A cowbell clanged as I released the door.
Meg looked back, raising an eyebrow.
I mooed.
We followed Shelby past the stuffed animals, county music CD collections and faux vintage t-shirts to the hostess’s station.
“The kids are going to be miffed that I went to Cracker Barrel without them,” I sighed.
“Your own damn fault for raising kids in the city,” Shelby shook her head. “I can’t believe there’s not a Cracker Barrel in Manhattan.”
“That would be fun,” Meg mused. “I guess they’d have to hire gays, then.”
“Man, can you imagine?” I said. “A Cracker Barrel on Eight Avenue, right in the heart of Chelsea, with a big old rainbow flag flying high.”
“All those hot boys, making out on the rocking chairs . . .”
“ . . . while playing that brainteaser puzzle with the golf tees . . .”
“Okay girls, come on,” Shelby beckoned. “We’re getting a table.”
Shelby and Meg scanned the room for familiar faces. We were among travelers taking a respite from the Turnpike, but also among hometown folks dining in a favorite local restaurant.
Down home, south Jersey.
They sat us near a window facing the parking lot.
“They always put the good looking people in prominent view,” I said, as I always do. “Drives up business.”
Shelby moved the chintz curtains to look at the cars. “I dunno, see anyone we know?”
Meg looked up from the menu, turning to glance back at the other diners. “No, no one I know.”
“All right, then,” Shelby said, opening her menu. “Whatever. No one knows we’re here.”
In bringing me to her hometown, Shelby wanted to fill me in on her life and upbringing in small town New Jersey. She maintains a young adult’s love/hate relationship with the place she grew up—she relaxes among the familiar sites and people even as she is occasionally irked by evidence of provincialism.
My visit allowed the ancillary pleasure of indulging in a little épater le bourgeois.
So what if the yokels saw a bright face from the Class of ‘02 with her old man—Class of ’82—holding hands at the Wal-Mart, his arm around her shoulders at the Cracker Barrel?
Shelby isn’t like every other kid. She likes to shake things up. If people gawk, let ‘em.
As for me, I was content to drink endless cups of coffee and eat biscuits with gravy.
“Good bacon,” I chewed.
“Fuck yeah it is,” Meg agreed.
After refueling on breakfast at Cracker Barrel and gas at Wawa, we were off on a driving tour through Shelby’s life.
We passed the Blockbuster where she had worked when we met.
Shelby steered us down a two-lane highway to the historic site where she once served as a tour guide. She answered my questions about the nineteenth-century fort and plain wood structures nearby. Meg pointed out the best places for picnics.
Shelby drove us to a colonial tavern that was the site of a dreadful massacre. The gore continued to flow as we looked around the secluded cemetery where Andrew Cunan began the killing spree that would end with him standing over Versace’s body on Ocean Drive in Miami.
Local history can have so many curious twists.
We were admiring the churches and brick storefronts of Main Street when Shelby turned to look over her shoulder.
“Hey, that was my mom’s car,” she said. “I wonder why she isn’t at work?” She dug out her cell phone and pushed a button. “Hey, it’s me. Did you just drive down Main? . . . Well, you drove right by us! . . . Yeah, it’s me and my baby and Meg . . .”
“Hi, Shelby’s mom,” Meg called.
“Meg says ‘hi,’” Shelby said, looking at me.
I waved feebly.
“Jefferson says ‘hey’ too. So what are you up to? . . . uh huh . . . who, with Jill? Okay . . . all right. Later.”
Shelby closed the phone. “Yeah, that was her all right, picking up my sister.”
“Oh cool,” Meg said. “Band practice?”
“Yeah, band. But man, that reminds me. I need to go by the house to pick up a cable so I can play Sega at your place.”
“You can play Sega on my television?”
“Yeah man, straight from the laptop. It’s sweet, so old school.”
My dorky jailbait girlfriend likes the video games that were in arcades when I was her age. At that time, I considered those games to be kid stuff. I guess things have changed in the intervening decades.
On the way to her family’s house, Shelby and Meg pointed out the middle school they attended together. Their high school was across the street.
“There’s the new building over there,” Meg said. “Did they move the rehearsal space?”
“Yeah, that’s all new,” Shelby nodded. “You know Mister Campbell must be glad about that.”
“Oh yeah, Mister Campbell!” Meg giggled. “The way he hated that music closet—remember that . . . ?”
“Fuck yeah, that was whack, man.”
The girls commiserated on the shared memory of a yesteryear that was not so far removed from yesterday until Shelby pulled into a driveway.
Meg paused and looked at the house. “I think I’ll just wait in the car.”
“Me too,” I agreed. I sat back.
“Whatever, I’ll be out in a minute.” Shelby unhitched her seatbelt and opened the door. She stopped and turned in her seat. “No, come in. Nobody is home, maybe my sister, but she’ll be asleep. And Mom made pumpkin pie.”
“No thanks,” I said.
“Did you say pie?” Meg asked.
“Come on, there’s pie.”
“Okay, for pie.”
“Jefferson?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Okay man, whatever, we’ll be back. No pie for you.”
“I’m fine.”
I watched as the girls climbed the steps into the house. A screen door shut behind them.
I looked around for something to read. There was nothing in the car. My eyes scanned the yard and looked up, to the attic where Shelby sleeps.
I closed my eyes and wished the girls would come back.
I didn’t care to be sitting in the driveway of my jailbait girlfriend’s home. I felt exposed, like target waiting to be hit. I had recently met Shelby’s mom, and while it had gone well, I didn’t want to push my luck.
I knew her parents were not exactly keen on their daughter’s romance with an older man in Manhattan, particularly once they had discovered my blog and read, in some detail, about our love for one another and, worse, the lurid specifics of our sexual activities.
There was a rap on my window.
I opened my eyes. Meg opened the door.
“It’s taking Shelby time to find that cable,” she said. “She wants you to come in.”
I grimaced. “No one is home?”
“Her sister is up, but it’s cool.”
“All right.” I trusted Meg’s assessment. I unfastened my seat belt.
I followed Meg into the house.
“Hey.” A teenage version of Shelby stood near a piano. She wore sweats and a hooded top over her head.
“Hi, I’m Jefferson.” I crossed the room to shake her hand.
She removed her hand from a pocket and took my hand for a moment. “Hey, I’m Lindsey.”
“Nice to meet you, Lindsey.”
Lindsey looked at her feet, then at Meg. She shoved her hand back into her pocket. “Yeah, thanks.”
“That’s my sister!” Shelby shouted from upstairs.
“I think he figured that out!” Lindsey shouted back.
“Then offer him some pie, moron!”
“Kiss my ass!”
I looked at Meg. “I’m fine. I don’t need pie.”
Meg bit her lip. “It is very good pie.”
“I’m fine.”
Lindsey stared at me.
I felt as conspicuous as a fox in a rabbit warren.
We all knew that the discovery of my blog had caused rifts in the family, upsetting Shelby’s mother and sending her father through the roof. Lindsey had listened as accusations and curses flew back and forth.
Now here I stood, in the flesh. Her older sister’s older lover.
What’s the big deal, she thought. He’s just some old dude.
I looked around the living room. I pet the long-haired white cat that sheds on everything. I saw a black and white photo in a frame on the piano. A young soldier in uniform smiled next to Shelby, circa nineteen forty-three.
“Is that your grandmother?” I asked Lindsey.
She looked to the photograph. “Yeah, Gramma Dottie.”
“Strong genes you’ve got.”
“Yeah, we all look alike, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s what I meant, yes.”
Meg looked up the stairs. “You found it, Shelby?”
“Fuck no,” Shelby called back. “I can’t find anything in this fucking mess.”
“So clean your room, idiot,” Lindsey shouted. “I can’t move in there.”
“You better not be moving in my room, bitch, or I’ll kick your ass.”
Lindsey scoffed.
I heard the sound of wheels on the gravel driveway.
This was inevitable, I thought.
“Is that Dad?” Shelby shouted.
“No, it’s Mom,” Lindsey called back, her eyes on me.
I glanced to Meg. She looked a little nervous.
Shelby’s family had long considered Meg to be a good influence on their daughter. She was a little older, a little more mature, a little more focused on pursuing a career. Meg was the angel on Shelby’s shoulder.
Of course, the discovery of our blogs had dispelled some notions of Meg’s angelic qualities.
Now she was standing in the family living room with Shelby’s old man, even further implicated in our depravity.
The screen door flew back. An eleven-year-old version of Shelby bound into the room.
“Hey Meg!” she said, dropping her violin case and rushing to an embrace.
“Hey there, Jill,” Meg smiled. “How was practice?”
“It was fine,” Jill said, hesitantly. She had noticed me.
“Jill, this is Jefferson,” Meg said.
“Nice to meet you, Jill,” I said, offering a hand.
Jill took an arm from Meg’s waist and extended her left hand to me. “Hi.”
I was shaking Jill’s hand as her mother entered the house.
“Well, hello Meg, what are you doing . . . oh! Hello, Jefferson.”
I dropped Jill’s hand and stepped over. I put an arm on her mother’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Good afternoon.”
“I heard you were coming down for your birthday,” she said, shifting a grocery bag in her arms, her eyes roaming to Meg and Lindsey. “Are you kids having a good time?”
“Very much, thank you.” I smiled. I was one of the “kids” in this context. “Shelby has been giving us a tour of the region. It’s lovely here.”
“Good, well, it’s not New York, but we like it. Where’s Shelby?”
“Upstairs,” Meg answered.
“Is that Mom,” Shelby called. “Mom, have you seen my frigging Sega cable?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” her mother replied, lifting the groceries to a kitchen counter. “Did you look in the laundry?”
“It wouldn’t be in the laundry, Mom, it’s a . . . oh wait, here it is.”
About time she found that thing, I thought.
I looked at Meg. We were itching to bolt for the door.
Shelby clomped down the stairs. In her descent. I could hear the confident landing of someone who has walked down these particular steps in this particular rhythmic stomp since childhood.
“Hey Mom. We had to stop by the get this cable and some pie. We’re going back to Meg’s tonight.”
“Oh, did you like the pie?,” her mother asked us.
“I love your pumpkin pie,” Meg smiled. “I need to learn how to make that.”
“Well, I have two. Why don’t you take one?”
“Well, no, we can’t . . .”
“Take the frigging pie, Meg,” Shelby taunted. “We’ll want it later.”
“I’ll wrap it for you,” her mother offered. She pulled a box of Saran Wrap from the top of her refrigerator.
Jill was staring at me. I smiled at her.
We couldn’t stay much longer, I hoped.
Once the pie was packed, once Shelby went to the bathroom, once her mother unpacked the groceries, once all those things were done, we said our goodbyes and returned to Shelby’s car.
“When are you coming back?” Shelby’s mother asked.
“I don’t know, maybe Wednesday?” Shelby answered. “Bye.”
“Bye.” Her mother closed the door.
I handed the pie to Meg and fastened myself in the front seat. “Well, that wasn’t too awkward,” I opined.
“Just tell me you didn’t kiss my mother, man.”
“I can’t help it, sweet. I kissed your mama.”
Shelby turned the engine. “We don’t do that, man. This isn’t New York fucking City. You don’t fucking kiss people here.”
Meg laughed.
“I can’t help it, baby,” I shrugged. “My mama raised me right.”
“Your mama raised a freak, dude.”
“Yes, I suppose she did.”
Shelby took her mama’s pie and her old man back to her best friend’s place.
Shelby’s mama could take heart that pumpkin pies tell no tales.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
threesome
Monday, April 10, 2006
Saturday, April 01, 2006
Extreme Makeover
“Oh God, she’s crying again . . .,” Meg began.
“Of course she’s crying, they just wrecked her freaking house,” Shelby said, exhaling as she passed a glass pipe to me.
I reached for a lighter. “This can’t be good for the children,” I lamented. “Watching their house get trashed.”
“Oh, just you wait,” Meg nodded. “They’ll be fine at the end. But if that mother keeps crying, I’m going to bawl.”
Meg and Shelby introduced me to their shared guilty pleasure: getting stoned to “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.”
I don’t watch reality shows. I didn’t even know this one existed.
But then, I don’t smoke pot either.
With Shelby, I often do things I don’t do.
It was all part of our ongoing project to educate one another from our areas of expertise. So long as we both kept an open mind, we each gained new experiences and insights into one another.
I schooled her in her film noir, American history and orgy etiquette.
She reciprocated with pornographic anime, blowjob advice and marijuana connoisseurship.
The pipe in my hand was a souvenir of this exchange.
One night, we decided to go to a movie. I opted for “Capote.”
“Okay,” she asked, “Now, who is Capote, anyway?” She pronounced his name as written, with a silent final vowel.
I gave her a capsule biography of the man who introduced a new genre of literature in the year of my birth, then devolved into camp and self-parody before dying of drink in the year of her birth.
I promised that knowing this would not ruin the plot.
She liked Philip Seymour Hoffman, so she agreed to the movie.
We talked about Capote afterwards over margaritas and nachos, prepared the way she likes them: chips and cheese—that’s it—with salsa and sour cream on the side.
She noticed a head shop across the street from the restaurant, surprised that the cops parked outside let it be.
“It’s the Village,” I shrugged. “People were smoking pot here before there was a police force.”
She suggested we visit the shop afterwards, if I wasn’t scared to go in.
“Sweet, there’s no fear. It’s legal to sell paraphernalia here. The law just pretends people buy it for tobacco.”
“That’s pretty fucked up,” she laughed.
“Maybe, but it works, right?”
The store was filled with glass pipes and bongs.
As it happens, Shelby knows glassblowing nearly as well as she knows pot smoking.
She quickly engaged the shopkeeper in intense conversation. The shopkeeper, a raven-haired tattooed woman not much older than Shelby, was impressed by her expertise.
She pulled out trays of pipes, retrieving others from drawers behind her counter.
I browsed as they talked, stopping to pet the store’s dog. I listened as they examined pipes with the same focus one might bring to buying a car.
Shelby found exactly what she wanted and plunked down the cash.
The door chimed as we waved goodbye.
“I thought she was going to follow you home, sugar,” I smiled.
She lipped her arm into mine. “The dog?”
“No, dear, your new girlfriend. I think you made her night.”
Shelby looked back. “Ya think?”
Now, I know I’ll never be much of a stoner. I’ve lived this long without owning so much as a joint I could call my own. I was married for a decade and a half to a wake-and-bake pothead, and never succumbed to regular smoking.
But still, I recognize that knowing good pot from bad is just plain subcultural literacy.
Shelby took pity on my ignorance, holding the good stuff under my nose, making me eyeball the fine grains, and teaching me to distinguish one strain from another.
I was still learning to mix smoking pot with drinking bourbon.
As the television show ended, Meg and I decided to watch “Cool Hand Luke.” She had never seen the film, or really much cinema of the seventies.
She thought Paul Newman was a brand of salsa. She assumed George Kennedy was among the clan that summered in Hyannisport.
That’s unacceptable cultural illiteracy. A failure to communicate, really.
Meg and I were pretty toasted by the time the hound dogs bayed. We giggled about eggs.
Shelby sat quietly, cutting her new clothesline into precise lengths. She cauterized the ends and wrapped them in tape.
When the movie ended, Shelby turned off the television.
“Let’s move into the naked room,” she said, standing.
We complied, happily following Shelby into Meg’s bedroom.
Shelby unzipped her jeans, stepping from the legs into nudity from the waist down. Her tight t-shirt was pulled up on the curve of her belly.
My eyes were on her as my cock popped from my jeans.
Meg leaned across the bed as Shelby and I met beside her. She watched as I lifted my baby’s face into a sweet nuzzle, her lips grazing mine.
“You stoner,” she teased.
“No baby, that’s just me, high on love,” I smiled.
“Yeah, right,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Stoner.”
Meg let out a laugh, quickly covering her mouth.
The three of us have had sex many times. Meg always watches as we begin. It’s partly her nature to wait until she is pulled in. It’s also just good manners.
When fucking one’s best friend’s boyfriend, one should always permit the lovers time together.
Meg is courteous like that.
Meg watched as Shelby took my cock into her mouth, holding my hand as I surrendered to my jailbait girlfriend.
Meg pet Shelby’s hair as I fucked my baby. We watched as Shelby’s eyes closed and her head turned, knowing she was giving over to the sensation of being full, of being loved.
Meg watched me as I am when Shelby retreats during sex. She saw that I took that moment of privacy within intimacy, touching Shelby’s skin, even after all this time together, still marveling at its pale luminosity, its unlined simplicity, its soft give under my forefingers.
Meg caught me smiling at her, as if to ask, can you believe our good fortune?
Meg pinched Shelby’s tiny pale nipple as I pulled out, impatient for her orgasm. I could get there faster with my fingers in her, my mouth on her.
Meg complied when Shelby asked for her breast. She gave herself to Shelby’s ravenous mouth, satisfying her insatiable oral fixation.
We encouraged Shelby as she shouted it was coming. We stayed with her as she delivered her orgasm to us, its birth announced with rapid pants and loud nasal whines.
Meg stayed with me as Shelby put on a coat and left for a smoke.
Meg took my hand, and took my kisses. She took my cock into her. She took my grasp on her neck as I squeezed, our eyes locked on one another’s, green on blue, as I denied her air until she came under me.
We all have our needs. Meg needs oxygen. I need her orgasm.
Our needs were soon met.
Meg left me to rest, stoned, drunk and well sexed in her bed. She joined Shelby to wreck her lungs in the cold night air.
She laughed that Shelby had texted a friend that she was listening to her best friend fuck her boyfriend.
That night, Meg slept in my arms as Shelby took the couch. Her ropes lay unused on the floor.
Tomorrow would be another day—the last of my forty-first year, and the fourth of my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
threesome
marijuana
Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
Cool Hand Luke
“Of course she’s crying, they just wrecked her freaking house,” Shelby said, exhaling as she passed a glass pipe to me.
I reached for a lighter. “This can’t be good for the children,” I lamented. “Watching their house get trashed.”
“Oh, just you wait,” Meg nodded. “They’ll be fine at the end. But if that mother keeps crying, I’m going to bawl.”
Meg and Shelby introduced me to their shared guilty pleasure: getting stoned to “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.”
I don’t watch reality shows. I didn’t even know this one existed.
But then, I don’t smoke pot either.
With Shelby, I often do things I don’t do.
It was all part of our ongoing project to educate one another from our areas of expertise. So long as we both kept an open mind, we each gained new experiences and insights into one another.
I schooled her in her film noir, American history and orgy etiquette.
She reciprocated with pornographic anime, blowjob advice and marijuana connoisseurship.
The pipe in my hand was a souvenir of this exchange.
One night, we decided to go to a movie. I opted for “Capote.”
“Okay,” she asked, “Now, who is Capote, anyway?” She pronounced his name as written, with a silent final vowel.
I gave her a capsule biography of the man who introduced a new genre of literature in the year of my birth, then devolved into camp and self-parody before dying of drink in the year of her birth.
I promised that knowing this would not ruin the plot.
She liked Philip Seymour Hoffman, so she agreed to the movie.
We talked about Capote afterwards over margaritas and nachos, prepared the way she likes them: chips and cheese—that’s it—with salsa and sour cream on the side.
She noticed a head shop across the street from the restaurant, surprised that the cops parked outside let it be.
“It’s the Village,” I shrugged. “People were smoking pot here before there was a police force.”
She suggested we visit the shop afterwards, if I wasn’t scared to go in.
“Sweet, there’s no fear. It’s legal to sell paraphernalia here. The law just pretends people buy it for tobacco.”
“That’s pretty fucked up,” she laughed.
“Maybe, but it works, right?”
The store was filled with glass pipes and bongs.
As it happens, Shelby knows glassblowing nearly as well as she knows pot smoking.
She quickly engaged the shopkeeper in intense conversation. The shopkeeper, a raven-haired tattooed woman not much older than Shelby, was impressed by her expertise.
She pulled out trays of pipes, retrieving others from drawers behind her counter.
I browsed as they talked, stopping to pet the store’s dog. I listened as they examined pipes with the same focus one might bring to buying a car.
Shelby found exactly what she wanted and plunked down the cash.
The door chimed as we waved goodbye.
“I thought she was going to follow you home, sugar,” I smiled.
She lipped her arm into mine. “The dog?”
“No, dear, your new girlfriend. I think you made her night.”
Shelby looked back. “Ya think?”
Now, I know I’ll never be much of a stoner. I’ve lived this long without owning so much as a joint I could call my own. I was married for a decade and a half to a wake-and-bake pothead, and never succumbed to regular smoking.
But still, I recognize that knowing good pot from bad is just plain subcultural literacy.
Shelby took pity on my ignorance, holding the good stuff under my nose, making me eyeball the fine grains, and teaching me to distinguish one strain from another.
I was still learning to mix smoking pot with drinking bourbon.
As the television show ended, Meg and I decided to watch “Cool Hand Luke.” She had never seen the film, or really much cinema of the seventies.
She thought Paul Newman was a brand of salsa. She assumed George Kennedy was among the clan that summered in Hyannisport.
That’s unacceptable cultural illiteracy. A failure to communicate, really.
Meg and I were pretty toasted by the time the hound dogs bayed. We giggled about eggs.
Shelby sat quietly, cutting her new clothesline into precise lengths. She cauterized the ends and wrapped them in tape.
When the movie ended, Shelby turned off the television.
“Let’s move into the naked room,” she said, standing.
We complied, happily following Shelby into Meg’s bedroom.
Shelby unzipped her jeans, stepping from the legs into nudity from the waist down. Her tight t-shirt was pulled up on the curve of her belly.
My eyes were on her as my cock popped from my jeans.
Meg leaned across the bed as Shelby and I met beside her. She watched as I lifted my baby’s face into a sweet nuzzle, her lips grazing mine.
“You stoner,” she teased.
“No baby, that’s just me, high on love,” I smiled.
“Yeah, right,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Stoner.”
Meg let out a laugh, quickly covering her mouth.
The three of us have had sex many times. Meg always watches as we begin. It’s partly her nature to wait until she is pulled in. It’s also just good manners.
When fucking one’s best friend’s boyfriend, one should always permit the lovers time together.
Meg is courteous like that.
Meg watched as Shelby took my cock into her mouth, holding my hand as I surrendered to my jailbait girlfriend.
Meg pet Shelby’s hair as I fucked my baby. We watched as Shelby’s eyes closed and her head turned, knowing she was giving over to the sensation of being full, of being loved.
Meg watched me as I am when Shelby retreats during sex. She saw that I took that moment of privacy within intimacy, touching Shelby’s skin, even after all this time together, still marveling at its pale luminosity, its unlined simplicity, its soft give under my forefingers.
Meg caught me smiling at her, as if to ask, can you believe our good fortune?
Meg pinched Shelby’s tiny pale nipple as I pulled out, impatient for her orgasm. I could get there faster with my fingers in her, my mouth on her.
Meg complied when Shelby asked for her breast. She gave herself to Shelby’s ravenous mouth, satisfying her insatiable oral fixation.
We encouraged Shelby as she shouted it was coming. We stayed with her as she delivered her orgasm to us, its birth announced with rapid pants and loud nasal whines.
Meg stayed with me as Shelby put on a coat and left for a smoke.
Meg took my hand, and took my kisses. She took my cock into her. She took my grasp on her neck as I squeezed, our eyes locked on one another’s, green on blue, as I denied her air until she came under me.
We all have our needs. Meg needs oxygen. I need her orgasm.
Our needs were soon met.
Meg left me to rest, stoned, drunk and well sexed in her bed. She joined Shelby to wreck her lungs in the cold night air.
She laughed that Shelby had texted a friend that she was listening to her best friend fuck her boyfriend.
That night, Meg slept in my arms as Shelby took the couch. Her ropes lay unused on the floor.
Tomorrow would be another day—the last of my forty-first year, and the fourth of my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
threesome
marijuana
Extreme Makeover: Home Edition
Cool Hand Luke
Thursday, March 30, 2006
MySpace MyOrgy
At Madeline’s suggestion, I’ve started an orgy over at MySpace.
Tell your friends and meet me in the hot tub.
“Congratulations,” Shelby says. “You’re a MySpace whore.”
‘bout damn time.
And don’t forget, the Spring Fling Contest is still open.
Tell your friends and meet me in the hot tub.
“Congratulations,” Shelby says. “You’re a MySpace whore.”
‘bout damn time.
And don’t forget, the Spring Fling Contest is still open.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Kidnapped!
Meg’s narrative of this weekend begins here.
Anna left a little after ten, saying she was meeting “someone” at the Museum of Modern Art.
She said it in a pointed way, to be sure I didn’t miss that she wasn’t going alone, and she didn’t care to invite me, as she already had plans with “someone.”
I kissed her goodbye and refrained from telling her to have fun with the new boyfriend.
The course of the morning encouraged Anna to assert her new-found “polyamory” as a woman with two boyfriends. She was put out when the glow of our first weekend sleepover had been tainted by her investigation of my bathroom.
That morning, I woke early and made my way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, drifting to the memory of fucking Anna as she slept.
I remembered that Anna had a toothbrush in my medicine cabinet. Feeling sweet on her, I took down her toothbrush and lay it next to mine.
Of course, I had chosen the wrong toothbrush.
Of course, she had to point out this egregious mistake.
She called me to the bathroom.
After several questions established that the toothbrush belonged to neither my children nor their father, Anna said I must have confused her with someone else. She wanted me to see her toothbrush to avoid future confusion. She opened my medicine cabinet.
She saw that I have many toothbrushes.
“This one is mine,” she said, fishing a toothbrush from the tangle. She held it before my face. “I’m the pink one.”
“Got it,” I said. “The dancer gets the pink one.”
“Huh,” she said, squeezing toothpaste. “So I guess I’m the only dancer?”
“Who knows, really,” I yawned. “Who can keep track of details with so many women? I should make you all wear name tags.”
Anna punched my arm. “Don’t tempt me,” she mumbled through fluorinated suds.
After rinsing, she noticed Lillie’s Hello Kitty hairbrush. This prompted questions about Lillie’s hair and advice on different ways to keep it from her eyes.
I sat on the toilet, nodding and listening.
I was full of useful grooming tips by the time she departed for her appointment with “someone.”
I locked the door behind her. I warmed a plate of leftover scallops.
All was still as I awaited my fate.
My fate was just then hurtling north on the New Jersey Turnpike at over seventy miles an hour.
Shelby was kidnapping me. She had recruited Meg as her accomplice.
Every week, Shelby trained to the city to spend the night with me. She is no fan of cities, and often suggested that one day, I should trek down to her quiet corner of New Jersey.
That “one day” was now. Her birthday gift to me would be a tour of her hometown, and of her life as she lives it when we are apart.
She was driving up to fetch me.
She had never driven in Manhattan.
She wasn't happy about doing so.
“You just make sure your ass is ready to go when we get there,” she instructed me. “No way am I parking or driving around that fucking island. I’m going through the tunnel, getting your ass, and turning around to get the fuck out.”
My tramp bag waited by the door.
When the girls arrived, I kissed them both and tossed my bag into the backseat. I sat next to it and buckled in.
“You aren’t allowed to make fun of Shelby’s driving,” Meg warned as she flipped through her iPod.
“Yeah, or I’ll make you drive—and these other drivers will eat your pansy ass.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said, grasping a door handle as Shelby swerved across two lanes.
“Assholes, man, they need to learn to fucking drive.”
Meg turned to me. “You’ll get used to it. She hasn’t killed anyone yet.”
“Comforting thought,” I smiled wanly.
“Wait, turn this up!” Shelby ordered. “This song, you know it?”
“Touch-ing yoo-ooooo-ooou . . . .” Meg sang.
“Touch-ing me-eeee-eeee . . .,” Shelby joined. They chased the singer’s voice through a rapid-fire falsetto. “I believe in a thing called love . . . just listen to the rhythm of my heart . . .”
“Man, you kids need to get hep to glam rock,” I shouted. “See, back in my day . . .”
They were too far gone to hear me.
Several hours, one cup of coffee, and two pits stops later, we were in Shelby’s hometown. We picked up some essentials, including vodka for the girls and bourbon for boy—the latter being Meg’s treat, as it was my birthday week. We also needed a few items from the local supplier of sado-masochist paraphernalia.
The hardware aisle at Wal Mart.
“We’re going to hogtie Meg,” Shelby matter-of-factly asserted as she dug through bins of clothesline. “Which do we want? Fifty feet or a hundred?”
“Wait, we’re hogtying me?” Meg asked.
“Well, let’s think about that,” I mused. “Fifty should be sufficient, but it pays to be prepared.”
“I’m getting hogtied?”
“Yeah, it costs about the same, so I’m getting the longer one,” Shelby decided, tossing the rope into her basket. “Now, what about clothespins?”
“Clothespins?” Meg asked.
“Oh, the big bag,” I said. “One hundred gives us a lot to play with.”
“Clothespins?”
“I’m getting two big bags,” Shelby said. “You need some back in the city.”
“Oh, thank you sweetheart, that’s very thoughtful.”
“And I think Meg has candles, so we should be set for hot wax.”
“Wait,” Meg said. “Wax?”
As we walked though the store, Shelby slipped her hand into mine. Her town is small, and she is well known as her mother’s daughter. Still, she was not concerned to be seen showing affection with the much older man she loved, a stranger to all the natives.
“Fuck ‘em,” she said. “I need to shake this place up, man.”
“Whatever you like,” I said, kissing the back of her hand.
The sky was streaked with purple and grey as we drove to Meg’s place, where we would be bedding for the night.
“You know, Jefferson,” Meg said. “It was almost a year ago we met.”
“Fuck, that’s right,” I agreed. “It was Valentine’s Day.”
“Yeah, my best friend has been fucking my boyfriend for almost a year,” Shelby laughed.
Ours was not a conventional romance.
We unloaded the car, changed to pajamas and poured drinks.
We had everything we needed for two days and nights of raucous shenanigans.
I was three days into my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.
But first, we had to satisfy a basic requirement of Meg and Shelby’s Sunday nights together.
We had to eat pizza and watch “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.”
And smoke some very fine weed.
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Anna left a little after ten, saying she was meeting “someone” at the Museum of Modern Art.
She said it in a pointed way, to be sure I didn’t miss that she wasn’t going alone, and she didn’t care to invite me, as she already had plans with “someone.”
I kissed her goodbye and refrained from telling her to have fun with the new boyfriend.
The course of the morning encouraged Anna to assert her new-found “polyamory” as a woman with two boyfriends. She was put out when the glow of our first weekend sleepover had been tainted by her investigation of my bathroom.
That morning, I woke early and made my way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, drifting to the memory of fucking Anna as she slept.
I remembered that Anna had a toothbrush in my medicine cabinet. Feeling sweet on her, I took down her toothbrush and lay it next to mine.
Of course, I had chosen the wrong toothbrush.
Of course, she had to point out this egregious mistake.
She called me to the bathroom.
After several questions established that the toothbrush belonged to neither my children nor their father, Anna said I must have confused her with someone else. She wanted me to see her toothbrush to avoid future confusion. She opened my medicine cabinet.
She saw that I have many toothbrushes.
“This one is mine,” she said, fishing a toothbrush from the tangle. She held it before my face. “I’m the pink one.”
“Got it,” I said. “The dancer gets the pink one.”
“Huh,” she said, squeezing toothpaste. “So I guess I’m the only dancer?”
“Who knows, really,” I yawned. “Who can keep track of details with so many women? I should make you all wear name tags.”
Anna punched my arm. “Don’t tempt me,” she mumbled through fluorinated suds.
After rinsing, she noticed Lillie’s Hello Kitty hairbrush. This prompted questions about Lillie’s hair and advice on different ways to keep it from her eyes.
I sat on the toilet, nodding and listening.
I was full of useful grooming tips by the time she departed for her appointment with “someone.”
I locked the door behind her. I warmed a plate of leftover scallops.
All was still as I awaited my fate.
My fate was just then hurtling north on the New Jersey Turnpike at over seventy miles an hour.
Shelby was kidnapping me. She had recruited Meg as her accomplice.
Every week, Shelby trained to the city to spend the night with me. She is no fan of cities, and often suggested that one day, I should trek down to her quiet corner of New Jersey.
That “one day” was now. Her birthday gift to me would be a tour of her hometown, and of her life as she lives it when we are apart.
She was driving up to fetch me.
She had never driven in Manhattan.
She wasn't happy about doing so.
“You just make sure your ass is ready to go when we get there,” she instructed me. “No way am I parking or driving around that fucking island. I’m going through the tunnel, getting your ass, and turning around to get the fuck out.”
My tramp bag waited by the door.
When the girls arrived, I kissed them both and tossed my bag into the backseat. I sat next to it and buckled in.
“You aren’t allowed to make fun of Shelby’s driving,” Meg warned as she flipped through her iPod.
“Yeah, or I’ll make you drive—and these other drivers will eat your pansy ass.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I said, grasping a door handle as Shelby swerved across two lanes.
“Assholes, man, they need to learn to fucking drive.”
Meg turned to me. “You’ll get used to it. She hasn’t killed anyone yet.”
“Comforting thought,” I smiled wanly.
“Wait, turn this up!” Shelby ordered. “This song, you know it?”
“Touch-ing yoo-ooooo-ooou . . . .” Meg sang.
“Touch-ing me-eeee-eeee . . .,” Shelby joined. They chased the singer’s voice through a rapid-fire falsetto. “I believe in a thing called love . . . just listen to the rhythm of my heart . . .”
“Man, you kids need to get hep to glam rock,” I shouted. “See, back in my day . . .”
They were too far gone to hear me.
Several hours, one cup of coffee, and two pits stops later, we were in Shelby’s hometown. We picked up some essentials, including vodka for the girls and bourbon for boy—the latter being Meg’s treat, as it was my birthday week. We also needed a few items from the local supplier of sado-masochist paraphernalia.
The hardware aisle at Wal Mart.
“We’re going to hogtie Meg,” Shelby matter-of-factly asserted as she dug through bins of clothesline. “Which do we want? Fifty feet or a hundred?”
“Wait, we’re hogtying me?” Meg asked.
“Well, let’s think about that,” I mused. “Fifty should be sufficient, but it pays to be prepared.”
“I’m getting hogtied?”
“Yeah, it costs about the same, so I’m getting the longer one,” Shelby decided, tossing the rope into her basket. “Now, what about clothespins?”
“Clothespins?” Meg asked.
“Oh, the big bag,” I said. “One hundred gives us a lot to play with.”
“Clothespins?”
“I’m getting two big bags,” Shelby said. “You need some back in the city.”
“Oh, thank you sweetheart, that’s very thoughtful.”
“And I think Meg has candles, so we should be set for hot wax.”
“Wait,” Meg said. “Wax?”
As we walked though the store, Shelby slipped her hand into mine. Her town is small, and she is well known as her mother’s daughter. Still, she was not concerned to be seen showing affection with the much older man she loved, a stranger to all the natives.
“Fuck ‘em,” she said. “I need to shake this place up, man.”
“Whatever you like,” I said, kissing the back of her hand.
The sky was streaked with purple and grey as we drove to Meg’s place, where we would be bedding for the night.
“You know, Jefferson,” Meg said. “It was almost a year ago we met.”
“Fuck, that’s right,” I agreed. “It was Valentine’s Day.”
“Yeah, my best friend has been fucking my boyfriend for almost a year,” Shelby laughed.
Ours was not a conventional romance.
We unloaded the car, changed to pajamas and poured drinks.
We had everything we needed for two days and nights of raucous shenanigans.
I was three days into my birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.
But first, we had to satisfy a basic requirement of Meg and Shelby’s Sunday nights together.
We had to eat pizza and watch “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.”
And smoke some very fine weed.
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Friday, March 24, 2006
Contest
Spring Fling 2006
Daffodils are coloring, birds are nesting and squirrels are pairing off.
It’s springtime in New York.
Can’t you feel the stir in the air? That little something that makes you long for a spring fling?
This contest is for you. Maybe you could be Jefferson’s sweetheart.
Two winners—one female, one male—will be chosen. For three whirlwind weeks this spring, each of these lucky winners will be treated to all the fine loving Jefferson can muster.
You want long walks, quiet conversation and sweet kisses? Say the word.
Need to feel the lash now and then? It’s yours.
Hungry for the flesh buffet of an orgy? Help yourself.
You decide what you want. Jefferson will take care of what you need.
To be considered, send the following to onelifetaketwo@gmail.com.
1. A recent photograph.
2. A description of yourself, including experiences and interests.
3. A brief text outlining why you should be chosen as Jefferson’s spring fling.
Remember: you can’t win if you don’t apply.
Good luck!
Contest remains open until winners are announced. Must be eighteen or older to enter. Winners must live in the New York City region, or relocate at their own expense. Previous winners need not apply. Void where prohibited.
Many will enter, few will win.
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Daffodils are coloring, birds are nesting and squirrels are pairing off.
It’s springtime in New York.
Can’t you feel the stir in the air? That little something that makes you long for a spring fling?
This contest is for you. Maybe you could be Jefferson’s sweetheart.
Two winners—one female, one male—will be chosen. For three whirlwind weeks this spring, each of these lucky winners will be treated to all the fine loving Jefferson can muster.
You want long walks, quiet conversation and sweet kisses? Say the word.
Need to feel the lash now and then? It’s yours.
Hungry for the flesh buffet of an orgy? Help yourself.
You decide what you want. Jefferson will take care of what you need.
To be considered, send the following to onelifetaketwo@gmail.com.
1. A recent photograph.
2. A description of yourself, including experiences and interests.
3. A brief text outlining why you should be chosen as Jefferson’s spring fling.
Remember: you can’t win if you don’t apply.
Good luck!
Contest remains open until winners are announced. Must be eighteen or older to enter. Winners must live in the New York City region, or relocate at their own expense. Previous winners need not apply. Void where prohibited.
Many will enter, few will win.
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Thursday, March 23, 2006
Perverts' Saloon
You read our blogs. Aren’t you curious to see us in the flesh?
A number of New York City sex bloggers will be taking part in our first-ever public reading, organized by redoubtable stalwarts Audacia Ray and Selina Fire.
And yes, your very own Jefferson will be among the participants. It’s a great group of folks—and I’ve only seen about half of them naked.
So far, that is.
Stop by to say howdy, won’t you?
As many in our cohort are up all manner of activities—such as Dacia’s curatorial smash Sex Worker Visions, opening March 29 at the LGBT Community Center—Viviane has created a special blog just to highlight news and events.
The Perverts’ Saloon
Here’s the low down on our hotter-than-hell hootenanny.
A family of strangers are New York City's Sex Bloggers - online writers, telling tales of their sex lives in this City. Parents in their 40's, sex workers in their 20's, professionals with 9 - 5 jobs or stay-at-home dads - male, female, straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual - these writers' narratives have one thing in common: they are sexually explicit. You'll find stories that twist real-life narratives together: parents helping their kids with homework, then later, deflowering a stranger of his anal virginity; tensions on the train to work, then helping a friend's wife to orgasm. Their tangled tales of exploration and conquest, freedom, exhibition and love will be told aloud and in person for the first time when the bloggers show their faces and read from their work at the New York City Peverts' Saloon.
Readers: Audacia Ray, Tony Comstock, Viviane, Lex Konrad, Jefferson, Selina Fire, Chelsea Girl, Cherry Bomb, Tess, Charlie Bucket
(Flyer design by J, maleslut NYC)
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A number of New York City sex bloggers will be taking part in our first-ever public reading, organized by redoubtable stalwarts Audacia Ray and Selina Fire.
And yes, your very own Jefferson will be among the participants. It’s a great group of folks—and I’ve only seen about half of them naked.
So far, that is.
Stop by to say howdy, won’t you?
As many in our cohort are up all manner of activities—such as Dacia’s curatorial smash Sex Worker Visions, opening March 29 at the LGBT Community Center—Viviane has created a special blog just to highlight news and events.
The Perverts’ Saloon
Here’s the low down on our hotter-than-hell hootenanny.
Galapagos,
70 North 6th street, Williamsburg. L to Bedford Ave
(Directions to Galapagos)
FREE ADMISSION!
Time: 8-10 pm; Doors open at 7:30 PM
70 North 6th street, Williamsburg. L to Bedford Ave
(Directions to Galapagos)
FREE ADMISSION!
Time: 8-10 pm; Doors open at 7:30 PM
A family of strangers are New York City's Sex Bloggers - online writers, telling tales of their sex lives in this City. Parents in their 40's, sex workers in their 20's, professionals with 9 - 5 jobs or stay-at-home dads - male, female, straight, gay, lesbian, bisexual - these writers' narratives have one thing in common: they are sexually explicit. You'll find stories that twist real-life narratives together: parents helping their kids with homework, then later, deflowering a stranger of his anal virginity; tensions on the train to work, then helping a friend's wife to orgasm. Their tangled tales of exploration and conquest, freedom, exhibition and love will be told aloud and in person for the first time when the bloggers show their faces and read from their work at the New York City Peverts' Saloon.
Readers: Audacia Ray, Tony Comstock, Viviane, Lex Konrad, Jefferson, Selina Fire, Chelsea Girl, Cherry Bomb, Tess, Charlie Bucket
(Flyer design by J, maleslut NYC)
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erotica
Watching the Detective
I stripped the beds and made them with fresh sheets. I put out clean towels.
I swept and emptied the trashcans. I bagged the garbage and took it to the chute.
I did the dishes, taking care to leave only one cup, one plate and one glass in the dish rack.
I had to hide the evidence.
Anna was coming for a sleepover.
My on again/off again girlfriend was back on.
I knew our most recent break up was mended when she stopped over with a contrived game in which we could embrace only by asking permission to touch.
The next time she came over, she treated me to a slow strip tease.
A week later, I was in her bedroom reddening her ass with a riding crop.
She can’t give up the good sex.
She had offered to cook dinner for my birthday. She also wanted to give me a blowjob in my new desk chair.
I checked my calendar and offered a Saturday night.
“Really?” she replied archly. “Do you know that in the two years we’ve been seeing one another, you’ve never slept with me on a weekend night?”
“Is that right?” I asked.
“That’s right,” she asserted.
I’m sure she was right. She keeps track of things like that.
“Huh,” I said.
I guess I am more likely to spend weekends with people who don’t dump me every four months.
Now, I was a little nervous about having her at my place overnight. Anna is an incorrigible snoop. She can’t seem to help but notice small details that lead her to infer big things about my secret life with other women.
She knows I date others. I spare her the details.
I did my best to put everything in order.
There was no evidence of the Nubian orgy the night before. There was no evidence of the threesome that preceded it. No evidence of the threesome that transpired that morning.
I paced the apartment, looking under furniture, around planters, on shelves. I saw nothing one wouldn’t expect to find in the home of a single father with three children.
Anna arrived late, as usual, and loaded with grocery bags.
I reached to help her. “Are you making dinner or moving in? Gee, this weighs a ton.”
“Well,” she began. “I wasn’t sure you would have everything I needed.” She hefted her bags to the table. She pulled a carton from one. “Like, no one has parchment paper.”
“I think I do, actually.” I kissed her cheek. “But one can never have too much parchment paper. Can I take your coat, baby?”
I held out my hand.
As she unbuttoned her coat, her eyes drifted to my piles of mail. She stopped mid-button.
“Jefferson, who’s Viviane?” Her eyes never left the mail.
“Huh?” My hands continued to wait for her coat. “Oh, Viviane is a friend of mine. Why?”
“Because her name is on this envelope.” She fiddled with her button.
My eyes followed her to the mail. “Yes, I can see that. My friend Viviane gave me something in an envelope. Your coat, please?”
She looked at me as if to surmise the veracity of my explanation. Apparently satisfied, she continued to unbutton her coat.
How stupid of me to have mail, I thought.
I hung her coat. “Would you like some wine?” I offered.
She sat on the couch. “Yes, please. I’ll start cooking once I recover from the walk over.”
“Take your time, dear. Relax. I’ll be right back.” I went to the kitchen to open the wine. “What are you cooking anyway?” I called.
“Scallops,” she called back.
“Oh, yum,” I said, cutting the foil from the wine. “You know, I haven’t had scallops in a while.”
“I’m right here, you don’t have to shout,” she said, suddenly at the door. “Are you applying to law school?”
My brow furrowed as I held the corkscrew. “Uh, no I am not applying to law school.”
“Oh.” She motioned towards the next room. “I saw the envelope from a law school and thought . . .”
“My neighbor gave me some papers in that envelope,” I said. I took down two wine glasses. “I think her husband is a lawyer. I am not applying to law school. Can you just sit on the couch while I get your wine?”
She returned to the couch. I soon joined her with two glasses.
I raised my glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” smiled, clinking glasses. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” As we sipped, my eyes scanned the room. Did I miss anything that might lead Anna to think that Viviane and I are eloping to law school?
I relaxed as we cooked. I offered myself as sou chef, chopping leeks and assorted vegetables as she washed the scallops. We drifted into a conversation about my children.
A song came on the radio.
“Ugh,” I moaned. “Here’s that annoying Ben Lee tune.”
“Come again?”
“’Catch my Disease.’ I’m sure you’ve heard me rant about it.”
“No, you’ve never mentioned this song to me.”
“Oh. Well, it’s not awful or anything, it’s just so cloying and cutesy, with the baby piano and the ‘na na na.’”
She turned off the water. “I’ve never heard you talk about this song.”
“Okay, well, that’s all I have to say about it really.”
“Hmmm. I’ve never heard this song before. I don’t know who Ben Lee is.”
“Ah, well.”
“You must be confusing me with someone else.”
“Maybe, whatever.”
She cut a few sheets of parchment paper. The song continued.
“Yeah, I’ve never heard this song. You never mentioned it to me. Must be someone else you are thinking about.”
I reached for another leek. Her comment lingered in the air.
Detective Anna was hot on the trail.
No doubt, this Viviane and I would soon be in our dorm room at law school, reveling in our shared dislike of Ben Lee.
I set the table as the scallops cooked. I lit candles. I poured more wine.
I replaced the radio with Sarah Vaughan. Don’t talk about Sarah Vaughan, I told myself.
As we ate, something seemed to be weighing on Anna’s mind.
“Jefferson, I have something to tell you.” She rested her fork on the edge of her plate.
I pulled my fork from my mouth. “What?” I chewed. “Anything wrong?”
“I guess you’ll have to be the judge of that.” She drew a breath, and then exhaled. “There’s nothing to do but just come out with it. I’m seeing someone else.”
I wiped a napkin on my lips. “You are?”
“Yes. His name is William. He’s a veterinarian.”
I took a sip of wine then sat back. “I see. Have you been seeing him long?”
“No, we just meet two weeks ago, on New Year’s Eve. I had asked you out, but you were busy. So I went dancing with friends. I met him on the dance floor.”
I got the subtext—it was my own fault she had met him.
“Well, that sounds like a romantic way to meet,” I smiled.
“It was. We spent the weekend together.”
“That’s pretty hot and heavy,” I nodded. I skewered a scallop and popped it in my mouth.
“You aren’t upset?” she asked.
“No, not at all,” I chewed. “You are free to date anyone you like.”
“I’m glad.” Anna picked up her fork. She moved food around her plate. “I guess now I’m polyamorous too.”
“Something like that.”
I hoped she wasn’t disappointed that I took the news so well. I wasn’t upset in the least.
If anything, I was relieved.
I think anyone who dates me should have at least one other boyfriend. I would prefer not to be anyone’s sole sexual outlet. That’s just too much responsibility.
I listened to her talk about her new boyfriend in halting terms, apparently concerned about saying something that might wound me. I smiled and made it clear that I was glad she was enjoying herself.
I hoped that she would notice something now and in the future.
I wasn’t pressing for details.
If she wanted to talk, I was happy to listen. But her relationship with him was her affair and not mine. She can share it or not depending on her preferences.
Perhaps in this way, I could lead by example. I don’t nose in your privacy. Please don’t nose in mine.
Or, as Brother Hank put it, if you mind your own business, then you won’t be minding mine.
Likewise, I could let it go that she considered this situation to be polyamorous. I wasn’t going to parse words, but I hardly think its polyamorous to date two people at once. That’s what single people do, right? Play the field. Hedge their bets.
As for me, I’m not really involved in anything I’d define as polyamorous. That requires the same commitment as monogamy.
I’m more of a slut, really.
Not that I was going to argue that point with Anna.
After supper, I cleared the table. She had cooked, so I assumed I would do the dishes.
As I ran the water, she called my name.
“Jefferson? Can you come here, please?”
“I’m just rinsing the dishes, I’ll be out in a moment.”
“I’d prefer not to wait.”
Ah.
I turned off the water and dried my hands.
I found Anna kneeling on a pillow in front of my chair.
She had stripped to pale blue hot pants panties and a white bra.
She sat very erect, smiling at me. She patted the seat of my chair.
“The dishes can wait,” she told me.
“Yes, I believe they can,” I said, tugging my shirt over my head.
My pants melted to the floor like butter on hot scallops.
Anna moved aside as I settled into my chair.
“Dinner was great,” I smiled. “And so simple.”
She wriggled her shoulders coquettishly, taking my cock in hand.
“I have a great many talents,” she said.
With that, she leaned forward and took me into her mouth.
I stroked her hair. “That you do,” I agreed. “That you do.”
She worked her mouth on me slowly, keeping her eyes on mine. She held my cock, gently turning her grip in contradistinction to the movements of her mouth.
Such a dancer. She was choreographing a blowjob.
If I could have read her mind, I am sure I would have heard her voice repeating: “One and two and turn and three and four and turn.”
I kept my eyes on her face, on her eyes on mine.
I closed my eyes, letting the time pass.
“This is so good,” I sighed. “And the chair is so comfortable.” I leaned back.
She licked the length of my shaft. “You certainly look comfortable.”
“You should try it sometime.”
“Perhaps I will.”
For the moment, though, she preferred to tease me with her hand job. Her hands alternated in a fluid movement, pulling my cock away from my body, firm but gentle, one hand after the other.
Closing my eyes, I could not tell where one gesture ended and the next began. It all blurred into a continuous wave, as if she were extending my cock as an endless supply of flesh and filament.
Once she had reeled out a few feet of cock. she alternated her gestures, pushing it all back into my body. Handful after handful, slowly, she guided it all into place.
When I opened my eyes, my cock was back to its normal size—or rather, only slightly larger than usual.
She began to take me back into her mouth.
I held her cheeks.
“No, not so fast,” I clucked. “You must sit in the chair.”
“I’m fine here. On my knees. At your feet.”
“I’m not fine. I want you in the chair.” I stood.
“Well, I would like to try the chair,” she began, standing.
Her ass turned before me. She lowered herself to sit.
“Hmm, yes, this is comfortable.”
“Isn’t it?” I pushed down on the armrests. “See how well it leans forward?”
I offered my cock to her mouth. She took it.
“And see how well it leans back?” I pushed the headrest. The chair fell back.
Her mouth opened and her legs lifted as she instinctively braced for a fall.
I took her thighs and lifted. I dropped to her abandoned pillow, lifting her ass high.
I removed her panties.
She tossed her bra across the room, panting and disoriented.
I thought to say something clever, but instead put my tongue to better use.
I plunged it into her cunt. She jumped at the sensation.
I opened my mouth wide as my tongue entered and retreated, fucking her fast. My upper lip grazed her clit.
I fell into sucking her soft smooth skin, burying my nose into her small tuft of hair. My tongue stayed on its target until she came.
My fingers joined, pressing against the contractions of the taut muscles inside her body. Her cunt opened and closed, gasping for breath, farting as she pushed against me.
Just two more orgasms, I said to myself, and then I’m fucking her.
Moments later, we were fucking.
Three hours later, we were asleep.
Six hours later, I woke.
She lay next to me, on her back, an arm resting on her hair. The duvet covered her from the waist down.
She had not moved since I pulled out of her as she drifted to sleep.
She breathed softly, deep in her sleep. I watched her breasts rise and fall as she breathed.
She looked so content.
Anna is often frustrated by our relationship. She most wants in life to meet someone, to settle down and to raise a family.
That hasn’t happened. It’s not happening with me.
I’m often frustrated too, if only by the bad timing of it all.
If I had met Anna just after college, when I was starting to date Lucy, life might have taken a different turn.
If there had been a moment in my youth when Lucy and Anna told me I had to choose one or the other, I would’ve looked at them though my long hair and pondered.
Both women are challenging, and more than a little overwrought. Much as that rubs against my grain, I am apparently drawn to women who push me.
Both are attractive and smart. They both read. They both want families.
Anna cares about art. Lucy doesn’t. Lucy tolerated sex. Anna loves it.
If we had met at another time, in another place, I might have been able to give Anna what she most wants to be happy.
Now, in this time and place, I can only offer what she needs to get by.
I reached for a condom and lube.
I parted her thighs slightly.
I entered her slowly. She was moist from her dreams.
I kept my body apart from hers, so as not to disturb her sleep.
Her breathing quickened. She turned her head.
“Unh,” she began, not opening her eyes. “Jefferson, wha . . what are you doing?”
“Shhh,” I kissed her lightly. “I’m making love to you. Go back to sleep, baby.”
She rubbed her face, eyes tight. “I can’t . . . I can’t sleep if you are fucking me.”
I stilled myself in her body. I cradled her neck in my arms.
I kissed her hair.
She slept, and dreamed.
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fucking
Ben Lee
Hank Williams
I swept and emptied the trashcans. I bagged the garbage and took it to the chute.
I did the dishes, taking care to leave only one cup, one plate and one glass in the dish rack.
I had to hide the evidence.
Anna was coming for a sleepover.
My on again/off again girlfriend was back on.
I knew our most recent break up was mended when she stopped over with a contrived game in which we could embrace only by asking permission to touch.
The next time she came over, she treated me to a slow strip tease.
A week later, I was in her bedroom reddening her ass with a riding crop.
She can’t give up the good sex.
She had offered to cook dinner for my birthday. She also wanted to give me a blowjob in my new desk chair.
I checked my calendar and offered a Saturday night.
“Really?” she replied archly. “Do you know that in the two years we’ve been seeing one another, you’ve never slept with me on a weekend night?”
“Is that right?” I asked.
“That’s right,” she asserted.
I’m sure she was right. She keeps track of things like that.
“Huh,” I said.
I guess I am more likely to spend weekends with people who don’t dump me every four months.
Now, I was a little nervous about having her at my place overnight. Anna is an incorrigible snoop. She can’t seem to help but notice small details that lead her to infer big things about my secret life with other women.
She knows I date others. I spare her the details.
I did my best to put everything in order.
There was no evidence of the Nubian orgy the night before. There was no evidence of the threesome that preceded it. No evidence of the threesome that transpired that morning.
I paced the apartment, looking under furniture, around planters, on shelves. I saw nothing one wouldn’t expect to find in the home of a single father with three children.
Anna arrived late, as usual, and loaded with grocery bags.
I reached to help her. “Are you making dinner or moving in? Gee, this weighs a ton.”
“Well,” she began. “I wasn’t sure you would have everything I needed.” She hefted her bags to the table. She pulled a carton from one. “Like, no one has parchment paper.”
“I think I do, actually.” I kissed her cheek. “But one can never have too much parchment paper. Can I take your coat, baby?”
I held out my hand.
As she unbuttoned her coat, her eyes drifted to my piles of mail. She stopped mid-button.
“Jefferson, who’s Viviane?” Her eyes never left the mail.
“Huh?” My hands continued to wait for her coat. “Oh, Viviane is a friend of mine. Why?”
“Because her name is on this envelope.” She fiddled with her button.
My eyes followed her to the mail. “Yes, I can see that. My friend Viviane gave me something in an envelope. Your coat, please?”
She looked at me as if to surmise the veracity of my explanation. Apparently satisfied, she continued to unbutton her coat.
How stupid of me to have mail, I thought.
I hung her coat. “Would you like some wine?” I offered.
She sat on the couch. “Yes, please. I’ll start cooking once I recover from the walk over.”
“Take your time, dear. Relax. I’ll be right back.” I went to the kitchen to open the wine. “What are you cooking anyway?” I called.
“Scallops,” she called back.
“Oh, yum,” I said, cutting the foil from the wine. “You know, I haven’t had scallops in a while.”
“I’m right here, you don’t have to shout,” she said, suddenly at the door. “Are you applying to law school?”
My brow furrowed as I held the corkscrew. “Uh, no I am not applying to law school.”
“Oh.” She motioned towards the next room. “I saw the envelope from a law school and thought . . .”
“My neighbor gave me some papers in that envelope,” I said. I took down two wine glasses. “I think her husband is a lawyer. I am not applying to law school. Can you just sit on the couch while I get your wine?”
She returned to the couch. I soon joined her with two glasses.
I raised my glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” smiled, clinking glasses. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” As we sipped, my eyes scanned the room. Did I miss anything that might lead Anna to think that Viviane and I are eloping to law school?
I relaxed as we cooked. I offered myself as sou chef, chopping leeks and assorted vegetables as she washed the scallops. We drifted into a conversation about my children.
A song came on the radio.
“Ugh,” I moaned. “Here’s that annoying Ben Lee tune.”
“Come again?”
“’Catch my Disease.’ I’m sure you’ve heard me rant about it.”
“No, you’ve never mentioned this song to me.”
“Oh. Well, it’s not awful or anything, it’s just so cloying and cutesy, with the baby piano and the ‘na na na.’”
She turned off the water. “I’ve never heard you talk about this song.”
“Okay, well, that’s all I have to say about it really.”
“Hmmm. I’ve never heard this song before. I don’t know who Ben Lee is.”
“Ah, well.”
“You must be confusing me with someone else.”
“Maybe, whatever.”
She cut a few sheets of parchment paper. The song continued.
“Yeah, I’ve never heard this song. You never mentioned it to me. Must be someone else you are thinking about.”
I reached for another leek. Her comment lingered in the air.
Detective Anna was hot on the trail.
No doubt, this Viviane and I would soon be in our dorm room at law school, reveling in our shared dislike of Ben Lee.
I set the table as the scallops cooked. I lit candles. I poured more wine.
I replaced the radio with Sarah Vaughan. Don’t talk about Sarah Vaughan, I told myself.
As we ate, something seemed to be weighing on Anna’s mind.
“Jefferson, I have something to tell you.” She rested her fork on the edge of her plate.
I pulled my fork from my mouth. “What?” I chewed. “Anything wrong?”
“I guess you’ll have to be the judge of that.” She drew a breath, and then exhaled. “There’s nothing to do but just come out with it. I’m seeing someone else.”
I wiped a napkin on my lips. “You are?”
“Yes. His name is William. He’s a veterinarian.”
I took a sip of wine then sat back. “I see. Have you been seeing him long?”
“No, we just meet two weeks ago, on New Year’s Eve. I had asked you out, but you were busy. So I went dancing with friends. I met him on the dance floor.”
I got the subtext—it was my own fault she had met him.
“Well, that sounds like a romantic way to meet,” I smiled.
“It was. We spent the weekend together.”
“That’s pretty hot and heavy,” I nodded. I skewered a scallop and popped it in my mouth.
“You aren’t upset?” she asked.
“No, not at all,” I chewed. “You are free to date anyone you like.”
“I’m glad.” Anna picked up her fork. She moved food around her plate. “I guess now I’m polyamorous too.”
“Something like that.”
I hoped she wasn’t disappointed that I took the news so well. I wasn’t upset in the least.
If anything, I was relieved.
I think anyone who dates me should have at least one other boyfriend. I would prefer not to be anyone’s sole sexual outlet. That’s just too much responsibility.
I listened to her talk about her new boyfriend in halting terms, apparently concerned about saying something that might wound me. I smiled and made it clear that I was glad she was enjoying herself.
I hoped that she would notice something now and in the future.
I wasn’t pressing for details.
If she wanted to talk, I was happy to listen. But her relationship with him was her affair and not mine. She can share it or not depending on her preferences.
Perhaps in this way, I could lead by example. I don’t nose in your privacy. Please don’t nose in mine.
Or, as Brother Hank put it, if you mind your own business, then you won’t be minding mine.
Likewise, I could let it go that she considered this situation to be polyamorous. I wasn’t going to parse words, but I hardly think its polyamorous to date two people at once. That’s what single people do, right? Play the field. Hedge their bets.
As for me, I’m not really involved in anything I’d define as polyamorous. That requires the same commitment as monogamy.
I’m more of a slut, really.
Not that I was going to argue that point with Anna.
After supper, I cleared the table. She had cooked, so I assumed I would do the dishes.
As I ran the water, she called my name.
“Jefferson? Can you come here, please?”
“I’m just rinsing the dishes, I’ll be out in a moment.”
“I’d prefer not to wait.”
Ah.
I turned off the water and dried my hands.
I found Anna kneeling on a pillow in front of my chair.
She had stripped to pale blue hot pants panties and a white bra.
She sat very erect, smiling at me. She patted the seat of my chair.
“The dishes can wait,” she told me.
“Yes, I believe they can,” I said, tugging my shirt over my head.
My pants melted to the floor like butter on hot scallops.
Anna moved aside as I settled into my chair.
“Dinner was great,” I smiled. “And so simple.”
She wriggled her shoulders coquettishly, taking my cock in hand.
“I have a great many talents,” she said.
With that, she leaned forward and took me into her mouth.
I stroked her hair. “That you do,” I agreed. “That you do.”
She worked her mouth on me slowly, keeping her eyes on mine. She held my cock, gently turning her grip in contradistinction to the movements of her mouth.
Such a dancer. She was choreographing a blowjob.
If I could have read her mind, I am sure I would have heard her voice repeating: “One and two and turn and three and four and turn.”
I kept my eyes on her face, on her eyes on mine.
I closed my eyes, letting the time pass.
“This is so good,” I sighed. “And the chair is so comfortable.” I leaned back.
She licked the length of my shaft. “You certainly look comfortable.”
“You should try it sometime.”
“Perhaps I will.”
For the moment, though, she preferred to tease me with her hand job. Her hands alternated in a fluid movement, pulling my cock away from my body, firm but gentle, one hand after the other.
Closing my eyes, I could not tell where one gesture ended and the next began. It all blurred into a continuous wave, as if she were extending my cock as an endless supply of flesh and filament.
Once she had reeled out a few feet of cock. she alternated her gestures, pushing it all back into my body. Handful after handful, slowly, she guided it all into place.
When I opened my eyes, my cock was back to its normal size—or rather, only slightly larger than usual.
She began to take me back into her mouth.
I held her cheeks.
“No, not so fast,” I clucked. “You must sit in the chair.”
“I’m fine here. On my knees. At your feet.”
“I’m not fine. I want you in the chair.” I stood.
“Well, I would like to try the chair,” she began, standing.
Her ass turned before me. She lowered herself to sit.
“Hmm, yes, this is comfortable.”
“Isn’t it?” I pushed down on the armrests. “See how well it leans forward?”
I offered my cock to her mouth. She took it.
“And see how well it leans back?” I pushed the headrest. The chair fell back.
Her mouth opened and her legs lifted as she instinctively braced for a fall.
I took her thighs and lifted. I dropped to her abandoned pillow, lifting her ass high.
I removed her panties.
She tossed her bra across the room, panting and disoriented.
I thought to say something clever, but instead put my tongue to better use.
I plunged it into her cunt. She jumped at the sensation.
I opened my mouth wide as my tongue entered and retreated, fucking her fast. My upper lip grazed her clit.
I fell into sucking her soft smooth skin, burying my nose into her small tuft of hair. My tongue stayed on its target until she came.
My fingers joined, pressing against the contractions of the taut muscles inside her body. Her cunt opened and closed, gasping for breath, farting as she pushed against me.
Just two more orgasms, I said to myself, and then I’m fucking her.
Moments later, we were fucking.
Three hours later, we were asleep.
Six hours later, I woke.
She lay next to me, on her back, an arm resting on her hair. The duvet covered her from the waist down.
She had not moved since I pulled out of her as she drifted to sleep.
She breathed softly, deep in her sleep. I watched her breasts rise and fall as she breathed.
She looked so content.
Anna is often frustrated by our relationship. She most wants in life to meet someone, to settle down and to raise a family.
That hasn’t happened. It’s not happening with me.
I’m often frustrated too, if only by the bad timing of it all.
If I had met Anna just after college, when I was starting to date Lucy, life might have taken a different turn.
If there had been a moment in my youth when Lucy and Anna told me I had to choose one or the other, I would’ve looked at them though my long hair and pondered.
Both women are challenging, and more than a little overwrought. Much as that rubs against my grain, I am apparently drawn to women who push me.
Both are attractive and smart. They both read. They both want families.
Anna cares about art. Lucy doesn’t. Lucy tolerated sex. Anna loves it.
If we had met at another time, in another place, I might have been able to give Anna what she most wants to be happy.
Now, in this time and place, I can only offer what she needs to get by.
I reached for a condom and lube.
I parted her thighs slightly.
I entered her slowly. She was moist from her dreams.
I kept my body apart from hers, so as not to disturb her sleep.
Her breathing quickened. She turned her head.
“Unh,” she began, not opening her eyes. “Jefferson, wha . . what are you doing?”
“Shhh,” I kissed her lightly. “I’m making love to you. Go back to sleep, baby.”
She rubbed her face, eyes tight. “I can’t . . . I can’t sleep if you are fucking me.”
I stilled myself in her body. I cradled her neck in my arms.
I kissed her hair.
She slept, and dreamed.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
oral sex
fucking
Ben Lee
Hank Williams
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Balancing Acts
Mitzi and Emma pulled on underwear, jeans, bras and tops. I reached for a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt.
For the moment, we traded nudity for propriety.
We preferred to be dressed as Apollo’s orgy assembled.
It was already past ten, and we knew people would begin to arrive within the hour. We could leave Apollo to greet his guests. It was his responsibility to put people at ease and make introductions. It was his job to encourage his friends to initiate the party by retreating to the bedrooms.
That’s our agreement. He recruits and supervises his biweekly party of black and Latin couples. I provide the place and help to supervise.
Apollo and I both participate.
But for now, the girls and I had a little time to relax on the terrace. Mitzi craved a cigarette. I offered bourbons.
Emma sent us ahead, saying she would join us shortly; first, she wanted to chat a bit with Apollo.
It was the Friday before my birthday, just a couple of hours into my week of wall-to-wall sex. Already, Mitzi and Emma had gone from being strangers to sex partners to pals.
Along the way, Emma had dommed her first woman.
Not a bad start, I thought.
“Are you smarting?” I asked Mitzi as she took her drink.
“A little,” she said, exhaling smoke. She nodded towards Emma in the other room. “There’s no way that was the first beating she’s given.”
“She says it was,” I smiled, stealing a cigarette from her package.
“I dunno, Jefferson. She’s too good to be new to this.”
“Well then, she is a natural talent, either as a dom or as a liar.”
“Are you talking about me?” Emma said from the doorway.
I looked around. “You think you are the God damned center of the universe,” I chided, blowing smoke in her direction.
“I just know when I am the most interesting person in a room,” she replied. She nodded to Mitzi. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course,” Mitzi nodded back, with mannered courtesy.
I was more than happy to be the shared target of their barbs.
Yet Mitzi was not content to enjoy jokes at my expense. She had done that plenty of times in the past. She would have ample time for that in the future.
She now had new quarry.
Emma, now here in the flesh, could corroborate or dispute the veracity of my telling of the times I had been with her.
“So, Emma, how do you know Jefferson?”
Emma told her how I had met her “son” Carl at a male orgy at my place. That chance encounter had led Emma and I to correspond and then, to meet.
“Ah, yes, I believe Jefferson has told me that story,” Mitzi nodded, smiling. “And so the two of you got together.”
Emma nodded. Her gaze fell to the street below.
“That Jefferson can be pretty persuasive!” Mitzi laughed.
“Yes, it was like pulling teeth,” I interjected. I took another drag.
Mitzi knows she skates on thin ice with her interrogations. I don’t enjoy having my facts checked.
Still, as a writer, I am accustomed to the process of editorial inquiry. If I strive to be honest and transparent, then I open myself to scrutiny.
I can endure it—to a point.
“I gather you two have had some fun . . .” Mitzi began.
Emma smiled. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Did you really pick up boys for a bukkake party?” Mitzi asked.
“Hmm mmm. Well, Jefferson found the boys.”
“I dunno,” Mitzi said, flicking her ashes. “I always think I might like that, but then I chicken out. Were you into it?”
Emma looked at me. “Yeah, the boys were pretty hot. I was surprised they all came at once, though.”
“Yeah, me too,” I nodded. I took another drag, catching Mitzi’s eyes. “And hell yeah, the boys were fucking cute. What’s the point otherwise?”
“Yes, and not obnoxious, like Navy boy,” Emma said.
“I know,” I winced. “Sorry about that one. He was handsome, though.”
“Yeah, if you like obnoxious Navy boys.”
“I found his machismo rather amusing . . .,” I began.
“Wait, what is this story?” Mitzi sat forward.
“Well . . .,” I began.
“No, I was asking Emma,” Mitzi said, putting a hand on my knee.
I looked at Emma. She caught my eye. I took another drag.
My lips were sealed. It was her tale to tell.
Emma looked ahead. “Well, I think it started because I told Jefferson I like to be a tease. He claimed he wasn’t into that. ‘Cause he’s a liar!” Emma hit me on the foot.
“Be nice,” I admonished.
“Go on,” Mitzi said, stamping out her cigarette stub. She reached for another.
“So, anyway, Jefferson had this idea that he would watch me tease a boy. We would tie him to a chair, so he couldn’t do anything.”
“He was nude, of course,” I added. “We all were.”
“Wait, who’s ‘we all?,’” Mitzi asked, shaking her hand to extinguish a match.
“Well, the Navy guy and me, and Shelby and Jefferson,” Emma said.
“Wait, you met Shelby?” Mitzi said.
“Yes, she was there,” Emma said, looking at me.
Mitzi slapped my knee.
She sat back suddenly, and looked down at the street.
“Go on,” she said.
Emma kept my eye.
“This wasn’t the original plan, of course,” I began, “As Shelby is over the whole group sex thing . . .”
“I was asking Emma,” Mitzi said, her brown eyes glowering in my direction.
“Well,” Emma began a little carefully. She allowed her drawl to slow, so that she could weigh the impact of her words. “That’s true, I think she came early that night, and we started late.”
“There was an unintended overlap,” I nodded.
“Yeah,” Emma said. “Though she kinda jumped in.”
“Or she was pulled in,” I said. “She says I encouraged her when she was reticent. She had only planned to watch.”
“That sounds right,” Emma said.
“Watch what?” Mitzi asked.
“Oh, watch me tease the Navy guy, you know, tied to his chair.”
“But other things happened?” Mitzi asked.
“Sure!” Emma laughed. “I mean, the three of us fooled around.”
“And not the Navy guy?” Mitzi asked, puffing.
“No, we made him watch. No one wanted to touch him, really.”
Mitzi slapped my leg again, hard.
“Hey, watch it!” I said. “That fucking hurt.”
“Good!” Mitzi said. She tossed her hair and took a moment to compose herself. “Why don’t I already know this?”
Emma stared at the street below.
“Because it was a secret,” I taunted.
“Asshole,” Mitzi snarled, just over a whisper.
I shrugged. “Look, I just haven’t got around to telling you everything, okay? It’s no mystery I do these things. I just can’t always report them in a timely way—not that I am required to do so.”
“Look, Jefferson,” Mitzi began. “You know that isn’t the issue. I don’t care who you fuck. It’s just . . . “ Mitzi clenched her fists. “Urgh!”
I knew the issue. We’d certainly talked about it many times before.
Every relationship has its balancing acts.
All of my relationships are grounded in a basic understanding: I am bisexual and I have sex with other people—lots and lots of other people.
I am not ashamed to be the easiest lay in Manhattan.
For some, that is not acceptable. So it’s good they know upfront that I am not for them. I bid them farewell.
For some, that’s fine, but they don’t want the details. I spare the details.
For some, that’s not only fine, it’s hot as hell. They want in. I bring them in.
For some on the inside, God is in the details. They want to know everything, and they want to know it first. They don’t want to read about it in a blog or to hear about it through the grapevine.
Mitzi falls square in the final category. She wants to be there for the good stuff, and if she isn’t, she wants to hear all about it from me.
She gets miffed when that is not the case.
I know this. She knows this.
It wasn’t a fight we needed to have in front of Emma.
“Well, I feel rude,” I said, standing. I kissed Mitzi’s cheek. She turned away. “Let’s talk about this later. We should check on the progress of this orgy. Shall we?”
“Jefferson . . . ,” Mitzi began.
“Later, okay?”
“Fine, I’ll finish this cigarette and join you.” Mitzi avoided my eyes.
“Mind if I borrow one?” Emma asked.
“Of course,” Mitzi smiled. “Help yourself. Here, take Jefferson’s seat, next to me.” She turned to me. “Ta ta, Jefferson.”
Emma and Mitzi settled in for girl talk.
I hadn’t anticipated that maneuver.
Damn, that Emma was smart. Every bit as smart as Mitzi.
“See you inside,” I smiled.
I swear to God, I thought. Mitzi collects all the evidence.
She will be a goldmine to my future biographer.
Inside, the living room was dark, reduced to a few candles. Couples were paired up in low conversation. Usher was playing on the stereo, a little too loudly. I turned it down.
I strolled to the bedrooms.
One couple fucked as a dressed man watched, stroking his exposed cock.
The real action unfolded in the other bedroom.
A pile of bodies rubbed one another in various stages of undress. A few people stood, watching as a fully dressed woman went down on another woman, wearing only a t-shirt.
I leaned against a wall and watched for a while before feeling hands around my waist.
“Jefferson, I’m sorry,” Mitzi whispered in my ear.
“Shhh,” I rested my hand on hers. “You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry you had to hear that story from someone else.”
“Yeah, I hate that. I always want to know from you.”
“I know, and that’s fair.” I took her hand to my lips. “It’s just that, you know, there’s just so much to tell . . .”
She slapped my chest. “Don’t be an asshole.”
I turned. “I’m teasing, I know. I am sorry. It’s hard to stay ahead of things, you know.” I kissed her. “My bad.”
She kissed me. “I want to break up with you,” she whispered.
“You should,” I whispered back.
“Jefferson?”
“Yes, Mitzi?”
She looked over my shoulder. “Are there Nubian lesbians in that room?”
I looked back. “Hmm, I’m afraid so. It’s a big pile up.”
“Jefferson, I want to watch that with you.”
“It’s a good show,” I nodded. “But I want to check on Emma before we get too involved.”
“I just left her,” Mitzi said, looking back. “She’s fine.”
“ I know, but it’s her first party at my place. I want to be responsible.”
“Jefferson . . . ,” she began.
I kissed her. “And then we’ll come back for the Nubian lesbians, I promise.”
I took Mitzi’s hand and led her to the kitchen. We stopped at the door.
Emma was kissing a tall handsome man I had never seen before.
Her eyes were closed.
The man withdrew, spinning her in his large hands.
She complied with the guidance of his touch.
His hands roamed her torso, fixated on the prize breasts beneath her top. He lowered his face to touch them with his cheek.
“She’s fine,” Mitzi said, tugging my hand. “Let’s go.”
“Shh.” I put a finger to my lips.
Emma was deep inside her eyelids as the man lifted her shirt over her head.
He unclasped her bra effortlessly with one hand, allowing it to fall to the floor.
Emma lifted her neck slightly. He lowered his lips to her nipples.
Another woman entered the kitchen. Apparently indifferent to the necking couple, she walked to the counter and began to mix a drink.
Without looking up from Emma’s breasts, the man reached back and took the passing woman into his grip. She was unfazed, pouring as he fondled her thighs through her jeans.
“Well, hot damn,” I murmured. “I suppose Emma is doing just fine.”
“Evidently. So can we please see the Nubian lesbians?” Mitzi cooed, her cheek finding my shoulder. “Please?”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” I agreed. My eyes left Emma as the man unfastened her pants.
In the bedroom, we found things much as we left them. Only the positions had changed.
The clothed woman was kneeling on the floor, her mouth locked on pussy. Her hands held her quarry’s hips high in place. The woman in the t-shirt rested on her shoulders.
“Rested” is not the right word. She squirmed and moaned loudly as her cunt was expertly turned inside out and handed back to her as an origami swan.
I spotted a free space on the futon.
“Come here,” I whispered to Mitzi, tugging her hand. I undressed. Mitzi followed suit.
We were the only nude people in the room.
Funny thing about the Nubians. The sex is very hot, but generally only partly nude. The men, in particular, are quick to zip up once business is concluded.
I once watched a fellow fuck the shit out of his girlfriend. I was nude, resting between rounds.
Once he came, he pulled up his pants and glanced my way.
“You crazy, man,” he laughed. “Sitting there naked and shit.”
He had just torn a new hole in his girlfriend’s colon in a room full of people, and I was crazy for being nude.
Different strokes.
If I was going to watch a hot lesbian scene with Mitzi, of course I wanted us nude.
The clothed woman moved in for the kill, pushing down on as she devoured the woman in the t-shirt. She burrowed her on the floor against the bed frame.
I leaned forward and whispered to the hapless victim, “Do you want a pillow?”
She was out of her mind with ecstasy.
“Huh?” She never opened her eyes.
I gently slid my hand under her neck. I lifted.
“Here, baby.”
She lifted her head. I slid a pillow into place.
“Thank yo . . . uh!” she grunted.
“Of course.” I pecked her cheek.
I leaned next to Mitzi. “That is so sweet,” I whispered.
“That is so hot,” she replied. “They were doing this before we checked on Emma, and we’ve been back, like, twenty minutes. Does that woman breath?”
“Circular breathing, that’s the trick,” I whispered in response. “Good for playing brass and eating pussy. Speaking of, bend over that railing and let me fuck you.”
Mitzi nodded, almost absentmindedly as she watched. “Sure, Jefferson,” she said, her eyes on the carpet munching transpiring on my floor. She leaned forward and raised her ass to me.
I rolled a condom on my cock and pressed a palm into her lower back.
I guided myself into her familiar passage.
She pushed back into me as I dove in deep.
The feeling of myself inside Mitzi—this improved the view considerably.
Emma appeared at the door for a moment, wearing only her jeans. She peered into the darkness and spotted a section of unclaimed bed. Stepping over the lesbian limbs, she made her way to sit.
She was soon sucking Apollo and his cousin, Miller.
They both wore t-shirts. Miller wore his prescription sunglasses. He was blind in a room with candles, but he sure looked cool.
Across the room, a man had opened his trousers to allow his girlfriend to blow him.
He noticed the lovely brunette at the end of my cock, moaning as she took a slow pounding, her eyes on marathon pussy eating.
He pulled out from his girlfriend without a glance and made his way to Mitzi’s face.
He shoved his cock at her mouth.
She turned away.
He moved.
She turned.
“She’s not into it, friend,” I said, spelling out the obvious.
He stood for a moment, jerking as we fucked, then returned to his girlfriend’s mouth.
I slapped Mitzi’s ass. She turned to me and smiled.
I rolled my eyes. Some people, huh? I thought.
She nodded, then gave her eyes back to the lesbians.
I began to wish we were timing them. There must be a world record for eating pussy, and our girls must be pushing the envelope.
All those blowjobs among the spectators had me wanting one as well. I spanked Mitzi again, then pulled out.
I fell back on the pillows and tore off the condom.
Mitzi looked over at me.
She knew what I wanted.
But she also knew what she wanted.
She shook her head, teasing me, as she turned and lowered her pussy to my thigh.
She wanted to “high school” me.
Back when Mitzi was seventeen, she got off by rubbing her clit on her boyfriend’s thigh. It was safe and effective, and worked whether or not there were clothes involved.
She calls this “high schooling,” and it remains her failsafe.
As she rubbed one off on my leg, I toyed with her hair and smiled into her eyes.
Emma came over and sat near my shoulder.
We looked up and grinned at her. It was nice to check in with our solo voyager.
I pulled Emma’s face into a kiss.
My fingers pinched a nipple.
I could feel Mitzi ramp up her grinding as she watched.
I also felt a mouth on my cock.
I pulled back from Emma and looked down.
Consuela was blowing me.
I didn’t even know she had arrived. But here she was, naked, like us, and sucking my cock by way of greeting.
I grinned and took Emma’s breast into my mouth.
My evening began with a threesome with Emma and Mitzi. Now here I was with them and Consuela as well.
Happy birthday to me.
Mitzi came, nice and loud.
Emma was soon distracted by Miller, back for more on his blowjob.
I pet Mitzi, and looked at Consuela.
“Well, hi there,” I said.
“Oh,” she smiled, taking my cock from her mouth. “You noticed I was here.”
“Yes, you do know how to get a boy’s attention. How’ve you been, you?”
“Pretty good, busy with the holidays, but the usual.” She stroked my cock as we spoke.
Mitzi watched, grinding my thigh slowly.
“Yeah, I hear you,” I nodded. “Hey, you want to eat Mitzi while I fuck you?”
Mitzi suppressed a giggle.
Consuela looked at her. “Yeah, I’d like that. About damn time I got laid—this is the first time since the new year.”
“That’s two weeks,” I exclaimed, sitting up. Emma dropped her hand from my chest. “And that’s a crying shame.”
“Don’t I know it,” Consuela agreed.
I excused myself as I took my leg from Mitzi.
She lay back on my pillows.
Consuela moved forward to crouch over the pussy she was preparing to lick. She looked back as I took position behind her, opening a condom package.
“You been okay?” she asked.
“Me? Sure, I’m fine.” I rested one hand on her ass as the other guided my cock into her. I thrust gently in and back. “Life’s pretty good.”
“Ummm, that’s good,” she sighed. “Really good.” Consuela turned to focus her attentions on Mitzi’s clit.
I enjoyed my cock in her, the feel of her soft, dark flesh, the strength of her body.
Mitzi had her eyes on mine as I dug in on Consuela. I know that she likes it fast and hard, good and solid, big on delivery, spare the sentiment.
Miller and Emma watched as Mitzi groaned.
Consuela licks pussy as well as the next girl, especially when she is taking a sound fucking. I’m sure Mitzi enjoyed that.
But I knew she also got off watching me fuck Consuela.
Every relationship has its balancing acts.
Mitzi likes sharing hot sexual situations with me, even as she wrestles with the green-eyed monster when that means sharing me with others.
Earlier that night, she was uncomfortable watching me with Emma. She knows I see Emma one on one. She knows I like Emma. She couldn’t help but be jealous.
Now, she watched me fuck Consuela. It got her hot.
Of course, I like Consuela, and she likes me fine. But I don’t see her one on one. We check in with one another at parties and we fuck.
It’s social.
And that’s different.
Later that night, we came across Consuela treating a man to a lap dance. He was in his boxers, jerking under the waistband. When she tried to touch his cock, he brushed her off, saying he was “sensitive.” I suppose he was afraid of premature ejaculation.
“You look like you are having fun,” I said, kissing her as she wiggled her ass above his thighs.
“Hmm mmmm, very much.” She leaned forward to suck my cock.
I looked at Mitzi and shrugged. “Here we go.”
She grinned.
I tapped Consuela on the shoulder and twirled my finger in the air, suggesting she turn around.
She did so, pivoting her body at the hips, and lowering her tits to the man’s face.
I fingered her wet clit, slipping in a finger.
My thumb went to her asshole.
She took it with ease.
I put my fingers in deep, squeezing them together inside her.
No complaints from Consuela; she was content with my efforts either way.
Fine then, I thought, tearing open a condom. I guess I’ll fuck her ass.
I lubed her hole and my shaft. She opened her stance and raised her ass, still focused on the lap dance she gave to her sensitive man.
I stood on my toes, holding my head to her hole.
She lifted up into me.
I pressed down.
I passed her sphincter, shallow at first.
She pushed back.
I was in.
I’m a very considerate ass fucker. I’ve been fucked. I know it can be intense.
But Consuela pushed back on me like a prison bitch in heat.
She pounded her ass back on my cock like it was the last taste of heaven she would get before the brimstone.
I was still on my toes.
I grabbed her hips and pounded down, deep and hard.
She pushed back, as if to ask: that’s all you got?
I rammed deeper, harder.
I gritted my teeth.
I fucked that damned ass.
She wriggled. She moaned a bit.
I looked at Mitzi.
She likes to see my “mean fuck face,” as she puts it. She likes to watch me go all out.
“God damn . . . ,” I said.
“That’s hot, Jefferson.”
“Yeah, it is . . .” I began.
I grabbed hands full of flesh.
I pulled Consuela’s body to mine. My rhythm, my time. I fucked her tough and without remorse. I fucked her the way doms do when they mean to say: this ass is mine.
My eyesight narrowed to pinholes.
She pushed back, dancing on my cock. This ass is yours, her body told me. Is this the best you can do with it?
I fucked up a cold hard sweat, then pulled out.
I staggered back, then stepped forward to backhand her ass. Two times, hard.
I pulled off the condom and threw it at her feet.
She never looked back.
“Come on, Mitzi, let’s take a break,” I said, beaten by a strong-willed ass.
As we walked away, Mitzi admired my disdainful slaps at the end. “That was so hot, the way you swatted her,” she began.
“She barely noticed,” I said, wiping my neck. “I was fucking her ass, you know. She took like a hot knife in butter.”
“Were you really?” Mitzi tittered, slipping a hand in my arm. “I had no idea you were in her ass.”
“I’d like to think she noticed,” I replied.
We caught up with Emma.
“It’s so frustrating,” she said. “Here I am at my first sex party at your place, and on my period, so I can’t do anything.”
“Not do anything?” I teased. “I saw you giving, like, what? Five blowjobs? And I wasn’t always looking.”
She shrugged.
“That counts, Emma,” I said.
“Yeah, well, I only fucked Jefferson,” Mitzi commiserated. “So I guess we both had a slow night.”
“Yeah, and how many times did you cum tonight? Never mind our threesome earlier?”
Mitzi shrugged. “I dunno, twelve?”
I laughed. “Give me a slow night any time.”
I circulated with the other partygoers as things wound down.
I realized that the woman in the t-shirt, who took history’s longest pussy licking, was Chocolate. (Don’t blame me, it’s her self-chosen nom de partouse.) She is a Nubian regular; I was surprised I didn’t recognize her.
“Well, I have these new extensions,” she twirled her hair, smiling. That was all it took. I’d know that smile anywhere.
I smiled back. “That was some serious pussy licking you took, Chocolate.”
“Pretty serious, I guess so,” she laughed, prancing on her naked legs. She was like a filly at a hootenanny. “She was just, ummmm, so good.”
I always like talking with her.
She is a straight girl with a boyfriend, she tells me. She gets all the dick she wants at home.
She comes to this party to get some girls.
She’s a beauty. She always gets her girls.
Never any sign of the boyfriend.
I ran into Miller, loading up on bourbon at the bar.
“How’s it going, Miller? We didn’t have much of a chance to talk.”
“Yeah.” He took a deep gulp.
I paused.
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah,” he repeated. His eyes were ciphers behind his sunglasses.
“Well, good to see you, as always,” I said, patting his shoulder.
“Yeah, I got to get to work,” he said, swallowing another glass. It was like he was forcing back his medicine.
“What, at this hour? What do you do?”
He took another gulp. “Cab driver.”
“Well,” I winced into his shades. “Be careful out there.”
He raised his glass and downed another shot.
I met Apollo at the door.
“Nice party,” I said.
“Yeah, it was a good one,” he nodded. “You and Mitzi, you are looking good.”
“Oh, thanks,” I grinned.
“And damn, that girl Emily is the shit, man.”
“Emily?” I looked around. “Wow, did I meet her?”
Apollo laughed. “You were all up in that shit when I got here, man.”
“Oh, Emma!” I pointed a finger. “You need to learn the names of the girls you put your dick in, Apollo.”
“Yeah, Emma. So she has my four one one.”
“Hopefully she has your name right too, stud. Take care of Miller, okay?”
“Yeah, he’s my ride, we’re cool.”
“Great.”
Everyone was gone.
The cleaning could wait until tomorrow.
I gave Emma blankets and kissed her good night.
Mitzi changed the sheets on my bed.
It was after three as Emma fell asleep to the sound of Mitzi’s orgasms in the next room.
sex
sexblogs
bisexual
erotica
orgy
lesbian
threesome
oral sex
anal sex
jealousy
For the moment, we traded nudity for propriety.
We preferred to be dressed as Apollo’s orgy assembled.
It was already past ten, and we knew people would begin to arrive within the hour. We could leave Apollo to greet his guests. It was his responsibility to put people at ease and make introductions. It was his job to encourage his friends to initiate the party by retreating to the bedrooms.
That’s our agreement. He recruits and supervises his biweekly party of black and Latin couples. I provide the place and help to supervise.
Apollo and I both participate.
But for now, the girls and I had a little time to relax on the terrace. Mitzi craved a cigarette. I offered bourbons.
Emma sent us ahead, saying she would join us shortly; first, she wanted to chat a bit with Apollo.
It was the Friday before my birthday, just a couple of hours into my week of wall-to-wall sex. Already, Mitzi and Emma had gone from being strangers to sex partners to pals.
Along the way, Emma had dommed her first woman.
Not a bad start, I thought.
“Are you smarting?” I asked Mitzi as she took her drink.
“A little,” she said, exhaling smoke. She nodded towards Emma in the other room. “There’s no way that was the first beating she’s given.”
“She says it was,” I smiled, stealing a cigarette from her package.
“I dunno, Jefferson. She’s too good to be new to this.”
“Well then, she is a natural talent, either as a dom or as a liar.”
“Are you talking about me?” Emma said from the doorway.
I looked around. “You think you are the God damned center of the universe,” I chided, blowing smoke in her direction.
“I just know when I am the most interesting person in a room,” she replied. She nodded to Mitzi. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course,” Mitzi nodded back, with mannered courtesy.
I was more than happy to be the shared target of their barbs.
Yet Mitzi was not content to enjoy jokes at my expense. She had done that plenty of times in the past. She would have ample time for that in the future.
She now had new quarry.
Emma, now here in the flesh, could corroborate or dispute the veracity of my telling of the times I had been with her.
“So, Emma, how do you know Jefferson?”
Emma told her how I had met her “son” Carl at a male orgy at my place. That chance encounter had led Emma and I to correspond and then, to meet.
“Ah, yes, I believe Jefferson has told me that story,” Mitzi nodded, smiling. “And so the two of you got together.”
Emma nodded. Her gaze fell to the street below.
“That Jefferson can be pretty persuasive!” Mitzi laughed.
“Yes, it was like pulling teeth,” I interjected. I took another drag.
Mitzi knows she skates on thin ice with her interrogations. I don’t enjoy having my facts checked.
Still, as a writer, I am accustomed to the process of editorial inquiry. If I strive to be honest and transparent, then I open myself to scrutiny.
I can endure it—to a point.
“I gather you two have had some fun . . .” Mitzi began.
Emma smiled. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Did you really pick up boys for a bukkake party?” Mitzi asked.
“Hmm mmm. Well, Jefferson found the boys.”
“I dunno,” Mitzi said, flicking her ashes. “I always think I might like that, but then I chicken out. Were you into it?”
Emma looked at me. “Yeah, the boys were pretty hot. I was surprised they all came at once, though.”
“Yeah, me too,” I nodded. I took another drag, catching Mitzi’s eyes. “And hell yeah, the boys were fucking cute. What’s the point otherwise?”
“Yes, and not obnoxious, like Navy boy,” Emma said.
“I know,” I winced. “Sorry about that one. He was handsome, though.”
“Yeah, if you like obnoxious Navy boys.”
“I found his machismo rather amusing . . .,” I began.
“Wait, what is this story?” Mitzi sat forward.
“Well . . .,” I began.
“No, I was asking Emma,” Mitzi said, putting a hand on my knee.
I looked at Emma. She caught my eye. I took another drag.
My lips were sealed. It was her tale to tell.
Emma looked ahead. “Well, I think it started because I told Jefferson I like to be a tease. He claimed he wasn’t into that. ‘Cause he’s a liar!” Emma hit me on the foot.
“Be nice,” I admonished.
“Go on,” Mitzi said, stamping out her cigarette stub. She reached for another.
“So, anyway, Jefferson had this idea that he would watch me tease a boy. We would tie him to a chair, so he couldn’t do anything.”
“He was nude, of course,” I added. “We all were.”
“Wait, who’s ‘we all?,’” Mitzi asked, shaking her hand to extinguish a match.
“Well, the Navy guy and me, and Shelby and Jefferson,” Emma said.
“Wait, you met Shelby?” Mitzi said.
“Yes, she was there,” Emma said, looking at me.
Mitzi slapped my knee.
She sat back suddenly, and looked down at the street.
“Go on,” she said.
Emma kept my eye.
“This wasn’t the original plan, of course,” I began, “As Shelby is over the whole group sex thing . . .”
“I was asking Emma,” Mitzi said, her brown eyes glowering in my direction.
“Well,” Emma began a little carefully. She allowed her drawl to slow, so that she could weigh the impact of her words. “That’s true, I think she came early that night, and we started late.”
“There was an unintended overlap,” I nodded.
“Yeah,” Emma said. “Though she kinda jumped in.”
“Or she was pulled in,” I said. “She says I encouraged her when she was reticent. She had only planned to watch.”
“That sounds right,” Emma said.
“Watch what?” Mitzi asked.
“Oh, watch me tease the Navy guy, you know, tied to his chair.”
“But other things happened?” Mitzi asked.
“Sure!” Emma laughed. “I mean, the three of us fooled around.”
“And not the Navy guy?” Mitzi asked, puffing.
“No, we made him watch. No one wanted to touch him, really.”
Mitzi slapped my leg again, hard.
“Hey, watch it!” I said. “That fucking hurt.”
“Good!” Mitzi said. She tossed her hair and took a moment to compose herself. “Why don’t I already know this?”
Emma stared at the street below.
“Because it was a secret,” I taunted.
“Asshole,” Mitzi snarled, just over a whisper.
I shrugged. “Look, I just haven’t got around to telling you everything, okay? It’s no mystery I do these things. I just can’t always report them in a timely way—not that I am required to do so.”
“Look, Jefferson,” Mitzi began. “You know that isn’t the issue. I don’t care who you fuck. It’s just . . . “ Mitzi clenched her fists. “Urgh!”
I knew the issue. We’d certainly talked about it many times before.
Every relationship has its balancing acts.
All of my relationships are grounded in a basic understanding: I am bisexual and I have sex with other people—lots and lots of other people.
I am not ashamed to be the easiest lay in Manhattan.
For some, that is not acceptable. So it’s good they know upfront that I am not for them. I bid them farewell.
For some, that’s fine, but they don’t want the details. I spare the details.
For some, that’s not only fine, it’s hot as hell. They want in. I bring them in.
For some on the inside, God is in the details. They want to know everything, and they want to know it first. They don’t want to read about it in a blog or to hear about it through the grapevine.
Mitzi falls square in the final category. She wants to be there for the good stuff, and if she isn’t, she wants to hear all about it from me.
She gets miffed when that is not the case.
I know this. She knows this.
It wasn’t a fight we needed to have in front of Emma.
“Well, I feel rude,” I said, standing. I kissed Mitzi’s cheek. She turned away. “Let’s talk about this later. We should check on the progress of this orgy. Shall we?”
“Jefferson . . . ,” Mitzi began.
“Later, okay?”
“Fine, I’ll finish this cigarette and join you.” Mitzi avoided my eyes.
“Mind if I borrow one?” Emma asked.
“Of course,” Mitzi smiled. “Help yourself. Here, take Jefferson’s seat, next to me.” She turned to me. “Ta ta, Jefferson.”
Emma and Mitzi settled in for girl talk.
I hadn’t anticipated that maneuver.
Damn, that Emma was smart. Every bit as smart as Mitzi.
“See you inside,” I smiled.
I swear to God, I thought. Mitzi collects all the evidence.
She will be a goldmine to my future biographer.
Inside, the living room was dark, reduced to a few candles. Couples were paired up in low conversation. Usher was playing on the stereo, a little too loudly. I turned it down.
I strolled to the bedrooms.
One couple fucked as a dressed man watched, stroking his exposed cock.
The real action unfolded in the other bedroom.
A pile of bodies rubbed one another in various stages of undress. A few people stood, watching as a fully dressed woman went down on another woman, wearing only a t-shirt.
I leaned against a wall and watched for a while before feeling hands around my waist.
“Jefferson, I’m sorry,” Mitzi whispered in my ear.
“Shhh,” I rested my hand on hers. “You did nothing wrong. I’m sorry you had to hear that story from someone else.”
“Yeah, I hate that. I always want to know from you.”
“I know, and that’s fair.” I took her hand to my lips. “It’s just that, you know, there’s just so much to tell . . .”
She slapped my chest. “Don’t be an asshole.”
I turned. “I’m teasing, I know. I am sorry. It’s hard to stay ahead of things, you know.” I kissed her. “My bad.”
She kissed me. “I want to break up with you,” she whispered.
“You should,” I whispered back.
“Jefferson?”
“Yes, Mitzi?”
She looked over my shoulder. “Are there Nubian lesbians in that room?”
I looked back. “Hmm, I’m afraid so. It’s a big pile up.”
“Jefferson, I want to watch that with you.”
“It’s a good show,” I nodded. “But I want to check on Emma before we get too involved.”
“I just left her,” Mitzi said, looking back. “She’s fine.”
“ I know, but it’s her first party at my place. I want to be responsible.”
“Jefferson . . . ,” she began.
I kissed her. “And then we’ll come back for the Nubian lesbians, I promise.”
I took Mitzi’s hand and led her to the kitchen. We stopped at the door.
Emma was kissing a tall handsome man I had never seen before.
Her eyes were closed.
The man withdrew, spinning her in his large hands.
She complied with the guidance of his touch.
His hands roamed her torso, fixated on the prize breasts beneath her top. He lowered his face to touch them with his cheek.
“She’s fine,” Mitzi said, tugging my hand. “Let’s go.”
“Shh.” I put a finger to my lips.
Emma was deep inside her eyelids as the man lifted her shirt over her head.
He unclasped her bra effortlessly with one hand, allowing it to fall to the floor.
Emma lifted her neck slightly. He lowered his lips to her nipples.
Another woman entered the kitchen. Apparently indifferent to the necking couple, she walked to the counter and began to mix a drink.
Without looking up from Emma’s breasts, the man reached back and took the passing woman into his grip. She was unfazed, pouring as he fondled her thighs through her jeans.
“Well, hot damn,” I murmured. “I suppose Emma is doing just fine.”
“Evidently. So can we please see the Nubian lesbians?” Mitzi cooed, her cheek finding my shoulder. “Please?”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” I agreed. My eyes left Emma as the man unfastened her pants.
In the bedroom, we found things much as we left them. Only the positions had changed.
The clothed woman was kneeling on the floor, her mouth locked on pussy. Her hands held her quarry’s hips high in place. The woman in the t-shirt rested on her shoulders.
“Rested” is not the right word. She squirmed and moaned loudly as her cunt was expertly turned inside out and handed back to her as an origami swan.
I spotted a free space on the futon.
“Come here,” I whispered to Mitzi, tugging her hand. I undressed. Mitzi followed suit.
We were the only nude people in the room.
Funny thing about the Nubians. The sex is very hot, but generally only partly nude. The men, in particular, are quick to zip up once business is concluded.
I once watched a fellow fuck the shit out of his girlfriend. I was nude, resting between rounds.
Once he came, he pulled up his pants and glanced my way.
“You crazy, man,” he laughed. “Sitting there naked and shit.”
He had just torn a new hole in his girlfriend’s colon in a room full of people, and I was crazy for being nude.
Different strokes.
If I was going to watch a hot lesbian scene with Mitzi, of course I wanted us nude.
The clothed woman moved in for the kill, pushing down on as she devoured the woman in the t-shirt. She burrowed her on the floor against the bed frame.
I leaned forward and whispered to the hapless victim, “Do you want a pillow?”
She was out of her mind with ecstasy.
“Huh?” She never opened her eyes.
I gently slid my hand under her neck. I lifted.
“Here, baby.”
She lifted her head. I slid a pillow into place.
“Thank yo . . . uh!” she grunted.
“Of course.” I pecked her cheek.
I leaned next to Mitzi. “That is so sweet,” I whispered.
“That is so hot,” she replied. “They were doing this before we checked on Emma, and we’ve been back, like, twenty minutes. Does that woman breath?”
“Circular breathing, that’s the trick,” I whispered in response. “Good for playing brass and eating pussy. Speaking of, bend over that railing and let me fuck you.”
Mitzi nodded, almost absentmindedly as she watched. “Sure, Jefferson,” she said, her eyes on the carpet munching transpiring on my floor. She leaned forward and raised her ass to me.
I rolled a condom on my cock and pressed a palm into her lower back.
I guided myself into her familiar passage.
She pushed back into me as I dove in deep.
The feeling of myself inside Mitzi—this improved the view considerably.
Emma appeared at the door for a moment, wearing only her jeans. She peered into the darkness and spotted a section of unclaimed bed. Stepping over the lesbian limbs, she made her way to sit.
She was soon sucking Apollo and his cousin, Miller.
They both wore t-shirts. Miller wore his prescription sunglasses. He was blind in a room with candles, but he sure looked cool.
Across the room, a man had opened his trousers to allow his girlfriend to blow him.
He noticed the lovely brunette at the end of my cock, moaning as she took a slow pounding, her eyes on marathon pussy eating.
He pulled out from his girlfriend without a glance and made his way to Mitzi’s face.
He shoved his cock at her mouth.
She turned away.
He moved.
She turned.
“She’s not into it, friend,” I said, spelling out the obvious.
He stood for a moment, jerking as we fucked, then returned to his girlfriend’s mouth.
I slapped Mitzi’s ass. She turned to me and smiled.
I rolled my eyes. Some people, huh? I thought.
She nodded, then gave her eyes back to the lesbians.
I began to wish we were timing them. There must be a world record for eating pussy, and our girls must be pushing the envelope.
All those blowjobs among the spectators had me wanting one as well. I spanked Mitzi again, then pulled out.
I fell back on the pillows and tore off the condom.
Mitzi looked over at me.
She knew what I wanted.
But she also knew what she wanted.
She shook her head, teasing me, as she turned and lowered her pussy to my thigh.
She wanted to “high school” me.
Back when Mitzi was seventeen, she got off by rubbing her clit on her boyfriend’s thigh. It was safe and effective, and worked whether or not there were clothes involved.
She calls this “high schooling,” and it remains her failsafe.
As she rubbed one off on my leg, I toyed with her hair and smiled into her eyes.
Emma came over and sat near my shoulder.
We looked up and grinned at her. It was nice to check in with our solo voyager.
I pulled Emma’s face into a kiss.
My fingers pinched a nipple.
I could feel Mitzi ramp up her grinding as she watched.
I also felt a mouth on my cock.
I pulled back from Emma and looked down.
Consuela was blowing me.
I didn’t even know she had arrived. But here she was, naked, like us, and sucking my cock by way of greeting.
I grinned and took Emma’s breast into my mouth.
My evening began with a threesome with Emma and Mitzi. Now here I was with them and Consuela as well.
Happy birthday to me.
Mitzi came, nice and loud.
Emma was soon distracted by Miller, back for more on his blowjob.
I pet Mitzi, and looked at Consuela.
“Well, hi there,” I said.
“Oh,” she smiled, taking my cock from her mouth. “You noticed I was here.”
“Yes, you do know how to get a boy’s attention. How’ve you been, you?”
“Pretty good, busy with the holidays, but the usual.” She stroked my cock as we spoke.
Mitzi watched, grinding my thigh slowly.
“Yeah, I hear you,” I nodded. “Hey, you want to eat Mitzi while I fuck you?”
Mitzi suppressed a giggle.
Consuela looked at her. “Yeah, I’d like that. About damn time I got laid—this is the first time since the new year.”
“That’s two weeks,” I exclaimed, sitting up. Emma dropped her hand from my chest. “And that’s a crying shame.”
“Don’t I know it,” Consuela agreed.
I excused myself as I took my leg from Mitzi.
She lay back on my pillows.
Consuela moved forward to crouch over the pussy she was preparing to lick. She looked back as I took position behind her, opening a condom package.
“You been okay?” she asked.
“Me? Sure, I’m fine.” I rested one hand on her ass as the other guided my cock into her. I thrust gently in and back. “Life’s pretty good.”
“Ummm, that’s good,” she sighed. “Really good.” Consuela turned to focus her attentions on Mitzi’s clit.
I enjoyed my cock in her, the feel of her soft, dark flesh, the strength of her body.
Mitzi had her eyes on mine as I dug in on Consuela. I know that she likes it fast and hard, good and solid, big on delivery, spare the sentiment.
Miller and Emma watched as Mitzi groaned.
Consuela licks pussy as well as the next girl, especially when she is taking a sound fucking. I’m sure Mitzi enjoyed that.
But I knew she also got off watching me fuck Consuela.
Every relationship has its balancing acts.
Mitzi likes sharing hot sexual situations with me, even as she wrestles with the green-eyed monster when that means sharing me with others.
Earlier that night, she was uncomfortable watching me with Emma. She knows I see Emma one on one. She knows I like Emma. She couldn’t help but be jealous.
Now, she watched me fuck Consuela. It got her hot.
Of course, I like Consuela, and she likes me fine. But I don’t see her one on one. We check in with one another at parties and we fuck.
It’s social.
And that’s different.
Later that night, we came across Consuela treating a man to a lap dance. He was in his boxers, jerking under the waistband. When she tried to touch his cock, he brushed her off, saying he was “sensitive.” I suppose he was afraid of premature ejaculation.
“You look like you are having fun,” I said, kissing her as she wiggled her ass above his thighs.
“Hmm mmmm, very much.” She leaned forward to suck my cock.
I looked at Mitzi and shrugged. “Here we go.”
She grinned.
I tapped Consuela on the shoulder and twirled my finger in the air, suggesting she turn around.
She did so, pivoting her body at the hips, and lowering her tits to the man’s face.
I fingered her wet clit, slipping in a finger.
My thumb went to her asshole.
She took it with ease.
I put my fingers in deep, squeezing them together inside her.
No complaints from Consuela; she was content with my efforts either way.
Fine then, I thought, tearing open a condom. I guess I’ll fuck her ass.
I lubed her hole and my shaft. She opened her stance and raised her ass, still focused on the lap dance she gave to her sensitive man.
I stood on my toes, holding my head to her hole.
She lifted up into me.
I pressed down.
I passed her sphincter, shallow at first.
She pushed back.
I was in.
I’m a very considerate ass fucker. I’ve been fucked. I know it can be intense.
But Consuela pushed back on me like a prison bitch in heat.
She pounded her ass back on my cock like it was the last taste of heaven she would get before the brimstone.
I was still on my toes.
I grabbed her hips and pounded down, deep and hard.
She pushed back, as if to ask: that’s all you got?
I rammed deeper, harder.
I gritted my teeth.
I fucked that damned ass.
She wriggled. She moaned a bit.
I looked at Mitzi.
She likes to see my “mean fuck face,” as she puts it. She likes to watch me go all out.
“God damn . . . ,” I said.
“That’s hot, Jefferson.”
“Yeah, it is . . .” I began.
I grabbed hands full of flesh.
I pulled Consuela’s body to mine. My rhythm, my time. I fucked her tough and without remorse. I fucked her the way doms do when they mean to say: this ass is mine.
My eyesight narrowed to pinholes.
She pushed back, dancing on my cock. This ass is yours, her body told me. Is this the best you can do with it?
I fucked up a cold hard sweat, then pulled out.
I staggered back, then stepped forward to backhand her ass. Two times, hard.
I pulled off the condom and threw it at her feet.
She never looked back.
“Come on, Mitzi, let’s take a break,” I said, beaten by a strong-willed ass.
As we walked away, Mitzi admired my disdainful slaps at the end. “That was so hot, the way you swatted her,” she began.
“She barely noticed,” I said, wiping my neck. “I was fucking her ass, you know. She took like a hot knife in butter.”
“Were you really?” Mitzi tittered, slipping a hand in my arm. “I had no idea you were in her ass.”
“I’d like to think she noticed,” I replied.
We caught up with Emma.
“It’s so frustrating,” she said. “Here I am at my first sex party at your place, and on my period, so I can’t do anything.”
“Not do anything?” I teased. “I saw you giving, like, what? Five blowjobs? And I wasn’t always looking.”
She shrugged.
“That counts, Emma,” I said.
“Yeah, well, I only fucked Jefferson,” Mitzi commiserated. “So I guess we both had a slow night.”
“Yeah, and how many times did you cum tonight? Never mind our threesome earlier?”
Mitzi shrugged. “I dunno, twelve?”
I laughed. “Give me a slow night any time.”
I circulated with the other partygoers as things wound down.
I realized that the woman in the t-shirt, who took history’s longest pussy licking, was Chocolate. (Don’t blame me, it’s her self-chosen nom de partouse.) She is a Nubian regular; I was surprised I didn’t recognize her.
“Well, I have these new extensions,” she twirled her hair, smiling. That was all it took. I’d know that smile anywhere.
I smiled back. “That was some serious pussy licking you took, Chocolate.”
“Pretty serious, I guess so,” she laughed, prancing on her naked legs. She was like a filly at a hootenanny. “She was just, ummmm, so good.”
I always like talking with her.
She is a straight girl with a boyfriend, she tells me. She gets all the dick she wants at home.
She comes to this party to get some girls.
She’s a beauty. She always gets her girls.
Never any sign of the boyfriend.
I ran into Miller, loading up on bourbon at the bar.
“How’s it going, Miller? We didn’t have much of a chance to talk.”
“Yeah.” He took a deep gulp.
I paused.
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah,” he repeated. His eyes were ciphers behind his sunglasses.
“Well, good to see you, as always,” I said, patting his shoulder.
“Yeah, I got to get to work,” he said, swallowing another glass. It was like he was forcing back his medicine.
“What, at this hour? What do you do?”
He took another gulp. “Cab driver.”
“Well,” I winced into his shades. “Be careful out there.”
He raised his glass and downed another shot.
I met Apollo at the door.
“Nice party,” I said.
“Yeah, it was a good one,” he nodded. “You and Mitzi, you are looking good.”
“Oh, thanks,” I grinned.
“And damn, that girl Emily is the shit, man.”
“Emily?” I looked around. “Wow, did I meet her?”
Apollo laughed. “You were all up in that shit when I got here, man.”
“Oh, Emma!” I pointed a finger. “You need to learn the names of the girls you put your dick in, Apollo.”
“Yeah, Emma. So she has my four one one.”
“Hopefully she has your name right too, stud. Take care of Miller, okay?”
“Yeah, he’s my ride, we’re cool.”
“Great.”
Everyone was gone.
The cleaning could wait until tomorrow.
I gave Emma blankets and kissed her good night.
Mitzi changed the sheets on my bed.
It was after three as Emma fell asleep to the sound of Mitzi’s orgasms in the next room.
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Monday, March 13, 2006
. . . Go
Mitzi and Emma sat on the couch.
I sat in a nearby chair, my feet in Mitzi's lap.
We exchanged pleasantries over drinks.
Emma was funny, finding a punch line to every thread of conversation.
I was laughing.
As I traded joke with Emma, my eyes were on Mitzi's.
She laughed at all the right places, but she was clearly wrestling with trepidations.
Mitzi was curious to meet Emma. She wanted to uncover the mystery of my secret boyfriend.
Now she was seated between the two of us. She could see that Emma was attractive, charming and funny. I laughed at all her jokes. I clearly liked her.
I know Mitzi's mind.
What's not to like about this girl, she was thinking.
Mitzi had to worry: would her boyfriend's secret boyfriend become his new girlfriend?
I wanted to set her mind at ease.
I wanted her to relax.
After all, Emma was here as much for her as for me.
"Well," I said, glancing at the clock. "We have about an hour and a half before the orgy begins. I think we need to get Mitzi naked."
Over Mitzi's shoulder, Emma nodded enthusiastically.
"I'm not sure," Mitzi hedged, looking back at Emma. "Would it be okay if I just, you know . . . watched the two of you first?"
I looked at Emma.
"I have no problem with that," I said.
"Oh, me either," Emma smiled.
“Let’s move to the bedroom then, shall we?” I suggested, standing.
Mitzi may have noticed how confidently Emma led the way.
I followed, holding Mitzi’s hand.
“I’m scared, Jefferson,” she whispered.
“I’ll take care of you,” I replied, squeezing lightly.
Emma stood beside her bed, as she had on the night we met . . .
“Mitzi, why don’t you take a seat by the window?” I offered, “While I unwrap Emma.”
Mitzi sat, her eyes on mine.
I smiled at her, then took my eyes away.
I turned to face Emma.
Our blue eyes.
I kissed her gently, languishing in the texture of her lips against mine.
My hands held her hair, so soft and fine.
I could feel Mitzi’s eyes calling to me, wishing for me to look back at her, to reassure her.
But not yet.
I pulled back and began to tug at Emma’s shirt.
She raised her arms. “You think you can handle the bra strap, Jefferson, or do you need me to do it?”
“I really think I need the experience, Emma,” I said, pulling her shirt free. I tossed it aside. “But thank you for the offer.”
“Anytime,” she said, dropping her arms to her side.
I reached around her.
I stuck my tongue in my cheek.
“Okay, now let me see,” I said, my fingers fumbling with the clasps. “Okay, there’s one . . “
“You are pathetic,” she teased.
“No, wait, that’s two . . .”
“Do you need me to . . . “
“Ha! Three! I did it!”
“Yeah, Jefferson, you’ve got mad skills.”
I pulled her bra forward and away from her body. It joined her shirt on the floor.
I cupped her large breasts in my hands. I hefted each in turn.
“You know, if I were a tit man, I’d really admire these,” I said.
“If you were any kind of man at all, you would know my tits are awesome,” she retorted.
My lips were too busy on a nipple to sustain our repartee.
My tongue traced the soft flesh of her belly. I fought the impulse to move quickly, as my ardor was building.
We were, after all, putting on a show for a private audience.
I dropped to my knees. I licked the seam of her jeans.
I made a note to spend some time on her jeans at some point. I recalled a girlfriend in high school who only gradually, after months of foreplay, allowed me to removed her jeans to lick her pussy.
All those months, I had licked and chewed her jeans until she came.
The night she relented, I unzipped her with my teeth.
No time for that on this night, however. The orgy was due to begin soon.
I took the waistband in my fingers. I raised my eyes to Emma’s as I kneeled before her.
Her face was still, but I knew she was thinking of our secret.
Only we knew that she was dominating me behind closed doors.
I unfastened her jeans.
I lowered them to her thighs, then tugged them town to her feet.
I held her hand to steady her as she stepped out of her pants.
I pushed them to the side.
I bent to kiss her calves, kissing my way to her thighs.
Gentle butterflies for a pretty girl.
I arrived to her panties, small and dark black against her pale skin.
I tongued her crotch.
“I wish I didn’t have my period,” she said, her fingers in my hair. “Because I would love to fuck your face, little girl.”
Careful, I thought to her. Don’t let that slip.
I stood. “Let’s leave the panties on, then.”
I kissed her again, once more long, once more languid.
Two brown eyes silently calling my name.
Not yet.
Kissing Emma, I pulled at my shirt.
I released her lips long enough to take the shirt over my head.
I tossed it aside and returned to her lips hungry, as if we’d been denied to one another for an age.
I pulled at my pajama bottoms.
They fell to the floor.
I kicked them aside.
I pressed my cock hard into her as I grabbed her up in my arms.
My hands pressed her to me.
Closer, God damn it, Emma, my mind screamed to hers. I fucking want you close to me.
I’m scared, Jefferson, the brown eyes pleaded.
Not yet.
“Let’s move to the bed, Emma,” I whispered into her mouth.
“Okay,” she whispered into mine.
I lingered, unable to give up her kiss.
“Jefferson . . . “
“Just . . . wait, okay?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” she smiled, taking in my kiss.
My forearms pressed into her back.
It was frustrating how far away she seemed.
The only way to get her closer was to be on top of her.
I stepped back one long step.
“Okay, get on the bed, please.” I pointed to her target, irritated, impatient.
“Finally,” she sighed. The bed was a step away.
She took her sweet time covering that distance in a slow sashay.
You are fucking playing with fire, Emma, I thought to her.
Now, please, the brown eyes begged.
Not yet.
Please!
No.
I gently lowered my body onto Emma.
I stroked the blonde strands away from her face.
I smiled into her eyes.
I ran a finger across her full, pink lips. My lips followed the path of my finger.
My hips pressed into hers.
My cock moved against her labia, pressing cotton into her body.
We were so at ease with one another, our rapport, our touches, our feel, the way we could, to put it plainly, make love.
Now.
I turned to the brown eyes.
Mitzi was sunk into her chair.
I’ve seen a picture of her as a young girl.
She was sitting on a very large chair in her parent’s home. She was holding a thick blue blanket, sucking her thumb.
I saw an adorable dark-haired cherub.
“Look,” she had said. “I have the proof: I was an ugly baby.”
“That is not an ugly baby,” I said, surprised by her sudden sadness.
“Are you kidding? Look at those thick brows, those fat cheeks.”
“How old are you in this picture, Mitzi? Three?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “Too young to get my eyebrows threaded.”
“Your mama sure did a number on you,” I said, handing back the photo.
“Yep, she sure did.”
As I lay across the warm voluptuousness of pretty Emma, I looked to the chair and saw that scared little girl, ugly, alone, frightened.
Now, brown eyes.
Now.
I rolled over, and with surprising grace-for one never knows how these things will go-I landed in a crouch at Mitzi’s feet.
I rested a hand on her knee. I put my chin on my hand.
I smiled.
“No, Jefferson.” She shook her head. “No.”
I nodded. “Yes, Mitzi. Yes.”
I had driven to the very limits of her insecurities, her jealousy, her self doubt.
It was cruel, intentionally so.
Now, I had to drive her back.
Once she learns that path, she can walk it on her own.
I stood and took her hand.
I raised her into my kiss.
I ran my fingers through her thick black locks, that gorgeous tangle that frames her soulful face.
I took her velvety cheek in my palm.
I inhaled deeply, absorbing the rich vanilla of her skin, bringing her into my body.
Keeping her there.
Blue eyes watched us, taking notes.
My hand caressed her body through her clothes.
“I want these off,” I said.
“Yes, Jefferson.” Mitzi smiled a little.
“I want them off now, Mitzi.” I let a hint of sternness enter my voice.
“Yes, Jefferson.” She pulled her arms into her sleeves.
“All of it, now.” My voice was rising.
“Yes, Jefferson.” She moved more rapidly.
“I’m losing interest,” I said sharply. “I can easily return to Emma.”
“I’m hurrying, Jefferson . . . “ She trembled as she unfastened her jeans.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered.
Mitzi lowered her pants and hurried kicked aside the jeans.
She stood.
I put my hands on my hips.
She wriggled free of her panties, dropping them with her pants.
She stood again.
I smiled.
“Fuck, finally,” I scowled. “A man could grow a long beard waiting. Now, get on the bed, ass high.”
Mitzi suppressed a giggle. “Yes, Jefferson.”
Emma slide aside to make room.
“Actually, Emma,” I said, my voice now dripping with honey. “You should stand up and join me at the foot of the bed.”
“Oh, okay.”
She sat up, then stood beside me.
“This,” I said, my palms firm on Mitzi’s hips. “This is Mitzi’s ass.”
“So I see,” Emma grinned.
“Mitzi’s ass, this is Emma.”
“Pleased to meet you, Emma,” Mitzi squeaked.
“Now, we are going to beat Mitzi’s ass. But first, I need to give you a little tutorial. Remember what we learned in beat up class, Mitzi?”
“I sure do.”
“’Beat up class?’” Emma asked.
“Yes, ‘beat up class.’ That’s what Mitzi calls the session on BDSM we took at Babeland University. They called it ‘SM 101.’”
“Actually, ‘SM 201,’ Jefferson,” Mitzi corrected. “We got advanced placement.”
“Shut your fucking face!” I slapped her ass. “Shoot your mouth off and I’ll show you what that hole is for.”
Mitzi wriggled. “Yes, Jefferson.”
I spanked her again. “Don’t you fucking interrupt me.” Another slap.
Mitzi pulled her shoulders close. “Yes, Jefferson.”
“Good.” I rubbed her ass.
It was warming.
“Now, as I was saying,” I turned to Emma, again talking sweetly. “Here’s what you need to remember about Mitzi’s ass. Here, on her buttocks, is a fine place to spank. Go ahead, give her a spank.”
Emma raised a hand and landed it with a firm slap.
“Nice,” I nodded. “Again.”
Another slap.
“Unh,” Mitzi groaned.
I had to watch that response-I had more to say before we sent Mitzi off into the La La Land of subspace.
“Okay, Emma, very good. Now, here, just above Mitzi’s ass, is forbidden territory. You can’t strike here, as you might damage vital organs.”
“Oh, okay.” Emma’s brow was furrowed as she studied.
“Now, up here, on Mitzi’s shoulders, that’s a good strike zone. Nothing too hard up here, no strong blows, as it can hurt, but some well-placed whacks can really accentuate the main thrust of your beating.”
“Okay, that’s good to know.”
“All right. Now, before, when we spanked her, we went in hard and fast. That’s really not the best way to do it. Instead, you should tenderize the flesh. Give her light slaps, in quick succession. This brings the blood to the surface, which helps to spread the sensation and prevent undue bruises.”
“Hmm, maybe I should take notes.”
“No, Emma, that’s enough to get you started. Why don’t you tenderize Mitzi while I retrieve the arsenal.”
“What are you going to use, Jefferson?” Mitzi asked, raising up a bit.
I put my face in hers. “You fucking shut the fuck up, you God damned fuck hole!”
She pulled back, a little shocked. She breathed a moment and calmed.
“Yes, Jefferson.”
“You hear me?”
“Yes, Jefferson.”
I had done a fine job of putting her down. I needed to keep her down for the beating.
“Now, Emma,” I said, practically singing her name. “We’re going to use two implements. Here, this is a light whip, good for starting things up.” I lay it on the bed, handle toward Emma. I lifted another item.
“And this monster is a braided cat o’ nine tails.”
“You really hit her with that?”
“Yes Emma, I really do. Keep spanking, please.”
“Oh, right.” Emma returned to slapping Mitzi’s ass.
“Great work. You okay, Mitzi?”
“Yes, Jefferson.”
“Good. Then lets take this up a notch. Excuse me, Emma, let me take your place.” Emma moved aside. I stood perpendicular to Mitzi’s ass in a batter’s stance. “See how my feet are positioned? A good posture helps to deliver a firm blow. Like this.”
The slap echoed off the walls.
“Unh!”
Another.
“Unh!”
We could move faster now.
“Got that, Emma?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good. You try it.”
Emma stood in place, and looked down at her feet. She adjusted her stance.
“Good, Emma.”
She raised her arm high, as I had done.
“Good.”
She lowered it fast, delivering a strong wallop.
“Unh!”
“Good! Again.”
“Unh!”
This time, Emma got an echo.
“Excellent work, Emma, good listening. Now, step aside. I’m going to use the whip. And as I do so, I’ll be going faster and talking less. I want to focus on Mitzi’s ass. So watch closely.”
“Okay, Jefferson.” Emma stood aside.
I stood in place. Emma peered over my elbow at my target.
I looked back at her. “Honey, I need more room than that.”
“Oh, sorry.” She stepped back.
“Thanks.”
I picked up the small whip. I rubbed Mitzi’s back with my hands, warming her to my touch.
I caressed her ass as the whip lightly thrashed her back.
The whip chased my hand around her back, across her ass, to her shoulders. I make surprise forays to her forearm.
Mitzi breathed deeply.
I stood back, assuming my batter’s stance. I raised the whip high.
I looked at Emma. Her eyes met mine. I nodded.
Down came the whip.
“Unh!”
Three times more, one blow after another.
“Unh!”
I flourished the whip in the air, whooshing it back to her ass.
“Unh!”
Again, this time to the left.
“Unh!”
The right.
“Unh!”
I brought the whipping to a crescendo and then, without warning, stopped.
Mitzi shuddered.
I dropped the whip to the bed.
My hands caressed Mitzi’s ass.
I held her back, lowering my cheek to her shoulders.
“You okay, baby?”
I listened to her breathing. “Yes, Jefferson.”
“Good baby.”
I stood up.
“You need to check in regularly,” I said quietly to Emma.
“Okay.”
“It’s all about trust,” I said, picking up the cat o’ nine tails.
“Yes, I can see that.”
I lightly traced the cat along Mitzi’s back, again using my hand to guide the sensation.
I dropped the braids heavily onto her skin, allowing her to learn the feel of their knotty leather.
“I will only give a few strokes with this,” I said.
“Yes, Jefferson,” Mitzi breathed.
I took the stance. I raised my arm.
I looked at Emma. Her eyes were on mine.
I nodded.
The cat landed. Mitzi fell forward with a groan.
I touched her hips.
She breathed and returned to position.
The cat landed again. She stayed in place.
I waited as the sting subsided, as the blood rushed to her skin.
Then again. Again.
More blows followed, sure and steady.
And then I stopped.
I dropped the cat.
I caressed and kissed Mitzi's body.
I murmured soothing words.
I listened to her breathing calm.
The room was quiet.
I stood.
“Mitzi.”
“Yes, Jefferson?”
I looked at Emma. “I want the pretty girl to beat you.”
Emma nodded.
Mitzi adjusted her hips, as if they were making the decision for her.
She began to breath heavily. “Yes, Jefferson.”
“Good girl” I patted Mitzi’s ass.
“Nothing fancy,” I said to Emma quietly. “Just focus on Mitzi and her ass.”
I sat at the head of the bed. I leaned forward and kissed Mitzi’s hair. I stretched my legs along the sides of her body.
“I’ll be supervising from here,” I said to Emma. I took a fistful of Mitzi’s hair and yanked, raising her head. She gasped. “I’ll be watching as Mitzi sucks my cock.”
Mitzi’s surprise gave way to a smile
“Yes . . . Jefferson.”
I smiled at her. Such a pretty face she has. Especially now, radiant in her bliss.
I smiled as I shoved my cock in her mouth.
I was already aroused, yet my cock grew still larger on her tongue.
Her nostrils flared.
I nodded to Emma.
Emma's face was serious and focused as she took up the whip. She rubbed her hands on Mitzi's ass, getting intimate with her new subject.
I heard the first blow sound. Mitzi jumped forward, taking me deep.
"Nice," I said. "Again."
Emma delivered another blow. Mitzi opened her lips to breath around my cock.
I took another fistful of her hair.
"Let it go, let it go," I whispered. I looked up. "Now, Emma."
"Now" was just a word, just something to connect us all to the moment.
It was the last word I would utter for a while.
Emma drew deep into concentration, her vision constricted to the power of her hands and the responses of Mitzi's ass.
Mitzi's brown eyes were closed, as she fell inward, surrendering to the blows and the stimulation in her mouth.
I was drawn into pleasure rushing from my cock to my skull.
Mitzi had sucked my cock for nearly a year by this time, and she always had a fine blowjob. Lately, though, her throat has relaxed more, opening to me.
That night, I was deeper than ever, my head registering the ridges of her esophagus.
The three of us had slipped into a place where we were each connected to the other, yet each absorbed in our own bodies and minds.
We stayed there as long as we could.
We began to slip away as Mitzi's ass reached it's limits.
Emma put down her weapons and caressed the flesh she had reddened.
She slipped her fingers to feel Mitzi's wetness.
Mitzi opned her eyes, sighing into my cock.
I pet her hair, welcoming her back.
Emma was watching me fuck Mitzi, our lips tight on on another, when we heard a shout from the door.
"Yo, Jefferson, you back there?," Apollo called.
"Yeah, we're in the bedroom," I replied.
Apollo smiled as he stood in the door. "Course you are, man, you are all up in it."
On orgy nights, I leave the door open for Apollo. I'm usually involved in some pre-game activity.
"Hi, Apollo," Mitzi cooed. "So nice to see you."
"Nice to see you too," he replied, leaning in to kiss the woman I was fucking. He patted my back. "You doing well, Jefferson?"
"As well as can be expected," I allowed. "Apollo, this is Emma. Emma, Apollo organizes the Nubian parties, and tonight is a Nubian party."
Emma sat up and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Apollo. I've only heard good things."
"Yeah, well, I hope it's all good." He took her hand and kissed her cheek. His hand dropped to feel her hips. "So Jefferson, I'm going to set up for the party. Anything need doing?"
"I already have the candles and such out," I replied, still pushing my cock in and out of Mitzi. "But you may want to check on ice, and get the music going."
"Yeah, I burned some new CDs. Okay, let me get that going." He looked back at the door. "Y'all stay busy."
We laughed.
Emma's eyes followed Apollo to the door, taking in his athletic build.
She looked at us as he left.
"You know," she said, "Maybe I will stay for the party."
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I sat in a nearby chair, my feet in Mitzi's lap.
We exchanged pleasantries over drinks.
Emma was funny, finding a punch line to every thread of conversation.
I was laughing.
As I traded joke with Emma, my eyes were on Mitzi's.
She laughed at all the right places, but she was clearly wrestling with trepidations.
Mitzi was curious to meet Emma. She wanted to uncover the mystery of my secret boyfriend.
Now she was seated between the two of us. She could see that Emma was attractive, charming and funny. I laughed at all her jokes. I clearly liked her.
I know Mitzi's mind.
What's not to like about this girl, she was thinking.
Mitzi had to worry: would her boyfriend's secret boyfriend become his new girlfriend?
I wanted to set her mind at ease.
I wanted her to relax.
After all, Emma was here as much for her as for me.
"Well," I said, glancing at the clock. "We have about an hour and a half before the orgy begins. I think we need to get Mitzi naked."
Over Mitzi's shoulder, Emma nodded enthusiastically.
"I'm not sure," Mitzi hedged, looking back at Emma. "Would it be okay if I just, you know . . . watched the two of you first?"
I looked at Emma.
"I have no problem with that," I said.
"Oh, me either," Emma smiled.
“Let’s move to the bedroom then, shall we?” I suggested, standing.
Mitzi may have noticed how confidently Emma led the way.
I followed, holding Mitzi’s hand.
“I’m scared, Jefferson,” she whispered.
“I’ll take care of you,” I replied, squeezing lightly.
Emma stood beside her bed, as she had on the night we met . . .
“Mitzi, why don’t you take a seat by the window?” I offered, “While I unwrap Emma.”
Mitzi sat, her eyes on mine.
I smiled at her, then took my eyes away.
I turned to face Emma.
Our blue eyes.
I kissed her gently, languishing in the texture of her lips against mine.
My hands held her hair, so soft and fine.
I could feel Mitzi’s eyes calling to me, wishing for me to look back at her, to reassure her.
But not yet.
I pulled back and began to tug at Emma’s shirt.
She raised her arms. “You think you can handle the bra strap, Jefferson, or do you need me to do it?”
“I really think I need the experience, Emma,” I said, pulling her shirt free. I tossed it aside. “But thank you for the offer.”
“Anytime,” she said, dropping her arms to her side.
I reached around her.
I stuck my tongue in my cheek.
“Okay, now let me see,” I said, my fingers fumbling with the clasps. “Okay, there’s one . . “
“You are pathetic,” she teased.
“No, wait, that’s two . . .”
“Do you need me to . . . “
“Ha! Three! I did it!”
“Yeah, Jefferson, you’ve got mad skills.”
I pulled her bra forward and away from her body. It joined her shirt on the floor.
I cupped her large breasts in my hands. I hefted each in turn.
“You know, if I were a tit man, I’d really admire these,” I said.
“If you were any kind of man at all, you would know my tits are awesome,” she retorted.
My lips were too busy on a nipple to sustain our repartee.
My tongue traced the soft flesh of her belly. I fought the impulse to move quickly, as my ardor was building.
We were, after all, putting on a show for a private audience.
I dropped to my knees. I licked the seam of her jeans.
I made a note to spend some time on her jeans at some point. I recalled a girlfriend in high school who only gradually, after months of foreplay, allowed me to removed her jeans to lick her pussy.
All those months, I had licked and chewed her jeans until she came.
The night she relented, I unzipped her with my teeth.
No time for that on this night, however. The orgy was due to begin soon.
I took the waistband in my fingers. I raised my eyes to Emma’s as I kneeled before her.
Her face was still, but I knew she was thinking of our secret.
Only we knew that she was dominating me behind closed doors.
I unfastened her jeans.
I lowered them to her thighs, then tugged them town to her feet.
I held her hand to steady her as she stepped out of her pants.
I pushed them to the side.
I bent to kiss her calves, kissing my way to her thighs.
Gentle butterflies for a pretty girl.
I arrived to her panties, small and dark black against her pale skin.
I tongued her crotch.
“I wish I didn’t have my period,” she said, her fingers in my hair. “Because I would love to fuck your face, little girl.”
Careful, I thought to her. Don’t let that slip.
I stood. “Let’s leave the panties on, then.”
I kissed her again, once more long, once more languid.
Two brown eyes silently calling my name.
Not yet.
Kissing Emma, I pulled at my shirt.
I released her lips long enough to take the shirt over my head.
I tossed it aside and returned to her lips hungry, as if we’d been denied to one another for an age.
I pulled at my pajama bottoms.
They fell to the floor.
I kicked them aside.
I pressed my cock hard into her as I grabbed her up in my arms.
My hands pressed her to me.
Closer, God damn it, Emma, my mind screamed to hers. I fucking want you close to me.
I’m scared, Jefferson, the brown eyes pleaded.
Not yet.
“Let’s move to the bed, Emma,” I whispered into her mouth.
“Okay,” she whispered into mine.
I lingered, unable to give up her kiss.
“Jefferson . . . “
“Just . . . wait, okay?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” she smiled, taking in my kiss.
My forearms pressed into her back.
It was frustrating how far away she seemed.
The only way to get her closer was to be on top of her.
I stepped back one long step.
“Okay, get on the bed, please.” I pointed to her target, irritated, impatient.
“Finally,” she sighed. The bed was a step away.
She took her sweet time covering that distance in a slow sashay.
You are fucking playing with fire, Emma, I thought to her.
Now, please, the brown eyes begged.
Not yet.
Please!
No.
I gently lowered my body onto Emma.
I stroked the blonde strands away from her face.
I smiled into her eyes.
I ran a finger across her full, pink lips. My lips followed the path of my finger.
My hips pressed into hers.
My cock moved against her labia, pressing cotton into her body.
We were so at ease with one another, our rapport, our touches, our feel, the way we could, to put it plainly, make love.
Now.
I turned to the brown eyes.
Mitzi was sunk into her chair.
I’ve seen a picture of her as a young girl.
She was sitting on a very large chair in her parent’s home. She was holding a thick blue blanket, sucking her thumb.
I saw an adorable dark-haired cherub.
“Look,” she had said. “I have the proof: I was an ugly baby.”
“That is not an ugly baby,” I said, surprised by her sudden sadness.
“Are you kidding? Look at those thick brows, those fat cheeks.”
“How old are you in this picture, Mitzi? Three?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “Too young to get my eyebrows threaded.”
“Your mama sure did a number on you,” I said, handing back the photo.
“Yep, she sure did.”
As I lay across the warm voluptuousness of pretty Emma, I looked to the chair and saw that scared little girl, ugly, alone, frightened.
Now, brown eyes.
Now.
I rolled over, and with surprising grace-for one never knows how these things will go-I landed in a crouch at Mitzi’s feet.
I rested a hand on her knee. I put my chin on my hand.
I smiled.
“No, Jefferson.” She shook her head. “No.”
I nodded. “Yes, Mitzi. Yes.”
I had driven to the very limits of her insecurities, her jealousy, her self doubt.
It was cruel, intentionally so.
Now, I had to drive her back.
Once she learns that path, she can walk it on her own.
I stood and took her hand.
I raised her into my kiss.
I ran my fingers through her thick black locks, that gorgeous tangle that frames her soulful face.
I took her velvety cheek in my palm.
I inhaled deeply, absorbing the rich vanilla of her skin, bringing her into my body.
Keeping her there.
Blue eyes watched us, taking notes.
My hand caressed her body through her clothes.
“I want these off,” I said.
“Yes, Jefferson.” Mitzi smiled a little.
“I want them off now, Mitzi.” I let a hint of sternness enter my voice.
“Yes, Jefferson.” She pulled her arms into her sleeves.
“All of it, now.” My voice was rising.
“Yes, Jefferson.” She moved more rapidly.
“I’m losing interest,” I said sharply. “I can easily return to Emma.”
“I’m hurrying, Jefferson . . . “ She trembled as she unfastened her jeans.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered.
Mitzi lowered her pants and hurried kicked aside the jeans.
She stood.
I put my hands on my hips.
She wriggled free of her panties, dropping them with her pants.
She stood again.
I smiled.
“Fuck, finally,” I scowled. “A man could grow a long beard waiting. Now, get on the bed, ass high.”
Mitzi suppressed a giggle. “Yes, Jefferson.”
Emma slide aside to make room.
“Actually, Emma,” I said, my voice now dripping with honey. “You should stand up and join me at the foot of the bed.”
“Oh, okay.”
She sat up, then stood beside me.
“This,” I said, my palms firm on Mitzi’s hips. “This is Mitzi’s ass.”
“So I see,” Emma grinned.
“Mitzi’s ass, this is Emma.”
“Pleased to meet you, Emma,” Mitzi squeaked.
“Now, we are going to beat Mitzi’s ass. But first, I need to give you a little tutorial. Remember what we learned in beat up class, Mitzi?”
“I sure do.”
“’Beat up class?’” Emma asked.
“Yes, ‘beat up class.’ That’s what Mitzi calls the session on BDSM we took at Babeland University. They called it ‘SM 101.’”
“Actually, ‘SM 201,’ Jefferson,” Mitzi corrected. “We got advanced placement.”
“Shut your fucking face!” I slapped her ass. “Shoot your mouth off and I’ll show you what that hole is for.”
Mitzi wriggled. “Yes, Jefferson.”
I spanked her again. “Don’t you fucking interrupt me.” Another slap.
Mitzi pulled her shoulders close. “Yes, Jefferson.”
“Good.” I rubbed her ass.
It was warming.
“Now, as I was saying,” I turned to Emma, again talking sweetly. “Here’s what you need to remember about Mitzi’s ass. Here, on her buttocks, is a fine place to spank. Go ahead, give her a spank.”
Emma raised a hand and landed it with a firm slap.
“Nice,” I nodded. “Again.”
Another slap.
“Unh,” Mitzi groaned.
I had to watch that response-I had more to say before we sent Mitzi off into the La La Land of subspace.
“Okay, Emma, very good. Now, here, just above Mitzi’s ass, is forbidden territory. You can’t strike here, as you might damage vital organs.”
“Oh, okay.” Emma’s brow was furrowed as she studied.
“Now, up here, on Mitzi’s shoulders, that’s a good strike zone. Nothing too hard up here, no strong blows, as it can hurt, but some well-placed whacks can really accentuate the main thrust of your beating.”
“Okay, that’s good to know.”
“All right. Now, before, when we spanked her, we went in hard and fast. That’s really not the best way to do it. Instead, you should tenderize the flesh. Give her light slaps, in quick succession. This brings the blood to the surface, which helps to spread the sensation and prevent undue bruises.”
“Hmm, maybe I should take notes.”
“No, Emma, that’s enough to get you started. Why don’t you tenderize Mitzi while I retrieve the arsenal.”
“What are you going to use, Jefferson?” Mitzi asked, raising up a bit.
I put my face in hers. “You fucking shut the fuck up, you God damned fuck hole!”
She pulled back, a little shocked. She breathed a moment and calmed.
“Yes, Jefferson.”
“You hear me?”
“Yes, Jefferson.”
I had done a fine job of putting her down. I needed to keep her down for the beating.
“Now, Emma,” I said, practically singing her name. “We’re going to use two implements. Here, this is a light whip, good for starting things up.” I lay it on the bed, handle toward Emma. I lifted another item.
“And this monster is a braided cat o’ nine tails.”
“You really hit her with that?”
“Yes Emma, I really do. Keep spanking, please.”
“Oh, right.” Emma returned to slapping Mitzi’s ass.
“Great work. You okay, Mitzi?”
“Yes, Jefferson.”
“Good. Then lets take this up a notch. Excuse me, Emma, let me take your place.” Emma moved aside. I stood perpendicular to Mitzi’s ass in a batter’s stance. “See how my feet are positioned? A good posture helps to deliver a firm blow. Like this.”
The slap echoed off the walls.
“Unh!”
Another.
“Unh!”
We could move faster now.
“Got that, Emma?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good. You try it.”
Emma stood in place, and looked down at her feet. She adjusted her stance.
“Good, Emma.”
She raised her arm high, as I had done.
“Good.”
She lowered it fast, delivering a strong wallop.
“Unh!”
“Good! Again.”
“Unh!”
This time, Emma got an echo.
“Excellent work, Emma, good listening. Now, step aside. I’m going to use the whip. And as I do so, I’ll be going faster and talking less. I want to focus on Mitzi’s ass. So watch closely.”
“Okay, Jefferson.” Emma stood aside.
I stood in place. Emma peered over my elbow at my target.
I looked back at her. “Honey, I need more room than that.”
“Oh, sorry.” She stepped back.
“Thanks.”
I picked up the small whip. I rubbed Mitzi’s back with my hands, warming her to my touch.
I caressed her ass as the whip lightly thrashed her back.
The whip chased my hand around her back, across her ass, to her shoulders. I make surprise forays to her forearm.
Mitzi breathed deeply.
I stood back, assuming my batter’s stance. I raised the whip high.
I looked at Emma. Her eyes met mine. I nodded.
Down came the whip.
“Unh!”
Three times more, one blow after another.
“Unh!”
I flourished the whip in the air, whooshing it back to her ass.
“Unh!”
Again, this time to the left.
“Unh!”
The right.
“Unh!”
I brought the whipping to a crescendo and then, without warning, stopped.
Mitzi shuddered.
I dropped the whip to the bed.
My hands caressed Mitzi’s ass.
I held her back, lowering my cheek to her shoulders.
“You okay, baby?”
I listened to her breathing. “Yes, Jefferson.”
“Good baby.”
I stood up.
“You need to check in regularly,” I said quietly to Emma.
“Okay.”
“It’s all about trust,” I said, picking up the cat o’ nine tails.
“Yes, I can see that.”
I lightly traced the cat along Mitzi’s back, again using my hand to guide the sensation.
I dropped the braids heavily onto her skin, allowing her to learn the feel of their knotty leather.
“I will only give a few strokes with this,” I said.
“Yes, Jefferson,” Mitzi breathed.
I took the stance. I raised my arm.
I looked at Emma. Her eyes were on mine.
I nodded.
The cat landed. Mitzi fell forward with a groan.
I touched her hips.
She breathed and returned to position.
The cat landed again. She stayed in place.
I waited as the sting subsided, as the blood rushed to her skin.
Then again. Again.
More blows followed, sure and steady.
And then I stopped.
I dropped the cat.
I caressed and kissed Mitzi's body.
I murmured soothing words.
I listened to her breathing calm.
The room was quiet.
I stood.
“Mitzi.”
“Yes, Jefferson?”
I looked at Emma. “I want the pretty girl to beat you.”
Emma nodded.
Mitzi adjusted her hips, as if they were making the decision for her.
She began to breath heavily. “Yes, Jefferson.”
“Good girl” I patted Mitzi’s ass.
“Nothing fancy,” I said to Emma quietly. “Just focus on Mitzi and her ass.”
I sat at the head of the bed. I leaned forward and kissed Mitzi’s hair. I stretched my legs along the sides of her body.
“I’ll be supervising from here,” I said to Emma. I took a fistful of Mitzi’s hair and yanked, raising her head. She gasped. “I’ll be watching as Mitzi sucks my cock.”
Mitzi’s surprise gave way to a smile
“Yes . . . Jefferson.”
I smiled at her. Such a pretty face she has. Especially now, radiant in her bliss.
I smiled as I shoved my cock in her mouth.
I was already aroused, yet my cock grew still larger on her tongue.
Her nostrils flared.
I nodded to Emma.
Emma's face was serious and focused as she took up the whip. She rubbed her hands on Mitzi's ass, getting intimate with her new subject.
I heard the first blow sound. Mitzi jumped forward, taking me deep.
"Nice," I said. "Again."
Emma delivered another blow. Mitzi opened her lips to breath around my cock.
I took another fistful of her hair.
"Let it go, let it go," I whispered. I looked up. "Now, Emma."
"Now" was just a word, just something to connect us all to the moment.
It was the last word I would utter for a while.
Emma drew deep into concentration, her vision constricted to the power of her hands and the responses of Mitzi's ass.
Mitzi's brown eyes were closed, as she fell inward, surrendering to the blows and the stimulation in her mouth.
I was drawn into pleasure rushing from my cock to my skull.
Mitzi had sucked my cock for nearly a year by this time, and she always had a fine blowjob. Lately, though, her throat has relaxed more, opening to me.
That night, I was deeper than ever, my head registering the ridges of her esophagus.
The three of us had slipped into a place where we were each connected to the other, yet each absorbed in our own bodies and minds.
We stayed there as long as we could.
We began to slip away as Mitzi's ass reached it's limits.
Emma put down her weapons and caressed the flesh she had reddened.
She slipped her fingers to feel Mitzi's wetness.
Mitzi opned her eyes, sighing into my cock.
I pet her hair, welcoming her back.
Emma was watching me fuck Mitzi, our lips tight on on another, when we heard a shout from the door.
"Yo, Jefferson, you back there?," Apollo called.
"Yeah, we're in the bedroom," I replied.
Apollo smiled as he stood in the door. "Course you are, man, you are all up in it."
On orgy nights, I leave the door open for Apollo. I'm usually involved in some pre-game activity.
"Hi, Apollo," Mitzi cooed. "So nice to see you."
"Nice to see you too," he replied, leaning in to kiss the woman I was fucking. He patted my back. "You doing well, Jefferson?"
"As well as can be expected," I allowed. "Apollo, this is Emma. Emma, Apollo organizes the Nubian parties, and tonight is a Nubian party."
Emma sat up and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Apollo. I've only heard good things."
"Yeah, well, I hope it's all good." He took her hand and kissed her cheek. His hand dropped to feel her hips. "So Jefferson, I'm going to set up for the party. Anything need doing?"
"I already have the candles and such out," I replied, still pushing my cock in and out of Mitzi. "But you may want to check on ice, and get the music going."
"Yeah, I burned some new CDs. Okay, let me get that going." He looked back at the door. "Y'all stay busy."
We laughed.
Emma's eyes followed Apollo to the door, taking in his athletic build.
She looked at us as he left.
"You know," she said, "Maybe I will stay for the party."
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