Thursday, July 31, 2008

NYC

Anyone else going to this?
CineKink's Tawdry Summer Tryst
August 5, 2008, 8pm
The Red Room @ KGB Complex
85 E. Fourth Street (@ Second)

Seems interesting. Just wondering if anyone else out there will be there so I can nervously gravitate towards you and make awkward conversation.

Mister McIntyre part 4 up tomorrow. Read More...

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

Mister McIntyre's Secret - Part Three

Fuck, I love the imediacy of serialized fiction. I think I have to go back and fix the tense of the first two parts. I was half in present hand sort of flickering into past which was just annoying. Past just makes it easier. Abigail the character is crystalizing more and more. Damn I like writing in this setting. A suit is so much more powerful than leather.

Mister McIntyre's Secret
Part Three

April 19th, 1964

Half asleep, rolling around in my worn white sheets. The clock says I have a half an hour before I have to get up. My heart is already starting because of a half remembered dream.

In the dream there is a large lavish hotel room. Rich crimson and gold wallpaper, a huge bed, gilded chairs and lavish mirrors. Mister McIntyre is standing in front of the largest mirror straightening his tie. He is in his black suit, the one he wears to big meetings. His shirt is harsh white and he is wearing his cornflower blue tie. He is freshly shaven, his hair is parted neatly and slick. You can count the comb lines.

Marcy Peterson, his mistress, is walking out of the washroom. A slinky low cut black dress. Her black hair long and silk soft falling over her shoulders.

He towers over her. He stand almost six foot five and she, like me, is just over five feet tall. He leans in and they kiss, at first tenderly and then his hand is in her hair, pulling her back so he can kiss her neck hungrily. Her eyes are glazed with pleasure.

He picks her up and carries her to the bed. Standing over her he takes off his jacket and folds it neatly on the night stand. He then methodically rolls up his sleeves exposing his muscular hairy arms. He loosens and removes his tie, she sits up on the bed eagerly wanting more of his lips but he pushes her down.

Picking up the phone he presses one button and I answer.

"Yes, sir?"

"Abigail I'm going to need some rope."

"Yes, sir. Right away."

There I was at the door, dressed in my mousy brown skirt and my beige top with my hair in a ponytail and my glasses falling off my nose. Two thick coils of rope in my hands.


That's what I had written in my diary that morning on the train into work. That's what I had went to finish at lunch when Mister McIntyre came in. I left my sandwich on my desk and slipped my diary back into my drawer. Mister McIntyre called me in to take a letter. When we were finished he sat back in his hair and made a little steeple with his fingers the way he did and he rocked there and looked at me.

"I'd really prefer if business acquaintances didn't call the office."

I swallowed hard. Stupid heart revving up again. I wished he didn't look at me like that. That examining look that makes it so I can't move, but I can't stay still. Deer in headlights doesn't even start to explain it.

"You handled it well, though I'd prefer if you didn't use anyone name on the phone. You never who is walking by."

"I'm so sorry, sir. I will never happen again." I wanted to crawl away. I wanted to cry. I wanted to get on my knees... on over his knees.

He cleared his throat. "You did fine, I'm just explaining the protocol for the future. You always exceed my expectations Abby." and with that he turned around and looked out his window, the sign that I was dismissed.

I turned, scampered out, but just before I closed the door his voice pulled me back.

"What was that you were writing?"

Fear, icy and numbing my fingers on the doorknob.

"Sir?"

"You were writing something as I came in, what was it?"

Lie. Make up anything. But I knew I couldn't. I can't lie to Mister McIntyre. I wouldn't. He'd probably see through it anyhow.

"Nothing, sir. Just my diary. I... write in-" he cut off my mumbling.

"Speak up, Abby."

"My diary, sir. I write in it at lunch sometimes."

He considered this.

"What were you writing today?"

The panic was in my throat and I couldn't speak. I felt like I was alone in an alley with a gang of thieves. No where to run.

"Just... a stupid thing. A dream. It was nothing-"

He cut me off again.

"Dreams can be very interesting, Abby. Haven't you heard of the work of Jung?"

I didn't know what to say. I just begged that this was the end of the conversation.

"Bring it in here. Leave it on my desk. I want to see what kind of dreams you are having."

"Sir?"

He didn't say anything. There was silence. There was more silence. I looked up and his eyes were on mine. I almost never look him in the eyes and the power of that icy blue made me let go of the door knob.

"Bring it into my office and leave it on my desk." he said, standing up and picking up his hat.

"I'll read it when I get back from lunch."

He walked towards me. His body suddenly close. He slipped past me, his chest brushing against me, the smell of him, the hugeness of him. Then he was gone. My legs were shaking so much I almost couldn't sit down. The blood was draining from my body. I was starting to hyperventilate.

I wanted to go home, but I knew I wouldn't. I couldn't. There was only one thing to do, it wasn't even a choice. I would put my little pink and purple striped diary on his desk. I would put it there and it would sit there on his big dark wood desk next to his fancy pens and his big black telephone and all of his newspapers and business things. My heart and my dirty thoughts just waiting.

And so I held my book to my chest and marched in feeling naked. I put it down and my eyes stung. I walked out and closed the door and sat back at my desk.

And then I waited. Read More...

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Mister McIntyre's Secret - Part Two

I have no idea where this is going. Man Men obsession and being really horny are making it hard to concentrate. I think I know where I want it to go, but getting there is going to take some work.

Mister McIntyre's Secret
Part Two

Deep breath.

It's 11:45 and that means that Mister McIntyre is... he is in his meeting. He is in his hotel room right now. He is doing things, things that make me bite my lip just thinking about. How am I supposed to work? How am I supposed to act like nothing is going on. Right now at the Pierre Hotel he is fucking her. Right now he is doing it. Are they naked? Does he take off his socks? Does he make noise?

"Want to go to lunch with us Abigail?"

It's Paula and Regina. Nice girls, but I'm nervous that someone will call. Something might happen. I have to guard the secrets.

"Oh, no thanks, I brought my lunch."

They shrugged and giggled to each other. Whispering some little joke. Who cares what they think. Paula had a nose like a pig and her boss was that drunk Mister Grifford. Regina was nice enough, but she wasn't very bright.

The phone ring and I took a deep breath before I picked it up.

"Fitzgerald Investment Group, Mister McIntyre's office."

Silence on the line. A sigh. More silence.

"Douglas McIntyre's office, may I help you?" I said, a little louder.

"Hello. You're the secretary, right?"

I knew it was her. I never heard her voice, but I knew. My heart was racing again. One of his secrets come to life with a real voice. Talking to me.

"Y.. yes. This is Abigail. How can I help you?"

There was a low chuckle.

"He's not in, is he?" her voice was velvet. It made her jealous.

"N.. no. May I ask who's calling?"

A long pause.

"You know who's calling. I'm not going to be able to make my appointment and I don't have the hotel's number handy."

Marcy Peterson. Daughter of a client. The spoiled brat.

"I'll um, I'll find Mister McIntyre and let him know... Miss Peterson." my voice lowering to a whisper.

Another chuckle.

"My, but you are the good secretary." her honey sarcastic voice purred with the trappings of a rich Connecticut accent. "I suppose you schedule all of Mister McIntyre's affairs."

I just sort of let out a little meep. What can you say to that? Secrets are supposed to be secret. Notes in the calendar. Instructions from Mister McIntyre. They aren't supposed to call.

"I.. I'll let him know, Ma'am."

"How old are you... Abby isn't it?"

I should have just hung up. Would that be rude? People walked by my desk and I wondered what they thought. I was holding on to the phone with both hands. I tried to calm down. Put one hand on the desk. Tried to act like this was just another phone call.

"Twenty-two, ma'am."

"Well, just a little thing. From your voice I would have said twenty at most. Is it embarrassing? Knowing where your boss goes at lunch? He told me once you were very trustworthy and obedient to the last. It made you sound like a puppy."

My mouth opened but no words came out. He talked about me? What did he say? He actually sat there with his mistress and said "That Abigail is an obedient secretary."?

"I try my best." I squeaked.

She hung up. I numbly dialed the hotel.

"Mister Jefferson, room 732, please."

It rang several times. My heart can't take this. It never seems to slow down. It's no wonder I go home and fall asleep.

"Yes?" his slow deep voice.

"Um, it's um... your 11:30 appointment had to cancel, sir."

"She called the office?" he sounded concerned.

"Yes sir."

"That's..." he trailed off. "I'll be back in the office in 15 minutes."

Back to his office, straighten things up. Make sure everything it set for his meeting. Make sure he has his notes.

Standing in his office with the door closed the day finally got to me. He would be back any minute. Pulling up my skirt and reaching down my panties I am soaked through and through. How do I get this bad? How do I let myself get this worked up?

One hand on his desk and one hand in the tight constraints of my panties and pantyhose. Fast fast. He might come back. Fast his footsteps will be in the hallway any minute. Those gray blue eyes, that chiseled chin, those huge hands. I bet his hands are twice the size of mine. His fingers twice as thick.

Rubbing and rubbing, but I am quiet as a mouse. I would be quiet if he needed me to come into his office. I wouldn't say a word if he bent me over his desk. I'd be his. His anything. I'd never cancel.

My fist on his hard wood desk as I come and come.

Go to the bathroom. Don't look up at anyone. Wash my hands, fix my lipstick.

Breath Abigail. Breath.

I'm at my desk just as he gets in.

"Abby, I'm going to need some lunch. Turkey Club. Get yourself..." he stopped, examining me as he got to his door.

"You look a little flushed, everything alright?"

I squirm. His eyes on me. He is looking me over. What can he see?

"Oh, I'm alright." I laugh awkwardly.
Read More...

Monday, July 28, 2008

Mister McIntyre's Secret - Part One

So I'm obsessed with the show Mad Men. I work in advertising (in a round about way) and my father was an ad man. The world of the early 60's business man is so rich with power dynamics and sexism and sexuality and dominance. It is as much of a bondage fantasy world as those books about island of ponyboys and leather goddesses.

All I can think of about are the lines of a nice suit, the clink of ice and the amber of scotch, dark wood desks, smoky rooms, good girl secretaries trying to be so chaste but at the same time so eager to please.

This story is coming out of all that. I think I will serialize it so I can keep coming back and adding bits and pieces.

Comments will be happily accepted. As well as applications for the secretary position. You must be able to take dictation.


Mister McIntyre's Secret
Part One

Sitting at my desk before he gets to the office I cross my legs and they bounce nervously.

Every Monday it's the same. I don't know why. I get in early, sort the mail, clean things up, change my typewriter ribbon. When it hits 8:45 I start shaking a little. I have to concentrate on not biting my lower lip or I'll mess up my lipstick.

I keep a little check list under my typewriter on a little board so I can slide it out and look at it. Make sure his glasses are clean, make sure his desk is organized. Garbage can empty. Check the bulbs in his lamps. Dust his globe and book shelf. I get the special coffee he likes and keep it in a thermos. If he isn't in by 10 I go get some more so it will be hot and fresh for him. I have to guard the milk I keep in the refrigerator, Mister McIntyre doesn't like cream. The Wall Street Journal and the Financial Times on his desk. He reads the New York Times on the train.

By 8:55 my heart is racing. I have to dab my forehead. My legs are bouncing so much I'm going to wear a hole in my stockings.

When he comes in, he is charging down the hall. I can hear him. No one else walks that fast in here. I see his silhouette outside the frosted glass door and then he's walking towards me. I don't know where to look. I straighten paper. I fix my pencils. If I look up at those blue eyes I'll explode even worse blush.

"Abby." he says in that deep voice. I see his chin, I see his lips.

"Good morning, sir." I hate my voice. I hate my voice. I sound like a little girl.

He is wearing his charcoal gray suit with a white shirt and a navy tie.

"11 o'clock with the Richardson people. Lunch at one with the Morgan Stanley people. Nothing else until the four o'clock review with Mister Donaldson, sir."

He is looking through the mail as I tell him this from memory. He throws away half the mail. I can smell his aftershave and lingering cigarette smoke. He has a little red nick on his chin from shaving. I want to lick it.

Why am I like this? I'm getting wet just from him standing over me. I've been here for four months and I'm still like this. It's actually getting worse. Do other girls think like this about there boss? I'm 22 and he's 38. He's married to the most beautiful women I've ever seen. Plus... well... Mister McIntyre has secrets. I would never tell. I can keep secrets. It's important that Mister McIntyre knows that. I'm his secretary and I would never divulge any of his secrets to anyone. Except my diary.

He is hovering closer. He takes a step nearer and looks around.

"Abby," he clears his throat. He was using his conspiratorial whisper. "See if you can move the Morgan thing to two and the Richardson thing to 10. Matt Richardson is staying at the Roosevelt, tell him I can swing by and we can do it in the restaurant there."

He leaned in even closer, his mouth inches from my ear. I was trying to breath. Just kiss me. Kiss my neck. I'll do anything you want Mister McIntyre. Please, sir. Please.

"Call up... the Pierre. Get me that room I get. You know. Tell them it is for Mister Jefferson, they will know what you mean. I'll be there from 11 to 12:30."

"Yes, sir."

Then he was gone. His door closed. I would wait 10 minutes and then bring him his coffee.

I only saw her once. The girl he takes to the Jefferson. He pays cash at the desk for the room. She's my age, dark hair. She has a stupid face. She looks mean, bitter and bratty. Maybe that's what he likes. I wonder what they do in there. I mean, I know what they do... I just wonder how it goes. Does he get there first or does she? Does he just pull up her dress? Is he rough or gentle?

My legs are closed so tight under my desk. My fists clenched. I have to stop thinking about this.

He's rough. I bet Mister McIntyre is rough. I bet he pushes her down on the bed or maybe against the wall. I bet he slaps her around if her bratty mouth goes off. I bet he rips her panties off, if she wears any that little slut.

Is it big? Oh god. I have to stop thinking about this. Is it thick and hard? Does she suck it? Does it hurt her when he...

"Abby? Is there a problem with the coffee?" he says through the intercom.

"One moment, sir."

I'm out of my seat like a shot. I'm dizzy as I get the milk from the break room. Find a mug for him. Get the thermos. Just a splash of milk. My eyes sting. I'm so stupid. I was daydreaming and I forgot.

I fan my eyes. Stop it. Don't cry. Put on a happy face and bring it in to him.

Composed. Deep breath. I open the door. I bring in the coffee. He doesn't look up at me, he just picks it up and sips it.

Stupid.

I make the calls. I have to fight to change the times but it all works out.

"Sir? Your schedule is all set for the day. Just the way you wanted it."

Silence. My heart racing again.

"Thank you, Abby."

I try not to smile. I feel like I am blushing again. Oh Mister McIntyre.
Read More...

The Weekend in Review

It's sort of sad when your ex-girlfriend cum fuck buddy (The Musician)tells you she can't come over for sex and snacks anymore.

In the end I know she will find a nice boy and settle down. Probably she is already on her way.

If she does have a lapse in judgement before then...

*

Friday night drink with a certain female sex blogger was canceled due to scheduling issues. Sad, but a five minute phone call was an oddly potent assurance of attraction. For me at least. Oh well, I can wait. Hunger is the best pickle, as they say.

*

Saturday was an interesting day. I went out with someone I have known for something like six or seven years, but never actually met. We cyber geeks have such acquaintances. Meeting her was oddly comfortable. Falling into a familiar banter, knowing each other's faces if only vaguely.

She is a long train ride away, but close enough to visit somewhat regularly.

We have had an interesting friendship. Usually just two media geeks chatting about this or that, but occasionally conversations become somewhat racy. Perhaps even downright naughty.

This meeting was proposed as a "date" seeing that she is somewhat awkward when it comes to the whole relationship thing and I wanted to just go on a date with her. Though after we met it fell into a wholly friendly thing. A geeky movie to make fun of and a little dinner. Of course as much as I had fun, I couldn't let the lingering sexual tension just lie. I pulled out the old Jack seduction.

"Hey, I think we should kiss."

Feel free to steal that gem, boys and girls.

She turned red and covered her face. "Really? Why?"

Adorable in her awkwardness. I really wanted to kiss her for most of the night. She has this bottom lip that protrudes deliciously, as if she is always pouting.

After a few minutes of debate she announced. "Ok. You can kiss me."

It was hot in that I knew her so well and that lip was very fun to kiss. Plus I am genuinely attracted to her. Plus the fact that it was so awkward kind of turned me on.

It was chaste, though. A few kisses. I restrained my roaming hands, which was difficult seeing that she is ruthlessly buxom. My train came and I was pushed out of the car. Later I was told I had to go because a few more minutes and her clothes would have started coming off. Always nice for a boy to hear that he can inspire inappropriate behavior.

What's funny is that she reads this. This is sort of my first direct recollection about something that happened that one of the participants will actually read. Somehow I don't think it will be the last.

Hi.

Oh I can feel the blushing from here. Priceless. Read More...

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Fiction - The Strand


This is just silly, but it makes me feel sappy and warm inside. No sex, per se, but plenty of erotica. Meta-erotica?



Let me describe the first time I met her.

I was in The Strand bookstore, the one on 12th street, one of the most amazing places in the world. The smell of old books is almost overpowering there. I was in the mystery section looking through war torn copies of Raymond Chandler novels. It was Sunday, just after seven pm.

Across the aisle, I saw her. She had just moved out of Science Fiction and down the aisle that contained Letters, Criticisms, and Literary Biographies. She was short and bookish and dressed like your average college girl, a knee length skirt of dull gray and a fitted black button up blouse with three buttons open to expose just enough to make me follow her with my eyes. Then there was the red hair. Short, ridiculously curly, chin length and it seems like there was an attempt to part it in the middle. She looked deliciously almost criminally adorable.

Though I put her image aside and moved on to the Short Stories & Anthologies section, there was something tugging at my brain about her. I was looking at a strange group of pristine copies of "The Best Short Stories of 1982" when out of my periphery entered that same blur of coppery red hair.

Now, there are simple equations when it comes to lust for me. Red hair will always spark my radar. The fact that we were in a bookstore automatically lowered all defenses I had. I stood quickly and followed her with my eyes, to see what section she would peruse next. Noting that she had a frame a bit thin for my taste, but a lovely bottom and a shy yet sensual gait, I saw that she walked across Books on Writing and Play Anthologies then turned right into Mythology. She walked down past Mythology, German Studies, South East Asia and South America, right to the Occult section.

Intriguing.

I followed her erudite path and paused next Film and Drama Techniques to catch a better view while pretending to examine a book that pretended to examine New York Realism.

Red hair plus the Occult section at The Strand plus freckles equals something that could be called physical and intellectual lust. After all she had freckles across her nose and just under her eyes. Pale Irish lass skin and quite a rack for such a thin girl. And then there were the glasses. Oh... the glasses.

Dark brown swirls of tortoise shell. Thick, but somehow delicate with a little flare at the edges that gave her a hint of that "50's librarian" that made we swallow hard and bump into a display of Proust. The world seemed to fade into as she stood there shining like a star in front of a huge volume on the history of freemasons.

It was at that point that I became hypnotized by her and dropped a book that explored Chiaroscuro techniques in Germany.

She looked over at the disturbance, gazing over her shoulder quickly, a rogue curl momentarily falling over her eyes. Her deep green eyes. I tried to transmute my look of awe into something akin to that sort of dashing bewilderment that guys in the movies seem to perfect, but I think I just looked like a drooling idiot, which has its own charm, I suppose. She replied with a sort of half-smile-while-gazing-through-handsome-glasses-and-rogue-strands-of-red-hair kind of look. You know the look.

I could have left it like that, her half smiling with all of her feminine wiles, me dumb with the chemistry of desire, but I straightened up, put the book back on the shelf, and readied myself for witty conversation.

"Hi." I said.

"Hi." she said.

She looked just shy of twenty two, though I was never good at gauging age.

Then to my horror, I found that I had lost any control over vocabulary and couldn't move my limbs or mouth.

She seemed to be waiting for me to say something and raised a single red eyebrow and smiled. Red eyebrows. Perfect red eyebrows. I'll give you a minute to think about that one.

I tried to shake of that bad start.

"Hi." I said, again.

It was then that I realized that I wasn't good at this.

She let out a little laugh, her hand instinctually coming up to cover her mouth as she did, then she turned around and walked away. I drifted away, angry at myself, but somewhat content by winning a smile and a giggle.

I walked across the Occult section, past Korean Studies, then mad a left and went past Judaicia. From there it was past Gardening then making a right, up through Photography and Antiques to a small section that was under New Arrivals.

This section was positioned in such a way that you had to kneel or sit on the floor to browse it. This section was labeled with a bold serif font that read: Erotica.

I had often found amazing things in this section. From my early discovery of all the joys of Anaïs Nin to De Sade to modern erotic short stories that both dazzled and provoked thought. I found a literary criticism of Fanny Hill and was so caught up in the blurb that I almost didn't notice the hem of a skirt that brushed against my arm.

It was her.

She kneeled down next to me and picked up some modern gay erotica anthology. I knew she knew that I was into her. I could see her fighting against a smile and a blush. They were both loosing wars. She then picked up a battered copy of Little Birds and we both glowed crimson. The nervousness I felt before was gone and my goofy smile shifted to a pleased one.

We both looked down at the book she held.

"That's an amazing book." I noted with feigned nonchalance.

She smiled and looked into my eyes.

"I know, I've read it many times." she replied with equally fake ease.

We were two shy people sitting in a crowded bookstore talking about erotica with strangers. There was something electric in it.

"Have you read Delta too? I asked.

"I have read everything Nin's ever written." she said with both pride and delectation. Then added, "I work here you know, so I get to read everything, but there are somethings I need to own."

Looking down I saw the name tag hanging on a metal chain around her neck. I must have been too hypnotized by her to notice. In green ink the little laminated card read "Abigail".

She looked down at her copy of Little Birds and then looked up at me.

"I'm Abigail." she said. Not Abby, I noted.

"So I just read... I'm Henry." I said.

She smiled widely.

"Like Henry Miller?"

"At times." I smiled with a hint of deviousness.

We both stood, almost simultaneously.

"Do you...?" I was unsure if going out to coffee was the right think at the moment. I started remembering that I wasn't good at this, again.

"Yes." she said not looking into my eyes and seemingly sinking into slight shyness. "I get off in a half an hour. Coffee across the street?"

*

I purchased three books, all of them from my favorite section, and sat at the coffee shop across the street and waited for Abigail. Whens she finally came out of the bookstore, wrapped in a pea coat and scarf my heart started beating funny and my hands started sweating. Bookish girls did things to me.

She saw me through the window, came in and sat down next to me on the little couch. This was one of those relaxing little places with couches and huge cups of overpriced coffee that let you sit around for hours nursing one latte and flirting with dream girls.

"Thanks for waiting." she said smiling. The young hip waiter with the hair in his eyes came over and Abigail ordered a triple espresso. It seemed like everything about her was perfect, even her coffee order.

"So what did you get?" she asked before grabbing the books from my lap. "Translation of Chanson de Bilitis, Best Erotica of blah blah blah and... Venus in Furs... very interesting indeed. Into S&M or just gender politics?" she asked, pouring raw sugar into her tiny cup of jet black coffee.

"I... suppose both. Studying at least." I said drinking my cappuccino nervously.

"I've seen you in the store a bunch of times," she noted, flipping through the erotica anthology. "An hour in literary criticism, an half hour in philosophy, but you always end up kneeling in the erotica section."

I coughed and blushed. "Well... they put it so low, you have to either bend over or kneel in there..." I started, but she finished my sentiments by smiling wickedly.

She opened the book and picked it up, then after looking around to see if anyone was close enough to hear she read in a whisper.

"He let go of her wrist finally and slipped his other hand from her... panties." she read, blushing already and leaning in conspiratorially to continue. "She pouted, but before she could protest he grabbed her arms, pulling her hand from his..." she paused before saying it, "cock and marched her over to the bed, pushing her down so that she was lying on the bed with her legs dangling off the edge at her knees. Then he reached down and hooked his fingers on the sides of her panties and pulled them off, smiling at the little surprised sound she let out as she raised her ass up to let him. She looked at him as he stood in front of her and she squeezed her breasts together, then she pulled the cups of her bra down so that her breasts were pushed up high and stuck out of her bra."

I swallowed hard. Never really hearing a woman read something like that in public like this. She looked a little read faced and put the book down, smiling.

"That seems... complicated. Grabbing and moving and hooking and sliding and all. Well, let's see if this German is the same..."

"I am back again, dripping, wet through, glowing with shame and fever. The negress has delivered my letter; I am judged, lost, in the power of a heartless, affronted woman." she sighed in mock drama. "Well, let her kill me. I am unable to do it myself, and yet I have no wish to go on living."

I laughed and she caught my eye. "Poor Severin, such a little sissy." she remarked, again looking into my eyes and smiling.

"I wish I had Delta of Venus here... passages from that blows all of this away." I said, hoping she might have a copy in her bag.

"What's you favorite? I know all the stories." she said sipping her coffee and flirting again with her eyes.

"Favorite? I don't know... they're all interesting... Lillith, the woman who is sexually cold and her husband says he gave her Spanish Fly and she goes out with her friend to the movies..." I started, but she finished the plot "And in the end after he soundly fucks her he tells her it was only a sugar pill, right?"

We laugh and her hand touches my knee.

"Is the store still open? We should get a copy and read them here..."

She shakes her head. "Nope, It's closed, but... I could get us into the basement if you want. There may be a copy down there. It's like the stacks of a library..." she said, looking over at the store across the street.

We paid and then she took my hand and we crossed the street giggling, nearly getting run over by a taxi. I went towards the front door, but she pulled at my hand directed me around the corner to a nondescript door away front the big windows of the bookstore. She smiled at me and pressed a little button on the side of the door. In a moment a static voice shouted "What?" she pressed another button and shouted back "It's Abby, let me in!"

In through the nondescript door and down a dark staircase and then we were down in the stacks. A huge basement full of rows and rows of dark wooden bookshelves. The scent of stale mildew was overpowering and it took my eyes a second to get accustomed to the dim light.

Abigail stood in front of a huge bookshelf smiling.

"These are the stacks. These are all unsorted books we bought in bulk from bookstores that closed, the families of people who died and private libraries that fold." she said, her voice almost swallowed by the deep quiet of the place.

"If they're unsorted then how are we going to find Delta?"

She looked away and smile a crooked smile.

"Oh, I guess I didn't think of that."

I walked towards her and she backed up against a bookshelf and looked up through those big lashes with her doe eyes. The first kiss was honey and wet penny madness. The rush of kissing someone new and interesting and sexy. She gave herself to me in the kiss, her body pressing against me and going almost limp in my arms.

She looked up at me with those brilliant green eyes and said "You said you have a copy at home though, right?"

And that's when I realized that the greatest invention on Earth was the taxicab.
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Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Fiction - The Barista

I'm sort of obsessed by this story. The beginning has been hanging around for a while now. I wrote the ending a while back. I had to sit down and force myself to figure out how to connect the two. With the help of a friend I got it. Let me know what you think.

The Barista

Jack was addicted. It was something he needed to admit to himself. It was something he needed help with. It was something that was part of him.

"Gimme a quad shot cappuccino, very dry, non-fat milk."

He stood at the counter digging deep into the pockets of his jeans trying to get another fifty cents. It was a costly habit, four shots of espresso with a little steamed milk was five bucks.

Behind him a line of well dressed people tried to summon the psychic power needed to destroy him. He was holding up the line, therefor holding up their caffeine intake. This was a dangerous thing.

"Don't worry, you come in every day like three times. I think I can overlook fifty cents." the girl with the thick glasses and the tight shirt behind the counter said with a smile.

Blond, bright green eyes, a nose ring. She was very cute, but a little to skinny and bubbly for Jack's taste. He smiled and handed her his deficient funds.

"Quad non fat cap, dry!" she barked over to the barista.

Now, there were many coffee houses in Jack's neighborhood. Among them roughly half were of the corporate chain variety, whose coffee and politics left bad tastes in his mouth. A few of the privately owned ones were run by hippy scenester types and tended to be heavy on ambiance and light on coffee brewing know how. Then there was The Coffee House. It was a little out of the way, but it was hard core. There were only a few tables and there was no internet access or jazz music. They served coffee here, hot and strong and good. This wasn't some diner brew, this was deep rich earthy Columbians and Sumatras and powerful orgasmic Blue Mountains along with their very own extremely potent espresso blend which Jack had been slowly replacing his body's water supply with. Though, there was another reason he came to this particular place.

As he walked away from the cashier and passed the small stack of burlap bags that held rich-smelling beautifully oily beans he saw the two towers of silvery coppery power that made the brew. Behind one of these steaming whistling machines was a woman.

Her hair was a short jet black bob, pulled back severely into a pony tail. She wore dark rimmed glasses and dark matte red lipstick. Her lips were huge, so big and pouting the they almost made the scowl she gave everyone sexual just because of their lusciousness. Her hands were large and strong. She worked those machines. She owned them.

As Jack watched she wiped one metal nozzle with a damp cloth while pounding a large metal handled portafilter against the counter. She moved fast, her fingers adept and economic in their movements. She tapped out the used grounds, wiped the filter and then brought it up to a huge grinder which whirled and roared and then filled her filter with exactly enough coffee. She pressed the fine as powder grounds into the metal filter with the bumper and then twisted the filter into the giant espresso machine.

She wore an argyle sweater of dark green and burgundy. It was a low v cut sweater that showed her whole-milk colored cleavage which was sprinkled with freckles like a dusting of cinnamon on a foamy drink.

She sloshed some milk into a large metal cup and then slipped the steam nozzle into the cold milk. The steam screamed as it hit the cold milk. Beads of moisture condensed on her cleavage. Jack was erect as he watched it.

The espresso came in spurts, thick rich crema dark against the white porcelain shot glass. She worked both machines now. Two shot from one, two shots from the other, then all of them into a huge bowl-like latte mug. She followed it with the steamed milk and topped it off with a large helping of foam.

"Skin quad cap." she shouted, thinking the owner of said drink was waiting at a table. She was shouting the drink order right into Jack's face.

"That's me." he said, trying desperately not to look at her cleavage and succeeding only because he was hypnotized by her eyes which where chocolate and honey brown, deep and rich like a dark roast.

She scowled at him as he took the drink. Jack knowing she had contempt for most patrons and squirming a little under her powerful gaze. He picked up his coffee and sat in a chair by the window. It was the same thing every day.

*

The art showing was not something Jack particularly wanted to go to, but friends being friends they pushed, and since somehow Proust alone on a Saturday night seemed a little to depressing even for him, Jack went. It was in a somewhat rough part of town in a brownstone in the middle of a long block.

Sometimes these art things were fun and sometimes not so much. The minute Jack entered the brownstone and walked to the open door he knew this was going to be the latter. First of all it was quiet. There was a lot of whispering, a lot of people leaning into each other while holding glasses of whine and whispering. Jack never exactly understood why some showings were boisterous and cheerful and some were reverent and hushed.

Like most recent art school graduate showings it was trying to do a lot of things at the same time and failing at almost all of them. There were mixed media pieces, little televisions showing this or that. A lawnmower sat in the middle of the white walled livingroom. It was painted with zebra stripes and had an arrow sticking out of it.

Jack searched the crowd, looking for his friends and found something he didn't expect. The barista.

She was dressed in a white button up blouse and a black skirt, looking far more sophisticated than her coffee serving alter ego, but she still wore the same scowl. Jack picked up a glass of red wine and downed it with a gulp and decided it was far too good of a coincidence to waste.

He walked over and stood next to her, looking at the same painting she was gazing at. It was an abstract maze of words and cartoon faces. Those large dark red lips were pouting, though Jack wasn't sure if it was with scorn or thought.

"You work in the The Coffee House, right?" he said, maintaining his concentration on her.

She looked at him in a way that made him feel small and disgusting.

"Oh." she said, half to herself, "You're that guy." then she looked back at the painting.

"That guy?" he asked with a chuckle.

"That guy who comes in every day and orders the same thing and stares at my tits."

There are a variety of reactions one could have to this sort of aggressive answer. Jack wasn't sure what most of them were but his was to basically stand there with his mouth open.

"So what are you doing here?" she said just as casually.

"I... my friends said this might be interesting." he mumbled. "And I don't do that."

"Do what?" she asked with a smirk.

"Stare at your tits."

"You've never looked at my tits when you got coffee at my shop?" she asked, eyebrows arched as she sort of leaned into the painting, causing him to get drawn into the two open buttons of her shirt.

"I..." he coughed. "I mean, people look at things, it's not like I was staring, but you are tall and I may have-"

"Shh!" scolded a bald guy with a beard.

Jack felt very out of his element.

"Why do you come in every day, are you stalking me?" she asked in a quiet voice which forced him to walk a little closer.

"No, I live a couple blocks away and it's a good place to study." Jack said trying to get some control of the conversation. She was snide and sarcastic and basically all the things he usually was in a conversation. This left him weaponless.

"You have quite the ego, don't you. Thinking I was there looking at you and stalking you. People drink coffee. Your tits aren't that nice-" his voice went a little louder and he was again chided.

"Hey, sorry." said a woman holding a tray of glasses. "Do you mind keeping it down in the art area?" pretension and self importance dripping from her thin lips.

The barista walked away from the painting and Jack followed.

They were standing in front of a coat rack covered in christmas lights. She took a red wine off a tray and sipped it, then making a face of disgust, put it back down.

"Do you like art?" he asked half heartedly.

"Not particularly."

"Are you a student?"

She rolled her eyes. "Perpetually."

"What do you study?"

"Art." Her voice was flat.

She turned on him. "Are you trying to pick me up?" she said as if she suddenly realized it and was incensed.

"I... no.. I mean." Jack was usually a lot better at this, but this girl seemed randomly aggressive.

She scoffed, a smile flickered, a challenging smile.

"Let me guess, you're a graduate student." Her tone was flat again and mocking.

"What's your name?" he tried to turn the conversation.

"Jane."

"Jack."

"Is that your real name?"

"No."

"Yeah, there are no real Jacks."

"Shh." said someone in the distance. Jane casually walked out of the apartment into the hallway. Jack followed.

"Did I piss you off or something? Do you not like how I order my drink everyday?"

She eyed him. The hallway was echoey and humid. She walked to the stairs.

"You're just that guy I see every day who looks at me but never has the balls to say hello. Another lame graduate student. What is it? Let me guess, philosophy?"

"No." he said with distain.

"Literature? Literary Theory?"

Jack didn't say anything.

"Oh god, you're one of those assholes who sits around mentally masturbating and deconstructing Joyce."

He didn't know why or how but suddenly he was kissing her. They were on the stairs and as she spoke someone looked out of the art showing and glared at them for making noise. Jack moved in as Jane whispered her hatred for his life's work and then the next thing he knew his lips were on those big soft red lips. And it shut her up.

"Well, we can't all go for hands-on applied science of art history."

She was stewing, she looked like she might hit him.

"Fuck this. This show is stupid, I shouldn't have come." She turned and walked up the stairs. Jack wasn't sure where she was going but he followed her.

On the second floor there was a narrow hall and two rows of doors. Jane got a set of keys out and opened the old door. 2B.

*

He kissed her against the wall. Her hands on his hips and her knee in his groin.

She bit his bottom lip as he pulled away and cut her eyes at him.

"I don't like you." she said as flatly as she could.

Jack smiled, licking his lips. "I don't mind."

She untangled herself from him and threw her keys on a coffee table. The apartment was tiny and a mess of books and indian rugs. She sat down on a beat up red couch and didn't look at him. Jack sat down next to her and kissed her neck. She turned and kissed him once, Jack kissed her deeply and she let herself slip into his kiss before pushing him away again.

"You should go, this wasn't a good idea."

He moved in again, his hand on her knee slipping up her skirt as he kissed her neck. She gasped and put her hands on his collar, pushing him away, but holding on to the fabric of his shirt.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said a little breathlessly again his ear, her warm soft lips brushing against it as she spoke.

"I'm trying to fuck you." he growled, as she clamped her legs shut on his hand.

It was hot there, between her thick thighs. It felt unusual with the softness of her skin and the roughness of the fishnets she was wearing. Jack felt with the tips of his fingers where the stockings ended in lace and were clipped to garters. The image made him groan. Fuck, he liked her style.

The fact that she hadn't punched him let him know that this was going to go all the way as long as Jack played it right.

Jack kissed her neck and dragged his bottom lip acoss her skin, then he sucked on her earlobe and bit at the flesh.

"I'm not going to fuck you." she growled into his cheek.

His hand moved further up her leg, he felt heat radiating from between her thighs.

"I know. I'm going to fuck you." His fingers touched the edge of her panty leg. He traced that elastic edge as he traced his bite marks on her neck with his tongue. As the very tip of his finger slipped under the fabric her breath caught and her grip on his shirt loosened.

"You feel awfully wet for someone who doesn't like this."

She was past listening, his words were just little thorns that made the itch his fingers were so close to scratching more deliciously unbearable.

He brushed his lips across her cheek, edging near her full lips. The vivid dark red of her lipstick matte, slightly smudged, perfect. He nearly caught her with a kiss, but she turned her head. His finger moved in, feeling smoothness where there should be coarse hair. Another predilection he had carried out by this girl. Another reason to want her. He rubbed there, never quite in the right place, cupping her sex and petting her but not quite slipping his finger in. It was almost too much and yet just enough to keep her on the edge.

He moved in again, his bottom lip almost catching hers. She moaned into his cheek and the sound made his cock throb painfully.

"Take your panties off for me." he whispered in her ear.

One finger slid between her wet lips. She was one of those girls who got soaking wet. Sopping wet. He watched the pleasure take over. He edged around her clit, tracing around it, feeling its firmness under the soft folds of her hood.

"Fuck you." she spat.

The dark laugh came from the very bottom of his stomach and spilled out. He laughed right against her neck as his finger slipped into unbearably tight wetness.

Jack knew that sigh, that moan. Some girls like to have their clit played with for hours, some girls like to have a tongue torturing them for days, but Jane wanted cock. She wanted a big thick cock to fuck her, that was the only thing that would get her off.

Jack pushed her away from him roughly. He flipped her over on the couch and pushed her head down so she was on her hand and knees with her ass in front of him. He pushed up her skirt and then pulled his zipper down and pulled out his cock.

She was groaning and hissing about it, but she wasn't going anywhere. Jack rubbed his cock against her pantie covered sex, he could feel the split of her lips through the soaking wet satin. She pushed her ass back at him.

"Take your panties off for me."

She scoffed first, but then pushed back against him and made a desperate little squeal of frustration. Her hands came up and back. Her thumbs hooked the sides of her panties. There was a beat, a pause and she pulled them down. Not all the way down but just to her knees. Then she pushed back, trying to impale herself on his hard cock.

Jack rubbed the head of his cock on the same spot now that it was naked. He looked down at obscenely pink lips against his hard reddening cock.

"Ask me to fuck you."

She turned her head and those eyes were full of hate and want and fire. Her hands flew back and she tried to pull her panties back up but he grabbed her hands and held them behind her back.

"Fuck you. You're the one who started this. I'm not asking you for anything." she hissed, her cheek pressed against the couch.

Jack rocked against her, the head of his cock just barely pushing into her wetness. She let out gasps with each little push.

"Pl... you fucking asshole. Just..." another whine, another gasp, another curse.

"Please what?" his voice was more and more gravelly. The little chuckles darker and darker.

"Just... please..." her voice was quieter, almost inaudible. Then a long sigh.

"Just fuck me."

It wasn't really what he wanted. He wanted her to beg, but he knew it was enough and he couldn't hold back any longer.

He spit on his hand and worked his cock up and down, then rubbed it between the wetness of her lips. When he pushed his cock in, finally, it was almost painfully pleasurable. He let out a loud groan.

"Put your hands on my ass." she said, not even looking back at him.

He did, squeezing both cheeks and starting to fuck her for real.

Sometimes it took time to work up a real rhythm. Sometimes you had to figure the other person out, get the angle right. Jane was wet and just right and Jack sank his fingers into the softness of her big ass and pounded into her. It was a normal fuck, this was hard and fast and the couch was moving.

"Oh holy fucking shit." she said, letting out a string of curses mixed with moans. Her hands were on the arm of the couch as she was rode harder.

Jack reached up and put a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back into each thrust. His other hand snaked up into her hair.

"Fuck me harder." she said looking back with the same fire. "Come on. Is that all you got? Really fuck me."

He grabbed her hips hard and pounded into her. Hard fast slapping over and over. She let go of the arm of the chair and let out a little howl. He felt her legs tighten, her cunt clenching on him as a moan built into a wail.

She pulled away suddenly and pulled off her panties. Jack grabbed all the pillows on the couch and threw them across the room. They pulled at their shirts, needing more contact. She half ripped off her bra and he was on her, sucking her nipples, biting her neck and finally kissing her plump lips. Their faces were covered in lipstick. And then he was inside of her again, this time on top.

She was three times as wet now. She wrapped her legs around him as he fucked her. Her hands were around him and then her nails were digging into his back. He was thrusting slow and hard, but building.

Suddenly the world was spinning. Jack didn't know how but he was on the floor and the barista was on top of him, her neat black bob now half sticking to her face.

Her hands on his wrists she turned and twisted her hips trying to get the right angle and then when his cock finally slipped back into her she purred and looked down at him.

"Want to come bad, hm?"

Jack bucked his hips, but she was not a tiny girl. Plus there was the fact that he wanted to see where this was going.

"It's only fair." he said low and gravelly.

She moved her hips up and then down a little, sort of bouncing up and down on him. The pleasure was like a punch it was so potent. Jack tried to maintain control at least enough to watch her bit her own lip and moan.

Jane opened her shirt completely, button by button. She continued to flex her legs causing her to go up and down on him with a slow steady rhythm. She pulled off her shirt and the bra which was hanging off her waist. She locked her eyes with him as she cupped her breasts and let her fingers pull at her own nipples which were surprisingly dark for her pale skin and large with fat nipples that were hard points.

Jack put his hands on her hips and bucked his hips again. She wasn't stopping him now. Her eyes closed and she moved up and down a little faster, with Jack bucking up to meet her. She pulled roughly on one nipple which her other hand went down to her wet pussy. Jack could dully feel her rubbing her self as he slipped again and again into her. Suddenly she was gasping and her fucking lost its momentum. Jack took hold of her hips and kept fucking her from underneath her. She was lost as her fingers moved on her clit and nipple. Jack watched, feeling his orgasm building faster and faster.

She was going crazy on top of him, whimpering and rolling her hips. He tried desperately to keep fucking, keep the rhythm.

"Come. Come on. Fucking come inside of me." she was practically yelling.

And then the building for so long finally hit its end and Jack exploded. He wasn't sure what he said, but it was loud. She rode him through it and kept on riding him until he was limp and weak and then she fell on top of him, her hair clinging to his face and her lips on his as they panted.
Read More...

Monday, July 21, 2008

The Hotel, Part Two

By Jack and Lilly
(Jack's parts in bold)

He paused. I could feel the gazes of both Jack and the lurker searing into my skin. The waiting, the knowing and yet not knowing, all collided and drove my desire through the roof. Surely they could tell how aroused I was. My instinct said to run from this but I wanted it so badly. He slowly unbuttoned and removed his shirt, pausing every now and then to slowly run a finger over my ass. The moment I felt myself relax somewhat suddenly I saw his arm move and...

***

A smack on her ass and then another. A snaking finger finding her wet cunt and pushing deep into it. I liked making her squirm and moan. Her dress looked good pulled up and pushed over her back. I wanted to pull out my cock and push it right into her inviting wetness as her ass
pushed back against my hand wanting more fingers and more stimulation, but there was so much I wanted to do first.

I pulled off her frilly panties. Her arms were still tied behind her back with my thick red tie. I sat her up and slipped my hands around her feeling the softness of her breasts.

"Damn I've wanted to feel these ever since the first time I saw you."

My hands went to her back and I unzipped her dress, then fingering the clasp to her bra I opened it. Untying her hands I pulled her dress off, then her bra, pulling off her shoes and leaving her in nothing but her thigh high stockings. Then I guided her to her knees.


***

I had never felt more alive, truth be told. My mind was racing with jumbled and conflicting thoughts; my brain and my cunt in a war against each other. While the flush of embarrassment spread over my chest and face, my cunt throbbed and ached, dripping with my desire. Fear and desire in my eyes at once told our lurker to cautiously enter but stay his distance...for now.

***

The door clicked closed and I saw the guy from the room across the hall standing there leaning against the door. He said nothing and didn't meet my eyes. He was watching her and she squirmed and blushed at his gaze.
I ran my fingers through the thickness of her hair and pulled slowly and firmly. She winced beautifully and her hands came up and started undoing my belt. She fumbled a little with my dress pants but finally got them open and then she pulled out my hard cock and just held it for a
second.

"You should stand up and bend over. Give our guest a better view."


***

"No I can't"

I thought this but did not say it. Did my face betray my fear more or my desire? I glanced at the lurker and could easily see the outline of his hard cock straining against his pants. His arousal drove mine.

I wanted to please both our guest and Jack, so I complied. I rose to my feet and faced away from our guest, feet planted apart, bent at the waist until my lips met hard cock. I started slow- wrapping my lips around the head of his cock and licking, sucking just the head- then licking down the shaft and back up with another sloppy suck to the tip.

***

"Keep sucking, but reach behind you and pull apart your ass cheeks for our friend."

She made a whimpering sound as she slipped the length of my cock into her hot mouth. She did it, balancing herself my holding on to me with one hand and reaching back and pulling one ass cheek apart. He studied every inch of her, but said nothing.

"God, keep sucking. You should finger yourself for us too. Show him how wet you are and how you like to finger fuck yourself."

She let out a louder muffled cry, but I felt her shift and the guy's eyes lit up as he watched her reach underneath herself and slipped her hand between her legs and spread the lips of her pussy for him. She was moaning more and more and my cock slipped out of her mouth.

"Don't stop sucking. Come on, you have to put on a good show for both of us."

I pulled her hair and pushed my cock back between her lips.

"You better get yourself nice and wet because I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you really hard. And if our friend wants he can maybe come a little closer and jerk off on your tits. Wouldn't you like that?"

I pulled my cock out of her mouth and waited for her answer.


***

I could barely answer him, but managed to whisper:

"Yes."

My desire had overcome anything else and I cared for nothing other than pleasure and desire. Mine, his, and his. I wondered if Jack had a clue that although he was pushing me, none of this was yet any wilder than my fantasies. I crawled to the bed and laid on my back, at the edge. This allowed Jack to fuck me and the lurker to come to my side. I stared at the mystery man until he slowly came forward to stand by my head. I longed to touch him but I didn't dare...yet. I spread myself wide open for Jack. Slowly he touched me, fingered my clit; when I closed my eyes in pleasure he rammed his cock in my tight, wet cunt.

I had one cock slamming into me and another being stroked mere inches from my face. I reached up and touched his balls, grazed his thighs, finally pushing his hand out of the way to make room for mine. I pulled his cock to my mouth because I so badly needed something to suck on. It didn't take long for our lurker to pull quickly out of my mouth and cum all over my tits. The next thing I knew, Jack pulled out and was doing the same.

My chest, my stomach.. covered. Sticky. Warm. Deliciously messy. I trailed a finger through the mess, mixing the cum from both men before sliding the finger into my mouth and licking it clean. My eyes never left Jack's face.

Soon I realized we were now alone, the lurker had silently left. I slowly turned over on the bed to my stomach and raised my ass up high, legs spread, glistening cunt revealed and just begging to be fucked again. Now, and for the rest of the night, I was his slut. His toy.

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Friday, July 18, 2008

The Hotel, Part One

By Jack and Lilly
(Jack's parts in bold)

I was on a business trip, staying in a beautiful hotel and not expecting to do anything but go up to my room and go to sleep. Little did I know I would soon be fingering some incredible girl in the hallway, her big tits pressed against me and her sweet little mouth chirping moans into my ear as we waited to get caught.

We'd met in the elevator 15 minutes before. Some drunk guy was trying to kiss her and practically mauled her in the hallway; she looked over at me and mouthed "Help!"


***

Jerk. The "best man" just wouldn't quit! Grabby hands trying to get me, rubbery lips trying to kiss me. I couldn't take it anymore; I left the ballroom to seek an escape. Like an oasis there stood the Businessman. We locked eyes and I saw …..something….and I headed right for him with a desperate look in my eyes and said "Help!" silently.

As if I knew him, I strutted over to him and snaked my hands around his neck and whispered "Kiss me now, ask questions later". Oh did he deliver. What other favors could I ask him for? The immediate sexual chemistry and tension between us made it almost obvious to the Best Man that he had groped the wrong girl. Businessman growled off a few menacing words accompanied by wandering hands which hammered the point home. I followed Businessman into the elevator to thank him further. His eyes, his skilled lips and hands, that deep gravelly voice all just practically begged for some true showing of gratitude. I'm happy to oblige.

I held out my hand and purred "Thank you for all your help. My name is Lilly. You simply must let me thank you properly sometime." Without words he pulled me to him and forcefully kissed me.

***

She let out a little yelp when I pushed her against the door of my suite. Her eyes moved back and forth checking the hallway in both directions for anyone approaching. I kissed her neck and made a fist in the fabric of her dress, slowly pulling it up until my fingers found the smoothness of her stockings and then the sweet feel of her skin just above where they ended.

She gasped when we heard the ding of the elevator. I moved my hand up until I felt heat and wet silk. Her lip trembled as we watched an older couple turn from the elevator without even seeing us and walk down the hallway in the opposite direction.

"Should I stop?" I growled into her ear. My fingers found the edge of her panties and I pushed them aside and twisted my finger into the soaking wetness of her. She shook her head and I sank one finger in.



***

There's chemistry and then there's spontaneous combustion. I had never felt an attraction so immediate, so strong. Our lips came together passionately once we were alone in the elevator; his hands exploring my body and capturing me against him. He pulled back and with one long look, said it all. I was a goner. I knew what he had to offer, he knew what I would give. I tentatively hit the button for my floor, 4, but was locked in heated exploration and ignored the open doors when we arrived, forgoing it for his floor, 10.

He pinned me up against the wall outside his door and stared at me as if waiting for an answer. I grabbed his tie and brought him to me for another kiss. "What the fuck am I doing??" I wondered to myself as things quickly spiraled out of my control and into his.

I am exposed, we could get caught, please expose more, they're going to see us!, touch me right there, smack me harder…..someone's there. Fuck. Yes.

***

I turned her around to the wall and pulled her hands behind her. Taking off my tie I slipped it around her wrists and tied them together. I pulled up her skirt and hungrily grabbed the thickness of her ass.

"Damn, I wanted to fucking grab your ass since the minute I saw you."

She said nothing, just panted and gasped for air.

I moved to the side and smacked her ass hard. The sound echoed down the hallway. I pulled her panties down and felt her naked skin, the spot where I spanked her already getting red. I spanked it again and the sound was even louder. I knew I couldn't keep her out here for long; we would probably get thrown out of the hotel.

I kicked her legs apart and moved my finger down the crack of her ass. She was so wet that the minute my finger touched the lips of her cunt one of my fingers slipped right in. Her body tightened and she groaned. I heard a latch, then the squeak of an old door opening. The door just opposite my door opened and I turned around to see a guy in his thirties who I recognized from one of my meetings. He was there for the same conference I was. He was looking right at me, my finger still in her.

I didn't really meet his eyes. Lilly looked back when I stopped fingering her and her body became tense.


***

I turned back around and ignored our little audience of one; I was too far gone to give a shit. It only made me hungrier. Jack slid the card into the door and unlocked while I remained standing the hallway and facing the wall trying so hard to regain a little composure. He grabbed the silky restraint he fashioned and literally jerked me into the room, backwards, while I stared at the lurker with passion-glazed eyes. Jack didn't close the door all the way. Neither did I, I didn't care at that point; I simply needed to be consumed. I needed a witness to my consumption. I beckoned the lurker to watch with a half-cocked smirk under hooded eyes.

Jack whipped me around and threw me on the bed face first, exposed ass in the air towards the door. Read More...

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Getting to the Point

In trying to write a dirty little story with Miss Lilly from DangerousLilly I find myself being far too verbose for my own good. I can't just jump into the action, I tend to get caught up with characters' back stories and motivation and all that. Not that these are inherently bad things, it's just that when you want to write about fucking and you spend 2 pages just getting to someone's panties you have a problem.

Maybe I need to read more erotica. I went through a phase where read a lot of it. I had around ten of those Best American/Womens/Lesbian/Southern Erotica of 2000. Not to mention the essentials of Anais Nin, Venus in Furs,, The Story of O, what have you. Even the unbecoming Sleeping Beauty series and Belinda. I've been on the outs with published erotica for the past few years though. Reading online erotica from places like Literorica or StoriesOnline can be a mixed bag. You get some wonderful things but more often then not you lots of horribly written garbage. Often when you do get well written things they are far too dirty for their own good. This prickles my propensity to pen far to perverse things so I try and steer clear. Thus the reason I try not to read ASSM/ASSTR anymore.

I've sort of trained myself to write in a certain way and when I try and write straight sex my head gets confused and keeps yelling "who are these people and why are they on a train?"

Sadly this leads to a folder with dozens of sex stories with no sex in them.

That being said... does anyone have any kinks/scenarios/wet dreams/ideas they would want to read a story about? Read More...

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Fiction - The Wrong Smith Girl

A lazy weekend. I found this story in my files and reworked it a bit. This is more of an "erotica story" than a vignette or confession or what ever I the things I have been posting are called. I'd love to know what you think.

The Wrong Smith Girl

They broke up on the train.

Trains push his memories to the surface. All the trips into the country as a child. All the trees passing by, leaves changing to red and gold.

The city fades fast, faster then you can imagine. It is so small compared to the stretches of country to the Jersey Shore, to Upstate, to Boston and Maryland and DC.

Looking at Maggie, he could see her fighting her childhood memories. At least he wanted to think she was fighting them, hoping they were there to be fought. She had her nose in a notebook, making a list of things to do.

They were going to Maggie's parents' house because Maggie's father was sick. He had a heart attack, but it looked like he was going to be alright. She had a big Irish family and it was expected that a good daughter would come home in a time like this. So Maggie and her boyfriend Jack got on a train from New York to Virginia.

Maggie and Jack had been living together for three years. They had been dating for four and known each other since college six years ago. She was going for her BA in Fine Arts and he was going for his Masters in English back then.

She had their life planned out. She had a good steady job and he did freelance work. They had a nice apartment, which he loved, but she wanted to move out to the country soon. She wanted to get married, but he hadn't asked her yet. She had plans and he wasn't playing along. She didn't break up with him because she had already put too much time into him. He didn't break up with her because he was lazy and didn't like confrontation.

There was something about the trip that started pushing Jack's buttons from the start. They were taking the train out to her parents' house and there was this air of expectance. She expected him to go, to be excited, to ask her to marry him, to want kids, to want a better job... but none of that was going to happen and both of them were starting to realize it.

A third of the way there after arguing over signing another lease for the apartment she said "If you don't want to grow as a couple then maybe we should just break up."

It wasn't a threat, it was something that people said in the heat of the moment, but it just pushed Jack over the edge.

"Yeah. We should. This relationship is a joke. You don't love me; you just need someone to help you afford a mortgage."

And she cracked. She cried. There was no putting things back together.

For the next hour they agreed on things. Jack would be nice for the three day weekend with Maggie's parents. They would take care of the breakup when they got back. And then like a switch when they got to their stop Maggie fixed her makeup and was back to herself.

*

They entered the big old house just after 4pm. It was an old southern house with white pillars outside and a big porch and a huge white door.

They entered to find silence and emptiness. Walking up the staircase they came to a long hall. Pictures hung along the walls, old school pictures of Maggie and her sisters Molly and Megan. Three smiling girls with white skin and black hair and matching skirts and sweaters. Three princesses at Halloween. Three girls on horses.

Jack followed Maggie as she navigated pass a dozen doors and finally found her old room. Jack was a stranger in this place. He was not a Smith.

Maggie's room was white walled, filled with 2-foot boxes in one corner, an uncomfortable looking bed made up with yellow sheets and a pink and yellow quilt. One wall was all white bookshelves, but they were only a quarter filled. On one wall hung a large framed sketch of Maggie. He remembered her sitting in front of the mirror, sketching herself for her final project in still life, back in college.

In that frame was Maggie, the girl. Quiet in class, but boisterous when she was excited. Level headed, list making, but deep down an artist. Deep down filled with the same curiosity that Jack was filled with. Curiosity about books, history, art... and sex. The more he remembered their college years the more he realized that the Maggie he knew was gone.

When did she start longing for mediocre satisfaction? When did she stop needing to explore and started needing a bigger house, a better job, some mythical security she constantly talked about. When did she put her paints and her charcoal and her pads and canvas in her parents' basement to go untouched?

The same time she started thinking of sex as a duty and rolling her eyes at the mere mention of sexual adventure. Sex was just relieving them both of some energy or maybe a way for her to get him to leave her alone so she could get enough sleep to wake up at 5 in the morning to jog.

She sighed and put her bags down.

"Listen, you can stay here. I will go to the hospital. Then everyone will come back for dinner. I know you don't want to be here... but let's just do this and then we can get back and..." she just trailed off. A horn honked outside and she looked out the window.

"That's my aunt. Unpack, ok?"

Jack nodded. "I like your family. This weekend will be fine. Go check on your father, make sure he is alright."

She looked at him, unsure if a hug was still ok. Then she just turned around and left.

*

He unpacked, he looked around. He ended up on the bed, drifting off into a nap. The train ride, the fight, all of it melted away.

When he awoke in darkness. He could hear people downstairs and smell the warm homey smells of chicken and potatoes.

He saw movement, the door opened and closed.

"Hey. You ok? Sorry I fell asleep... the fight and everything..."

"I don't think your talking to the right Smith girl, mister."

The light came on and that's when he found out Maggie's little sister grew up.

She was Maggie, but different. Shorter, but only slightly. Bustier, a little more hip, a little more ass. Same nose, same ears, fuller lips. Her eyes were blue, while Maggie's where green.

"Molly."

"That's me."

The last time he saw her it was about four years ago, she had just turned fifteen. Sitting up fully he couldn't quiet comprehend that it was the same person. Molly the Mole, skinned knee tomboy who made gagging sounds if she saw him kissing her sister.

The first thing he noticed was a red and black nautical star tattoo between her neck and her breasts, half hidden by her white cotton tank top. Half perfect black and red ink on her white skin, half dark shadow under the thin cotton.

"Nice ink."

She squirmed under his eyes. "Thanks." Her arms came up and she folded them over her breasts. She was trying not to smile.

"So you two having a fight?"

"Um. No. Not really. Just an argument. Sort of." He knew he had to look away from her, but he couldn't. It was like looking at all the missing parts of Maggie, melted into a younger curvier tighter form. He walked over to the window and looked out at the greens and the grays.

She came into the room and walked to the bookshelf, looking at the remaining books, letting her finger drift over the spines.

"I was wondering what you would look like now," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Oh? Do I look different?"

He looked over to her and she nodded. "You look old, but basically the same. You look better with your hair short. Your hair looked pretty dumb long. Plus those glasses are better, the dark frames. You're still ugly, though." There was the smile, the wicked brat smile. In those eyes was pure curiosity.

"I always thought you had a crush on me."

She let out a laugh, but she blushed.

"You wish." she said, but eyed him and smiled.

He looked at her from the side now. It was like a lecture on the effects of puberty. At fifteen she was all legs and arms and wild nervous energy. At nineteen she was all hips and tits and calm sultry sex.

He noticed other tattoos, one on her wrist, this one just a black star. He could see the shadow of something on her back, it was large and not one of those little designs girls get right at their tailbone, this was long and it came up from around her butt to the middle of her back.

He stood up and moved closer to her, slowly and she tensed. She was still facing the books, pretending not to be curious about what he was going to do next. He walked behind her, moved closer until he was two feet away. He looked at the books, he looked at her neck, he looked at her eye as she turned her head to look at him.

"You got a tattoo on your back, too?"

She nodded, still facing her body away from him, but looking at him from over her shoulder.

He moved in and put his hands on her waist. She froze. He touched the edges of her thin shirt.

"Can I see?"

She swallowed and nodded. Their eyes met. Curiosity, lust.

He pulled up her shirt slowly and saw that there where two jet black f-hole, like the ones on a violin or cello. It was a lot of ink, a lot of time. He touched the edge of it and he could feel raised scarred skin.

Her back was smooth and her ass curved out from just below his hand.

"Wow. You got all this done in the last year?"

She moved forward, pulling her shirt out of his grip.

"Yeah. I was dating a tattoo artist for a while."

He took her hand and looked at the tattoo on her wrist.

"Did they hurt?"

She smile. "That's the best part."

A voice from downstairs said "Kids... dinner."

*

Dinner was huge and southern. Jack had forgotten that people ate like that. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes, greens and a million other things. Everyone was so busy catching up with Maggie and Molly, who had been off at Art School and also with Maggie's older sister who had just had twins that no one really bothered talking to Jack, which was just the way he liked it.

Molly watched him though. Watched him like a cat watches a bird. It was a very different look then the fifteen year old awkward kid gave him four years ago.

When it was over Maggie said goodnight to all and went upstairs with Jack, got undressed without looking at him and then went to bed.

Jack laid there, uncomfortable because of the small bed and not really wanting to be too close to Maggie. He found himself thinking of Molly every time he closed his eyes. The way she looked in that white tank top, tough and sexy. He wanted to know what those tattoos looked like up close. What it felt like to trace them with his tongue.

Thoughts like that and the moonlight coming in from the window kept him up half the night. It seemed like only minutes, but the next time he opened his eyes it was morning. He awoke to feel the familiar sensation of Maggie next to him. He had turned around to face her in the night and now he was spooning her, with his arm around her.

She felt warm, she smelt good. Her ass against him made him stir inside. Without really realizing, his hand came up to cup her breast. It was such a natural thing.

She sighed and pushes his arm away.

"Yeah, right." She said with disgust.

She sat up and climbed over him.

"Go back to bed, I'm taking a shower. Everyone is going to go to church in an hour. I know you don't want to do that, so I'll probably see you at lunch."

She looked him in the eyes.

"Shave, ok?"

He nodded. He was still hard under the warm sheets. Memories, warm blanket comfort and the smell of her hair on the pillow made his mind swim. If he just relaxed he could fall back asleep. And then there was nothing.

*

He awoke to the sound of the door closing.

The room was too bright, the sun coming in through the half opened curtains. He was groggy, as only waking up from oversleeping can make you. The room was a dull white blur, then the blinds were closed and the curtains pulled shut so that the light filtered through the rust colored fabric, making the room dull yellow and red.

Then Maggie slipped into bed. Her arms around him, her lips on his neck. He pushed her hair back and kissed her. Her lips felt soft, there was some sweet lip gloss... and then he opened his eyes wider and saw who was really in bed with him.

There was Molly. There was Molly in her white tank top.

"Hello mister bedhead."

He tried to comprehend what was going on.

Then Molly's lips are on his again and he got the rush of the taste of a new mouth. Then Molly, squirming and turning around, and her soft round ass is against him. His arms are around her and they're spooning. His mouth is on her neck and his hands are on her hips.

It is an interesting thing when you are so used to one person's body, your hands remember where to go on them, your body understands how you are supposed to fit together, but now he was lost in this new geography. Her lips were too hot and soft, her kisses were too rough, her breasts too big, too heavy, too perfect.

Her hips flared out, giving him something to really hold on to when he pulled her against him. Her ass was soft and cool and when he hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties and pulled them down, he slipped right between her cheeks and it was perfection.

*******

She moved her head back as he moved forward and he was lost in her kiss again. She arched her whole body against him and her lips were on his ear, sucking, then biting, then whispering.

"Do you want to fuck me?"

Jack grunted and pulled at her hips roughly. His cock touching wetness and heat as it rubbed between her legs.

"You have to say it. I like to hear it."

Her voice was steady, but wanton. It was new, not the silent simple sex Jack was used to. Jack liked this.

"Damn," he groaned into her neck. "I want to fuck you... so badly."

His hand squeezed her breast once more and then moved down to between her legs. He groaned again when he felt smoothness where he expected coarse hair. Then his fingers felt wet heat. Silk softness, perfect folds that made him growl.

As his finger passed over her lips and one finger slipped into her she pushed her ass back against him.

"I want you to go down on me." She gasped, pushing his hand away and laying on her back.

Jack looked down at her, her face was red and a red blush ran down her neck and on her chest where his unshaven face rubbed against her. He went to push her shirt off, but instead smiled.

"Take off your shirt. I want to see your tits."

She smiled wickedly and pulled off her shirt and then unhooked her bra and took that off.

He saw that red and black star on her chest and lower down another tattoo... a heart on fire with a gold crown above it, right over her heart.

He moved until he was kneeling between her open legs, then he moved down and kissed her neck again, then traced his tongue around the slightly raised thick black lines of each tattoo on her chest. She arched her hips and her breath caught.

He kissed down her chest and stomach until he got between her legs. By now she was growling and purring.

One lick and he was addicted. Her body moved like a snake as he licked at her and she whined and gasped.

"More.. fuck. Make me come."

He licked her lips teasing and bit the tight skin of her thigh, then he moved in circling her clit and flicking it and he moved one hand up to slip one finger into her.

That was all it took. Fucking her with his finger and licking her made her body buck and made her grab the pillow behind her and squeeze it as she came hard.

Jack sat up, watching her come down from her amazing orgasm. He had never seen a woman come that hard. Maggie took a half an hour of work.. sometimes even a vibrator.

She smiled and looked into his eyes and then turned to look at the clock.

"Fuck, we only have 20 more minutes..."

She pushed him away and stood up, looking at him wickedly.

"I guess I got to make you come fast... stand up."

He did and she kissed him hard, licking his bottom lip and tasting herself on him.

"What gets you off? You want to fuck me from behind? Want me to get on top and ride you? I want to make you get off hard." She said all these things into his ear as she reached down and gripped his cock tightly.

Really, he didn't even know. He was so used to getting what ever sad sex Maggie would give him he didn't know what he really want. He had never been with someone so forward.

"You like that this is dirty? That my sister could come home any minute?" She whispered, jerking him off.

He gasped.

"You like that I am fucking 10 years younger then you?"

He grunted.

"You want me to be a little girl for you? I can bend over and you can fuck me?"

She turned in a flash and kneeled down, taking the head of his cock in her mouth. She sucked and licked around the head. Then she sucked half of his cock.

"Fuck yes."

All thought disappeared. She broke every rule her sister set in bed. She was like a wet, writhing, perfect id of sex.

She stood up and then leaned over the bed, sticking her ass up in the air.

"Come on... fuck me... fuck me... fuck your little slut"

And then he was looking down at her back with the tattoos that looked like a cello and she was groaning and then he was inside of her. And it was tight wet perfection.

"Fuck me." She whispered it over and over, like a mantra.

It took seconds for him to come. It was the most violent, mind numbing, powerful orgasm he could remember. He almost fell down, his knees went so weak.

He collapsed on the bed, hardly aware that she had laid down and started fingering herself.

"Fuck..."

Jack turned and weakly kissed her nipple, wanting her to get off one more time.

"Bite it hard." She begged.

He bit it, reaching up and squeezing her other tit. Then he moved up to her ear and whispered.

"Come for me..."

And she came, loud against him.

And that's when the door opened.

END

Thanks to Lilly for quick editing help!

I realize after rereading this how it is sort of an exploration of the girl I was with for five years. The Teacher. She had one personality when we met and she became someone else in those five years. I'll leave it up to you to guess which I preferred. Read More...

Friday, July 11, 2008

Online Identity

I recently had an interesting conversation with Lumpesse about internet identities and specifically sex blog identity.

At 32 I've been a pretty active watcher and member of the various online sex related subcultures. Not to say I was "part" of these subcultures, but I was aware of them, I watched them and occasionally I interacted with them. BDSM, erotica, LGBT, poly, Fan Fiction/Slash, all kinds of fetishes, henti, furry, you name it. I have certainly not been active in a lot of these groups, I'm definitely not into half those kinks, but I have watched them with facination. Back in the heady days of BBS's and MoDems you put batteries in, to back when AOL was 1337. I have always been on Usenet, the single greatest place to get porn and find weirdness to this day. I am a firm believer in Rules 34 and 35 and I have watched them in action for more than half my life.

As for online identities, I've had more than a few. AOL chat room names back when I was in my teens. Changing my name, my age, sometimes even my gender. I had the prerequisite online romances, cybersex encounters, even awkward hookups. I am a child of the internet, it gives me information, entertainment and sex even now.

The problem comes when I started growing up and I realized that I have a more and more fragmented identity, online and IRL. I made friends online and off that knew certain sides of me and I tend to keep them separate. Sometimes worlds would collide by choice or happenstance and I would freak out.

Growing up I realize this was even true in my family because my parents divorced when I was an infant and thus I had two separate families that never spoke and whom in a lot of ways knew very different Jacks.

In relationships the same things tended to happen. I would have a girlfriend and we would be very vanilla and I was fine with that. We would break up and I would be with a girl that would be a practically 24/7 power exchange and I was just as happy with that, though somewhere in the middle was where I was happiest.

About two years ago I started posting very dirty stories on various forums online. I had a rather large following, mostly made up of rather creepy people. Still I liked having this little give and take. Posting things in that manner brought immediate and almost always positive feedback which is ego crack to someone like me.

About a year in I met the Librarian and we had this insanely passionate relationship. It started with a Craig's list hook up that turned into this love affair type thing. She was very fond of the few pieces of writing I showed her and out of curiosity she decided to hunt down other things. A couple of the stories she found squicked her and I think it was one of the contributing factors that ended the relationship.

One of the many reasons why I only tell people and show people what I know they can handle.

These days, though, I'm getting tired of separating things. I find my circle of friends gets smaller as I cut off the people I don't feel I can tell things, though my friendships get stronger with the people I actually trust.

On the other side, I like having secrets. I like having different identities. I even like having the ability to close out whole identities and start new ones up on a whim. It's one of the many things that make the internet great. As I get older online friendships don't really appeal to me as much. I tend to meet people online and then press to meet them in person because real life is a lot more fulfilling. Knowing real people and having real friendships make separate lives a lot more messy.

Does this happen to anyone else? How many people in your life know about your sex blog or fetish or kink? How much do you tell a new lover and when and has anyone ever reacted badly? Has anyone ever found you out? Read More...

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

Date: The Mousy Museum Worker

I tend to talk big online, but most of the dates I go on are relatively boring. I was in a five year monogamous relationship that ended badly a little over a year ago and ever since I have been on a dating tear. So I tend to go on a lot of dates with new people all the time, most of which I find online. I'm looking for someone to hold my interest, but so far none have held it for any more than a week or two with the exception of The Librarian who I dated for about three months and met on Craig's list and The Musician who actually lived with me for two months and who I met on some forum somewhere.

More than anything else online dating has become a thing to do. A hobby almost. I'm not specifically looking for sex most of the time. I'd actually be happy enough with some new friends, but new playmates are equally important. The primary qualification is intelligence, with sexy and open minded close behind.

Often my luck in dating over the last year has surprised me. I don't consider myself a catch really, I'm a chubby sort of overly sarcastic wannabe intellectual who has fits of shyness and is much better on paper than real life. Still in the past 13 months I have had a good run. Before my long relationship I had some interesting times as well.

I'm giving you a little back up so that my stories make a little more sense.

This is leading up to last night and The Mouse.

The Mouse is a little thing, although roughly my height she is somehow shorter somehow. She doesn't have the best posture. She is 22 and works in a museum. She finished her degree early and is going for a Masters in something vague and obscure. These are things that tend to turn me on.

When it comes to dating (as well as all things) I tend to compartmentalize. I filter. I pre-judge. There are sex dates, kink dates, fun dates and smart dates. This was definitely the latter.

It was our second date, the first time we just met for a drink and some dinner. It went well enough, nothing really memorable. She seemed painfully shy, which made me bolder and more outgoing. She has braces, which I find odd. Combined with her body language and sort of awkward Pretty in Pink handmade clothes she seemed even younger then her age which is already ten years my junior.

After the first date I had to go on a trip out of the country and I came back to a few messages from her wondering how things went, wondering when we would go out again. We made plans for a museum, discussion, possibly dinner after.

We ended up on my couch.

I have specific tastes, but sometimes it is fun to find someone with completely opposite (physical) characteristic from what I am used to. The Mouse is somewhat thin. Maybe a size 10. Hardly any breasts. Maybe an A cup. No tattoos here. No fancy underpants. Hell, she goes to church.

We flirted in the museum, we brought up a shared love of rice pudding. She commented that I should make her some. She commented on it a few times. Eventually I got the point and the next thing I knew we were headed to my apartment.

On the couch after the perfunctory look around the apartment and banter, the kissing started. It's always interesting finding new lips, new necks, new buttons to push and mysteries to solve. She is suck a good girl I kept keeping my eye out for some speed bump, some stop sigh. Before I knew it she was naked on my couch and there didn't seem to be any doubts.

I often find awkwardness attractive. She was certainly awkward. In nothing but glasses and braces she had an enthusiasm that was comical and hot at the same time.

She got shockingly wet. Impressively wet. I kissed every inch of her and when I went down on her she seemed shocked by the sensation. I wondered exactly how inexperienced she was. She mentioned in passing during the date former boyfriends, various dates, so on. Still as she came and then collapsed into a fit of giggles I felt like I was an experiment or an adventure.

In bed she grasped my cock with one hand tightly. It reminded me of high school. She pulled and examined.

"Show me how to... touch you..." she said, not meeting my eyes.

I took her hand, we played, I let her explore. Then we rolled around together, rubbing and gasping. I wondered exactly what I should do next. I moved to my nightstand, she watched with a questioning look. I pulled out a condom. She settled back.

Inexperience doesn't turn me on, per se, but as I said variety is always interesting and taking a break from aggressive girls was fun.

What happened next was a little odd. You see... things didn't exactly fit. There was certainly a lot of good intentions, not to mention lubrication, but it seemed like it just wasn't happening so we settled for a lot of rubbing and grinding and so on which made her happy, but left me unsatisfied. She realized this and took me, awkwardly at first, into her mouth and started sucking. I was concerned, her braces, her inexperience, but things went well. When I felt myself nearing I groaned out a warning. She kept going, never letting up and swallowing every drop.

We then fell asleep.

Today she told me she knew all along that this was going to happen. She even brought a change of underwear. Who would have known? This mousy girl who wanted to walk around in museums with me was a second date fuck.

Thus proving again that I am old and I can't read women. Read More...

Friday, July 4, 2008

A Few of My Favorite Things, Part One

I don't know if these are fetishes, but over the past few years I have become very keen on certain things. None of them are essential to any sort of sexual attraction, I love diversity, but they are all pluses.


Ok, one of them might be essential, I leave it up to you to guess which one.

Above the Knee Socks

This started with an ex of mine who had a fondness for really long socks she got from American Apparel. After a rather extended dalliance on my couch in which she wore only said socks I was hooked.

Tatoos (Specifically on the chest, collar and back)

Thick black and red lines on tender flesh is lovely. Lovely to look at, lovely to trace with fingers or tongues. It is just awesome.

Glasses

Oh how I hate contact lenses. Why stick things in your eyes when you can look so cute, geeky and hot?

Chubby Girls

From just a little tummy peeking out of low cut jeans to SSBW. I've been with the range and I enjoy everything in the middle. Softness and big tits and big asses and I am in heaven. Lately for some reason I have been dating smaller girls, but my heart always belongs to big girls.

Garter Belts

Attached to fishnets or stocking or even just dangling there. There is something about garter belts that turn me on to no end. Especially with nothing under them.

Boyshorts/Boy Cut Panties

Lacy, a little old fashioned, irresistibly hot.

Completely Hairless Pussy

How can I go back? I still remember the first time I slipped my hand down a pair of jeans and instead of rough coarse hair I found sweet smoothness. The very idea turns me on. It is tactile, visual, plus just knowing a girl went to he trouble just to make sex a little more fun is a great starting point. It's only polite that I make an extra effort to go down on her twice as long if there is that much less of an obstacle for my teasing tongue.
Read More...