoulder. “Thanks for letting me fuck you. I knew he would get off on that. And . . . “ I kissed his cheek. “So did I.”
“It was nice,” he said. “Sorry if I was too tight. It’s just been a while.”
“You don’t bottom much?”
“Not any more. I mean, it used to be all I did. Everyone assumed I was a bottom, I guess because I’m young and the way I look or whatever. But I tried topping and I really liked it. So that’s what I do.”
I nodded. “You top really well. And you bottom well, too. You’re lucky—I’m a terrible bottom.”
He laughed. “I thought you were pretty good.”
I grimaced and looked away. “No, that’s nice, thanks, but I know I’m really bad at it.” I sighed. “I guess I just don’t do it enough to get any good.”
Carlos smiled. “Then you should do it more.”
Maybe Carlos could take my bait after all. I leaned forward and pressed him back. I lay over him and kissed his lips.
“Carlos,” I murmured. “I want to be versatile, just like you.”
He grabbed my ass and laughed.
Monday, May 07, 2007
Seymour Glass
Help!
“Help” was her first word to me. “Help” was typed into the subject line of a long email. It was followed by an exclamation point.
Help!
The email was signed “Seymour Glass.”
The email concerned “Seymour’s” recent decision to take up casual sex. She thought this would be a good strategy for combating the alienation she felt in most human interactions.
A few days into her project, she lost her virginity to “some kid” she found on Craig’s List. He came to her dorm, fucked her, and left—all within the space of minutes.
She cried in the shower, and scrubbed his name from her memory.
She met another guy, "some bald guy.” He came to her dorm, undressed and announced that he had forgotten condoms. She told him to come back when he was less forgetful.
He came back the next day. He came fast. He offered to train her to be his sex slave. She said she would get back to him on that.
She cried in the shower, but his name stained.
The second guy had mentioned my parties, saying he would be glad to take her to one. “You can read about them on his blog,” he told her. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”
She ignored the offer, having already decided that she would never again see the first two men she had fucked. Nevertheless, she took the advice to read my blog.
She wrote to me, asking for my help.
I thanked her for writing, saying I was unclear about how I could help, or what she needed help to do. I’m a pervert, I told her, not a therapist. The best I could offer was a sounding board as she worked out her thoughts on this new pursuit of sex with strangers.
She took me up on the offer.
“Seymour” wrote long notes to me, often late at night. She wrote about the discomfort she felt in even the most basic social interactions, saying she only felt comfortable with her parents, her cousin, her close friends, and her dog; the interactions and acquaintances of college life left her feeling awkward and raw.
She had decided that sex might be a way to break through that wall of alienation. She wasn’t looking for an emotional commitment. She hoped that sex would allow her to feel something physical and “real” when so many other things felt phony.
Seeking the genuine and real, she set out to fuck strangers.
In our notes, she expressed her anxiety that no one would find her attractive due to her scars.
That revelation gave me pause. I asked about her scars—were they the result of an accident or surgery, or were they self-inflicted?
“Yes,” she replied. “The scars are self-inflicted.”
It struck me that “Seymour” was behaving somewhat compulsively, and I said so. I asked if she had a therapist she trusted. I was concerned that she signed her name as a fictional suicide, given her history of self-injury.
“Oh, you know Salinger!” she wrote. “I really like him, maybe too much.”
“I don’t think it’s possible to like Salinger too much,” I replied. “Unless you’re Joyce Maynard.”
“Oh, you know Maynard, too? That’s great. Of course, none of the kids here would know anything about that. But yeah, I have a therapist, and I’m on lots of yummy pills, so don’t worry about that.”
I asked to elaborate on her rationale for approaching sex as she did.
“I'm honestly not sure if I think sex is a big deal or not,” she wrote. “I don't think it is, truthfully . . . but . . . I'm just scared of people. I wouldn't be able to sleep with someone I care about. I'm too afraid of getting hurt . . . I'd rather sleep around. I'm just trying to feel better, which I know isn't a good reason to engage in casual sex. But I'm also terrified of being alone. If I can't connect with people on an emotional level, at least I can connect on a physical level . . . as is my rationale. And just to talk with someone is nice, whether I'm fucking him or not. Even very trivial, casual talk—it's nice, it's something . . . you know? And to be held is nice, though it means nothing.
“It's a nice escape, although I can't relax enough to even feel pleasure from it, but it's something. It's better than drinking. Or various other escapist behaviors.
“I don't know what to do . . . because honestly, I think of how I need to fuck someone. I've been trying to resist it, but I keep thinking about it. Luckily, my week is busy . . . but Monday I'll probably be with someone else. I don't know why; I'm not sure if I dislike it or not—I don't know what to make of any of this.”
This girl was a piece of work.
And yet she was so cognizant of her state of mind, and so articulate about it. She was, in the current parlance, an emo kid, someone who mulls things over, fretting about the basics of being human.
We used to have other names for young people like that, but these days, “emo kid” seems to work.
“Seymour” presented herself as at a loss about what to do about her anxiety, and chose what would appear to be an odd solution—she dreaded the tepid waters of simple social intercourse, so she dove into the deep end of anonymous sexual intercourse.
As we corresponded, “Seymour” came to trust me, at least as much as she could let herself trust me. She encountered me as words on a screen, in my blog and in our emails, and I took her words seriously. The fact that we interacted in text and not in person kept me at a reasonably safe distance. She could open herself to me, as flesh and blood didn’t interfere.
Still, she was getting under my skin. I thought about her as I went through my day, remembering things she had written and formulating my next response. I came to care about her, in a way; I wanted to do what I could to make her feel less alienated from people. If that meant being an online friend, I thought I could manage that.
I forgave myself certain responsibilities. I could not keep her from hurting herself by fucking strangers any more than I could keep her from digging razors into her muscle tissue. I could only tell her, from experience, that if she wanted to distinguish the genuine from the phony, she was employing methods that might only confuse the two.
If I’ve learned nothing else in life, I do know this: you can’t always save people.
I also know myself: I’m compelled to try.
Reading “Seymour’s” notes, I recalled my early life with Lucy.
We worked together in a bookstore. I was drawn to the information desk. I enjoyed helping people find titles they couldn’t recall, or matching a desire to read with a book that might fit the bill. Lucy gravitated to the stock room, where she could open boxes, type ISBNs into a computerized inventory and chain smoke.
One day, I invited Lucy to lunch. At the time, she weighed under a hundred pounds. No one at the bookstore had ever seen her eat. I suggested we order sesame chicken from a take out place. I liked that it was too much food for four dollars and ninety-five cents, including an egg roll and a soda.
She liked it. She began to order it every day.
We slept together, eventually. I learned how that worked.
If I woke to find her missing, I got up to look for her. She was often in the bathroom, naked on the tile floor. One night, I pulled her face from the cat box. I plucked litter and turds from her lips and eyes. I wet a washcloth. When she was clean, I picked her up and carried her back to bed.
The next morning, I called in sick to stay by her side.
I thought that was how I should take care of her.
Fifteen years, three children and one divorce later, Lucy finally got medical treatment for her depression. Now that she was alone, by her design, she had to do something.
I hope it works.
Meanwhile, I’m the boy raised by my father to care for my mother, the husband trained by experience to care for his wife, the single father who cares for lovers when his young children are gone.
I’m a piece of work.
I couldn’t bear the thought of “Seymour” crying in the shower come Monday, her self-imposed deadline for fucking yet another stranger.
We were passing notes when I made a proposal.
“Look, you say you are going to fuck someone on Monday, and you don’t even know who that is. Can I make a suggestion? Meet me instead. In the flesh.”
She agreed to take a risk.
We both did.
“Help” was her first word to me. “Help” was typed into the subject line of a long email. It was followed by an exclamation point.
Help!
The email was signed “Seymour Glass.”
The email concerned “Seymour’s” recent decision to take up casual sex. She thought this would be a good strategy for combating the alienation she felt in most human interactions.
A few days into her project, she lost her virginity to “some kid” she found on Craig’s List. He came to her dorm, fucked her, and left—all within the space of minutes.
She cried in the shower, and scrubbed his name from her memory.
She met another guy, "some bald guy.” He came to her dorm, undressed and announced that he had forgotten condoms. She told him to come back when he was less forgetful.
He came back the next day. He came fast. He offered to train her to be his sex slave. She said she would get back to him on that.
She cried in the shower, but his name stained.
The second guy had mentioned my parties, saying he would be glad to take her to one. “You can read about them on his blog,” he told her. “I’ll put in a good word for you.”
She ignored the offer, having already decided that she would never again see the first two men she had fucked. Nevertheless, she took the advice to read my blog.
She wrote to me, asking for my help.
I thanked her for writing, saying I was unclear about how I could help, or what she needed help to do. I’m a pervert, I told her, not a therapist. The best I could offer was a sounding board as she worked out her thoughts on this new pursuit of sex with strangers.
She took me up on the offer.
“Seymour” wrote long notes to me, often late at night. She wrote about the discomfort she felt in even the most basic social interactions, saying she only felt comfortable with her parents, her cousin, her close friends, and her dog; the interactions and acquaintances of college life left her feeling awkward and raw.
She had decided that sex might be a way to break through that wall of alienation. She wasn’t looking for an emotional commitment. She hoped that sex would allow her to feel something physical and “real” when so many other things felt phony.
Seeking the genuine and real, she set out to fuck strangers.
In our notes, she expressed her anxiety that no one would find her attractive due to her scars.
That revelation gave me pause. I asked about her scars—were they the result of an accident or surgery, or were they self-inflicted?
“Yes,” she replied. “The scars are self-inflicted.”
It struck me that “Seymour” was behaving somewhat compulsively, and I said so. I asked if she had a therapist she trusted. I was concerned that she signed her name as a fictional suicide, given her history of self-injury.
“Oh, you know Salinger!” she wrote. “I really like him, maybe too much.”
“I don’t think it’s possible to like Salinger too much,” I replied. “Unless you’re Joyce Maynard.”
“Oh, you know Maynard, too? That’s great. Of course, none of the kids here would know anything about that. But yeah, I have a therapist, and I’m on lots of yummy pills, so don’t worry about that.”
I asked to elaborate on her rationale for approaching sex as she did.
“I'm honestly not sure if I think sex is a big deal or not,” she wrote. “I don't think it is, truthfully . . . but . . . I'm just scared of people. I wouldn't be able to sleep with someone I care about. I'm too afraid of getting hurt . . . I'd rather sleep around. I'm just trying to feel better, which I know isn't a good reason to engage in casual sex. But I'm also terrified of being alone. If I can't connect with people on an emotional level, at least I can connect on a physical level . . . as is my rationale. And just to talk with someone is nice, whether I'm fucking him or not. Even very trivial, casual talk—it's nice, it's something . . . you know? And to be held is nice, though it means nothing.
“It's a nice escape, although I can't relax enough to even feel pleasure from it, but it's something. It's better than drinking. Or various other escapist behaviors.
“I don't know what to do . . . because honestly, I think of how I need to fuck someone. I've been trying to resist it, but I keep thinking about it. Luckily, my week is busy . . . but Monday I'll probably be with someone else. I don't know why; I'm not sure if I dislike it or not—I don't know what to make of any of this.”
This girl was a piece of work.
And yet she was so cognizant of her state of mind, and so articulate about it. She was, in the current parlance, an emo kid, someone who mulls things over, fretting about the basics of being human.
We used to have other names for young people like that, but these days, “emo kid” seems to work.
“Seymour” presented herself as at a loss about what to do about her anxiety, and chose what would appear to be an odd solution—she dreaded the tepid waters of simple social intercourse, so she dove into the deep end of anonymous sexual intercourse.
As we corresponded, “Seymour” came to trust me, at least as much as she could let herself trust me. She encountered me as words on a screen, in my blog and in our emails, and I took her words seriously. The fact that we interacted in text and not in person kept me at a reasonably safe distance. She could open herself to me, as flesh and blood didn’t interfere.
Still, she was getting under my skin. I thought about her as I went through my day, remembering things she had written and formulating my next response. I came to care about her, in a way; I wanted to do what I could to make her feel less alienated from people. If that meant being an online friend, I thought I could manage that.
I forgave myself certain responsibilities. I could not keep her from hurting herself by fucking strangers any more than I could keep her from digging razors into her muscle tissue. I could only tell her, from experience, that if she wanted to distinguish the genuine from the phony, she was employing methods that might only confuse the two.
If I’ve learned nothing else in life, I do know this: you can’t always save people.
I also know myself: I’m compelled to try.
Reading “Seymour’s” notes, I recalled my early life with Lucy.
We worked together in a bookstore. I was drawn to the information desk. I enjoyed helping people find titles they couldn’t recall, or matching a desire to read with a book that might fit the bill. Lucy gravitated to the stock room, where she could open boxes, type ISBNs into a computerized inventory and chain smoke.
One day, I invited Lucy to lunch. At the time, she weighed under a hundred pounds. No one at the bookstore had ever seen her eat. I suggested we order sesame chicken from a take out place. I liked that it was too much food for four dollars and ninety-five cents, including an egg roll and a soda.
She liked it. She began to order it every day.
We slept together, eventually. I learned how that worked.
If I woke to find her missing, I got up to look for her. She was often in the bathroom, naked on the tile floor. One night, I pulled her face from the cat box. I plucked litter and turds from her lips and eyes. I wet a washcloth. When she was clean, I picked her up and carried her back to bed.
The next morning, I called in sick to stay by her side.
I thought that was how I should take care of her.
Fifteen years, three children and one divorce later, Lucy finally got medical treatment for her depression. Now that she was alone, by her design, she had to do something.
I hope it works.
Meanwhile, I’m the boy raised by my father to care for my mother, the husband trained by experience to care for his wife, the single father who cares for lovers when his young children are gone.
I’m a piece of work.
I couldn’t bear the thought of “Seymour” crying in the shower come Monday, her self-imposed deadline for fucking yet another stranger.
We were passing notes when I made a proposal.
“Look, you say you are going to fuck someone on Monday, and you don’t even know who that is. Can I make a suggestion? Meet me instead. In the flesh.”
She agreed to take a risk.
We both did.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Wisdom Lingers
We made love and we slept.
The next morning, we made love and we woke.
We made love, we ate pancakes, we made love.
We made love, and she was gone.
I had asked her to let me know when she was back on campus. I took a shower, changed the sheets, and readied for my next date.
She dropped a line when she was safely arrived. It took longer than expected, but I didn’t worry. I recalled that she had originally arranged to phone a friend when she first arrived at my place, a precaution against the contingency that I might prove to be a predatory ax murderer.
Her phone began to sing moments after we met.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” I asked, as her incessant ring tone interrupted our fucking.
She looked up at me with eyes I couldn’t see. “No,” she said, pulling me back into a kiss.
Eventually, she got around to reassuring her friend that her Manhattan assignation was no assassin.
Mind you, by the time she got around to doing so, her body could’ve been deposited in swamps across northern New Jersey.
So I wasn’t surprised that she took her time to let me know she was back in her dorm. Not long after, she followed with a note reflecting on our weekend together.
I must remark briefly on the enveloping surreality that has accompanied my return to normal existence. Between the divergence of our brief, intense tryst from my quotidian routine, its disparity with my paltry previous experiences, and the mendacity that I have employed in (not) relating to my friends the weekend's activities, I am often almost convinced that those days were merely a phantasm. Then, though, in the shower, my gaze flows with the water down my exposed body, to my breasts, my thighs, where the bruises you made with your fingers and teeth are rouged by cascading heat. Inchoate feelings of impropriety urge me to turn my eyes to the tiled floor. Shyly, though now unobserved, my hand lifts to stroke the purplish swell around a nipple, pain blossoming into a gasp as the sensitive skin yields under my touch, and I swallow tremulously and I realize my throat still aches, and I remember.
I can't comment on what attracted you to me, apart from my being warm and willing and enticingly young. Personally, I decided to fuck you—you, in particular—because in addition to your many enviable virtues (already enumerated at the behest of Wilson, our brief acquaintance), you were discrete. Utterly divorced from my circle of acquaintances, in another state, another age group, you—I thought, smiling at my cleverness—were the perfect means to explore sexually without fear of social repercussions or reprisals. This would be a tiny sanctuary of inhibition in a life defined largely by its boundaries: schedules, due dates, requirements, and the ubiquitous constraints of expectations. Awash in prevenient self-congratulation, I failed to notice that one constant straddled both environments—myself. The quiet, simple I: too intimate to take account of separately, too integral, that insidious ligament which lashes together this memory and that, erecting a bony frame on which identity is hung, stretched tight like muscles and skin. I suddenly feel like a walking, breathing dichotomy (Nicole who fucks strangers, meet Nicole the nascent philosophe), and it is a struggle to integrate the parts of myself into a semi-coherent whole. Like the fairy-tale prince challenged to scale a mountain of glass, I don't know where first to fix my grasp, let alone how to reach the summit.
Exacerbating this inner schism, I can't discuss my thoughts with the students matriculating here; they are largely fifth-generation plutocrats whose banal moral compasses were willed to them with their trust funds. Most trot from point to point along the narratives of pre-authored biographies, silently obliging as their personalities are scraped away like excess ink. Clouds of smug complacency screen them from self-reflection, as though they have been obscurely influenced by the livestock of neighboring pastures, the cows and goats that drowse through life in a haze of cozy flatulence. They hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
Ack, I must be feeling sentimental if this is a Tennyson day. Sorry for the protracted epistle, but I really felt the need to vent. Silly, silly you, in a post-coital semi-stupor, offered yourself up as a target.
So, how are you, hon? I hope not quite as existential as your erstwhile jailbait-flavored lay.
Nicole
I read the note a few times, admiring its craft (the correct distinction between “discrete” and “discreet,” the use of a word, “prevenient,” that was new to me and my spell check, and that splendid sentence that begins with the phrase “the quiet, simple I”) even as I mentally translated it.
Behind a thicket of eloquence as deliberately considered as the hair hiding its author’s face, the note articulated a thought buzzing in Nicole’s mind—what the fuck, man?
In our brief time together, we had opened a new, intimate reality in her life, a bubble of sex and pleasure populated only by two lovers, no matter the witnesses, no matter the surroundings.
Most of our time had been spent nude, limbs around one another, skin touching, minds racing.
This lovers’ intimacy feels rare, though nearly everyone has experienced it, and every poet tries to describe it. Nicole had known it in literature. Now, she knew it in her body.
Yet, as she wrote, there she was, back in her familiar surroundings. Here was the laundry that still needed to be done. Here was the friend down the hall, waving. There was the book she was reading, just where she left it. Her toothbrush was returned to its usual place.
Her mind was settling into the commonplace, even as it sorted memories and sensations that had no previous templates. Now and then, there were reminders—a soreness, a bruise—that confirmed that her memories, jumbled as they may be, were real. All of this had happened.
All of this had happened, because she had dared.
She had planned to allow herself to be daring under proscribed conditions—a distant bedroom, a lover outside her cohort, intellectual curiosity in the place of emotional entanglement. As she wrote, she came to realize that the one constant in her algorithms—herself—was the unfactored common denominator.
Her daring had left her changed. Her change would be more durable than the memories, bruises and welts she had collected as souvenirs.
I know the feeling. I can recall it from the first time I felt it. I feel it renewed now and then.
After Nicole’s visit, I promptly finished my Bing Crosby biography. I picked up a copy of The Adventures of Augie March.
I figured I should get to know Esther.
The next morning, we made love and we woke.
We made love, we ate pancakes, we made love.
We made love, and she was gone.
I had asked her to let me know when she was back on campus. I took a shower, changed the sheets, and readied for my next date.
She dropped a line when she was safely arrived. It took longer than expected, but I didn’t worry. I recalled that she had originally arranged to phone a friend when she first arrived at my place, a precaution against the contingency that I might prove to be a predatory ax murderer.
Her phone began to sing moments after we met.
“Aren’t you going to get that?” I asked, as her incessant ring tone interrupted our fucking.
She looked up at me with eyes I couldn’t see. “No,” she said, pulling me back into a kiss.
Eventually, she got around to reassuring her friend that her Manhattan assignation was no assassin.
Mind you, by the time she got around to doing so, her body could’ve been deposited in swamps across northern New Jersey.
So I wasn’t surprised that she took her time to let me know she was back in her dorm. Not long after, she followed with a note reflecting on our weekend together.
I must remark briefly on the enveloping surreality that has accompanied my return to normal existence. Between the divergence of our brief, intense tryst from my quotidian routine, its disparity with my paltry previous experiences, and the mendacity that I have employed in (not) relating to my friends the weekend's activities, I am often almost convinced that those days were merely a phantasm. Then, though, in the shower, my gaze flows with the water down my exposed body, to my breasts, my thighs, where the bruises you made with your fingers and teeth are rouged by cascading heat. Inchoate feelings of impropriety urge me to turn my eyes to the tiled floor. Shyly, though now unobserved, my hand lifts to stroke the purplish swell around a nipple, pain blossoming into a gasp as the sensitive skin yields under my touch, and I swallow tremulously and I realize my throat still aches, and I remember.
I can't comment on what attracted you to me, apart from my being warm and willing and enticingly young. Personally, I decided to fuck you—you, in particular—because in addition to your many enviable virtues (already enumerated at the behest of Wilson, our brief acquaintance), you were discrete. Utterly divorced from my circle of acquaintances, in another state, another age group, you—I thought, smiling at my cleverness—were the perfect means to explore sexually without fear of social repercussions or reprisals. This would be a tiny sanctuary of inhibition in a life defined largely by its boundaries: schedules, due dates, requirements, and the ubiquitous constraints of expectations. Awash in prevenient self-congratulation, I failed to notice that one constant straddled both environments—myself. The quiet, simple I: too intimate to take account of separately, too integral, that insidious ligament which lashes together this memory and that, erecting a bony frame on which identity is hung, stretched tight like muscles and skin. I suddenly feel like a walking, breathing dichotomy (Nicole who fucks strangers, meet Nicole the nascent philosophe), and it is a struggle to integrate the parts of myself into a semi-coherent whole. Like the fairy-tale prince challenged to scale a mountain of glass, I don't know where first to fix my grasp, let alone how to reach the summit.
Exacerbating this inner schism, I can't discuss my thoughts with the students matriculating here; they are largely fifth-generation plutocrats whose banal moral compasses were willed to them with their trust funds. Most trot from point to point along the narratives of pre-authored biographies, silently obliging as their personalities are scraped away like excess ink. Clouds of smug complacency screen them from self-reflection, as though they have been obscurely influenced by the livestock of neighboring pastures, the cows and goats that drowse through life in a haze of cozy flatulence. They hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
Ack, I must be feeling sentimental if this is a Tennyson day. Sorry for the protracted epistle, but I really felt the need to vent. Silly, silly you, in a post-coital semi-stupor, offered yourself up as a target.
So, how are you, hon? I hope not quite as existential as your erstwhile jailbait-flavored lay.
Nicole
I read the note a few times, admiring its craft (the correct distinction between “discrete” and “discreet,” the use of a word, “prevenient,” that was new to me and my spell check, and that splendid sentence that begins with the phrase “the quiet, simple I”) even as I mentally translated it.
Behind a thicket of eloquence as deliberately considered as the hair hiding its author’s face, the note articulated a thought buzzing in Nicole’s mind—what the fuck, man?
In our brief time together, we had opened a new, intimate reality in her life, a bubble of sex and pleasure populated only by two lovers, no matter the witnesses, no matter the surroundings.
Most of our time had been spent nude, limbs around one another, skin touching, minds racing.
This lovers’ intimacy feels rare, though nearly everyone has experienced it, and every poet tries to describe it. Nicole had known it in literature. Now, she knew it in her body.
Yet, as she wrote, there she was, back in her familiar surroundings. Here was the laundry that still needed to be done. Here was the friend down the hall, waving. There was the book she was reading, just where she left it. Her toothbrush was returned to its usual place.
Her mind was settling into the commonplace, even as it sorted memories and sensations that had no previous templates. Now and then, there were reminders—a soreness, a bruise—that confirmed that her memories, jumbled as they may be, were real. All of this had happened.
All of this had happened, because she had dared.
She had planned to allow herself to be daring under proscribed conditions—a distant bedroom, a lover outside her cohort, intellectual curiosity in the place of emotional entanglement. As she wrote, she came to realize that the one constant in her algorithms—herself—was the unfactored common denominator.
Her daring had left her changed. Her change would be more durable than the memories, bruises and welts she had collected as souvenirs.
I know the feeling. I can recall it from the first time I felt it. I feel it renewed now and then.
After Nicole’s visit, I promptly finished my Bing Crosby biography. I picked up a copy of The Adventures of Augie March.
I figured I should get to know Esther.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Dance the Orange
I held Nicole close as we kissed. Wilson was on his knees, watching and exploring her body with his hands.
“What’s this on your ass?” he asked.
Nicole turned to look at him. “My stripes.”
“She took a caning last night,” I explained, rolling my fingers down her spine. I kissed her nose. “And a flogging.” Another kiss. “And a spanking.” Another kiss.
“Hot, man,” Wilson said. His hand gently ran up her back, touching me as our hands crossed paths. “And these circles?”
“My markings,” Nicole said.
“I bite her,” I explained.
“And here?” he touched her bruised left breast.
“My spots,” Nicole said.
“I grab her,” I explained.
“That’s so hot,” he said. “Do you like it when he takes you like that? When he gives it to you rough?”
She nestled into my neck. “Very much.”
I turned to kiss her, taking a cheek in my palm.
“You two are so gorgeous together,” the gorgeous man said. He nodded to the camera on my nightstand. “Would you like me to take some pictures?”
“That would be nice,” I murmured into her mouth. I closed my eyes, intent on her kiss and touch as the flash pinkened the insides of my lids.
“So hot,” Wilson repeated. “So sexy.” Our male model was an encouraging photographer.
I opened my eyes. “I want photos of you with Wilson,” I said, brushing away her hair. “You are both such pretty creatures.”
“Sure,” she said. “What do you want us to do?”
“I want you to kiss him and ignore me,” I said. I put her hand in Wilson’s. I leaned forward to kiss her goodbye. I left the bed.
I adjusted some lights. I sat quietly, watching, making myself invisible.
I walked around the bed, looking for angles.
I shot still after still.
Wilson took Nicole into rough kisses. She responded with the fervor we had tapped.
I took photographs.
In time, I put down my camera and sat next to the writhing couple.
“Wilson,” I said, petting his hair. “You are here to do something for us.”
He looked up from Nicole’s breast. “I wondered if you had forgotten.”
“My memory is very good where some things are concerned,” I said, wrapping an arm around Nicole’s neck. “Suck my dick, handsome man.”
He looked up at Nicole. “Do you want to watch me suck his cock?”
“Yeah,” she said, resting a hand on my belly.
“Say it.”
“Yeah, I want to watch you suck that cock,” she said, flatly.
“Yeah? You gonna get wet watching me suck that cock? That cock that fucks you?” He took my cock his large hand.
I giggled. Nicole looked up. I laughed at her expression.
“I’m sorry,” I said, biting my lip. “Dirty talk makes me laugh. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Proceed.”
Nicole slapped my stomach. She looked down at Wilson. “Yeah, I want to watch you suck that big cock. I want you to lick my pussy off his dick. Now shut the fuck up and do it.”
I squeezed Nicole’s arm. Locked away in her extensive vocabulary was one nasty trash-talking bitch.
Wilson smiled, turned on by her dominance.
He took my cock his mouth, bobbing his head furiously.
“Oh, nice, nice,” I sighed. “Girl, you make that cocksucker work.” I placed her hand on the nape of his neck, nodding that she should press down.
“Take it all,” she ordered.
“Yeah, boy,” I added. “This little girl just started sucking cock and she’s got you beat. You going to be bested by a teenager?”
His eyes were wide as he pumped more furiously.
“Deep, God damn it,” I said, pressing down on his neck with Nicole’s hand.
He plunged down, gagging. “Fucking amateur,” I chided.
“Swallow it,” Nicole ordered.
He grunted, working furiously as drool pooled on my balls. I rested my hands on his freckled shoulders, feeling his tense muscles.
Nicole picked up the camera, snapping as he blew me. He performed for her, aroused by the risk he took by sucking cock for her lens.
She passed the camera to me. I shot him again.
“We may need to do something different with this one,” I said, putting aside the camera. “I think he needs a lesson.”
Nicole looked at me. “You want me to blow you so he can learn?”
“No,” I said. “I want him to suck your cock.”
Wilson looked up at me. “Get off my dick, boy.” I grabbed his hair.
He pulled off, gasping. Spittle connected his lips to my cock. “That’s good and wet,” I said, stroking with his drool, aiming my cock into his lips. “You’ve got promise, cocksucker. Let’s see what you can do for the girl.”
I swung a leg over his head and stood. I went to a cabinet and found my other cock.
“Come here, Nicole.” She joined me beside the bed.
“Oh shit, are you kidding?” Wilson said. “That’s so hot, man.”
“You’ve never used a strap on, I assume,” I asked Nicole, kneeling before her. I kissed her sandy curls.
“No, never,” she said.
“Another virginity, gone. Step into these straps.” I stood, adjusting the straps on her hips. “Comfortable?” I asked, standing behind her.
“Yes, that feels fine.”
“Good.” I put my hands on her hips, gyrating them. “Now wiggle your cock for the boy.”
Wilson moved forward on the bed.
“You think you can handle my dick, Wilson?” Nicole asked.
“Oh my God, you are so hot,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“And you are so redundant,” she said, moving forward. “Suck this.” Nicole dropped her cock into his mouth, thrusting.
It took her a moment, but she shortly had the feel for fucking with her new cock.
“Flip him,” I said. “I want his ass.”
Nicole lay back on the pillows. Wilson lay between her legs on his belly, sucking her.
“Raise your ass, boy,” I said, grabbing his hip.
He complied, his body writhing.
I slapped his muscular ass. “Hold it steady, boy.” He steadied himself for a moment before his instincts took over, causing him to push and twist his hips.
I lubed a finger, slipping it into him.
“He’s never been fucked,” I told Nicole.
“Is that true?” she asked Wilson.
He grunted.
“Do you want to see him get fucked?” I asked, stroking my cock.
“I would really like that,” Nicole nodded.
“Tell him,” I said.
She held Wilson’s face in her hands. “I want to see you get fucked. I want you to get fucked while you suck my dick.”
Wilson looked at her, his eyes wide, and nodded, taking her cock deep.
“Such a good boy,” I said, taking my finger from his ass. I rolled on a condom, lubing his hole. I held his hips. “God damn it, stop moving so much,” I ordered. I spanked him.
He was still. “Good boy,” I repeated. I put my cock against his hole and pressed in slightly.
He fell forward, away from me.
“You fucking pussy,” I reprimanded. “That girl took her first ass fucking last night with no complaints. And you shy from it?” I spanked him. “Look at you, a big, muscular grown man, a bigger wuss than a teenage girl.”
He sucked her cock furiously.
I was talking tough, but I knew I had to try a different approach. I wanted him to get this if he could take it, and I wanted Nicole to see anything she wanted to see.
I raised his hips again. I gave him a finger, gently working his hole. I reached for his cock and pulled it back. I blew him as I worked his hole.
Wilson’s head was exploding with sensation. He had Nicole’s thick cock fucking his face, my mouth fucking his cock, and my finger fucking his ass.
Sudden he jumped up. He sprung off the bed.
“Fuck man, what was that?”
“A second finger,” I smiled. “Too much?”
“Holy shit, man. Is that what it’ll feel like when you fuck me?”
“No. That’s what it will feel like when I fuck you with two fingers. A cock is different.” I stood up. “Here, let’s try something else. Get back on the bed, on your back.”
“Are you going to fuck me?”
“No.” I reached for a box under my nightstand. “She is.”
“With that?” he exclaimed, pointing to her cock.
“No,” I said, sitting up. “With this.” I held up a lean dildo, slightly smaller than my cock. “Spread your legs, Wilson.” I picked up a condom and handed the lube to Nicole.
“Grease his hole,” I told her.
She looked down. She had never played with a man’s ass.
“Here, baby.” I lifted his smooth, shaved balls to expose his smooth, shaved perineum. “He’s got a very sweet pussy, Nicole. Very lucky for your first.” I took her fingers in mine. “Now, lube his hole like this, pressing in . . . good, firm but not too much . . . keep your nails away . . .”
Wilson groaned. “You all right, Wilson?” she asked.
His eyes were wide again. “Yes, yeah, God you are so hot.”
I smiled. “You’ve got him in your power, pale eyes. Okay, so now push in this dildo. There will be some resistance at his sphincter and he will push back. Then, press forward to clear that. Okay?”
“Right,” she said. She positioned the dildo on his hole and began to push.
“Oh, fuck!” Wilson groaned. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Good,” I said calmly. “Now press through.”
Nicole pushed passed his resistance. His face opened in amazement.
“Oh my God,” he gasped. “Oh my God, oh fuck, yeah.”
“Good.” I kissed Nicole. “Feel your way.” I leaned to her ear. “In a moment, you can fuck the shit out of him,” I whispered.
She nodded. “Right.”
His mouth dropped open as he watched her work him. Her hair was pushed away from her face. She was silent as her unearthly eyes bored into his.
She started to fuck him hard.
I took photographs.
He took a long, solid fucking from the gorgeous girl with the insistent cock.
We rested afterwards. I closed a door and opened windows, allowing them to smoke in my bedroom.
Wilson mentioned a recent divorce. Nicole asked about that. Wilson said that he had been married for ten years without much of a sex life. Now, he was amazed by how great sex could be.
“Sounds like someone I know,” she said, looking at me.
“I can’t get over you two,” Wilson said, sitting on a chair. “You seriously just met?”
“Yeah, yesterday,” Nicole said, taking a drag. “Well, after a correspondence.” I sat against her body, caressing her hips.
“And you just came to the city to see him?” he said, flipping an ash.
“Yeah.”
“Why? What made you want to meet an older man?”
She reached to the ashtray. “Well, he’s a writer. He writes about sex, and writes about it well. I wanted sex like the sex he writes about.”
“So you like it that he’s a writer?”
“Yeah,” she exhaled. “And experienced.”
“So it’s cool that he’s older?”
“I prefer it, actually. But I like that he’s smart. And, well . . . look at him.”
I grinned. Wilson laughed.
“Yeah, that’s good too. So, what happened when you got here? Did you meet someplace or go out or . . .”
“No, I just came here.”
“And what happened?”
“Well, he opened the door. And then he undressed me . . .”
“Just like that?” Wilson took another cigarette. “Just like that? He undressed you? What were you wearing? Anything sexy?”
“She looked so incredible,” I said.
She squeezed my leg.
“Seriously? I bet. Hey, can you go put on what you were wearing?”
“What, now?” Nicole said. “Sure, no problem.” She put out her cigarette and left the room.
Wilson watched her leave.
“You are one lucky man,” he grinned.
“I’m well aware of that,” I smiled. “And thanks for joining us. You’ve been great. Very respectful.”
“I know I’m lucky to be here, man.”
Nicole returned to the bedroom door, looking just as she had when she first arrived at my front door. She wore her heels, her cap and her coat closed.
“Wow, so you showed up in heels?” Wilson said, standing.
“Yes, I thought that was a nice touch,” she said.
“And so what did he do? Take your coat?” Wilson reached for her lapel.
“Yes, the coat was the first to go.”
Wilson took her coat, tossing it on a chair. “And what next? The hat?”
“Very good. It was the hat that was next to go.”
Wilson took her hat. “I bet the shirt was next.”
“You are a mind reader,” she nodded.
I watched as Wilson relived the first moments I had spent with Nicole, mentally jotting details, thinking it was amusing that I would later write the same scene twice, but with different male leads.
Soon, Nicole was nude but for her heels.
“Did he leave the heels for last?” Wilson asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh, yeah. They look so hot,” he said, holding her waist. “That’s just what I would’ve done.”
“Evidently,” she said, kissing him.
I left them alone. I went to the bar and poured a bourbon.
When I returned, I watched them take one last tumble. I put down my glass and picked up my camera.
As they lay in one another’s arms afterwards, I told Wilson it was time for him to go.
He kissed Nicole and dressed. I walked him to the door. He shook my hand.
“I didn’t want to say this in front of her,” he whispered. “I didn’t know if it would be appropriate. But I know other hot girls who would love this.”
I smiled. “I’ve heard that before, handsome man. But play your cards right, and you may’ve just meet your new best friend.”
I kissed him, full on the mouth.
I locked the door behind him and returned to the girl in my bed.
“What’s this on your ass?” he asked.
Nicole turned to look at him. “My stripes.”
“She took a caning last night,” I explained, rolling my fingers down her spine. I kissed her nose. “And a flogging.” Another kiss. “And a spanking.” Another kiss.
“Hot, man,” Wilson said. His hand gently ran up her back, touching me as our hands crossed paths. “And these circles?”
“My markings,” Nicole said.
“I bite her,” I explained.
“And here?” he touched her bruised left breast.
“My spots,” Nicole said.
“I grab her,” I explained.
“That’s so hot,” he said. “Do you like it when he takes you like that? When he gives it to you rough?”
She nestled into my neck. “Very much.”
I turned to kiss her, taking a cheek in my palm.
“You two are so gorgeous together,” the gorgeous man said. He nodded to the camera on my nightstand. “Would you like me to take some pictures?”
“That would be nice,” I murmured into her mouth. I closed my eyes, intent on her kiss and touch as the flash pinkened the insides of my lids.
“So hot,” Wilson repeated. “So sexy.” Our male model was an encouraging photographer.
I opened my eyes. “I want photos of you with Wilson,” I said, brushing away her hair. “You are both such pretty creatures.”
“Sure,” she said. “What do you want us to do?”
“I want you to kiss him and ignore me,” I said. I put her hand in Wilson’s. I leaned forward to kiss her goodbye. I left the bed.
I adjusted some lights. I sat quietly, watching, making myself invisible.
I walked around the bed, looking for angles.
I shot still after still.
Wilson took Nicole into rough kisses. She responded with the fervor we had tapped.
I took photographs.
In time, I put down my camera and sat next to the writhing couple.
“Wilson,” I said, petting his hair. “You are here to do something for us.”
He looked up from Nicole’s breast. “I wondered if you had forgotten.”
“My memory is very good where some things are concerned,” I said, wrapping an arm around Nicole’s neck. “Suck my dick, handsome man.”
He looked up at Nicole. “Do you want to watch me suck his cock?”
“Yeah,” she said, resting a hand on my belly.
“Say it.”
“Yeah, I want to watch you suck that cock,” she said, flatly.
“Yeah? You gonna get wet watching me suck that cock? That cock that fucks you?” He took my cock his large hand.
I giggled. Nicole looked up. I laughed at her expression.
“I’m sorry,” I said, biting my lip. “Dirty talk makes me laugh. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Proceed.”
Nicole slapped my stomach. She looked down at Wilson. “Yeah, I want to watch you suck that big cock. I want you to lick my pussy off his dick. Now shut the fuck up and do it.”
I squeezed Nicole’s arm. Locked away in her extensive vocabulary was one nasty trash-talking bitch.
Wilson smiled, turned on by her dominance.
He took my cock his mouth, bobbing his head furiously.
“Oh, nice, nice,” I sighed. “Girl, you make that cocksucker work.” I placed her hand on the nape of his neck, nodding that she should press down.
“Take it all,” she ordered.
“Yeah, boy,” I added. “This little girl just started sucking cock and she’s got you beat. You going to be bested by a teenager?”
His eyes were wide as he pumped more furiously.
“Deep, God damn it,” I said, pressing down on his neck with Nicole’s hand.
He plunged down, gagging. “Fucking amateur,” I chided.
“Swallow it,” Nicole ordered.
He grunted, working furiously as drool pooled on my balls. I rested my hands on his freckled shoulders, feeling his tense muscles.
Nicole picked up the camera, snapping as he blew me. He performed for her, aroused by the risk he took by sucking cock for her lens.
She passed the camera to me. I shot him again.
“We may need to do something different with this one,” I said, putting aside the camera. “I think he needs a lesson.”
Nicole looked at me. “You want me to blow you so he can learn?”
“No,” I said. “I want him to suck your cock.”
Wilson looked up at me. “Get off my dick, boy.” I grabbed his hair.
He pulled off, gasping. Spittle connected his lips to my cock. “That’s good and wet,” I said, stroking with his drool, aiming my cock into his lips. “You’ve got promise, cocksucker. Let’s see what you can do for the girl.”
I swung a leg over his head and stood. I went to a cabinet and found my other cock.
“Come here, Nicole.” She joined me beside the bed.
“Oh shit, are you kidding?” Wilson said. “That’s so hot, man.”
“You’ve never used a strap on, I assume,” I asked Nicole, kneeling before her. I kissed her sandy curls.
“No, never,” she said.
“Another virginity, gone. Step into these straps.” I stood, adjusting the straps on her hips. “Comfortable?” I asked, standing behind her.
“Yes, that feels fine.”
“Good.” I put my hands on her hips, gyrating them. “Now wiggle your cock for the boy.”
Wilson moved forward on the bed.
“You think you can handle my dick, Wilson?” Nicole asked.
“Oh my God, you are so hot,” he said, his voice barely audible.
“And you are so redundant,” she said, moving forward. “Suck this.” Nicole dropped her cock into his mouth, thrusting.
It took her a moment, but she shortly had the feel for fucking with her new cock.
“Flip him,” I said. “I want his ass.”
Nicole lay back on the pillows. Wilson lay between her legs on his belly, sucking her.
“Raise your ass, boy,” I said, grabbing his hip.
He complied, his body writhing.
I slapped his muscular ass. “Hold it steady, boy.” He steadied himself for a moment before his instincts took over, causing him to push and twist his hips.
I lubed a finger, slipping it into him.
“He’s never been fucked,” I told Nicole.
“Is that true?” she asked Wilson.
He grunted.
“Do you want to see him get fucked?” I asked, stroking my cock.
“I would really like that,” Nicole nodded.
“Tell him,” I said.
She held Wilson’s face in her hands. “I want to see you get fucked. I want you to get fucked while you suck my dick.”
Wilson looked at her, his eyes wide, and nodded, taking her cock deep.
“Such a good boy,” I said, taking my finger from his ass. I rolled on a condom, lubing his hole. I held his hips. “God damn it, stop moving so much,” I ordered. I spanked him.
He was still. “Good boy,” I repeated. I put my cock against his hole and pressed in slightly.
He fell forward, away from me.
“You fucking pussy,” I reprimanded. “That girl took her first ass fucking last night with no complaints. And you shy from it?” I spanked him. “Look at you, a big, muscular grown man, a bigger wuss than a teenage girl.”
He sucked her cock furiously.
I was talking tough, but I knew I had to try a different approach. I wanted him to get this if he could take it, and I wanted Nicole to see anything she wanted to see.
I raised his hips again. I gave him a finger, gently working his hole. I reached for his cock and pulled it back. I blew him as I worked his hole.
Wilson’s head was exploding with sensation. He had Nicole’s thick cock fucking his face, my mouth fucking his cock, and my finger fucking his ass.
Sudden he jumped up. He sprung off the bed.
“Fuck man, what was that?”
“A second finger,” I smiled. “Too much?”
“Holy shit, man. Is that what it’ll feel like when you fuck me?”
“No. That’s what it will feel like when I fuck you with two fingers. A cock is different.” I stood up. “Here, let’s try something else. Get back on the bed, on your back.”
“Are you going to fuck me?”
“No.” I reached for a box under my nightstand. “She is.”
“With that?” he exclaimed, pointing to her cock.
“No,” I said, sitting up. “With this.” I held up a lean dildo, slightly smaller than my cock. “Spread your legs, Wilson.” I picked up a condom and handed the lube to Nicole.
“Grease his hole,” I told her.
She looked down. She had never played with a man’s ass.
“Here, baby.” I lifted his smooth, shaved balls to expose his smooth, shaved perineum. “He’s got a very sweet pussy, Nicole. Very lucky for your first.” I took her fingers in mine. “Now, lube his hole like this, pressing in . . . good, firm but not too much . . . keep your nails away . . .”
Wilson groaned. “You all right, Wilson?” she asked.
His eyes were wide again. “Yes, yeah, God you are so hot.”
I smiled. “You’ve got him in your power, pale eyes. Okay, so now push in this dildo. There will be some resistance at his sphincter and he will push back. Then, press forward to clear that. Okay?”
“Right,” she said. She positioned the dildo on his hole and began to push.
“Oh, fuck!” Wilson groaned. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Good,” I said calmly. “Now press through.”
Nicole pushed passed his resistance. His face opened in amazement.
“Oh my God,” he gasped. “Oh my God, oh fuck, yeah.”
“Good.” I kissed Nicole. “Feel your way.” I leaned to her ear. “In a moment, you can fuck the shit out of him,” I whispered.
She nodded. “Right.”
His mouth dropped open as he watched her work him. Her hair was pushed away from her face. She was silent as her unearthly eyes bored into his.
She started to fuck him hard.
I took photographs.
He took a long, solid fucking from the gorgeous girl with the insistent cock.
We rested afterwards. I closed a door and opened windows, allowing them to smoke in my bedroom.
Wilson mentioned a recent divorce. Nicole asked about that. Wilson said that he had been married for ten years without much of a sex life. Now, he was amazed by how great sex could be.
“Sounds like someone I know,” she said, looking at me.
“I can’t get over you two,” Wilson said, sitting on a chair. “You seriously just met?”
“Yeah, yesterday,” Nicole said, taking a drag. “Well, after a correspondence.” I sat against her body, caressing her hips.
“And you just came to the city to see him?” he said, flipping an ash.
“Yeah.”
“Why? What made you want to meet an older man?”
She reached to the ashtray. “Well, he’s a writer. He writes about sex, and writes about it well. I wanted sex like the sex he writes about.”
“So you like it that he’s a writer?”
“Yeah,” she exhaled. “And experienced.”
“So it’s cool that he’s older?”
“I prefer it, actually. But I like that he’s smart. And, well . . . look at him.”
I grinned. Wilson laughed.
“Yeah, that’s good too. So, what happened when you got here? Did you meet someplace or go out or . . .”
“No, I just came here.”
“And what happened?”
“Well, he opened the door. And then he undressed me . . .”
“Just like that?” Wilson took another cigarette. “Just like that? He undressed you? What were you wearing? Anything sexy?”
“She looked so incredible,” I said.
She squeezed my leg.
“Seriously? I bet. Hey, can you go put on what you were wearing?”
“What, now?” Nicole said. “Sure, no problem.” She put out her cigarette and left the room.
Wilson watched her leave.
“You are one lucky man,” he grinned.
“I’m well aware of that,” I smiled. “And thanks for joining us. You’ve been great. Very respectful.”
“I know I’m lucky to be here, man.”
Nicole returned to the bedroom door, looking just as she had when she first arrived at my front door. She wore her heels, her cap and her coat closed.
“Wow, so you showed up in heels?” Wilson said, standing.
“Yes, I thought that was a nice touch,” she said.
“And so what did he do? Take your coat?” Wilson reached for her lapel.
“Yes, the coat was the first to go.”
Wilson took her coat, tossing it on a chair. “And what next? The hat?”
“Very good. It was the hat that was next to go.”
Wilson took her hat. “I bet the shirt was next.”
“You are a mind reader,” she nodded.
I watched as Wilson relived the first moments I had spent with Nicole, mentally jotting details, thinking it was amusing that I would later write the same scene twice, but with different male leads.
Soon, Nicole was nude but for her heels.
“Did he leave the heels for last?” Wilson asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh, yeah. They look so hot,” he said, holding her waist. “That’s just what I would’ve done.”
“Evidently,” she said, kissing him.
I left them alone. I went to the bar and poured a bourbon.
When I returned, I watched them take one last tumble. I put down my glass and picked up my camera.
As they lay in one another’s arms afterwards, I told Wilson it was time for him to go.
He kissed Nicole and dressed. I walked him to the door. He shook my hand.
“I didn’t want to say this in front of her,” he whispered. “I didn’t know if it would be appropriate. But I know other hot girls who would love this.”
I smiled. “I’ve heard that before, handsome man. But play your cards right, and you may’ve just meet your new best friend.”
I kissed him, full on the mouth.
I locked the door behind him and returned to the girl in my bed.
Friday, February 09, 2007
It Took Dominion Everywhere
Behind her dark hair, behind her glasses, her pale eyes must have widened.
For I had reached into the metropolis and produced Clark Kent.
“I’m Wilson,” he said, offering her his hand.
“Esther,” Nicole said, taking his hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Esther,” he smiled.
“May I take your coat?” I said to his back. “Wilson? Your coat?”
He turned to me. “Oh, right.” He tugged an arm from his coat as his eyes returned to Nicole.
He draped his coat over an arm. “So, are you visiting New York, Esther?”
“May I take your coat, Wilson?” I repeated.
“Oh right, I’m sorry,” he turned to me. I took the coat and suggested we move into the living room.
Wilson sat in a chair. Nicole sat close to my side.
We exchanged pleasantries. Wilson learned that Nicole is a Southerner. We learned that Wilson came from the Midwest to work as a model.
“You’re certainly handsome,” Nicole said, coolly stating this matter of observable fact.
“Thanks, that’s nice of you to say.” He paused, scratching a temple. “You know, I have to say . . . well, when you didn’t have a picture of your girlfriend, I thought . . . well, I thought that I should expect someone . . . well, someone not that pretty. But Esther, you are really a gorgeous girl.”
“Thanks,” she nodded, accepting his compliment as yet another fact to be acknowledged.
“Gorgeous,” he repeated, his eyes on her.
“You thought you might not be attracted to her,” I teased. “And yet, here you are. You dog.”
He laughed. “Well, yeah, I guess I am. But I liked your picture, and, well, that’s what I was being asked to do.”
This was the correct response.
“Oh yes, your assignment,” I said, trailing a finger on Nicole’s bare leg. “Let’s get started on that. How about you undress for us?”
He raised his eyebrows. “You mean here? Now?”
“No better time nor place.”
“Uh, sure. Why not?” Wilson stood and began to unbutton his shirt. His eyes watched my finger on Nicole’s leg. She was seated against me. I could hear her breathing accelerate as she braced for the unknown of a man’s body. An unknown man’s body.
I turned to lightly kiss her hair.
Wilson tossed his shirt in a chair, paused a moment, and then raised his undershirt as he stepped from his shoes.
I gently brushed the hair from Nicole’s face.
Wilson looked into her eyes as he unzipped his pants. He stepped from one leg, and then another. The pants joined his shirt in the chair.
He brought his knees up to remove his socks. I traced Nicole’s kneecap.
He stood. He ran his thumbs under the waistband of his snug-fitting shorts. Slowly, he lowered them to the floor.
He stood and smiled.
“May we just appreciate you for a moment, Wilson?” I asked.
“Sure, of course.” He stood with his arms to his sides.
“Did you ever see such a statuesque man . . . Esther?” I whispered.
She shook her head. My fingers traveled from one leg to another.
“His face is so attractive . . . his hair is so full and wavy and black . . . his eyes so dark . . .”
I caressed an inner thigh, parting her legs slightly.
“And that body . . . such broad shoulders and defined arms . . . that wide chest and smooth skin . . .”
My fingers vanished under her mini skirt.
“Those thick, strong legs . . .”
A finger vanished into her body.
She drew a breath.
“And that cock. So thick, unlike mine, with those big smooth balls . . .”
A second finger joined the first.
“Two men are here now, two men who find you so—what was Wilson’s word?—'gorgeous' . . . two handsome men who look nothing like one another . . . spread your legs, girl. I want to show your pussy to the handsome stranger.”
Nicole leaned back, adjusting as she spread her legs. I lifted the skirt.
“Such a pretty girl,” I said.
“She is really is gorgeous,” Wilson said, his voice low and slightly reverential. His cock was growing full.
“Yeah, she is,” I nodded, certain that she noticed my use of the third person. I looked down. “Very tight pussy, though. She’s not yet much more than a virgin.”
“Hot, man,” Wilson said, touching himself.
“I think that before we do anything else, Esther, I’m going to fuck you.” I took my fingers from her body and stood.
“Okay,” she said lightly.
“Wilson, please pick up Esther and carry her to my bedroom. Follow me.” I turned and walked down a hallway, not looking back.
I stood by the bed waiting as Wilson came to the bedroom door holding Nicole in his arms. Her arms were draped on his wide shoulders, her head resting against his cheek.
He turned to one side to clear the doorframe.
“Put her on the bed, please,” I requested.
The dark-haired stranger gently placed the hourglass teenager on my bed. Wilson stood to one side, looking to me. Nicole instinctive drew back her legs.
“Sweet Esther,” I said, crawling over her legs. “Let’s show Wilson what you’ve learned since yesterday.”
She looked at Wilson. “It’s a lot,” she grinned.
“I can imagine,” he nodded.
I removed her glasses, placing them on a nightstand. I raised her shirt and unfastened her bra. I kissed her neck and sternum, her breasts and belly, taking my time until I reached her skirt.
I unfastened a clasp and lowered a zipper. She lifted her hips as I pulled the skirt slowly down the length of her legs.
“Shit,” Wilson whispered, devout.
I kissed her cunt.
“Wilson is impressed by your beauty,” I said quietly. “He doesn’t know about your mind.”
I darted a tongue to her clit. She squirmed.
I slide over her body to her ear. “You’re lying to Wilson. Stop it.”
She turned to face Wilson. “My name is really Nicole.”
He smiled. “My name is really Wilson.”
“Thank you,” I said. I stood and quickly removed my shirt and pants. Nicole looked up at me, watching me return to a form more familiar to her. My nudity was her blanket.
I raised an arm and pointed to Wilson. “He’s beautiful,” I said. “Do you want to fuck him?”
She looked to Wilson, then back to me. “No.” She edged her body towards mine, spreading her thighs as she moved. “I’m particular. I want you.”
This was the correct response.
I took deliberate care in rolling on a condom. I made it a show for four eyes, two so pale, two so dark.
She sighed as I entered her. I moved slowly, back and forth, giving her my full length and then taking it back, again and again.
Her moistness spread the fullness of my cock.
I began to move faster.
“Yeah, man,” Wilson said, moving to crouch on the bed near us. “Fuck that pussy, man. Fuck her.”
I stopped, holding her calves in my grip. I looked down to Nicole. “You can blow him.”
She looked over and took his cock in her hand. “Good,” she smiled. Wilson moved closer.
“It’s only her second blowjob,” I told Wilson.
“Actually, it’s my ninth,” she said, swallowing him.
Sweet girl, I thought as I renewed my thrusts. During a month in which I was counting the number of people who blew me, she was counting each and every time she puts a dick in her mouth.
“Unh, shit, yeah,” Wilson sighed, falling forward. “Suck that cock, slut.”
Nicole’s throat murmured.
I fucked into her hard. Wilson moved forward to feed his cock into her. He pressed against my shoulders for support.
I put an arm around him, kissing his neck.
He turned his face to kiss me, passionate and wild. I took his hair in hand, giving him my mouth as my flesh moved into Nicole’s body.
It was a little after nine on a cold, clear January night. Lighted specks defined the Manhattan skyline in an accumulation of countless right angles.
Behind one of those countless specks, in my bedroom, a little after nine on a cold, clear January night, our isosceles was the most beautiful, heroic form in my metropolis.
For I had reached into the metropolis and produced Clark Kent.
“I’m Wilson,” he said, offering her his hand.
“Esther,” Nicole said, taking his hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Esther,” he smiled.
“May I take your coat?” I said to his back. “Wilson? Your coat?”
He turned to me. “Oh, right.” He tugged an arm from his coat as his eyes returned to Nicole.
He draped his coat over an arm. “So, are you visiting New York, Esther?”
“May I take your coat, Wilson?” I repeated.
“Oh right, I’m sorry,” he turned to me. I took the coat and suggested we move into the living room.
Wilson sat in a chair. Nicole sat close to my side.
We exchanged pleasantries. Wilson learned that Nicole is a Southerner. We learned that Wilson came from the Midwest to work as a model.
“You’re certainly handsome,” Nicole said, coolly stating this matter of observable fact.
“Thanks, that’s nice of you to say.” He paused, scratching a temple. “You know, I have to say . . . well, when you didn’t have a picture of your girlfriend, I thought . . . well, I thought that I should expect someone . . . well, someone not that pretty. But Esther, you are really a gorgeous girl.”
“Thanks,” she nodded, accepting his compliment as yet another fact to be acknowledged.
“Gorgeous,” he repeated, his eyes on her.
“You thought you might not be attracted to her,” I teased. “And yet, here you are. You dog.”
He laughed. “Well, yeah, I guess I am. But I liked your picture, and, well, that’s what I was being asked to do.”
This was the correct response.
“Oh yes, your assignment,” I said, trailing a finger on Nicole’s bare leg. “Let’s get started on that. How about you undress for us?”
He raised his eyebrows. “You mean here? Now?”
“No better time nor place.”
“Uh, sure. Why not?” Wilson stood and began to unbutton his shirt. His eyes watched my finger on Nicole’s leg. She was seated against me. I could hear her breathing accelerate as she braced for the unknown of a man’s body. An unknown man’s body.
I turned to lightly kiss her hair.
Wilson tossed his shirt in a chair, paused a moment, and then raised his undershirt as he stepped from his shoes.
I gently brushed the hair from Nicole’s face.
Wilson looked into her eyes as he unzipped his pants. He stepped from one leg, and then another. The pants joined his shirt in the chair.
He brought his knees up to remove his socks. I traced Nicole’s kneecap.
He stood. He ran his thumbs under the waistband of his snug-fitting shorts. Slowly, he lowered them to the floor.
He stood and smiled.
“May we just appreciate you for a moment, Wilson?” I asked.
“Sure, of course.” He stood with his arms to his sides.
“Did you ever see such a statuesque man . . . Esther?” I whispered.
She shook her head. My fingers traveled from one leg to another.
“His face is so attractive . . . his hair is so full and wavy and black . . . his eyes so dark . . .”
I caressed an inner thigh, parting her legs slightly.
“And that body . . . such broad shoulders and defined arms . . . that wide chest and smooth skin . . .”
My fingers vanished under her mini skirt.
“Those thick, strong legs . . .”
A finger vanished into her body.
She drew a breath.
“And that cock. So thick, unlike mine, with those big smooth balls . . .”
A second finger joined the first.
“Two men are here now, two men who find you so—what was Wilson’s word?—'gorgeous' . . . two handsome men who look nothing like one another . . . spread your legs, girl. I want to show your pussy to the handsome stranger.”
Nicole leaned back, adjusting as she spread her legs. I lifted the skirt.
“Such a pretty girl,” I said.
“She is really is gorgeous,” Wilson said, his voice low and slightly reverential. His cock was growing full.
“Yeah, she is,” I nodded, certain that she noticed my use of the third person. I looked down. “Very tight pussy, though. She’s not yet much more than a virgin.”
“Hot, man,” Wilson said, touching himself.
“I think that before we do anything else, Esther, I’m going to fuck you.” I took my fingers from her body and stood.
“Okay,” she said lightly.
“Wilson, please pick up Esther and carry her to my bedroom. Follow me.” I turned and walked down a hallway, not looking back.
I stood by the bed waiting as Wilson came to the bedroom door holding Nicole in his arms. Her arms were draped on his wide shoulders, her head resting against his cheek.
He turned to one side to clear the doorframe.
“Put her on the bed, please,” I requested.
The dark-haired stranger gently placed the hourglass teenager on my bed. Wilson stood to one side, looking to me. Nicole instinctive drew back her legs.
“Sweet Esther,” I said, crawling over her legs. “Let’s show Wilson what you’ve learned since yesterday.”
She looked at Wilson. “It’s a lot,” she grinned.
“I can imagine,” he nodded.
I removed her glasses, placing them on a nightstand. I raised her shirt and unfastened her bra. I kissed her neck and sternum, her breasts and belly, taking my time until I reached her skirt.
I unfastened a clasp and lowered a zipper. She lifted her hips as I pulled the skirt slowly down the length of her legs.
“Shit,” Wilson whispered, devout.
I kissed her cunt.
“Wilson is impressed by your beauty,” I said quietly. “He doesn’t know about your mind.”
I darted a tongue to her clit. She squirmed.
I slide over her body to her ear. “You’re lying to Wilson. Stop it.”
She turned to face Wilson. “My name is really Nicole.”
He smiled. “My name is really Wilson.”
“Thank you,” I said. I stood and quickly removed my shirt and pants. Nicole looked up at me, watching me return to a form more familiar to her. My nudity was her blanket.
I raised an arm and pointed to Wilson. “He’s beautiful,” I said. “Do you want to fuck him?”
She looked to Wilson, then back to me. “No.” She edged her body towards mine, spreading her thighs as she moved. “I’m particular. I want you.”
This was the correct response.
I took deliberate care in rolling on a condom. I made it a show for four eyes, two so pale, two so dark.
She sighed as I entered her. I moved slowly, back and forth, giving her my full length and then taking it back, again and again.
Her moistness spread the fullness of my cock.
I began to move faster.
“Yeah, man,” Wilson said, moving to crouch on the bed near us. “Fuck that pussy, man. Fuck her.”
I stopped, holding her calves in my grip. I looked down to Nicole. “You can blow him.”
She looked over and took his cock in her hand. “Good,” she smiled. Wilson moved closer.
“It’s only her second blowjob,” I told Wilson.
“Actually, it’s my ninth,” she said, swallowing him.
Sweet girl, I thought as I renewed my thrusts. During a month in which I was counting the number of people who blew me, she was counting each and every time she puts a dick in her mouth.
“Unh, shit, yeah,” Wilson sighed, falling forward. “Suck that cock, slut.”
Nicole’s throat murmured.
I fucked into her hard. Wilson moved forward to feed his cock into her. He pressed against my shoulders for support.
I put an arm around him, kissing his neck.
He turned his face to kiss me, passionate and wild. I took his hair in hand, giving him my mouth as my flesh moved into Nicole’s body.
It was a little after nine on a cold, clear January night. Lighted specks defined the Manhattan skyline in an accumulation of countless right angles.
Behind one of those countless specks, in my bedroom, a little after nine on a cold, clear January night, our isosceles was the most beautiful, heroic form in my metropolis.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Why I Am Not A Painter
Moans emerged among the panting.
“That’s it, that’s it,” I whispered, jutting my fingers steadily inside her.
I took a fistful of hair in my free hand. “Spread your legs,” I ordered. “I want to see under that skirt.”
Nicole opened her thighs, pushing the plaid mini skirt up on her hips.
“Good girl, good girl,” I commended, watching my middle fingers vanish into her. Her clit was plump. Her legs were still cold from the outdoors, even as her pale flesh grew rosy and flush.
My intercom rang.
I rested my fingers in her, and brushed the hair from her face. “Company.”
“Should I . . . ,” she began, disoriented by a sudden cessation of sensations. “I guess . . . the panties, right?”
“No panties,” I said, removing my fingers. “The skirt is sufficient.”
As I prepared for Nicole’s visit, I reflected on the fact that she would be giving me her first blowjob. That’s a memorable milestone. I thought it would be nice to give her something in return.
I pondered this, and was struck by an inspiration.
Among my readers and correspondents is a clever fellow who never fails to bring bonhomie to my inbox. He’s handsome, writes well, and lives nearby.
His flaw? He’s straight. He’s never fooled around with guys, not even with his friends, not even, you know, after too many beers, dude.
Such men are a dying breed.
I’m killing them as fast as I can.
Now, with Nicole in mind, I dropped him a line.
“How’s this scenario?” I posited. “If a cute and inexperienced young woman wanted to see two boys go at it, would you be willing to give your first blowjob? Please understand: you wouldn’t be fucking her. But you would certainly watch us fucking. And of course, I’d blow you. I think she might like that.”
He agreed that this was a novel opportunity to lose his regrettable—and inexcusable, really, in our enlightened age—virginity with men.
I told Nicole of my plan.
“Okay, now that is a salutary proposition,” she said. “A straight boy sucking dick is a fetish fantasy of mine.”
“Then I will make it so,” I pledged.
It was all in place. Nicole would have her fantasy, my straight boy would get some dick, and I would add another virgin blowjob to the quota of my birthday month.
Two virgin blowjobs in two days, no less.
It was a perfect plan, yet like many grand schemes, it was brought low by germs. The boy begged out at the last minute, having caught the flu.
Undaunted, I went back to work. As Nicole caught up on homework, I took my case to Craig’s List.
I have a lovely girl visiting. We had lined up a man to watch us go at it, but he got the flu.
We are looking for a guy who would like to watch us, and also blow me as she watches. She gave head for the first time last night, as it would be hot for her to see a guy give it a go.
She's nineteen, very cute, hourglass figure. You won't do her. Don’t try. Non negotiable.
Please send pics and notes—incomplete sentences won’t pass muster.
The responses came fast.
“Do you want to weigh in on this?” I asked Nicole. I had an instant battalion of straight recruits ready to suck cock for a pretty girl.
“Hmmm, no.” She looked up from a book and peered over her glasses. “I’m too indecisive. You can choose.”
“My favorite color is carte blanche,” I replied.
My palette was soon limited to a soccer player in a blue jersey, a green-eyed graduate student, and a man with coal black hair.
I sent each candidate a photograph of myself. I told each that he would not see a picture of her.
Of course, by this time I had amassed many photographs of Nicole. But I was adamant: the man I chose should be attracted to the scenario as opposed to the pretty girl. That had been enough for me—after all, Nicole and I had decided to meet based on words, not images—and that should be sufficient for any stranger I might select.
I lost the soccer player, presumably to the suspicion that I was misrepresenting the situation. Fair enough.
I liked the graduate student’s earnest responses. His eyes were dreamy, his lips kissable.
But the other man won out. He had a handsome photograph, but more importantly, he had enthusiasm.
I colored myself impressed, and gave him the green light.
We moved into the living room to await his knock.
I kissed Nicole, caressing the bare ass under her short skirt.
“Nervous?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. She was telling the truth. Her mind was on full alert.
The man knocked.
I opened the door.
The three of us looked at one another.
“Well, hello,” he grinned.
“That’s it, that’s it,” I whispered, jutting my fingers steadily inside her.
I took a fistful of hair in my free hand. “Spread your legs,” I ordered. “I want to see under that skirt.”
Nicole opened her thighs, pushing the plaid mini skirt up on her hips.
“Good girl, good girl,” I commended, watching my middle fingers vanish into her. Her clit was plump. Her legs were still cold from the outdoors, even as her pale flesh grew rosy and flush.
My intercom rang.
I rested my fingers in her, and brushed the hair from her face. “Company.”
“Should I . . . ,” she began, disoriented by a sudden cessation of sensations. “I guess . . . the panties, right?”
“No panties,” I said, removing my fingers. “The skirt is sufficient.”
As I prepared for Nicole’s visit, I reflected on the fact that she would be giving me her first blowjob. That’s a memorable milestone. I thought it would be nice to give her something in return.
I pondered this, and was struck by an inspiration.
Among my readers and correspondents is a clever fellow who never fails to bring bonhomie to my inbox. He’s handsome, writes well, and lives nearby.
His flaw? He’s straight. He’s never fooled around with guys, not even with his friends, not even, you know, after too many beers, dude.
Such men are a dying breed.
I’m killing them as fast as I can.
Now, with Nicole in mind, I dropped him a line.
“How’s this scenario?” I posited. “If a cute and inexperienced young woman wanted to see two boys go at it, would you be willing to give your first blowjob? Please understand: you wouldn’t be fucking her. But you would certainly watch us fucking. And of course, I’d blow you. I think she might like that.”
He agreed that this was a novel opportunity to lose his regrettable—and inexcusable, really, in our enlightened age—virginity with men.
I told Nicole of my plan.
“Okay, now that is a salutary proposition,” she said. “A straight boy sucking dick is a fetish fantasy of mine.”
“Then I will make it so,” I pledged.
It was all in place. Nicole would have her fantasy, my straight boy would get some dick, and I would add another virgin blowjob to the quota of my birthday month.
Two virgin blowjobs in two days, no less.
It was a perfect plan, yet like many grand schemes, it was brought low by germs. The boy begged out at the last minute, having caught the flu.
Undaunted, I went back to work. As Nicole caught up on homework, I took my case to Craig’s List.
I have a lovely girl visiting. We had lined up a man to watch us go at it, but he got the flu.
We are looking for a guy who would like to watch us, and also blow me as she watches. She gave head for the first time last night, as it would be hot for her to see a guy give it a go.
She's nineteen, very cute, hourglass figure. You won't do her. Don’t try. Non negotiable.
Please send pics and notes—incomplete sentences won’t pass muster.
The responses came fast.
“Do you want to weigh in on this?” I asked Nicole. I had an instant battalion of straight recruits ready to suck cock for a pretty girl.
“Hmmm, no.” She looked up from a book and peered over her glasses. “I’m too indecisive. You can choose.”
“My favorite color is carte blanche,” I replied.
My palette was soon limited to a soccer player in a blue jersey, a green-eyed graduate student, and a man with coal black hair.
I sent each candidate a photograph of myself. I told each that he would not see a picture of her.
Of course, by this time I had amassed many photographs of Nicole. But I was adamant: the man I chose should be attracted to the scenario as opposed to the pretty girl. That had been enough for me—after all, Nicole and I had decided to meet based on words, not images—and that should be sufficient for any stranger I might select.
I lost the soccer player, presumably to the suspicion that I was misrepresenting the situation. Fair enough.
I liked the graduate student’s earnest responses. His eyes were dreamy, his lips kissable.
But the other man won out. He had a handsome photograph, but more importantly, he had enthusiasm.
I colored myself impressed, and gave him the green light.
We moved into the living room to await his knock.
I kissed Nicole, caressing the bare ass under her short skirt.
“Nervous?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. She was telling the truth. Her mind was on full alert.
The man knocked.
I opened the door.
The three of us looked at one another.
“Well, hello,” he grinned.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Blackbird Whistling, Or Just After
She told me she craved sushi.
“Aren’t you vegetarian?” I asked.
Nicole looked chagrined. “I make an exception for sushi. I love it, and there’s none near campus.”
I told her I knew a place. There was an early bird special, even, if we got there before seven.
“We can make that easily,” she said.
“Sure,” I agreed, pressing deeper into her. “We’ll just finish fucking and go.”
“Right,” she said, clutching my shoulders.
The sun set.
We kept fucking.
Rush hour noises faded.
We kept fucking.
I noticed the time. “Okay, no more sex,” I said, pulling out. “We want to be early birds.”
“Right,” she said, swallowing my cock.
We managed to extricate ourselves, quickly shower, and dress.
“Is that all you’re wearing?” I scolded. She wore a light shirt and a mini skirt that scarcely covered her panties, leaving her long legs bare. “It’s January, you know.”
“I didn’t bring tights,” she shrugged. “I’ve got my coat. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s freezing. I’m sure I have some sweats or something that might fit you.”
She peered at me with her one visible eye.
“I know, I know,” I shook my head. “You’d rather freeze than look unfashionable.”
We walked briskly to the restaurant. We were seated by a floor-to-ceiling window.
Her legs were red and raw from the cold. The proximity of her bare skin under the table was distracting. We hadn’t worn clothes in the twenty-four hours since she arrived; we left the bed only when necessitated by the exigencies of bladders, hunger and her nicotine addiction.
Now, for the duration of a meal, we were unable to touch one another without being observed by passers by.
My teeth tore into raw fish.
“I’m glad I came,” she said, her chopsticks adroitly capturing sashimi. She sat very erect, bending slightly forward as she brought the tuna to her mouth.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I smiled. “It’s really been a whirlwind, huh?”
She nodded, chewing. She covered her mouth with a hand. “I can’t believe I went through with it.” She swallowed. “But I had to get away from school to do this—and of course, finding you also made it possible.”
“You’re gracious. But what do you mean about leaving school?”
“Well, my friends regard me as somewhat asexual . . .”
“Ha! If they could see you now.”
“Seriously, I’m called an ‘ice princess.’ They think I’m frigid.”
“You have no concern there.”
“This we know,” she smiled. “But in truth, it’s a convenient fallacy, this image people have of me. I’m not interested in anyone on campus, and I’d rather not be bothered. I’d rather stay in the library, frankly.”
I took a piece of eel, listening.
“So by coming here, and seeing you, I’m able to pursue my sexuality without the bothers and interferences of my friends, or gossip, and the nonsense of all that.”
“In other words, you can let your hair down.”
A grin appeared under the swoop that covered her face. “Precisely. And it doesn’t hurt that you know what you’re doing.”
“I practice,” I smiled.
When the check arrived, she insisted on going Dutch. “I have to pay for myself,” she said, opening her bag. “I’m feminist.”
“Fine by me,” I said, reaching for my wallet. “I’m cheap.”
She put her arm in mine as we walked home.
I took pictures of her red, raw legs. She bent forward as I photographed the curve of her buttocks peering from under her skirt.
I took her panties.
“Aren’t you vegetarian?” I asked.
Nicole looked chagrined. “I make an exception for sushi. I love it, and there’s none near campus.”
I told her I knew a place. There was an early bird special, even, if we got there before seven.
“We can make that easily,” she said.
“Sure,” I agreed, pressing deeper into her. “We’ll just finish fucking and go.”
“Right,” she said, clutching my shoulders.
The sun set.
We kept fucking.
Rush hour noises faded.
We kept fucking.
I noticed the time. “Okay, no more sex,” I said, pulling out. “We want to be early birds.”
“Right,” she said, swallowing my cock.
We managed to extricate ourselves, quickly shower, and dress.
“Is that all you’re wearing?” I scolded. She wore a light shirt and a mini skirt that scarcely covered her panties, leaving her long legs bare. “It’s January, you know.”
“I didn’t bring tights,” she shrugged. “I’ve got my coat. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s freezing. I’m sure I have some sweats or something that might fit you.”
She peered at me with her one visible eye.
“I know, I know,” I shook my head. “You’d rather freeze than look unfashionable.”
We walked briskly to the restaurant. We were seated by a floor-to-ceiling window.
Her legs were red and raw from the cold. The proximity of her bare skin under the table was distracting. We hadn’t worn clothes in the twenty-four hours since she arrived; we left the bed only when necessitated by the exigencies of bladders, hunger and her nicotine addiction.
Now, for the duration of a meal, we were unable to touch one another without being observed by passers by.
My teeth tore into raw fish.
“I’m glad I came,” she said, her chopsticks adroitly capturing sashimi. She sat very erect, bending slightly forward as she brought the tuna to her mouth.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I smiled. “It’s really been a whirlwind, huh?”
She nodded, chewing. She covered her mouth with a hand. “I can’t believe I went through with it.” She swallowed. “But I had to get away from school to do this—and of course, finding you also made it possible.”
“You’re gracious. But what do you mean about leaving school?”
“Well, my friends regard me as somewhat asexual . . .”
“Ha! If they could see you now.”
“Seriously, I’m called an ‘ice princess.’ They think I’m frigid.”
“You have no concern there.”
“This we know,” she smiled. “But in truth, it’s a convenient fallacy, this image people have of me. I’m not interested in anyone on campus, and I’d rather not be bothered. I’d rather stay in the library, frankly.”
I took a piece of eel, listening.
“So by coming here, and seeing you, I’m able to pursue my sexuality without the bothers and interferences of my friends, or gossip, and the nonsense of all that.”
“In other words, you can let your hair down.”
A grin appeared under the swoop that covered her face. “Precisely. And it doesn’t hurt that you know what you’re doing.”
“I practice,” I smiled.
When the check arrived, she insisted on going Dutch. “I have to pay for myself,” she said, opening her bag. “I’m feminist.”
“Fine by me,” I said, reaching for my wallet. “I’m cheap.”
She put her arm in mine as we walked home.
I took pictures of her red, raw legs. She bent forward as I photographed the curve of her buttocks peering from under her skirt.
I took her panties.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Oyster Shells
“All right,” I said, stroking the condom on my cock. “Hop on.”
“Right,” Nicole said. She lifted herself and began dropping her hips to me.
“Wait, wait,” I said, scooting down the bed. “You’re still coming in a little low. See? When you're a bit higher, you can slide right on. Got it?”
She lowered herself fully, so that I was inside her. “Oh yeah, I see what you mean,” she nodded, beginning to gyrate.
“You’re a fast learner,” I smiled. I crossed my arms behind my head. “Now, do it again.”
“Seriously?” she stopped.
“Yes. Show me, and this time, do it yourself.”
A grin emerged on the only part of her face that was visible. “Yes, sir.”
She lifted herself from me, and looked behind her to my cock. She reached between her legs, took my cock, and slowly guided it back into her.
“Nice, nice!” I commended. “Why, soon you won’t need me here at all.”
Her laughter convulsed on my cock.
We had fallen asleep fucking and now we awoke fucking. Our arms and legs had been entangled as we slept.
Without quite meaning to, in a very short time, we had crossed over to a place where our bodies felt out of kilter if they were not conjoined.
As we fucked, she complained that she really had to go to the bathroom.
“Do you remember the last time we left this bed?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “It was sometime last night . . . right?”
“I asked because I can’t recall,” I said, pushing into her.
She fell forward to kiss me.
Later, she reiterated her need to pee.
“I thought you took care of that,” I said, pumping into her.
“I remember meaning to, but I don’t think I ever did.”
“Huh.”
We kissed.
Suddenly she pulled back. “No, seriously, I really need to pee.”
“Wait, what are you . . . no, no!” She pulled herself from my cock. I grabbed her wrist. “What can you be thinking?” I asked anxiously.
“God, please, God, you have to let me go,” she laughed. “We are ridiculous.”
“You’ll come back?” I asked, turning my body so that my head fell slightly from the side of the bed. I looked up with pleading eyes. “I won’t have to go looking for you?”
“Of course.” She lowered her face and kissed me, her mouth deep and open. “Right after a cigarette.”
“A cigarette?” I grabbed her thigh and pulled her close to my face. “Can’t you see what those things are doing to you, Nicole? What they are doing to us?”
I pulled her thigh to my mouth to kiss her flesh. I nibbled.
I reached up and took her ass, bringing her pussy to my mouth. I latched on to her clit.
“Oh, that’s very hot, but I really do have to pee.”
“Pleth dowd,” I said, tugging on her hips.
“What?”
“Pleth dowd. Pleth dowd on die mouf.”
“Press down? Like this?” She squatted slightly, pressing her clit into my tongue. “Unh, yeah, like this, I see.”
“Gweat. Dow, thuck die dick.”
Her hands stepped down my body until her face reached my cock. She took it in her mouth and effortlessly into her throat.
“Hmmph, puh-feck.” I held her hips firm as I burrowed my nose into her cunt, my tongue swirling on her clit. I mused that as she had only just given her first blowjob the night before, then this must be her first time to sixty-nine with a man.
I’d have to remember to ask if she’d ever done it with a girl.
Maybe we should be making a list of all these firsts, I pondered . . .
“Jefferson?”
“Yed?” I tongued her slit.
“Jefferson, I really do need to pee.”
“Do ahead.” I darted my tongue in and out of her body.
“Jefferson.” Her hands stepped back up my torso. “I don’t know that I’m quite ready to urinate in your mouth.”
I looked up and smiled. “Chicken.”
She took my hands from her hips. “I’ll be back. I don’t want me out of bed any more that you do.”
“Buck buck.”
She stopped at the door, looking back to me. “Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets/The muttering retreats/Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels/And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells.”
“Source?”
“T. S. Eliot,” she answered. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”
“I should’ve known that one,” I said, flipping onto my belly. “Smart girl.”
“I go to smart school,” she said, turning on the ball of her feet. “And yes, you should’ve.”
I grinned. My eyes followed as she left the doorway, scanning the rosy bite marks on her back, the pink stripes on her ass.
We were vanquishing every virginity we encountered.
As we fucked during the previous evening, just hours after first meeting, I told her I was weary of pussy and wanted to break in her ass.
“I suspected you might,” she smiled. “Obviously, I’ve never done that.”
“Yet many are the asses I’ve deflowered,” I kissed her. “Tell your ass to meet me at the foot of the bed, up in the air, in one moment. I’ll be the guy with the hard on.”
I duly arrived at the appointed destination to find her ass waiting.
“Why, hello, ass,” I smiled as I rolled on a fresh condom. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She giggled.
I leaned forward to tongue her hole.
“Oh!” she gasped.
Another virginity gone, I supposed. I tongued her deeply to open and relax her, though she seemed perfectly at ease.
As I applied lube generously to her ass and my cock, I explained what she should expect and assured her that we could stop at any time. She nodded into a pillow.
I entered her slowly. “Okay?” I asked.
She breathed, nodding. I pushed in. Instinctively, she pushed back to take me.
“I’m all the way in,” I said quietly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m . . . fine,” she said, getting accustomed to the sensation.
“I’m going to just let you feel this,” I said, leaning forward to kiss her back. I added a new bite to mark the occasion.
I stood. “Okay, now, slowly, I’m going to move inside you.” I moved gently back and forth.
She held up well.
“You’re certainly taking this like a man,” I commended.
“This feels really good,” she said, her voice steady as her mind created a new file marked "anal sex."
I let her have it a little harder. Her breathing went staccato.
I spanked her. She yelped.
I grabbed her hips and fucked her hard. She groaned.
“You’re doing so well, so well,” I breathed.
“Fuck my ass, Jefferson,” she sighed. “Fuck me.”
I stopped. “No.” I pulled out. I tossed the condom aside. “I have designs on your ass. I don’t want it broken on the first night.” I kissed her neck and whispered into her hair. “You are so brave. You take a rough ass fucking so well.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“Now, pretty girl, I’m going to spank you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to do it lightly and, if you don’t ask me to stop, I will do it harder.”
“Okay.”
“And if you don’t ask me to stop, I’m going to use a cat o’nine tails, very lightly.”
“Okay.” She squirmed slightly.
“And if you don’t ask me to stop, I’m going to cane you, again, very lightly.”
“Okay.”
I kissed her. I opened a door to retrieve my arsenal.
I spanked a pink flush to her cheeks and began.
Twenty minutes later, I put down the cane.
“That’s enough,” I said. “I want you to feel this overnight before we go further.” I lay next to her and pulled her into my arms. I kissed her hair. “You don’t have to do it all at once, you know.”
“I want to do it all, at once,” she said to my shoulder.
The next morning, when she returned from her cigarette, I was waiting with a condom.
“Hello, gorgeous,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Ready for more?” she asked.
“I’m not talking to you,” I said with disdain. “The ass and I have an appointment."
“Oh, great!” She climbed on the bed, raising her hips in the air as before.
“Hello, ass,” I said, licking her hole. “Long time, no see.”
“You’re retarded,” she laughed.
“I might have warned you,” I said, entering her.
Half an hour later, she fell forward, her arms still pinned behind her back.
I staggered, wiping the sweat from my face.
Her skin was flushed, highlighting the purple circles on her shoulder.
My ears were numb to all but our overlapping breathing and my pounding heart.
“Shit, son!” she hooted. She laughed.
I sat down, tearing off the condom. “You,” I pointed to her face. “You can go back to college. But you,” I pointed to her ass. “You're not going anywhere.”
“Right,” Nicole said. She lifted herself and began dropping her hips to me.
“Wait, wait,” I said, scooting down the bed. “You’re still coming in a little low. See? When you're a bit higher, you can slide right on. Got it?”
She lowered herself fully, so that I was inside her. “Oh yeah, I see what you mean,” she nodded, beginning to gyrate.
“You’re a fast learner,” I smiled. I crossed my arms behind my head. “Now, do it again.”
“Seriously?” she stopped.
“Yes. Show me, and this time, do it yourself.”
A grin emerged on the only part of her face that was visible. “Yes, sir.”
She lifted herself from me, and looked behind her to my cock. She reached between her legs, took my cock, and slowly guided it back into her.
“Nice, nice!” I commended. “Why, soon you won’t need me here at all.”
Her laughter convulsed on my cock.
We had fallen asleep fucking and now we awoke fucking. Our arms and legs had been entangled as we slept.
Without quite meaning to, in a very short time, we had crossed over to a place where our bodies felt out of kilter if they were not conjoined.
As we fucked, she complained that she really had to go to the bathroom.
“Do you remember the last time we left this bed?” I asked.
She tilted her head. “It was sometime last night . . . right?”
“I asked because I can’t recall,” I said, pushing into her.
She fell forward to kiss me.
Later, she reiterated her need to pee.
“I thought you took care of that,” I said, pumping into her.
“I remember meaning to, but I don’t think I ever did.”
“Huh.”
We kissed.
Suddenly she pulled back. “No, seriously, I really need to pee.”
“Wait, what are you . . . no, no!” She pulled herself from my cock. I grabbed her wrist. “What can you be thinking?” I asked anxiously.
“God, please, God, you have to let me go,” she laughed. “We are ridiculous.”
“You’ll come back?” I asked, turning my body so that my head fell slightly from the side of the bed. I looked up with pleading eyes. “I won’t have to go looking for you?”
“Of course.” She lowered her face and kissed me, her mouth deep and open. “Right after a cigarette.”
“A cigarette?” I grabbed her thigh and pulled her close to my face. “Can’t you see what those things are doing to you, Nicole? What they are doing to us?”
I pulled her thigh to my mouth to kiss her flesh. I nibbled.
I reached up and took her ass, bringing her pussy to my mouth. I latched on to her clit.
“Oh, that’s very hot, but I really do have to pee.”
“Pleth dowd,” I said, tugging on her hips.
“What?”
“Pleth dowd. Pleth dowd on die mouf.”
“Press down? Like this?” She squatted slightly, pressing her clit into my tongue. “Unh, yeah, like this, I see.”
“Gweat. Dow, thuck die dick.”
Her hands stepped down my body until her face reached my cock. She took it in her mouth and effortlessly into her throat.
“Hmmph, puh-feck.” I held her hips firm as I burrowed my nose into her cunt, my tongue swirling on her clit. I mused that as she had only just given her first blowjob the night before, then this must be her first time to sixty-nine with a man.
I’d have to remember to ask if she’d ever done it with a girl.
Maybe we should be making a list of all these firsts, I pondered . . .
“Jefferson?”
“Yed?” I tongued her slit.
“Jefferson, I really do need to pee.”
“Do ahead.” I darted my tongue in and out of her body.
“Jefferson.” Her hands stepped back up my torso. “I don’t know that I’m quite ready to urinate in your mouth.”
I looked up and smiled. “Chicken.”
She took my hands from her hips. “I’ll be back. I don’t want me out of bed any more that you do.”
“Buck buck.”
She stopped at the door, looking back to me. “Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets/The muttering retreats/Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels/And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells.”
“Source?”
“T. S. Eliot,” she answered. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”
“I should’ve known that one,” I said, flipping onto my belly. “Smart girl.”
“I go to smart school,” she said, turning on the ball of her feet. “And yes, you should’ve.”
I grinned. My eyes followed as she left the doorway, scanning the rosy bite marks on her back, the pink stripes on her ass.
We were vanquishing every virginity we encountered.
As we fucked during the previous evening, just hours after first meeting, I told her I was weary of pussy and wanted to break in her ass.
“I suspected you might,” she smiled. “Obviously, I’ve never done that.”
“Yet many are the asses I’ve deflowered,” I kissed her. “Tell your ass to meet me at the foot of the bed, up in the air, in one moment. I’ll be the guy with the hard on.”
I duly arrived at the appointed destination to find her ass waiting.
“Why, hello, ass,” I smiled as I rolled on a fresh condom. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She giggled.
I leaned forward to tongue her hole.
“Oh!” she gasped.
Another virginity gone, I supposed. I tongued her deeply to open and relax her, though she seemed perfectly at ease.
As I applied lube generously to her ass and my cock, I explained what she should expect and assured her that we could stop at any time. She nodded into a pillow.
I entered her slowly. “Okay?” I asked.
She breathed, nodding. I pushed in. Instinctively, she pushed back to take me.
“I’m all the way in,” I said quietly. “Are you okay?”
“I’m . . . fine,” she said, getting accustomed to the sensation.
“I’m going to just let you feel this,” I said, leaning forward to kiss her back. I added a new bite to mark the occasion.
I stood. “Okay, now, slowly, I’m going to move inside you.” I moved gently back and forth.
She held up well.
“You’re certainly taking this like a man,” I commended.
“This feels really good,” she said, her voice steady as her mind created a new file marked "anal sex."
I let her have it a little harder. Her breathing went staccato.
I spanked her. She yelped.
I grabbed her hips and fucked her hard. She groaned.
“You’re doing so well, so well,” I breathed.
“Fuck my ass, Jefferson,” she sighed. “Fuck me.”
I stopped. “No.” I pulled out. I tossed the condom aside. “I have designs on your ass. I don’t want it broken on the first night.” I kissed her neck and whispered into her hair. “You are so brave. You take a rough ass fucking so well.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“Now, pretty girl, I’m going to spank you.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to do it lightly and, if you don’t ask me to stop, I will do it harder.”
“Okay.”
“And if you don’t ask me to stop, I’m going to use a cat o’nine tails, very lightly.”
“Okay.” She squirmed slightly.
“And if you don’t ask me to stop, I’m going to cane you, again, very lightly.”
“Okay.”
I kissed her. I opened a door to retrieve my arsenal.
I spanked a pink flush to her cheeks and began.
Twenty minutes later, I put down the cane.
“That’s enough,” I said. “I want you to feel this overnight before we go further.” I lay next to her and pulled her into my arms. I kissed her hair. “You don’t have to do it all at once, you know.”
“I want to do it all, at once,” she said to my shoulder.
The next morning, when she returned from her cigarette, I was waiting with a condom.
“Hello, gorgeous,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“Ready for more?” she asked.
“I’m not talking to you,” I said with disdain. “The ass and I have an appointment."
“Oh, great!” She climbed on the bed, raising her hips in the air as before.
“Hello, ass,” I said, licking her hole. “Long time, no see.”
“You’re retarded,” she laughed.
“I might have warned you,” I said, entering her.
Half an hour later, she fell forward, her arms still pinned behind her back.
I staggered, wiping the sweat from my face.
Her skin was flushed, highlighting the purple circles on her shoulder.
My ears were numb to all but our overlapping breathing and my pounding heart.
“Shit, son!” she hooted. She laughed.
I sat down, tearing off the condom. “You,” I pointed to her face. “You can go back to college. But you,” I pointed to her ass. “You're not going anywhere.”
Monday, January 29, 2007
To Shine in Use
I led the Stevens girl and her hourglass figure into my bedroom.
“Lay on my bed, pretty girl,” I instructed.
She sat on the bed and brought her long legs to the duvet. She reclined, letting her head rest on the crook of an arm. Her eyes gravitated to my bookshelves.
She glanced back as I undressed. Her eyes took in my body, recording the image of the man she had traveled to meet. She saw me nude before she knew my name.
She removed her glasses, placing them on a nightstand.
She was quiet as I moved to her side. I lowered my mouth to hers. We kissed, my hands getting to know her body, her hands learning the feel of a man’s body.
I moved to cover her with my torso. I opened my mouth to contain hers, to refocus her tongue and teeth from urgency to ardor. My hands held her cheeks firm before pushing her hair back so that I could see her face.
I pulled back for a look, but my mouth drew me back to hers.
My hips pressed into her. She trembled as before.
“I think we should fuck now,” I said, reaching for a condom.
“Yes, please, let’s,” she said. I could tell she meant for that phrase to sound nonchalant, but it came out fast and tinged with nervousness.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m very okay,” she smiled. “Come on, let’s fuck.”
I kissed her as I positioned my cock against her cunt. “I should warn you,” she said. “I’m pretty tight.”
“I know this already,” I said, sliding my head between her wet lips.
“I hear that’s often advantageous for the sensations of the male organ,” she smirked.
“I’ve heard that myself,” I nodded, opening a bottle of lube. “That is, once you get the male organ in there. Here, let me lift your legs up.”
I pressed forward, parting her slowly. She gasped. I pushed a little more, edging my way into her.
Her pussy was tighter than a miser’s heart.
I soothed her thighs and breasts, murmuring as I went deeper into her body.
I dropped my body, pressing our bodies together as we kissed. I felt her pulse race against my chest and though my cock.
“You okay?” I whispered.
“Yes,” she nodded. “God, this is good.”
“It is good, isn’t it?” I kissed her neck and began to slowly move inside her.
She began to move back.
Soon, our fucking followed the fervor of our kisses. I grabbed her shoulders, pressing deep as I flipped us.
“Unh!” she groaned, suddenly on top.
“Now, you grind down on me,” I suggested.
“Oh, that’s incredible,” she nodded. Her face was gone again, vanished into her hair. I caressed her slender waist and palmed her firm ass.
She rode me back and forth before, in an epiphany, finding her rhythm.
“Baby, you are so beautiful,” I said softly. “And you are doing so well.”
“This is so incredible,” she repeated, paying close attention to her body’s sensations as she fucked me, closely studying the effect of sex on herself.
She was cerebral, even in her sensuality.
I pinched a nipple. I raised my head to chew on her breast. I bite hard, holding her flesh in my teeth.
She fucked down on me harder.
I let her enjoy herself for a nice long while before we took a break.
“Sex is really great,” she said, then laughed. “Understatement.”
“I’m a big fan.” I said, standing. “Hey, do you mind if I take some pictures? I want to document your body before we fuck it up too much. That bite on your tit is going to be purple soon.”
“It is?” she said, looking to her breast. “I barely noticed that you bit it.”
“Cool, right?” I retrieved my camera. “So, do you mind?”
“Not at all, for your private viewing.”
“Of course.” I adjusted the lighting. “Though, if we get a nice blurry one, I may ask to post it on my blog. Don’t worry, I’d only do that with your approval.”
“Fine. How do you want me?”
“Just act natural,” I said, snapping. “I’ll adjust my angles.”
We talked as I snapped. I told it that I was only now beginning to photograph my friends in bed. “I’m not the brightest bulb,” I said, peering at the viewfinder. “Three years into this life, and I finally realize I should be documenting it in pictures.”
“You’ve got words,” she replied.
We sat to review the images.
“Look at this one,” I said. “You look just like a fifties pin up.”
“Son, I’m hot,” she laughed.
“The camera loves you,” I said, putting the camera aside. “But now, I guess we can no longer delay the inevitable. We need to see how bad your blowjob is.”
“God, I’m sure it’s awful,” she winced. “I’ve never done it.”
“You’ve never sucked cock at all?” I asked, tugging off my condom and reclining in the pillows.
“Nope,” she shook her head. “Never.”
“Well, that won’t do.” I held my cock forward. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Just try it nice and slow, and I’ll talk you though it.”
“Okay, thanks.” She stepped forward on her knees and lowered her face to my cock. She took it in hand and gingerly licked the shaft.
I petted her hair. “That’s so sweet, so nice . . .”
Her tongue caressed my cock, her pale eyes alternating between my eyes and my cock.
I reached for my camera. “Let me document your first blowjob, pretty.” I snapped some photographs as she brought my cock to her lips. “Aw, that’s just lovely,” I clicked. “Okay, now suck my dick, darling.”
She looked up, her eyes on me and my camera. “’He goes to supper: not where he eats, but where he is eaten.’"
“Source?” I asked.
“Shakespeare,” she said into my cock. “Hamlet.”
“Very smart. Now suck my dick.”
She took my head into her mouth.
“Nice, nice . . .” I commended.
She went lower.
“Good, that’s great . . .”
She went lower still, pulling my cock into her throat.
“Whoa, wha wha wha!” I gasped. I dropped my camera to the bed. “Hang on, whoa!”
She started to pull back. “No, I didn’t mean stop,” I said. “Do that again.”
She swallowed me. I pumped slightly. She had all of me.
I rested my cock in her. She continued to hold me in place.
I fucked slowly. She swirled her tongue.
I took her head in my hands and pushed my cock back into her throat. She didn’t hesitate.
“Okay, come up for air,” I panted.
She sat up and wiped her mouth. “Was that okay?”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “You’ve never sucked cock? Never?”
“Nope, never.”
“Kid, you are a born cocksucker. That’s great head. Really, really great. You must have been absent the day they handed out gag reflexes.”
“Thanks,” she smiled. “But I have a question: how do I breath when you’re in my esophagus?”
“Ah, good question. First, take a deep breath before you swallow me. Second, remember, you don’t have to deep throat the whole time. You can tease with your throat before you plunge my cock back. Also, when you are sucking, you don’t need to keep your lips firm the whole time. You can breath through your mouth.”
“Oh, like this?” she asked, taking my cock back in her mouth. She panted around the sides of my shaft. “Hmmph?”
“Perfect,” I said. “You learn fast. Now, get that cock out of your mouth. I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.”
She sat up. “Yes sir, professor,” she grinned.
“Call me that again,” I said, reaching for a condom, “And I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked.”
“I’ve never been fucked . . . professor.”
“All that is past now,” I said. “Hand me that camera and get your ass to the edge of the bed.”
The next break found us actually leaving the bedroom.
“So, now that we’ve fucked, can I know your name, Jefferson?”
“If you’ll give me yours, pretty girl.”
“You don’t buy ‘Esther?’”
“I do not, no.”
“Smart boy. It’s not my name. I borrowed it from Saul Bellow. Esther Fenchel is one of the eponymous character's love interests in The Adventures of Augie March.” She nodded to the books on a side table. “You should read it, if you can tear yourself away from Valley of the Dolls.”
I laughed. “I embarrassed to say that I haven’t even started Valley of the Dolls.”
“What are you reading?”
“I’m reading this great biography of Bing Crosby . . . ”
“Weren’t you reading that at Christmas?”
I felt a twinge of remorse. “That was just three weeks ago.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“It’s six hundred pages!”
She shrugged. “My name is Nicole,” she said.
I told her my name. “Pleased to meet you, Nicole.”
“Likewise.”
I poured a bourbon and sat to watch as she pulled out a package of Marlboro Lights.
“I should’ve warned you. I’m a chain smoker.”
“You might’ve warned me of a few things,” I said, sipping.
“There were a few things of which I was unaware,” she rejoindered. “And others you needed to discover.” She lit her cigarette and exhaled.
She looked up, resting the cigarette in her fingers. “’Yet all experience is an arch where through gleams that untraveled world, whose margin fades forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use.’”
She flicked an ash.
I swallowed the bourbon that rested in my throat.
“Source?” I asked.
“Tennyson,” she answered, drawing a puff. “Ulysses.”
“Impressive that you quote,” I nodded.
“It’s what I do,” she replied, stamping out a dead butt. “It’s how my mind works. I capture language. I can quote Tennyson, Eliot, Shakespeare . . . and your blog.”
“My blog?” I sputtered.
“Yes, of course.” She drew another cigarette. “Remember when you took my panties?”
“Very well,” I smiled, raising my bourbon. I took a sip.
“Do you recall what you said as you took them?” She lit her smoke.
I furrowed my brow. “What I said? Well, no, not exactly.”
Her lighter clicked on the table. “You said, ‘cute panties, did you wear these for me?’”
I looked at her, not following.
“So I provided the next line, ‘I often wear cute underwear for no reason at all.’”
“’The next line?’” I asked, resting my bourbon in a palm.
“That’s exactly what you said to someone else when you first met. So I replied with her response.”
“Wow, are you serious? I said that? And you can quote it?”
She exhaled a plum of smoke. “That’s how my mind works.”
“Incredible. Well, I suppose I need some new material if I’m getting redundant.”
“Yeah, you may want to work on that. Remember in our web cam conversation, when you wrote ‘you didn’t have to be attractive, but it helps?’ That’s what you said to Celia in your first post.” She took a drag. “Well, a paraphrase, but approximately the same.”
“I hope you don’t think I carry a set of stock lines,” I apologized. “I guess my mind just has its limitations.”
She drew a puff and exhaled. “You don’t have any cause for concern. You’re an excellent writer.”
“Thanks. Well, I’m honored to be in your repertoire . . . though a little daunted by the company of Tennyson, Eliot and the Bard.”
“You have one advantage over them,” she said, flicking an ash.
“What’s that?”
She took another drag. “I can’t fuck dead writers.”
I took a sip of my bourbon. “Nicole, finish your cigarette.”
She put it out. “Done.”
“Lay on my bed, pretty girl,” I instructed.
She sat on the bed and brought her long legs to the duvet. She reclined, letting her head rest on the crook of an arm. Her eyes gravitated to my bookshelves.
She glanced back as I undressed. Her eyes took in my body, recording the image of the man she had traveled to meet. She saw me nude before she knew my name.
She removed her glasses, placing them on a nightstand.
She was quiet as I moved to her side. I lowered my mouth to hers. We kissed, my hands getting to know her body, her hands learning the feel of a man’s body.
I moved to cover her with my torso. I opened my mouth to contain hers, to refocus her tongue and teeth from urgency to ardor. My hands held her cheeks firm before pushing her hair back so that I could see her face.
I pulled back for a look, but my mouth drew me back to hers.
My hips pressed into her. She trembled as before.
“I think we should fuck now,” I said, reaching for a condom.
“Yes, please, let’s,” she said. I could tell she meant for that phrase to sound nonchalant, but it came out fast and tinged with nervousness.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I’m very okay,” she smiled. “Come on, let’s fuck.”
I kissed her as I positioned my cock against her cunt. “I should warn you,” she said. “I’m pretty tight.”
“I know this already,” I said, sliding my head between her wet lips.
“I hear that’s often advantageous for the sensations of the male organ,” she smirked.
“I’ve heard that myself,” I nodded, opening a bottle of lube. “That is, once you get the male organ in there. Here, let me lift your legs up.”
I pressed forward, parting her slowly. She gasped. I pushed a little more, edging my way into her.
Her pussy was tighter than a miser’s heart.
I soothed her thighs and breasts, murmuring as I went deeper into her body.
I dropped my body, pressing our bodies together as we kissed. I felt her pulse race against my chest and though my cock.
“You okay?” I whispered.
“Yes,” she nodded. “God, this is good.”
“It is good, isn’t it?” I kissed her neck and began to slowly move inside her.
She began to move back.
Soon, our fucking followed the fervor of our kisses. I grabbed her shoulders, pressing deep as I flipped us.
“Unh!” she groaned, suddenly on top.
“Now, you grind down on me,” I suggested.
“Oh, that’s incredible,” she nodded. Her face was gone again, vanished into her hair. I caressed her slender waist and palmed her firm ass.
She rode me back and forth before, in an epiphany, finding her rhythm.
“Baby, you are so beautiful,” I said softly. “And you are doing so well.”
“This is so incredible,” she repeated, paying close attention to her body’s sensations as she fucked me, closely studying the effect of sex on herself.
She was cerebral, even in her sensuality.
I pinched a nipple. I raised my head to chew on her breast. I bite hard, holding her flesh in my teeth.
She fucked down on me harder.
I let her enjoy herself for a nice long while before we took a break.
“Sex is really great,” she said, then laughed. “Understatement.”
“I’m a big fan.” I said, standing. “Hey, do you mind if I take some pictures? I want to document your body before we fuck it up too much. That bite on your tit is going to be purple soon.”
“It is?” she said, looking to her breast. “I barely noticed that you bit it.”
“Cool, right?” I retrieved my camera. “So, do you mind?”
“Not at all, for your private viewing.”
“Of course.” I adjusted the lighting. “Though, if we get a nice blurry one, I may ask to post it on my blog. Don’t worry, I’d only do that with your approval.”
“Fine. How do you want me?”
“Just act natural,” I said, snapping. “I’ll adjust my angles.”
We talked as I snapped. I told it that I was only now beginning to photograph my friends in bed. “I’m not the brightest bulb,” I said, peering at the viewfinder. “Three years into this life, and I finally realize I should be documenting it in pictures.”
“You’ve got words,” she replied.
We sat to review the images.
“Look at this one,” I said. “You look just like a fifties pin up.”
“Son, I’m hot,” she laughed.
“The camera loves you,” I said, putting the camera aside. “But now, I guess we can no longer delay the inevitable. We need to see how bad your blowjob is.”
“God, I’m sure it’s awful,” she winced. “I’ve never done it.”
“You’ve never sucked cock at all?” I asked, tugging off my condom and reclining in the pillows.
“Nope,” she shook her head. “Never.”
“Well, that won’t do.” I held my cock forward. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Just try it nice and slow, and I’ll talk you though it.”
“Okay, thanks.” She stepped forward on her knees and lowered her face to my cock. She took it in hand and gingerly licked the shaft.
I petted her hair. “That’s so sweet, so nice . . .”
Her tongue caressed my cock, her pale eyes alternating between my eyes and my cock.
I reached for my camera. “Let me document your first blowjob, pretty.” I snapped some photographs as she brought my cock to her lips. “Aw, that’s just lovely,” I clicked. “Okay, now suck my dick, darling.”
She looked up, her eyes on me and my camera. “’He goes to supper: not where he eats, but where he is eaten.’"
“Source?” I asked.
“Shakespeare,” she said into my cock. “Hamlet.”
“Very smart. Now suck my dick.”
She took my head into her mouth.
“Nice, nice . . .” I commended.
She went lower.
“Good, that’s great . . .”
She went lower still, pulling my cock into her throat.
“Whoa, wha wha wha!” I gasped. I dropped my camera to the bed. “Hang on, whoa!”
She started to pull back. “No, I didn’t mean stop,” I said. “Do that again.”
She swallowed me. I pumped slightly. She had all of me.
I rested my cock in her. She continued to hold me in place.
I fucked slowly. She swirled her tongue.
I took her head in my hands and pushed my cock back into her throat. She didn’t hesitate.
“Okay, come up for air,” I panted.
She sat up and wiped her mouth. “Was that okay?”
“Are you kidding?” I said. “You’ve never sucked cock? Never?”
“Nope, never.”
“Kid, you are a born cocksucker. That’s great head. Really, really great. You must have been absent the day they handed out gag reflexes.”
“Thanks,” she smiled. “But I have a question: how do I breath when you’re in my esophagus?”
“Ah, good question. First, take a deep breath before you swallow me. Second, remember, you don’t have to deep throat the whole time. You can tease with your throat before you plunge my cock back. Also, when you are sucking, you don’t need to keep your lips firm the whole time. You can breath through your mouth.”
“Oh, like this?” she asked, taking my cock back in her mouth. She panted around the sides of my shaft. “Hmmph?”
“Perfect,” I said. “You learn fast. Now, get that cock out of your mouth. I’m going to fuck the shit out of you.”
She sat up. “Yes sir, professor,” she grinned.
“Call me that again,” I said, reaching for a condom, “And I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked.”
“I’ve never been fucked . . . professor.”
“All that is past now,” I said. “Hand me that camera and get your ass to the edge of the bed.”
The next break found us actually leaving the bedroom.
“So, now that we’ve fucked, can I know your name, Jefferson?”
“If you’ll give me yours, pretty girl.”
“You don’t buy ‘Esther?’”
“I do not, no.”
“Smart boy. It’s not my name. I borrowed it from Saul Bellow. Esther Fenchel is one of the eponymous character's love interests in The Adventures of Augie March.” She nodded to the books on a side table. “You should read it, if you can tear yourself away from Valley of the Dolls.”
I laughed. “I embarrassed to say that I haven’t even started Valley of the Dolls.”
“What are you reading?”
“I’m reading this great biography of Bing Crosby . . . ”
“Weren’t you reading that at Christmas?”
I felt a twinge of remorse. “That was just three weeks ago.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“It’s six hundred pages!”
She shrugged. “My name is Nicole,” she said.
I told her my name. “Pleased to meet you, Nicole.”
“Likewise.”
I poured a bourbon and sat to watch as she pulled out a package of Marlboro Lights.
“I should’ve warned you. I’m a chain smoker.”
“You might’ve warned me of a few things,” I said, sipping.
“There were a few things of which I was unaware,” she rejoindered. “And others you needed to discover.” She lit her cigarette and exhaled.
She looked up, resting the cigarette in her fingers. “’Yet all experience is an arch where through gleams that untraveled world, whose margin fades forever and forever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished, not to shine in use.’”
She flicked an ash.
I swallowed the bourbon that rested in my throat.
“Source?” I asked.
“Tennyson,” she answered, drawing a puff. “Ulysses.”
“Impressive that you quote,” I nodded.
“It’s what I do,” she replied, stamping out a dead butt. “It’s how my mind works. I capture language. I can quote Tennyson, Eliot, Shakespeare . . . and your blog.”
“My blog?” I sputtered.
“Yes, of course.” She drew another cigarette. “Remember when you took my panties?”
“Very well,” I smiled, raising my bourbon. I took a sip.
“Do you recall what you said as you took them?” She lit her smoke.
I furrowed my brow. “What I said? Well, no, not exactly.”
Her lighter clicked on the table. “You said, ‘cute panties, did you wear these for me?’”
I looked at her, not following.
“So I provided the next line, ‘I often wear cute underwear for no reason at all.’”
“’The next line?’” I asked, resting my bourbon in a palm.
“That’s exactly what you said to someone else when you first met. So I replied with her response.”
“Wow, are you serious? I said that? And you can quote it?”
She exhaled a plum of smoke. “That’s how my mind works.”
“Incredible. Well, I suppose I need some new material if I’m getting redundant.”
“Yeah, you may want to work on that. Remember in our web cam conversation, when you wrote ‘you didn’t have to be attractive, but it helps?’ That’s what you said to Celia in your first post.” She took a drag. “Well, a paraphrase, but approximately the same.”
“I hope you don’t think I carry a set of stock lines,” I apologized. “I guess my mind just has its limitations.”
She drew a puff and exhaled. “You don’t have any cause for concern. You’re an excellent writer.”
“Thanks. Well, I’m honored to be in your repertoire . . . though a little daunted by the company of Tennyson, Eliot and the Bard.”
“You have one advantage over them,” she said, flicking an ash.
“What’s that?”
She took another drag. “I can’t fuck dead writers.”
I took a sip of my bourbon. “Nicole, finish your cigarette.”
She put it out. “Done.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)