Saturday, August 16, 2008

ATTENTION!

This blog has moved! Check out the continuing adventures at writingdirty.com! Read More...

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Date: The Awkward Red Head

Sometimes a chaste kiss is all you need.

At the movie your arm brushes against hers. In the dark her lingering perfume is a constant reminder of her proximity. You think about how your body is positioned and how hers is, what it all means. Is she moving closer? Are her legs positioned away? She she trying to give you a sign?

After the movie you make small talk. Funny movie! Serious movie. Scary, sweet, political. I remember this movie once... That happened to my cousin.

A bite to eat? Sure. Eyes become bolder over a table. No dark I hide behind. You can make look right into her eyes while you talk and when she looks back and your gazes linger your heart starts to pound. You can make jokes that are a little more pointed. You can flirt.

You loiter at your table after the check has came and went and the waitress is getting annoyed. Out in the street walking down a quite block, you pause. She looks at you, then down, plays with her hair. You move in and she meets you. A kiss. Center kiss, upper lip, bottom lip. Bolder, you move in. She smells like fruity body spray. She sighs onto you as she pulls away.

"We should go, it's getting late." one of you say.

You get to the train. She moves in now before you can. She is pulling away will half her body and pulling you in with the other half. The kiss is hungrier, sucking each lip. Open mouths for a second but then she is away.

"I should go."

"We don't have to. We could get a drink." but it is half hearted. You don't have the strength or really even the desire.

She is blushing she looks up through her bangs. She doesn't trust herself. She had rules she can't afford to break. You like making girls not trust themselves.

"You kiss really well." she mumbles, again her hand in her hair, twisting and playing.

You move in but she moves back.

"I got to go, thanks. I had fun." and then she is gone.

You smile because it is nice to just have that, just a chaste kiss in the middle of the sidewalk. You don't want any more and you probably couldn't handle anymore. She is just a good girl and it is lovely to make a good girl blush. She knows you're not going to be her boyfriend. She knows what one more kiss could do.

She is a lovely flower but you have roses on my mind. Oh the roses you have in mind. Read More...

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Almost Famous

Speaking of Ellie, she just posted a new episode of Bedroom Radio featuring a reading of an untitled story of mine about a first blowjob, from the girls point of view.

It is the hottest thing in the universe. Go listen. NOW. GO. Read More...

Deconstructing Jack

Musings on Masculinity: Jack are my answers to Ellie's questions about masculinity in her continuing series on the subject.

Ellie and I go way back and it was fun helping her with her project. Luckily our mutual crushes didn't get in the way of our exploration of the masculine psyche. Read More...

Monday, August 11, 2008

Keep it Like a Secret

I have a lot to say, but I'm going to keep things inside for a while. I'm greedy and I want the memories all to myself.

I will say, cherries are sweet and they make kisses so much better. Frozen grapes stir up all kinds of things. The world is a delicious place.

Kissing is amazing. Laughing is the best. Three writers in a bed is almost overwhelming. Actually it is overwhelming. Sometimes you can strap yourself in and be overwhelmed. Ride the waves of over-stimulation and come out on the other side panting and changed.

It is an interesting thing to be so smitten with two women at once. One for all the ways we are the same and one for all the ways we are different. Pale skin and darker skin. Youth and experience. One desire is lean, hungry, patient. It makes my eyes narrow and my smile a little sinister. I want to be rough with her, play out things, a wrestling match of wits and sex. The other has no room to wait, it is just want and it is want now. I want to show her things and teach her tricks and just fuck her until she can't take it any more. I want that so bad it makes me a little nervous.

Ellie and I have been chatting a lot lately. We have been talking about chemistry and the way some people evoke certain dynamics from the start. Some people you meet and you might want to date or be friends with, you can see where it goes. Other times the chemistry takes over and you need to top them hard or be topped by them or take care of them.

My emotions are certainly cyclical. For a while now I have been somewhat luke warm over people. It's interesting to be so passionately intrigued all of the sudden.

And now back to work. Jack needs to stop thinking about... well just stop thinking. Read More...

Friday, August 8, 2008

Mister McIntyre's Secret Part Seven

It's really hard to choose which character I like writing more. Right now Marcy is certainly on the top of the list, but who knows who will be on top by the next episode...


Mister McIntyre's Secret
Part Seven

It was a Wednesday when I finished my assignment. I put my diary on Mister McIntyre's desk with all my dirty secrets open for him. My teenage fumblings and my embarrassing attempts at dating. All of my dirty dreams and forbidden fantasies. All the times I had to go into the bathroom and rub myself while covering my mouth because Mister McIntyre had leaned over me while I typed a letter or chided me for taking too long at lunch.

On Friday I still hadn't heard a word about it from him. He still had my diary. I saw him take it home with him on Wednesday and Thursday, the pink and purple looking absurd under his arm as he walked out. I hadn't been able to sleep much either night as I tried to remember what was the most embarrassing thing I had written.

He'd either forgotten about me or he was letting me stew and think about it until it drove me mad. Both options were equally frustrating. Friday seemed to take for ever. Mister McIntyre came in late, he seemed a little angry. He was stomping around ordering me to fetch things. I was in such a tizzy I'd almost forgot about everything. Almost.

That's when he slapped it down on the desk. My diary, looking the same as when he had me give it to him. I didn't look up at him, I couldn't, I just took the thing and put it in my desk drawer. He was still there, though, still looming over me waiting for something.

I opened my mouth, but my throat was dry. "Yes... Mister Mc-"

"I think I'm going to need you on Sunday." he cut me off, but then paused.

"Sir?" what did that mean? I think I'm going to need you on Sunday? Need be to do what? Just... need me?

He looked down at me, but I couldn't look up. I looked up to his square chin. His neck. The thick knot of his tie. My throat felt like it was tightening.

"I'm working on something and I am going to need a typist. Someone to take dictation. Minutes, you know."

"Minutes? Like a meeting?" I had no idea what he was talking about.

There was silence and I added, "Sir?"

There was the slightest tiniest smile across those lips. "Minutes, like a meeting." he said, clarifying nothing.

"You are going to need to dress up a bit. I'm going to have Marcy go over to your place and drop off something suitable. Do your makeup, what ever magic she seems to do. You can keep the dress." he looked down at me. For the first time in our relationship he was doing something completely new. He was waiting for an answer. He was giving me the choice, because this was the next step. This wasn't work and this wasn't the office.

"I'll be there, sir."

And that was the end of the conversation. From frustration to utter confusion.

Saturday was the longest day in the history of days. Nothing on the radio and furious cleaning of my room. Marcy was coming back, coming to dress me, make me up, try and brush the mousiness out of me. I didn't know what Mister McIntyre told her. I didn't know anything about their world.

Take minutes? Type? Where? Was it all a joke on me?

On Sunday I realized I didn't know what time Marcy was coming over. Eloise was sitting on the couch knitting, her red hair in curlers and her giant glasses magnifying her eyes like a fly's.

It was a half past noon and I was about to bribe Eloise to go to the movie when there was a knock at the door.
She came in with that same power, as if she owned the place and had forgotten she bought something so distasteful. She looked at me like I was an oddity, like she was still trying to figure out what all the fuss was about.

She walked in carrying a few shopping bags in one hand and dragging a dry cleaning bag in the other.

"Don't just stand there, take this!" she exclaimed, holding out the bags to me. "What are you? An 8? Maybe 6ish of you skip lunch? More like an 8. I got this dress from my cousin. I've been been anywhere near that big since high school."

She looked down at Eloise who had stopped knitting and was looking at Marcy with slack jawed awe. Marcy didn't acknowledge her.

"You don't have much up top do you?" she said looking at my chest. "We can work with it. You're still 22 so they'll stand up tall and proud no matter what."

Eloise's eyes nearly fell out as be looked over at me.

I rushed over and took all the bags and scurried to my room hoping that Miss Peterson would follow. She did, at a decidedly slow pace. When we got to the room I put the bags on the bed and closed the door. Miss Peterson stood looked at me with and ponderous face, as if she were trying to figure out a puzzle. She was fingering her bottom lip as Sherlock Holmes would play with his pipe.

Marcy picked up her purse and giving me a rather stern gaze pulled out a small silver case. From it she took a small expensive looking pair of reading glasses and slipped them on. Walking up to me I backed up as I always seemed to do around her. I found myself sitting on the bed as she moved in closer.

"Well, your skin isn't bad." she roughly pinched my cheeks. "and your hair is... well... alright your hair is pretty bad, but we can do something."

She stood in front of me and pulled my hair back, looking at me from different angles. I didn't know what to do with my arms, I folded my hands in my lap. She was so close and there was that smell again. Expensive perfume.

"Ok, let's see if this fits." she said, suddenly on me and pulling at my clothes.

"Miss Peterson?"

She pulled me up, almost ripping my old green housedress. Then she was pulling my dress off.

"Miss Peterson!"

"YES Abigail? That IS my name. Would you like to add something to it? Is there something you want to let me know?"

Her voice was sarcastic and cruel. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what she was going to do.

She got my dress off. I sat there in my old bra and panties. I saw myself in the mirror and I looked miserable.

"I brought underthings too. A nice bra and panty set. Everything starts with foundation, Abigail. I brought a few sizes..." she cupped my breasts suddenly and I let out a squeal.

"Miss Peterson!"

She scoffed at my pleas.

"34B? Around that. We can give you a little padding." She reached behind me and unhooked my bra pulling it off. I lifted my hands, though I'm not sure if it was to help her or stop her and she slapped them away.

"Well. You look a bit different out of that ratty dress." her eyes made me blush. I lifted my arm to cover myself and she slapped them down. Then she reached up and cupped one of my breasts again, sort of measuring the small weight of it.

I whispered a hissing "Miss Peterson!"

Her eyes darkened. "That is my name Abigail. Do you have something to say to me? Do you want to say 'no'? Is that it? Then tell me no, Abigail!"

She was on me now, pushing me back, both hands on my chest, feeling me like a man would. She pulled at my nipples.

"I... please I..." I begged.

"I? There isn't an I in'no' Abigail. You're a typist, you should know that. N-O two little letters."

Then her hands were like snakes on me pushing me down and greedily roaming across my skin. My sides and my arms and down my stomach.

"Please!"

She laughed loudly. "Please! Please what? Please more? You seem like you are upset Abby. Tell me to stop, come on."

Then I froze. Her hands stopped and then slowly moved down. Down to pink cotton. Down to a place where only I had ever touched.

My mouth opened. I wanted to stop her. Didn't I? I just had to say it.

Her smooth hands slipped right into my panties. They were old and loose. Then I couldn't speak or look at her. Her hands knew my every secret. They knew what no one ever knew. She knew my every button and how to push them. I didn't even know how it happened so fast, but my body was racing. Her fingers were somehow wet. Could it be from me? Could I be that wet already?

Then her finger was inside of me and I was gripping her shoulder. Two of her delicate fingers already too much for me. Then back to that spot, that treacherous spot. So close. I imagined her stopping then, suddenly. It seems like what she would do that wicked woman. But she didn't and then everything was white lightning and my gasps.

As my body fell back to Earth her voice became honeyed. "Lovely. I don't think we will need that blush, will we dear. You will be bright red all day."

Then that wicked hand of her moved down, down to do something I couldn't imagine! Down behind me! She was about to touch my rear!

"Miss Peterson! N.... NO!"

And she was off me. Like that. Her face radiating with that dark smile.

"Good. You do know how to say it."

She stood up. Looking down at me.

"Things are going to happen around Mister McIntyre, Abigail. You have to know your limitations. I have to make sure you know what you can and can't handle and you know how to say no when you don't want something."

Her eyes were on mine as she brought her hand up and inhaling deeply, here eye closing as she groaned. Then her fingers went to her mouth and sucked the top of each finger. She looked back at me, a little shaken that I saw her lose her cool for a moment.

"Let's wash you up, Abigail. It's going to be a long day."

She handed me my dress and I slipped it on, then we left my room and went into the bathroom. From the corner of my eye I saw Eloise, her eyes almost bigger than her glasses, sitting there in shock. A ball of thread fallen to the floor and still rolling away. Read More...

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Jack, Janie and Mariella

Gentle readers, I am going to tell you a true story now. The story of when I had my first sex blogger date. In wonderful sex blog fashion, said date included three people.

Janie Blooms of The Late Bloomer Finally Blooms, who by the way is in full bloom and lovely in her geek chic glasses and buxom brashness. Then there was the ever so charming Mariella from In Media Res... who is exquisite. A coquettish little lolita.

*

We met at a bar, the three of us, after a little mix up. There were perfunctory conversations. We laughed at the awkwardness of it, even though that awkwardness didn't seem to exist. We were quite comfortable in fact.

I didn't know what to make of it all before I got there. Going in I wasn't sure what to expect. I'd spoken to each of them separately online. I loved both of their blogs. I already had crushes on both of them to tell the truth. I thought I would meet them, I would see what happened.

The thing is when you read about someone in the fashion you get to know very specific things about them. When you meet them in person all the little holes in the story get filled up very quickly. So to speak. I was expecting sexy people I was expecting flirting maybe. I wasn't expecting two completely brilliant extremely interesting women.

I wasn't expecting the chemistry.

In the dark bar we found a quiet corner. I wonder what wandering eyes did see, though. The three of us instantly slipped into private jokes and inside information. We were following each other's lead, though somehow I ended up the ring leader.

Mariella is a very particular kind of girl. That clumsy giggly kind of girl who's just figuring out that she is sexy. She's walking around with a body like a loaded gun. She is falling out of her dress. She can't stop fidgeting. She twirls her hair and bites her lips. She bends over you, not realizing or at least pretending not to realize that her breasts are in your face. She twists and turns and squirms, almost in your lap.

When you kiss her she gives it her all. She's overtaken by it and she has to pull herself away from it when it's over, though she sits there with her eyes closed trying to recover.

Her body is hot to the touch, her dress is tight. A hand on her side and she melts into your grip, pressing and wanting more. When your hand finds her naked leg she is biting her lip and she doesn't know what to do with all the want. Every bit of her is trying to pull your hand up her thigh. Every sweet breath and kiss and flirting look is making you inch closer to slipping your finger into the spot you know is wet and hungy and burning hot.

Janie is a whole different animal. Janie is more like me.

She looks at you fearlessly through her glasses. Measuring and evaluating. Daring you to move in. Giving you signals, but still making sure you have the balls to move in.

The challenge in her eyes set me off a little. We were locking glases over beer, over Mariella who was at first sitting in the middle and then by the end of the night sandwiched between us.

The flirting was ridiculous. It wasn't flirting as most people know it. We are, all three of us, obviously advanced. The entendre was four or five layers thick. Our eyes were locking and dodging and hungry and saying a million different things. Well, really only one thing. "I want to fuck"

There was literary conversation and anecdotes, stories about relationships and sex, but all of the pretty words only made us realize that we probably could have skipped it all and went to bed right then and there. But it was too late. It was a Tuesday. Maybe it was too amazing to move on. The flirting and the kissing and eventually the touching was a whole new kind of sex. My knee is still shaking 24 hours later.

It started when Mariella went to the lady's room. I moved in and sat next to Janie. She has a cocky sort of grin. So I kissed her. Just a little kiss. Testing the waters. She didn't budge much, but she kissed me back. We smiled. I think I passed the first test.

A bit later Janie went to the bathroom and I whispered in Mariella's ear that we had kissed. She said we had some catching up to do.

Mariella's kiss wasn't a test. A kiss and she liquified. She turned into molten lava. Tongues and hands and I started getting dizzy.

We told Janie when she got back like two kids who spilled something on the sofa. She smiled wickedly and told us we should kiss again, this time in front of her. So we did. The next time I kissed Janie she let go a little, opening her mouth falling into the kiss.

I can only imagine what the waitress saw. Two bespectacled geeky people staring into each others eyes from both sides of a squirming sex pot. All I know is she came over and offered us a free round.

It continued like this. Climbing like a thermometer in July. Kissing one of them, then the other. Kissing leading to touching. Then the shock of naked air as we pulled ourselves apart. My hand on Mariella's leg, his side, scratching her back, while Janie did the same from the other side. The best moment was fingers meeting someone else's fingers under her skirt. Our eyes meeting as we explored the achingly smooth skin of the younger girl between us. Oh the plans our eyes communicated.

And so I am now the king of the East Village. Stalling before getting on the train we took turns kissing, sometimes looking into the eyes of one while kissing the other right in front of the subway entrance. I was embarrassed, but Janie told me how rock star I was.

And now? Every day will be torture until we pick up where we left off.

Delicious excruciating candy coated fucking torture. Read More...