Category Archives: ass

Autoerotica

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Lo, at it again

            “Come,” I heard her yell from the bedroom down the hall as I walked into the house after a long Friday at work.  She might have been saying “Cum!” to a lover.  There’s never any way to tell from the sound of her voice – only on the page. 

            I cautiously walked down the long hall to the bedroom.  What would I find?

            The door was open a crack.  I peeked in.  She was naked, on her tum, her round rump nicely illuminated by the setting sun.  Her legs were bent at the knees and her bare feet dangled up in the air, twined around each other.  In her hand she held her phone. 

            “Come in, Daddio,” she said without turning her eyes from the screen in front of her. 

            I walked in and removed my jacket and tie. 

            “What you up to?” I inquired.

            “I bet you’d like to know.”

            “That is why I asked,” I said flatly as I removed my shirt and undid my belt. 

            “Get naked, get hard, and get in me,” she commanded.

            “I’m already hard,” I said.

            “As you should be,” she replied, moving her hand to her mouth, licking her fingers and then moving her hand to her ass and circling her wet fingers around her special spot. 

            “Oh,” I commented, “You want it like that?”

            “No, Daddio,” she said, “I’m just enjoying myself.”

            Always coy when it comes to her ass.  Always for someone else, or for her own pleasure, but never for me. 

            I got behind her and tried to look at her phone by leaning forward over her back and seeing over her shoulder. 

            “Get up there and fuck me,” she instructed, her finger still rounding her sweet spot as I slid into her puss.  “I’ll tell you what I’m looking at.”

            I did as she said and she told me that a fellow blogger, a woman named TJ, wrote to us saying, “I love reading your blog.  It gets me so wet.”

            “Really?!  Do I know this TJ?” I asked as I thrusted harder.

            “She writes The Lustful Empress.”

            I slowed down a bit trying to remember which erotic blog that was.

            “Don’t stop!” Lo said as her hand grabbed the girth of my cock and she pushed her ass back into my hips, bouncing off of my bare bodkin. 

            I resumed my powerful, pleasurable, pelvic pounding. 

            “Look,” she said, putting her phone up on her back for me to read the email.  It said:

I love how accepting you are of Lola’s magnificent sexuality. You guys seem to have ‘it’ don’t you? I wish I could masturbate as openly as you do, Lola. I feel self-conscious, like an addict or something. But I fucking love fucking myself. . . it’s the best. I am more autosexual than anything else I think. Keep celebrating each other.

Fan mail like that makes it all worth it.  Well, that’s not completely true.  I know that I would be writing all this whether no one read it, or only one person read it – Lola.  But knowing that others read it, enjoy it, and get off to it is the icing on the cake. 

            Speaking of icing, as I read the email, Lo began to climax as one hand worked her ass and the other, from underneath, worked her clit.  Her Kegel muscles contracted and I was squeezed out of her as she curled into a convulsing, throbbing ball, squirting uncontrollably.  The more she pushed her knees up to her breasts in a tightly bound fetal position, the more she sprayed the bed and my knees.  I lifted up her phone to prevent it from being ruined by the liquid. 

TJ, author and model of The Lustful Empress, getting off to Lo

            “Fuuuu-uuuuck,” she groaned as the last bit of lady juice spurted out of her.

            When she regained control of her limbs, she slowly got up and pulled the soaked sheets with her, dropping them in the laundry basket.  “I’ll clean up, Daddy, but right now I have to get ready.”

            “Ready for what?” I asked, holding my throbbing, hard rod in my hand.

            “My date.”

            “Date?”

            “With Robert.  I told you, didn’t I?”

            I just looked dumbfounded. 

            “We’re going to the movies.”

            “Really?”

            “Yes.”

            “And what are you seeing?”

            “The Favourite.”

            “Is he your favorite now?” I asked, demoralized.

            “No, Daddio, she said, caressing me and looking up at me with those beautiful big brown eyes.  “That’s the name of the movie.  It’s a period piece.”

            “Really?  Not a porno?”

            “Well, I hear it has a lot of woman-on-woman sex scenes.”

            “I knew it!”

            “But that’s not why we’re going to see it.”

            “You’re going to see it to have sex in a crowded theater.”

            “Oh, Daddy, you always impute to me the most debased of motives.”

            “So why are you going to see it?”

            “It’s historical.  It has great sets, acting, and costumes.”

            “And?”

            “And probably to fuck in a dark theater.”

            “Don’t get caught.”

            “But getting caught is at least half the fun.  Does that make you jealous?” she asked, as her hand stroked my hard cock. 

            “So you’re leaving me home alone on a Friday night?”

            “Not totally alone,” she said, “You have TJ.”

            “Who?”

            “TJ, the woman from the blog.”

            “Oh, right,” I said to my consolation prize.

            Lola made the bed and I watched her tits droop as she bent over to tuck in the sheets.  Her naked body moved like a delightful dance as she unfurled the blanket. 

            “Look,” she said, as she hopped back in the bed and took up her phone.  I sat next to her.  Her left hand stroked my hard erection up and down as she scrolled through TJ’s blog with her right hand. 

            We read and looked at the photos together. 

Lola
TJ of The Lustful Empress

            “She sounds like she could be your twin sister,” I said as I read about how TJ becomes aroused by her own naked body. 

            “Hold this,” she said, giving me the phone. 

            Now, with her right hand she was stroking her pussy and I scrolled through the blog. 

            “Oh boy,” I said, “You want her.” 

            Lo bit her lower lip.

            “Lo,” I cautioned, “You just made the bed.  You don’t want to. . .”

            Before I could finish my sentence, she had jumped off the bed and ran to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before releasing her ejaculate all over the tile floor with a scream. 

            When she had regained her composure, she got some paper towels and got on her hands and knees to clean up the mess. 

            “What time is your movie?”

            “Eight,” she called back.  “But we’re meeting for drinks first.”

            “Well, you’re going to be late,” I told her. 

            She jumped in the shower and I continued to look at the blog, hard up. 

            “Hey,” she called to me, “you’re not allowed to cum.  You know that, right?”

            “I still don’t understand how that is fair,” I said, taunting her.

            I got up and looked at her in the shower.

            “Get!” she screamed.  She hates when I see her in her shower cap. 

            “How is it fair that you get to cum twice and then go on a date with another man and I’m not allowed any autoerotica myself?”

            “First,” she said from behind the shower curtain, “it’s not autoerotic if you use someone else’s pictures.  Second, you didn’t count the three times I came before you got home.”

            “Lo, now you’re just. . .”

            “And third,” she cut me off, “this has nothing to do with fairness.  It has everything to do with me.  What I want.  What I allow you.  Got that?  Don’t forget it.”

            Lo jumped out of the shower and hastily dried off before slipping into a blue dress and blue heels.  No panties. 

            “You’re going to be cold like that,” I cautioned.

            “I’m planning on things heating up quickly,” she said. 

            Soon enough she was out the door, leaving me alone. 

            I scrolled through TJ’s blog, which I recalled I had seen before, and I thought to myself, “She said no cumming, but she didn’t say no edging.” 

            I spent about an hour going through each and every post before I thought to myself, “If I don’t stop this right now, I’m going to explode!” 

Stoya Left, Lola Right

            In order to take the edge off, I switched to photos of Lo, which are always fair game, and I pulled out the old Stoya Fleshlight.  Lubing up Stoya and myself, I imagined what Lo was up to with Robert.  I didn’t even need to see Lo’s photos.  Soon enough I was cumming and cumming hard and deep in Stoya’s pussy, just thinking about Lo in a dark theater, legs spread, and Robert discretely moving his hand up her smooth thigh until reaching that wet pussy, pulsating with anticipation.  Gently he would rub and flick her pussy lips, clandestinely making her cum.  I pictured her hands gripping the seat and her upper teeth biting down on her bottom lip to prevent the scream from escaping her mouth.  That was enough to bring me over the edge and release me into a deep sleep. 

Cums, Shoots, & Leaves

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More!

            Lo’s trysts with Robert continued on a fairly regular basis.  He’d text.  She’d encourage him to come.  He would.  But as his drop-ins became more frequent, the novelty of it began to wear off for Lo, and perhaps for Robert as well.  And so they would engage in different, ever more elaborate conceits to involve me in their affair.  I shall mention just a few of them here.

            Though I sat merely yards away from where they were going at it in the bedroom, one time Lo called me on her phone from there to the living room.  I could practically hear her talking, even without the use of the phone, yet she spoke to me as if I was far off in another town. 

            “Daddy, do you want to know what Robert is doing to me now?”

            “What’s he doing, Lo?” I asked, nonchalantly. 

            “He’s behind me, fucking me doggy-style.  His cock is so long, it’s hitting my spot perfectly,” she said, following it up with a long moan that I could hear perfectly in the living room. 

            Another time, as they were going at it in the bedroom, Lo took a selfie.  She was doggie-style, he behind her.  She made a big ‘O’ with her mouth as if she were in ecstasy.  She texted the photo to me. 

            A different night, after I showed Robert into the bedroom and I was about to turn to leave, Lo stopped me.  She was naked under the sheets.  Robert was fully dressed and anxious.  Lo said, “Wait, Daddio.”

            “Yes,” I asked, like a dutiful servant in a nineteenth century English manor house. 

            “Tonight I’m going to give Robert my ass,” she said.

            “And?” I asked politely.

            She fumbled in the nightstand drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube.  “Will you grease me up?” she asked, pulling down the sheets, turning over, protruding her ass in the air and pointing to her special spot. 

            Devotedly, I took the lube and covered my index finger with it and proceeded to spread it all around her target as she moaned and wiggled her ass.  I then inserted my finger in and out as Robert looked on.  “Like this, Lo?” I asked.

Right there!

            “MmmmmHmmmm,” she said, “More.” 

            I continued.  She orgasmed, collapsing into the bed. 

            “That will be all,” she said dismissively.  “Robert, I’m ready for you.”  And she slid on her tum so that her legs were spread on the floor and she was bent over at a ninety-degree angle on the bed.  I saw Robert unbuckle his belt and undo his pants as I slowly closed the door.  I heard Lo moan as he entered her and I walked down the hall.

            “Daddio,” I heard her call once more, just as I got to the living room.

            I returned and knocked on the door. 

            “Come in,” said Lo, struggling to speak.

            I entered the room.  Robert had already entered her.  Lo looked up at me.

            “Daddio,” she said.

            “Yes?”

            “Do you want to fuck Stoya while Robert fucks my ass?”

            “If that gives you pleasure,” I said.

            “Where is it?”

            “She’s in the closet.”

            “She?!” she said, “Now it has a gender?!”

            “She’s a vagina.  Of course she has a gender.  She goes by the pronouns: She, Her, Hers.”

            “It is just a vagina.”

            “I don’t reduce women to only their genitalia,” I said, aware of the irony of my statement.

            “Well, grab your vagina and pull out your cock,” she said.

            I got my Stoya Fleshlight and unzipped my pants.  Lo applied the lube to my cock and then held Stoya in her hands as I penetrated her (that is, Stoya’s) vagina. 

Stoya & Stoya’s Fleshlight

            “That’s it, Daddio.  You fuck Stoya while Robert fucks my ass,” she said with clear delight.  She shut her eyes and enjoyed the ride.  In a remarkable chain reaction, Lo began to cum and then both Robert and I came, making for a splendid triple play. 

“This is for you, Daddy”

            These odd requests and variations were the exception, however, not the norm.  The norm was a five or ten minute shag, one orgasm achieved by each party, and then on went the clothes and out the door went Robert. 

            One night Lo had already said yes to Robert’s request to come over, but as he was on his way, she remembered that she was supposed to make a call overseas for work.  She was planning a major event and had invited some big name people to join.  She had to make the call and it wouldn’t be a short conversation. 

            Lo was already on the phone with her connection abroad when Robert arrived.  I explained to Robert the mix-up when he walked in and he asked, “Should I wait?” looking uncomfortable about the prospect, and also a bit disappointed and a tad upset.  Spoiled man. 

            “No,” I said in reply.  “Lola said you could quietly sneak in.” 

            Sneak into what?  The bedroom?  Her snatch?  Both apparently. 

            Lo was naked, standing up, bent over a desk, one hand holding the phone and the other a pen as she took notes.  She used the pen to point to her ass and indicated where she wanted Robert.  She then put the pen perpendicularly over her lips to indicate, “Shhhhhh.”  Robert didn’t even fully undress.  He just pulled out his rod and mounted her, slowly and easily.  She continued her conversation as if nothing was happening behind her.  He slid in and out, using her wet snatch for his pleasure until he finally came deep inside her.  He put his pud back in his pants, zipped up, washed off, and blew a kiss goodbye to Lo as she continued to take notes, cum dripping down her inner thigh.  After I saw Robert out, I got a warm washcloth to clean her off.  When she was finally done with her business call, she joined me in the bed. 

Thanks Robert

            “Did you enjoy that?” I asked.

            “Enjoy it?” she asked back, surprised.  “I didn’t even notice.  I was too focused on the phone call.”

The Perfect Coffee Table

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Someone Likes “Sexy Shorts”

            Friday and finally all my meetings were over.  I flew home that night.  I hadn’t heard from Lo since the previous night when she enigmatically told me that she had dinner with Robert.  I was eager to see her.  I was hard-up and aching for release.  On top of that, there was the tantalizing mystery of what happened on her “date” with Robert.  Just to make matters worse, fate so ordained it that on my flight home I was seated next to a young, attractive college girl wearing a tight fitting miniskirt and a low cut blouse.  Her breasts were full and, when placing her carryon in the storage compartment above, she stretched and revealed a delectable midriff and even some under-boob.  When we sat down, she saw that I was reading Fast Girl, the book by Suzy Favor Hamilton about her life as a high-end Vegas escort and her sex addiction.

Suzy Favor Hamilton

            “What is that?” she asked, naively, but with a hint of being in-the-know. 

            “It’s a memoir,” I said tersely.  Her interest made me nervous.  Her looks made me more nervous.  Her age made me simply petrified – in every sense of the term. 

            “I think I’ve heard of it.  It’s about. . .” her brow wrinkled with the struggle of recall.

            “A woman who leads a double-life as a devoted wife and mom and as a prostitute.”

            “Oh,” she said, shocked at my candor.  She quickly followed it up with a smile and, “Do you like it?”

Suzy Favor Hamilton

            There was a mischievousness to her question that indicated to me that she wanted to know what turns me on.

            “It’s my homework,” I said, as if that negated any pleasure I may derive from it.

            “Homework?” she asked.  “What class are you in?”  She wanted to enroll.

            “My girlfriend assigned it to me.  She said it would help me understand her better. The last assignment was Getting Off, about a woman addicted to self-pleasure through humiliation porn.”

            “Girlfriend?” she asked.  “Aren’t you married?” she inquired while indicating my wedding band.  Clearly she was interested in more than my reading material.

            “Oh that,” I said, “I wear it to keep the ladies away.”  My standard line.

            “Yeah right,” she said.  “Every guy knows that nothing attracts single women like a man who’s spoken for.”

            “You got me there,” I said.  She was attracted.  This would be a l-o-n-g flight.

            “I wish,” she said under her breath.  “So, your girlfriend – or whatever – is addicted to porn?”

            “I don’t know that she’s addicted to porn.  She likes porn.  But she definitely is addicted to pleasure.”

            “I know the feeling,” she said.

            “Is that so?”

            “Would you like to know the feeling?”

            “Look,” I said, “what’s your name?”

            “Kayla,” she said.  Of course her name was Kayla. 

            “Look Kayla, I’m already involved with a nymphomaniac.  It takes every ounce of my energy, focus, concentration, devotion, love, and chi to satisfy her. . . and still I come up short.  I appreciate your interest.  I really do, but I’m on my way back home to see her, and, well, to be honest, the beautiful batting of your eyelashes is very well and good, but I’ve got a perfect slut waiting for me at home.”

            If this attractive, flirty, young woman had been sitting next to me on the departure flight, when I was more mad at Lo than missing her, things may have been different.  Even then, the fact is, no matter how angry I am with her, I still love Lo.  And I know, no matter how attractive other women may be, the witty repartee that Lo and I have is inimitable. 

I tried to make my position clear.  She accepted the boundaries I had set.  But she switched gears and now asked me all about Lo.  I gladly told her.  It was probably my best in-flight conversation.  By the time we landed, despite our fight or because of it, I wanted Lo more than ever.  (I gave Kayla the blog address, just so she could see for herself how it’s done.)

            I got home and as soon as I walked in the door I knew I was in for trouble.  Lo wasn’t talking to me except monosyllabic words.  “Hi.”

            “How are you?” I asked.

            “Fine.”

            You get the gist.  But she was dressed in a pink sleeveless t-shirt and her black lace panties.  That’s it.  She pranced around with her hard nipples poking through the front of her shirt, her side-boobs bouncing and peeking out from the open underarms.  She.  Looked.  Good. 

Surf’s Up

            I was hard.

            I wanted her.

            I needed her.

            I had no idea how to approach her.

            So I took the direct approach: “You wanna fuck?”

            “Your seduction technique is so subtle, yet captivating,” she said. 

            I knew I was making good progress because captivating is four syllables. 

            “Yeah,” I said, nonchalantly. 

            “Then why are you still wearing your clothes?”

            I stripped and she pulled down her panties. 

            Her pussy was smooth, shaven, pink and beautiful.

            “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

            “This?” she asked, stroking her lovely mons pubis.

            “Yeah,” I said, “that.”  For a moment I was under the impression that she was anticipating my return and that she had shaved for me.  She disabused me of that notion right away.

            “I told you,” she said, “I was seeing Robert last night.”

            We were in the bed now.  I was looking down at her lovely body.  “You did that for Robert?”

            “Semper fi,” she said. 
            “Semper fi?” I asked, perplexed.

            “Yeah,” she said, “Always prepared; the motto of the marines.”

            “Semper fi means ‘always faithful.’”

            “Oh,” she said.  “Whoops!”

            “You can say that again.  So, were you faithful?”

            “Fuck me and I’ll tell you.”

            I was arched over her and I enjoyed looking at her beautiful body as her hand guided my protruding member up and down her wet labia.  “Come on, Daddy,” she said, “fuck me.  You know you need it.  Take it.”

            I penetrated her.  From the feel of things, she needed me as much as I needed her.

            Once I had fully engorged her, I asked, “So, what happened last night?”

            She was too busy enjoying my rod.  She came within seconds.

            I waited for her to catch her breath.  “Tell me,” I commanded.

            “I met him at his house,” she said in her breathy voice.

            “What were you wearing?”

            “A short skirt.  My leather boots.  A tight top.”

            “Go on.”

            “I met him there.  He kissed me hello.”

            “On the lips?”

            “Yes.”

            “Mighty forward of him.”

            “I made sure it was on the lips.”

            “Oh.”

            “We talked a little and then he drove us to the restaurant.  I think he liked being seen in there with me.  It looked like a first or second date, I’m sure.”

            “What did you talk about?”

            “Him, mostly.  His needs.  His wants.  His desires.”

            “Oh, so you talked about you.”

            “You could say that.”

            She came again.  Nothing excites her as much as she.

            “And then?”

            “We went back to his place.  He invited me in.  He offered me a drink.  We sat on the couch.  Before I finished my first drink, we were making out.  His hands were under my top, feeling my breasts, pulling my nipples.”

            Too much!  I came.

            As I pulled out of her and rolled on my back, she said, “Well, I guess you’ll have to wait to hear how the night ended.”

            “Uh-uh,” I said, “You’re going to finish this slut-saga tonight.

            “Only if you’ll fuck me again.”

            “Start talking.  You know what your words do to me.”

            She moved closer to me and her index finger twirled around my flaccid cock as she spoke:

            His fingers were running up and down my clit over my panties.  Within a couple of strokes, my panties were soaked.  He could feel it. 

‘Why have you held out on me all this time?’ I asked Robert as he was feverishly trying to slide my panties over my boots.

            He got them off and he was trying to remove my skirt, but it has a zipper in the back.  I kissed him and slowly stood up, turned around, and let him unzip it.  The skirt fell to the floor and he felt my bare ass with his hands and then he began kissing it. 

            ‘You’re beautiful,’ he said.  ‘Even more beautiful than in your photos.’

            ‘Thank you,’ I said, turning around to face him.  He saw my silky smooth pussy.  He kissed it.  I came.  I came hard just from the light touch of his lips on my soft triangle.  I had to grab his shoulders to steady myself.  I pulled his head in to my tum and he kissed me as he slowly removed my shirt.  He sucked on my tits as I stood totally naked before him. 

            ‘Here I am, bare as the day I was born,’ I said, ‘and you have all your clothes on.’

            I began unbuttoning his dress shirt.  I got him out of it and out of his t-shirt.  I then got him to stand as I got on my knees and I undid his belt, his pants button, his fly, and slowly pulled down his trousers.  I could see his enormously long cock in his boxers.  I wanted it.  I pulled down his boxers and there it was, just as I remembered it.  It was beautiful, but it was as soft as you are right now.

            I was soft, but getting harder.  “He did tell us that he has a performance problem,” I said.

            “Yeah, I know,” she said.  “I sucked on it and gave it my best blowjob, but damn it all, I couldn’t get it hard.”

            “Really?!”  That was a first.

            “Yeah,” she said.

            “Please demonstrate,” I asked.  “Perhaps there is a problem with your technique.”

            That really pissed her off.  Never insult Lo’s skills in the bedroom, or any other room.

            She put her mouth on my cock and said, “I have impeccable technique.”  That she did.  She worked on my slack slinky and it slowly regained some rigidity. 

            As she lifted her soft lips off my stuff, she said, “He didn’t respond to my loving labia, so I got under him and opened wide, taking his huge balls in my mouth.  That he liked.  It got an immediate reaction.”

            “You are fond of instantaneous reviews.”

            “He then guided me to the bedroom where. . .” 

            “No, wait,” I interrupted, “let me get in you now.”  I was hard-up and wanted to hear the end of her story from a position that would allow me to gage her level of excitement.  I slid my arousal-meter inside her and she continued.

“We got into bed and, well, he was still having difficulty performing.  I asked him, ‘Do you want to look at some porn together?’”

“You wanted it bad, didn’t you?” I asked.

“I’m always up for porn,” she said, nonchalantly.  “And he was too.  He pulled up the blog.”

“Our blog?!”

“Yes.  What other blog?”

“OK.”

“And we scrolled through some pics together.  He settled on one of you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.  And he got hard.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No I’m not.  I asked him, ‘You like his cock?’ and he said, ‘Yes.’”

“You wouldn’t put me on like that, would you?”

“I swear,” she said, sincerely.  “I asked him more about it and he told me that he thinks his problem might be that he’s gay.  He said he likes being with women, but he gets turned on by looking at guys.”

“So what did you do?”

“We looked at some more porn together, mostly gay porn, cuck porn, and swinger porn.  He eventually turned me over, doggy-style, put his laptop on my back, and fucked me from behind.”

“He used you like a coffee table?!”

“Well, if someone invented a cross between a coffee table and a fuck doll, then, yes.”

“Good idea.”

“And then he asked me if he could go in my ass.”

“The audacity of that man!”

“And I said yes.”

“You little slut.”

“Yes, Daddy.  Say it again.  You’re turning me on.”

“You skank.  You trollop.”

“He went in my ass and then he asked, very politely, if he could cum in me.”

“You anal whore.  I bet you wanted him to.”

“Well, I had cum so many times by that point, it only seemed fair.”

After she said that, I came, not in her ass, but deep in her, for the second time. 

“I’m glad you were able to be so charitable while I was away,” I said.  I have to admit, I felt a twinge of jealously and, for a moment, I regretted not taking advantage of my opportunity on the plane. 

“Why didn’t you sleep over?” I asked her.

“It had been a long time since I had anal sex,” she began to say.

“Don’t I know it,” I added.

“And so I wanted to go home to clean up.  I’m sorry, but I may have made a bit of a mess on your car seat.”

“You mean, Robert’s mess.”

“Yes, Daddy.  Are you mad?”

“Lo, I can never stay mad at you.”

“But are you mad now?”

“No, Lo.  I’m actually perfectly content.” 

NILF

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Do you want your tie back too?

            “How have things with Linda been?” inquired Lo.

            “OK,” said Robert with a tone of disappointment.

            “Why just OK?”

            “She has one boyfriend in Naples, another in Amsterdam, and then she toys with me.”

            “Toys with you?” Lo’s ears perked up.

            Robert had made an excellent meal for Lo and me even though we had dropped in on him unexpectedly.  He is a very generous and hospitable man and he opened a bottle of wine for Lo as he and I enjoyed an excellent bottle of Scotch.  It was so good and so smooth that, before we knew it, he and I were on our fourth already.  It hit me all at once and I suddenly realized that I was having difficulty seeing straight.  

            “We Skype with each other once a week.”

            “Ooooh,” squealed Lo, “Skype sex.”  Her tongue slid over her front teeth.

            Robert blushed, “It’s not like that,” he protested.

            “I’m sure,” responded Lo.

            “No, really.  Well, maybe once in a long while.”

            “I knew it!”

            “But I meant no double entendre.  I simply meant that. . .”

            “Do you like to watch?” interrupted Lo.

            “What?”

            “Do you like to watch, to watch her, Linda, when she toys with you?”

            Robert squirmed a little in his seat, uncomfortable.  He’s tremendously uptight and prudish, but he also thinks of himself as enlightened and courageous, so he answered the question, “Well, yes.”

            “Do you reciprocate?”

            “That’s usually why she calls me on Skype.  To. . .”

            “To see you jack it?”
            “If you wish to put it that way, yes.”

            “I do like this gal.  When can I meet her?”

            “That’s just the thing.  She shuttles between Italy, Holland, and London and I don’t think we’ll be together in person again anytime soon.”

            “She can’t just puddle jump the pond and come over for a quicky?”

            Robert laughed at the suggestion.

            “Boy, you must be so hard-up,” said Lo seductively.

            Robert poured himself another whiskey and gestured to pour another for me.  I covered the top of my glass to decline the offer.

            “I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m going to lie down for a bit.”  I got up, unsteadily, and found my way to the guest bedroom.  It was right off the hall that went to the living room and so I heard snippets of their conversation from bed.   

            “I remember when I was between boyfriends,” Lo was saying, “not literally.  I mean, after I graduated college and before HH, I used to spend two or three nights a week at my friend Alyssa’s apartment.  She and I were the best of friends back then.  I had no romantic designs on her, but we’d share a bed, both of us naked, holding each other.  She and I were both single and on nights that we didn’t want to go home with a stranger, we’d take comfort in the love we shared.  After she fell asleep, I’d lie there, wide awake, horny, and I’d touch myself silently, careful not to wake her up with my strokes or my inevitably powerful orgasm.  Now that’s what I do next to HH sometimes.  Like tonight, I’ll probably have to do that since he drank too much.”

            Hearing her say that brought a smile to my lips as my mind drifted off on whiskey-saturated clouds.  I dozed for I don’t know how long before I was roused from my slumbers by the sound of Lo’s voice saying, “Are you sure you don’t want some company?”  She was just entering my room and, as I opened my eyes, I saw Robert’s shadow in the hallway. 

            “I’ve had too much to drink.  I’m going to feel like shit in the morning.  Thank you, Lo,” he said politely. 

            “Well, won’t you at least tuck me in?” she asked.  I saw her silhouetted against the hall light filling the doorway.  She slowly removed her blouse, dropped her jeans, undid her bra and took it off, and then slid out of her panties.  I felt her naked body sit on the edge of the bed and then lift up her legs on top of the covers under which I was lying.  Her legs spread and her hand stroked between them. 

            Robert entered the room timidly.  He bent down to offer Lo a kiss goodnight.  She pulled his arm and gently guided him into the bed.  “There’s room enough for all three of us,” she said. 

            He got into the queen-size bed.  I heard Lo kiss him and before very long I heard him sleeping.  I was about to drift off again myself when I felt and saw Lo caressing herself, there, naked, between the two of us.    

            After a restless night of beautiful dreams, I awoke to find Lo next to me, naked, and Robert next to her, fully clothed.  She was nestled up to his body with her right hand on his crotch.  I was holding her – a big spoon to her little spoon – caressing her breasts. 

            I carefully extricated myself from the scene and snuck into the kitchen to make coffee.  I found my phone in my pocket and on it was a text from Lo.  It was sent only a few hours earlier: “Can I fuck Robert?  Please!” 

            I texted her back: “Good morning, my love.  I was hard-up all night – from the moment you got into the bed next to me to the moment I woke up next to you, caressing your breasts and your sweet ass.  Your warm, soft, luscious, naked body looks lovely in the morning light.  In my dreams a word came to mind for you – NILF: Nymph I’d Like to Fuck.  Yes, that’s you. 

By all means, feel free to get Robert up!  You have my permission to rouse him.  Show him what a NILF you are.” 

            I was sitting, enjoying a warm cup of coffee when Lo sauntered into the living room wearing one of Robert’s dress shirts, covering her sexy body down to the middle of her thighs.  She said nothing.  She just cozied up to me on the couch. 

            “How are you, sweetheart?”

            “I missed you, Daddy.”

            “What about Robert?”

            “Out like a light.”

            “And you?”

            She nestled her face into my chest and said something inaudible. 

            “What?”

            She looked up at me and repeated it in a whisper, “I need to get fucked.”

            “By me or him?”  I asked, adding after, “Or both?”

            “Preferably both, but I’ll take what I can get.”

            I stood up and dropped my trousers.  She bent over the side of the couch and I entered her from behind.  She held herself in place with her left hand and rubbed herself between her legs with her right.  It took all of 90 seconds before she came the first time, audibly.  It was about another minute and a half before she came a second time, even louder.  The third time took about five minutes and it was deafening. 

            I pulled out and said, “You’re just trying to wake him up, aren’t you?”

            “Am I a good NILF or bad?”

            “It doesn’t matter, dear.”

            “Why not?” she asked, puzzled.

            “Because you’re my NIFL and I love you.”

            She got on her knees and sucked me off until I came in her mouth and then she got up and we made breakfast together.  The aroma of the eggs and toast must have woken Robert, because he finally emerged from the bedroom holding his head.

            “Owe!” he lamented, “Aspirin!”

            “Here,” said Lo, helping him to sit down at the table.  “Have some of this,” she said as she poured him some orange juice and went into the bathroom to get the aspirin.  She came back and nursed him. 

            “That’s my shirt,” said Robert after a moment.

Daddy’s shirt

            “Oh, sorry,” said Lo.  “Do you want it back?” she asked and made as if to unbutton it. 

            “No,” said Robert, “I just realized – it looks much better on you.”

            We had breakfast together and then Lo removed the shirt and handed it back to Robert.  “I’m just going to change and then we’ll be going,” she said, standing naked before him. 

            Robert was speechless. 

            “Thanks for the hospitality.  But next time, try not to drink so much,” she said before disappearing into the bedroom. 

            “Do you remember what happened last night?” asked Robert of me.

            “Yes,” I said.

            “Do you mind sharing?”

            “No,” I said, “but when I share, it is only good manners to stay sober enough to be up for it.” 

[Editor’s note, this story involves Dr. Robert Smith. For previous stories that include him, click on the links to: Well Laid, Hey Good Lookin’, Pyro, Happy as a Clam, Good Night, My Whore, and Attention Slut. There’s no need to read those stories in that order for this story, but if you are interested in the long flirtation between Lo and Dr. Robert Smith, you can get the backstory in those posts.]
 

Community Chest

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What’s black and white and read all over?

            Recently our financial situation improved.  In no small part, Lo’s getting a full-time job has certainly contributed to our recovering fiscal health.  Now that we aren’t always scraping by to pay the rent or put food on the table, we actually have a little bit of money that we can set aside for a rainy day.  So, trying to be the responsible adults we pretend to be, we created a joint savings account.  I know, nothing says sexy like money in the bank.  Walking home from the bank, feeling a sense of accomplishment, I said to Lo, “We’ll call our account ‘The Community Chest.’”

            “Community Chest! – That’s what they called me in college!” she blurted out with a smile. 

I thought she was joking and said as much. 

“No,” she said, “that’s really what they called me.  There’s a long story there that I’ll tell you when we get home,” she said, grabbing hold of my hand and pressing her palm into mine.  

When we got home, I started to make myself a sandwich in the kitchen.  “So,” I said to her, “what’s the story from college?”

“What story?” Lo asked, playing dumb.  She loves to tease me and see that she has succeeded in piquing my interest. 

“You know what story,” I said, taking out the pickles, “the ‘Community Chest’ story.” 

She reached down and slid her hands from her waist up and under her bust, pushing upwards so that her cleavage bulged out of the neckline of her black tank top.  “You like, Daddy?”

“Yes,” I said, “but I want to hear the story.”

“Kiss them,” she instructed. 

I wagged my pickle at her (literally, no pun), and said, “Look here, Lo, if you’re trying to get me to hop in the sack with you and forego this lovely lunch I’ve just made, you’re in for some disappointment.” 

“I’ll be your lunch,” she said, standing up, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the kitchen floor.  She stood in her little black lace panties and her black boots. 

“Lola,” I said plaintively. 

“You know,” she paused and thought and then said, “I’m hungry too.”  She sauntered over to the fridge like a stripper on the stage.  She bent over, putting her ass in the air, standing on her tiptoes, and took a long look at the contents.  “I know what I want to eat,” she said, turning and walking toward me. 

What is there to eat?

“Lo.  Lo, I see that look in your eye.  Lo.”

It was no use.  She dropped to her knees on the kitchen floor.  She undid my belt, unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, pulled them down, pulled out my hard cock and filled her mouth with meat. 

Snack

“Fuck my face,” she asked, looking up at me.  “Put your hands here,” she said, moving my hands to her head, “and push me, use me, fuck my mouth.”  I followed instructions.  “Harder, Daddy!” she said before I forced her back on my rod.  I had passed the point of no return and soon I was filling her up as she ravenously swallowed all I gave her.  It all happened in the matter of a few moments.  Then she got up, took my plate with the sandwich that I had so carefully prepared, and sat at the table, taking a big bite of it.  “Mmmmmm,” she said, “can I have a glass of seltzer to go with this?” 

“Lo!  That was my sandwich!” I rebuked as I pulled up my jeans. 

“I just wanted a bite.  Here you have it.”

“No, it’s yours,” I said dejectedly as I got her a drink.

“No, I feel bad.  Have half.”

“Fine.”  I sat across from her and we ate.  “Now, tell me the story.”

“Well,” she began, chewing, “you remember Ryan?”

“No, I don’t remember Ryan.”

“Ryan, the boy from college.”

“I’m going to need a little more to go on than that.  There were a lot of boys from college.”

“I told you about how one night after watching a movie in a friend’s dorm, he and I crashed there on the sectional couch.”

“I vaguely recall that.” 

“You just want me to tell you again.”

“Indulge me.”

“Well, we got to talking in hushed tones about sex.”

“And who initiated that topic?” I asked sarcastically.

“He was curious about my masturbatory practices,” she said, ignoring my question.  “I told him that I jill it once a day – at least.” 

“Oh yes, I remember that story now.”

“Well, there’s more to it than that.  Come to the bedroom and I’ll tell you the rest.”

I followed her sexy ass to the bedroom, got naked, and climbed into bed with her.

She got on her back and spread her legs.  Putting her hand down there, under the covers, she continued in breathy tones.  “I was masturbating under the covers, like I am now, as I talked to him in the dark.  I imagined that he was masturbating too.  I asked him about his girlfriend – someone I didn’t really know.  He said that he wasn’t too happy with her and I asked him why he didn’t break up with her.  He said, ‘because she gives really good blowjobs.’  I said, ‘Oh yeah?  Tell me how you like it.’  He told me about what she does, adding, ‘but I don’t think she really enjoys it.’”

Lo was pulling on her nipples now and squirming in the sheets. 

“I was sad to hear that.”

“I’m sure you were broken up about it,” I added full of sarcasm.

“I told him, ‘You should try getting a blowjob from someone who really enjoys it.’”

“Did you give him one?”

“I really really wanted to.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“But he was too shy.”

“Too shy?!”

“Or something.  Maybe he felt bad cause of the girlfriend.  Whatever the reason, I didn’t get to give it to him.  I just masturbated till I came.  After that night, there were many nights when I’d be in my dorm, chatting on Facebook, and he’d pop up and quickly turn the chat into something sexual.”

“So you had virtual sex with him?”

“You could say that.”

“But that still doesn’t explain how you got the nickname.”

“I’m getting there.  Give me a minute,” she said as she climaxed. 

            I waited for the waves of pleasure to subside. 

            She flipped over and lifted her ass up.  “Fuck me, Daddy, and I’ll tell you the rest of the story.”

            “Lo, you just blew me in the kitchen.”

            “Come on!  You can do better than that.  Can’t you get it up again?”

            Her belittling comments didn’t help the situation.

            “Get behind me and fuck me,” she demanded. 

            I got behind her, but I wasn’t hard.  She reached under the bed and passed me her glass dildo.  “Use this for now,” she instructed.  I slid the smooth, hefty sculpture into her slippery puss and she continued talking in spurts. 

            “He was a gamer and I think he told his nerdy friends about me.  Soon they were inviting me over their dorm rooms to play with them.  They each wanted me to jiggle their joysticks.”

            “I bet they did.”

            “They were all computer geeks and none of them had much sexual experience.  Anyhow, I didn’t actually do anything with them.”

            “Nothing?” I asked in disbelief.

            “Not much, but they made up stories about me.  They each claimed that they fucked me and so they began calling me the community chest, bragging that they each made a deposit.”

            “And you let them get away with that?”

            “Let them, I got off on it.”

            All this time I was almost mechanically pushing and pulling the glass object in and out of her puss as she was backing up and pulling forward on her hands and knees.  Now she said, “Harder, Daddy.  Pay attention to what you’re doing!”

            I tried to give more attention to her puss, but I had more questions for her.  “So,” I asked, “what did you do with them?”

            “Well,” she said, ramping up again, “like I said, they didn’t have much sexual experience and when I did try to blow one of them he. . .” she broke off and began her howling orgasm.

            I pulled the dildo out from her and she squirted, involuntarily, all over the sheets.  She thrust her hands between her legs, trying to stop the sprinkler, and she exclaimed, “Wow!  I feel like a fucking Slip-n-Slide!” 

            “You’re more fun,” I said.

            Collapsing in the bed when she was done, I brought a towel over and applied it between her legs and to the sheets.  I asked her again, “What happened?”

            “I squirted,” she said, annoyed at my ignorance.

“No, silly.  I mean, what happened with the geek?” 

“Oh, well, I was on my knees and I unzipped his pants, but when I opened up his fly, I saw that he had already cum.  I said to him, ‘Let me blow you.  You can take my tits out of my top and suck on them,’ but he was so embarrassed that he just zipped up and left.”

            “And the thought of that made you cum just now?” I asked.

            “No,” she said, “the thought of making all of his friends cum the night that I went over there to play video games and they watched me finger myself – that made me cum.”

            “Tell me that story.”

            “Another time, Daddio, when I actually have a shot of getting fucked by you,” she said, closing up shop for the day.

Sun-Kissed

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Beach Reading

            A July vacation at a beach house for a week can be the perfect antidote to all of your problems.  Unless that vacation is a family reunion and the beach house is for thirty people.  And among those thirty people are married dads in their forties and fifties who are in good shape.  And your girlfriend is Lo.  Then, you might have ninety-nine problems, but Lo is the only one you have to really worry about. 

            That was the case this week.  Every seven years or so my extended family decides that we should make a pilgrimage from all the corners of the globe, rent one enormous house on the beach with enough bedrooms and bathrooms to accommodate us all, and stay under one roof for seven days straight.  We have been doing this for a few decades now, but we hadn’t had one of these since I started dating Lola. 

            She hadn’t met most of my family – only heard about them through various stories I told her and, to be fair, with thirty of them, I doubt that she really could tell one from the other without having met them in person.  But this week, right in the middle of July, we were all going to be up-close and personal with each other.  Foolishly, I hadn’t thought of warning her prior to our departure.  This was my family.  Did I need to warn her?  Apparently so. 

            You see, if I do say so myself, I come from a very good looking family.  My brothers and sisters and my cousins have certain family features in common – features that drive Lo wild.  I’d even venture to say that, of the lot of us, I am probably the least physically attractive.  My male relatives all have strong-cut jaws, expressive eyes, and the classic broad shoulder tapering to a thin waist.  They are very health conscious, for many of them were athletes even through college.  My female relatives share many of the same good genes that have preserved their looks into midlife.  And they are married to rather attractive spouses. 

            Throw into this mix of middle-age men – all walking around topless, biking, kayaking, swimming, cooking, and being dads to their respective kids – a twenty something nymphomaniac with daddy issues wearing a skimpy bikini and you have just brought all sorts of wrath down upon your head.  Such was my lot for a week. 

            It began innocently enough.  We were on the beach with a few of my cousins.  The sun was blazing and the waves were rough and tumble.  We had our boogie boards with us and, after a beer, Lo said she wanted to ride the waves with me.  We grabbed the boards and went into the refreshing water, waded out past the crashing waves and waited for the right moment.  As we were out there, Lo turned to me and said, “Daddio, I’m so wet!”

            “We’re in the ocean, Lo.  Of course you’re wet,” I replied.

            “I don’t mean like that,” she said with a devilish grin.

            Before I could respond, a wave came and soon she and I were soaring towards the shore atop the white crest of the surf.  Conditions were just right for multiple sorties.  She looked happy, like a little girl.  I had never seen her see so happy.  She was grinning from ear-to-ear.  What I didn’t realize, since I was next to her for most of the wet-n-wild rides, was that each and every time we caught a wave and were carried in atop the undulating surge, Lo’s bikini top would be pushed downward and, each and every time she stood up from the excursion, her breasts were popping out, wet and glistening in the sun for all my cousins to see. 

            I only found out about this later, when, back in the house, she got naked in the bathroom with me to take a shower.  “Are you mad, Daddy?” she asked.

            “Why would I be mad?” I said as I saw her perfectly tanned body before me.

            “Because of my ‘accidents’ at the beach.”

            “What accidents?” I asked, naively. 

            Then she told me about her struggles with keeping her top on her tits. 

            We got in the shower together and washed each other down with body-soap.   It was one of those large shower/hot tubs that had a comfortable seat to sit.  I told Lo to sit down below me and spread her legs.  She did so, mistakenly thinking that I was going to put my cock in her mouth.  She opened up to receive me, but, instead, I took aim and let lose, releasing the golden stream formed from the many beers I had had on the beach.  She relished in the warm stream I doused her in, covering her tits and tum, puss and feet.  When I was good and done, she pulled my hand down and reversed positions with me and, putting one foot up on the ledge, she took aim and allowed me to get it just as good as I gave it. 

            Then she got down on her knees on the floor of the shower and took my hard cock in her mouth, fondling my balls with her right hand as her left rested on my knee.  Her long, wet, dark hair bobbed up and down under the stream of the shower.  She wanted me to cum, that was clear.  She worked hard to earn my ejaculatory appreciation, but I denied her the satisfaction of completion.  Before she got lockjaw, we got out of the shower and dried off. 

She bent over the bed, her ass beckoning me.  It was my turn to get on my knees and worship her tumescent pussy lips with my tongue.  She tasted sweet and I wanted more.  I buried the tip of my tongue as deep as it would go in her cunt and then in her ass and back again and again.  She came multiple times, her cum dripping down the sides of my mouth and saturating my beard as it streamed down my neck onto my chest.  I delighted in making her so wet.  Due to the cramped living quarters, she had to bite her lower lip and swallow her orgasmic screams.  She buried her head in the pillow to moan and groan. 

At some point I heard the sound of a radio playing from the pool area outside our window.  AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” was narrating the scene. 

She was a fast machine,

She kept her motor clean

They sang as I licked the smooth mons pubis of Lo from behind.  She could take it no longer and she crawled forward on the bed like a wounded soldier out of the heat of battle.  She rolled over, exhausted already, and spread her listless legs. 

She was the best damn woman that I’d ever seen.

I slid in her pussy with my aching rod and, honestly, I couldn’t feel a thing.  Just wet.  So wet.  At the very instant of my shaft lodging deep inside her, she came in waves – waves like those of the ocean that we were riding just a little while earlier.  After her quick climax, she was suddenly filled with new energy.  She rolled me over onto my back and slid her wet slit down the length of my solid pole, kneeling on top of me as she pulled and pinched her nipples.  I grabber by her hips and rocked her forward and back, slishing and sliding over my hips.  

She had a certain size,

Telling me no lies,

Knocking me out with those American thighs.

She came again.  Again, all I could feel was wetness cascading down upon me.  

She dropped her head down to bite on my neck and then she slid off of my rod slowly as her tongue slid down my chest, over my abs, eventually resting at my cock.  She took it all in her mouth and down the back of her throat. 

Taking more than her share,

She had me fighting for air,

She told me to cum, but I was already there.

I filled her with my pent-up power.  But she wasn’t done – no, not by a longshot. 

She wanted no applause,

Just another course,

Made a meal out of me,

And came back for more.

Had to cool me down

            To take another round,

            Now I’m back in the ring

            To take another swing!

            She licked and sucked, bobbed up and down, and opened wide for my balls – everything and anything she could do to get me back up and hard again.  When she finally succeeded, she lowered herself slowly on me once more and grabbed me, letting her nipples gently touch mine as she let her body become enfolded in mine.  I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. 

Shower Time

From her state of delirium, she began whispering in my ear.

“You know,” she said in a hushed tone, “I think your family likes me.”

“I’m sure they do,” I said.

“I mean, especially your brothers.  They really like me.”

“I think they really liked what they saw.”

“And I liked what I saw.”

“What was that?” I asked as I felt her excitement increasing with the taboo things coming out of her mouth.  I slowly moved my hands from her back to her thighs, to her ass cheeks, and then I pulled them, spread them, and placed my index finger on her special spot.

“They’re so built,” she said enthusiastically, “so mature.”

“You mean old.”

“Not old.”

“Older than me.”

“Yeah, but in such good shape.”

“I see,” I said, knowing where she was going. . . and liking it.

“And so big.”

“Big?” I asked as I entered her ass with my finger.

“Their cocks.  Their balls.  Wearing a Speedo. . .”

She couldn’t finish her thought.  She was cumming and cumming harder than any of the previous times.  My finger was deep inside her and I could feel her clenching up on it and releasing multiple times. 

When she was done, all orgasms finally brought to fruition and her body exhausted, she said to me, “That last orgasm, it felt just like I was riding that boogie board.  It felt like I was riding that wave, topless, the sea carrying me, lifting me, thrilling me, covering me with spume and salt and sun.”

“Did you cum when you were out there?”

“I think I might have, a little bit.”

“You really are a nymph, fucked by Poseidon himself.”

I’m Your Bitch

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            We were out on a double date with Mark and Stephanie.  Despite, or perhaps because of, Lo’s slutty ways, especially around Mark, they invited us out again after the beach experience.  They had hired a sitter for their kids and this time it was just the four of us at a local restaurant.  Because it was so crowded that Friday night, we took the first table we could get – a high-top in the bar area. 

            Lo was wearing her sexy little black skirt and heels with a neon blue blouse that had one too many buttons undone, revealing her cleavage and part of her lace bra.  She was sitting kitty-corner to Mark, and when she laughed, she would put her hand on his forearm, his knee, or touch his bicep.  She did this in a friendly, yet flirtatious way. 

            After the day at the beach with them, there was no way they would be surprised by this.  I was wondering to myself if they were actually interested in propositioning Lo, or both me and Lo, but were too inhibited to come out and say it. 

            If Lo was trying to get me jealous with her fawning over Mark, she was doing a good job of it.  Usually I’m not the jealous type – especially not with a hotwife like Lo.  But Mark was too perfect.  He was smart – a teacher in fact – and handsome, he worked out at the gym and was in tip-top shape, he had a perfect smile, and he was about four inches taller than I.  As if that wasn’t enough, Lo was perpetually reminding me of how large his cock is, as she ascertained through his pants and his bathing suit.  If he had any flaws that made his wife not want all that every night, I was unaware of them.  To make matters worse, Lo kept on inquiring of him about his personal habits.  “How do you stay so fit?  How do you keep in such great shape?” she asked, as she rubbed her hand down from his broad shoulder to his elbow. 

            He, for his part, was lapping it up.  He went on and on about his workout routine as Lo licked her lips just imagining it. 

            What Stephanie felt or thought during this, I don’t know, but in order to avoid any bad feelings, I inquired of Stephanie how her work was going and how the kids were doing.  It was boring polite dinner talk.  I really wanted to blurt out and ask her, “What do you think of my little slut making moves on your hunky husband?” 

            However, all this flirtatious frivolity came to a screeching halt when Julie approached our table.  Julie is a woman who moved to our neighborhood recently and has earned the ire of Lo.  She is just about Lo’s age with a teenage son, which means that she must have been pregnant when she was about 16.  She’s single and she gives Lo a run for her money.  She’s tall and has an All-American look about her that says she’s nothing but innocent sweets and smells of apple pie.  She uses this to her advantage in order to charm every guy she meets.  She hasn’t spoken more than the casual hello to Lo (or any other woman in the neighborhood), but will go out of her way to chat up any of the men on our block. 

How Lo Pictures Mark out to eat with Stephanie

            Julie happened into the restaurant alone, but I doubt she planned to leave it that way.  Seeing us – or rather, seeing me – she approached and gave me a warm hug hello with a kiss on the cheek.  To the other three, she merely waived and flashed her sparkling whites at them.  I felt Lo kick me hard in the shin under the table.  I was glad of it.  After all the torment she had given me thus far that evening, it was my chance to return the favor. 

            Though Julie was only going to say hi, I asked what brought her to that restaurant that night.  She said that her son was at a sleepover and that she just felt like getting out.  Much to Lo’s silent consternation, I insisted that Julie join us and get to know Mark and Stephanie.  At first Julie declined the invite, but I insisted. 

            “I couldn’t possibly.  There’s not enough room at this table,” she said.

            “Nonsense.  I’ll make room for you right here,” I said, sliding my stool over and grabbing another one for Julie so that she was very cozy between me and Mark. 

            Lo’s eyes were shooting ICBM warheads at me.  Ha!

            Despite Lo’s displeasure, the addition of Julie really helped the evening’s conversation.  The awkward pairing of Lo and Mark trading googly eyes at each other while Stephanie and I tried to pretend like nothing was happening was disrupted by Julie’s asymmetrical addition.  Now Lo was forced to pay attention to me at the expense of her romantic overtures to Mark.  I enjoyed that very much. 

            The night came to an early end for us because Lo insisted she had to get home “at a decent hour” in order to prepare for some fictitious event.  When I began to express perplexity at this excuse, I received another swift kick to my other shin.  I wasn’t sure how I’d walk home on those two injured legs of mine. 

            As soon as we were out of the restaurant, Lo stormed off at a brisk pace ahead of me. 

            “What?” I asked insincerely innocent.

            Silence.

            “Lo, come on.  Slow down and talk to me.  What’s the matter?”

            “You know very well what’s the matter,” she said from ten feet in front of me.

            “No I don’t.  What’s the matter?  Come on?  Please slow down.”

            She waited for me. 

            “Oh, Julie, there’s plenty of room for you.  You can come here and sit on my lap,” she said in a mocking manner. 

            “I did not say that.”

            “Whatever.”

            “Does it upset you?”

            We had just arrived at our apartment.  We got inside.  She went right to the bedroom and got naked.

            “Mmmmm, you look good,” I said.

            “This,” she said, sliding her hands over her sexy body, “is not for you.”

            “I suppose it’s for Mark,” I responded.

            “It’s for anyone except you,” she said curtly. 

            I got naked and into bed and she slid under the covers next to me and shut out the nightstand light. 

            From the darkness I heard, “Daddy, do you like her?”

            “Who?”

            “You know who.”

            “Julie?”

            “Yeah, Julie, that slut.”

            “Careful Lo, ‘slut’ is a compliment in your book.”

            “Only for me.  And you’re only for me.  You hear me?”

            “Yes, Lo, I hear you.”

            She reached down and grabbed my cock and began rubbing it.  “This is mine.  You got that?”

            “Yes Lo.”

            I was getting hard.  She dove under the covers and began sucking my cock.  When she reemerged, she asked, “Do you want me?”  

            “Yes,” I said.

            “Well get behind me and fuck me.”

            I did as she commanded.  She was wet and willing.  She came within seconds of penetration. 

            “Why do you want me?” she asked when she caught her breath.

            “Because Lo, I’m like a dog.  If you reach down between my hind quarters and fondle me and suck me till I’m hard, I’m going to want you.”

            That had her cumming again.

            “Either I get to have you,” I said, “or I’m going to be left painfully hard-up and full of liquid desire for you.”

            She loves the thought of me (or men) suffering physical anguish in the groin for her sweet release.  This made her climax a third time.

            “Cum in me.  Use me.  That’s what I’m here for.  You don’t need anyone else.  Just me and my cunt.  Fuck me, you horny dog.”

            I did as she commanded, filling her full of my froth. 

Filled, but not Finished

            She fell forward and I cuddled her.

            “Daddy, do you love me?”

            “So much,” I said.

            “Then why do you make me so jealous?”

            “Honestly Lo, it’s just to reassure me that I’m still your favorite.  I don’t mind sharing you, but I do really fear losing first place to someone else.”

            “Daddy, you’re silly.  You know that more than half the reason I flirt with other guys is because I want you to fuck me fiercely.  I want you to fight for me and subdue me with your cock.  Make me know that you’re my Daddy.” 

            Hearing her talk like that got me hard all over again and so I mounted her again and asked her what she was.

            “I’m your bitch.  I’m your horny, slutty, dirty bitch.”

Beach Bum

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            “Was I bad, Daddy?”

            “Yes.”

            “Am I a slut?”
            “Yes.”

            “Then fuck me like one.”

            Earlier that day, dear reader, we had gone to the beach with our friends Stephanie and Mark.  They’re a married couple in their 30’s, they have a couple of young kids, suburban house, everything – a quaint picture of domestic bliss.  Then you throw Lo into the mix and, well, you’ll see what unfolds (or unzips). 

Stephanie is a work acquaintance of mine who has her office down the hall.  Every so often she texts me little notes like, “Lunch today?” followed by a winkface, a smileyface, or some other emoticon that drives Lo crazy!  Lo is convinced she has the hots for me.  But it’s hard to stay seated atop her high horse when she is just as often on her knees in front of a different man.  As you shall soon discover, Lo was in for a dénouement all her own.  Lo, it so turns out, has more than your casual fondness for Mark.  In fact, she has made it no secret how she feels about him.

The first time we had dinner with them, when Lo first met Mark, Lo rushed us home and threw me into the bed, jumping on top of me, humping me and, looking down at me from where she lifted and descended at a rising trot’s pace, she asked, “Do you think he wants me?”

“Mark?”

“Yes, Mark,” she said, panting. 

She didn’t even let me answer before she finished.  Apparently just the mention of his name was enough to get her heart palpitating. 

She fell down next to me and, caressing her soft lower lips, she said, “He’s hard-up.”

“How do you know?”

“Did you forget that Stephanie and I had lunch together a few weeks ago?”

“And she told you that?”

“I have my ways of getting information.  I know that they have sex once every six months, if that.  And it’s not for his lack of wanting.”

“Do you think he wants you?”

“Fuck me and I’ll tell you.”

She spread her legs and I slid in.

“He’s so tall,” she began, “and sitting next to him I could tell that he was looking down my blouse at my tits all night.”

“I did notice that.”

“And his long legs touched mine under the table.”

“Did they?”

“And his cock!”  She was cumming again.  “His cock is huge.  I could see it bulging right through is pants.  Oh, it’s such a waste for her not to be on that every night!!!”  She came hard this time. 

That dinner date was a few months ago. 

Now, we were at the beach and I could tell that Lo was all riled up to see Mark in just his swimming trunks.  Knowing where Lo’s attention would fall, I gazed at his crotch and had to admit to myself, she was right – there was no disguising the size of that thing.  It was truly amazing that the tip didn’t peek out the bottom of those loose-fitting shorts. 

As soon as we staked out a spot for us to set up our chairs and blankets on the white sand, Lo removed her sheer blouse, revealing her tiny bikini top and lovely tum.  She had the confident air of a woman in her twenties, showing off and prancing around her thirty-something competition.  And that self-assured swagger sure got Mark’s attention. 

Stephanie, who was busy with the two kids, was oblivious to all the sexual tension coursing between Lo and Mark.  I watched, contentedly.  Lo was soon removing her cutoff jeans-shorts, slipping out of them like a stripper on stage.  Her bikini bottom left little to the imagination, but I could see Mark desperately imagining what was left.

When she was down to just her bikini, she got on all fours on the beach blanket in front of Mark, who was sitting in a beach chair.  She roved around the blanket like a dog looking for its bone, but Lo was looking for the sunscreen.  Or so she said.  I think she was just looking for attention. . . and getting it. 

“Where did you put it?” she asked me. 

“I don’t know,” I said.

“He’s good for nothing, Mark,” she said, jibbing at me.  As she was on all fours, her breasts hung down right in front of Mark and then she turned and, searching her bag, her ass was up in the air right in front of him.  I’ve seen strippers on stage who were more discrete than that.  “Oh, here it is!” she exclaimed as she pulled it out of her bag, looking behind her to see if she was being watched. 

She began applying the lotion to her feet, legs, tum, chest, arms, shoulders, neck, face.  “I missed a few spots,” she said, passing the lotion to me as we exchanged looks – mine saying, “You’re pushing it.”  Hers saying, “I want it pushed.”

I applied some lotion to her back.  “Lower,” she said.  I applied it to her lower back.  “Lower,” she said.  I applied it to her ass and she pulled up the bottoms into a thong and said, “Don’t take any chances.” 

I applied it to her ass cheeks as I looked at Mark and said, “The princess likes to be pampered.”  He laughed, but was clearly thinking about pampering the princess in his own way.  I enjoyed it. 

A group of four men strolled onto the beach with their cooler, chairs, volleyball, and snacks.  They set up camp right next to us, attracted to Lo, no doubt.  They were all in their twenties, jacked, and looking to have fun in the sun.  Lo’s attention was suddenly split between Mark and the men.  It looked like the numbers won out – unless Lo was just toying with Mark now the way she had been toying with me.  Once she had the fish hooked, she was content to throw it away and see what other catch she could accomplish with her bait. 

The guys, after settling in and cracking open a few brews, set up the volleyball net and began a game.  Lo looked on enviously. 

“Go play,” I said, giving her permission. 

“No, you come too,” she said, ambiguously. 

“I don’t want to.”

“Mark, will you play?”

Mark was up for it.  The two of them approached the guys and soon it was five guys and Lo bouncing the ball back-and-forth.  Lo danced upon the sand, dashing here and there, stretching to spike the ball, bending to pick it up, lunging to serve.  She was clearly distracting to her teammates and opponents alike.  At some points her bikini bottoms were showing her cute ass and at other points her breasts were on the verge of flying out of their cups. 

Stephanie talked with me in between rebuking or cautioning the children.  We discussed work and then leisure time.  I had recounted some of the things that Lo and I had done over the summer thus far.  “Wow!” she said, “You two do so much!” 

“Well, if I had my druthers, I’d probably just sit at home and read and write, but Lo is always on the go-go-go.” 

“One of the downsides of dating. . .” she searched for the least judgmental words she could find, “someone so young.”  No matter how she said it, it dripped with derision. 

“She keeps me young,” I said, simply, with a smile on my face as I watched my young nymph flirt with the four guys and Mark. 

The sun was beating down and I could see all the players wilting in the noontime heat.  They broke up their game and Lo grabbed some cash from her bag and said she was going to get a snow cone. 

“You were really playing hard,” I commented.

Out of breath, sweating, she just nodded.

“I mean, hard to get,” I added sardonically. 

“Daddio, I don’t play hard to get.  I play to get them hard.”

She asked if we wanted something.  After putting in my order, I watched as she and two of the young men walked down the path toward the dunes, behind which was the concession stand.  Just before they were out of eyeshot, I saw Lo stop and untie the halter-top of her bikini and ask one of the men to fix it for her.  He was fixing it from behind while the other guy was in front of her.  The guy fumbling with the stings “accidentally” lost his grip of them, letting the top fall.  Lo laughed as she pulled it back up.  Down it went again as she tried to pass the string to Mr. Butterfingers.  They all laughed as Lo covered her breasts with her arm.  They retied the knot and walked on.  They were away for a long time.  

When Lo got back from the concession stand, Lo asked me to go into the ocean with her.  “Where’s my snack?” I asked, expecting that she would at least bring it back.

“Whoops!” she said with a smile.  “I got a bit. . . distracted.  Come with me in the water and I’ll tell you about it,” she said, up to no good.  I gave her an angry look, but she’s knows I can’t be cross with her for long. 

I followed her to the deep blue sea.  The water was warm.  We were relatively alone at that part of the beach and I carried Lo in my arms.  When we got out to the point where I could still stand, but was lifted as the waves crested, Lo kissed me passionately. 

“Wow!” I said, surprised. 

“Feel me, Daddio,” she said, moving my hand between her legs.  “Am I wet?”

“Lo.  We’re swimming.  In the ocean.”

She smiled.  “Oh, trust me, I’m wet.”

“What were you up to?”

“Nothing.”

She kissed me again. 

“Lo, I know you were up to something.  I saw your little ploy to flash them your tits.”

“You saw that, Daddio?”
“Yes.”

“What else did you see?”

“That’s it.  You disappeared behind the dunes.  You were away for a long time, while I patiently waited for my snack.  No snack came back.”

“Oh, you’ll get your snack,” she said.  “Your snack will be coming soon.” 

She kissed me again.  It was like she was drunk on sunshine, shore, and attention.

“Finger me, Daddio.”

I put my index finger into her slippery hole underwater, beneath her bikini bottoms.

“Oh, yeah,” she moaned.  “Hurry up.  I have to cum.”

“What were you up to?”

“Let’s just say that the snow cone was dessert.”

“What did you do?”

“Both of them, with my mouth.  Are you mad?”

“Oh, that’s why you were so salty.  I thought it was just the sea water.”

She moaned.  Beneath the rolling waves I felt her pussy clench on my finger.  She came.  

“Do you think Mark knows?” she asked when her momentary ecstasy was at an end.

“Why would he know?”

“You think he thinks I’m a slut?”

“He has no reason not to.”

“Good.”

“Why do you tease these poor married men?”

“I just like being an inspiration to people.”

“You’re so altruistic.”

“I think so.  I really hope that they’ll go home tonight and fuck like banshees.”

“But you know that she isn’t up for it.”

            “Well, then I hope they’ll go home and after she falls asleep, he’ll make himself cum five times next to her in the bed to the thought of me today at the beach.”

            “And you’re going to cum to that thought at least five times in the shower tonight, won’t you?”

            “If not before.”

            Her orgasm achieved, we swam back to shore.  She adjusted her bottoms as we emerged from the water.  We walked up to our beach blanket and chairs and as we approached I could see the guys next to us speaking in hushed tones and looking at Lo.  I could see them making eye contact with her and her smiling back at them.  The two who lucked out were gloating to their two hard-up companions.  I wondered if Mark and Stephanie could hear them. 

            When we got up to the group, one of the guys asked Lo if she’d like to play some more volleyball now that she cooled off.  “The game was tied up.  You’re not going to leave it that way, are you?” he asked.

            “What’s wrong with being tied up?” asked Lo suggestively. 

            “I’m game,” said Mark.

            “OK,” said Lo, “Let’s play.”  She and Mark went over and the six of them volleyed.  I saw Lo running and jumping, bending over in a set-stance like Kerri Walsh.  At one point, she ran to hit the ball in the far corner of the impromptu court.  She missed it.  As she fell down and was on all fours, she crawled to the ball and I thought I saw something that I wondered if anyone else saw.  I wondered if it was what I thought it was.  The sand between her knees was wet.  After she tossed the ball to Mark she said, “I have to take a break,” and she came over to me sitting on the towel.  Luckily, Stephanie had gone in the water with her kids and was swimming, seeming to ignore the action of the court. 

            “Lo,” I said, “did you. . .”

            “You saw?!” she asked, mortified.

            “So you did?”

            “Yes.  Accidentally.  Do you think anyone else saw?”

            “Even if they did, your bathing suit is wet from the ocean.  They probably just thought. . .”

            “But Daddio, I gushed.  I’m still gushing,” she said, spreading her legs a bit to show me a burst of clear liquid spraying onto the towel as she accidentally squirted.  “This is bad!” she said, adding, “But it feels so good.”  A look of relief was on her face after her release.

            “Have some water.  Stay hydrated and take it easy.” 

            Lo rolled over on her tum and watched the five guys hitting the ball around. 

            “Lo,” I said, “If you don’t want to have any more accidental orgasms, then stop looking at the eye-candy.”

            “I wish I could,” she said.  “Or I wish I could just get good and fucked right now!”           

Lo lay in her agony only for a little while before Mark quit the game.  The guys had lost interest once Lo bowed out.  Mark rejoined us.    

            Soon thereafter, Stephanie and the kids came back up and all were ready to go home for an early dinner. 

            We went back to Mark and Stephanie’s place.  Stephanie changed into sweatpants and a sweatshirt and Mark manned the grill, still in his bathing suit. 

            Lo was back into her cutoff jeans-shorts and bikini top.  No bikini bottoms or panties.  She helped Mark with some food prep in the kitchen before we all sat outside to eat.

            The kids were getting cranky and soon after dinner we left so they could deal with the inevitable melt-down that we could see coming. 

“Match, Cinder & Spark,” great beach reading

            On the ride home Lo said to me, “Did you hear what Stephanie said when Mark commented about the curls of my hair?  She said, ‘You don’t even notice I have hair.’  But honestly, she doesn’t do anything to keep herself up and attractive.  And she doesn’t even have a sex-drive.”

            “Don’t you see the pattern?”

            “What pattern?”

            “The pattern: Hunter and his wife, Mark and Stephanie, Carl and Hollis – so many of them.  These youngish hot guys with very attractive wives and there is just nothing going on.”

            “How is it a pattern?”

            “I’m old enough to have seen the pattern.”

“What pattern?!”  She was getting impatient with my teasing now. 

“Lovely, fun, free-spirited woman (or so she appears) locks that shit down, puts a ring on it, gets married, and no sooner than the last piece of wedding cake is put in the freezer, she chops off her loose long locks, gets a little bob-cut, and then it begins.”

“What begins?”

“Well, with different women the timing may vary, but give the domestic bliss a year or so before she pops out one or two screaming poop-makers and then it’s all sweatpants and sweatshirts all the time.  A few years of that and then she complains to her husband, ‘You wouldn’t even notice if I died my hair purple!  You don’t even see me!’”

“You’re being sexist.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, and I don’t like it.”

When we got home it was chilly out.  “I’m going to get into sweatpants and a sweatshirt,” said Lo, “Is that ok with you or won’t you notice me anymore?” 

“Lo, with you it’s different.”

“How?”

“Cause I know that you’re always naked under those clothes.”

“Naked and wet.”

“Go take a hot shower, hop on the bed, put your beach bum up in the air and await your punishment for your bad behavior today.”

“Really?!” she said with great anticipation.

“Yes, really.”

“Punishment or reward?”

“In my mind it’s a reward.  But I know you prefer to think of it as punishment.”

“I love that you know me so well, Daddy.” 

Age Gap

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            I was 44.  She was 18.  I was her professor.  She was my undoing.  She was a flirt.  I was a letch.  She was smart and sassy.  I was pompous and sardonic.  She loved to tease me with her sex appeal.  I loved being teased, but felt like she brought me to my knees and knew it.  She was unrelenting.  I was unrepentant.  She was the young spark that reignited the flame hidden deep beneath my gray ashes.  It was a match made in hell and I yearned for the tongues of fire licking my loins.  I had been in purgatory for so long that it was either commit to my sins or admit that I had copped out on life.  I chose to sin bravely.  But not just yet. 

Lola Reading her Fan Mail

            It would be another six years before my defenses melted.  Six years of excruciating distance and proximity that would prove both a delight and debilitating distraction.  She would write me suggestive, alluring, and blithely innocent emails.  I would respond with allusions and innuendo. 

Back when she was still my student, I was teaching Emily Dickinson and she wrote her final essay on the poem, “The Angle of a Landscape.”  The poem reads:

The Angle of a Landscape—
That every time I wake—
Between my Curtain and the Wall
Upon an ample Crack—

Like a Venetian—waiting—
Accosts my open eye—
Is just a Bough of Apples—
Held slanting, in the Sky—

The Pattern of a Chimney—
The Forehead of a Hill—
Sometimes—a Vane’s Forefinger—
But that’s—Occasional—

The Seasons—shift—my Picture—
Upon my Emerald Bough,
I wake—to find no—Emeralds—
Then—Diamonds – which the Snow

From Polar Caskets—fetched me—
The Chimney—and the Hill—
And just the Steeple’s finger—
These—never stir at all—

Her entire essay focused on the latent sexual content of the work.  Her exegesis was explicit.  It read like wordporn.  The “ample crack” was Dickinson’s pussy lusting for the “Vane’s Forefinger,” or the “Steeple’s finger.”  The Bough of Apples recalled Eve’s biting into the apple, the first sin that aroused sexual desire.  The chimney. . . well, you get the idea. 

            When I asked to speak with Ms. Down about it, she said very directly, “If Emily Dickinson had just gotten some action, the world would be bereft of some beautiful poetry, but she may have been much happier for it.”

            “Are we speaking of Emily Dickinson, or were you, perhaps, projecting?” I suggested heavy-handed.

            “I don’t need to write to achieve sexual satisfaction.”

            “There you and I differ,” I said under my breath, adding, “It seems to me that this essay may have fulfilled a certain need of yours.”  I was referring to her need to be noticed by me sexually.

            “Yeah, getting an ‘A’ for the course,” she said bluntly.  “It’s good and you know it.  Freudian, Structuralist, with a dash of de Beauvoir.  Did you request I come to your office in order to tell me how good it is, or to inquire about my sexual proclivities?” 

            I changed the subject, pointing out to her a typo.  “Ms. Down, you misspelled the poet’s name.”

            “No I didn’t,” she said belligerently.  “I added a ‘g’ to it.  It’s called poetic license.  This essay is a ‘Dick In Song.’” 

            I blushed. 

            On yet another occasion, I had distributed a questionnaire to the class – a survey that the administration had created and instructed us professors to have our students answer.  When I collected them all at the end, I noticed something different on only one of the anonymously written responses.  The first three questions read: Age, Sex, Location.  One of the students – and I could easily guess who – wrote: old enough, never enough, I’ll fuck anywhere. 

            After she graduated, we would occasionally meet and she instinctually knew all my weaknesses and vulnerabilities.  She exploited them like a master chess player prolonging the ultimate denouement.

            Once we met for a walk along the shore.  She wore cutoff denim shorts, a button-down red and white gingham blouse that she tied up like a bikini top and had her dark hair in pig-tails.  She was, without doubt, the spitting image of Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island.  This was too coordinated to be coincidence.  It was not Halloween. 

            I remarked about the striking similarity and she said, “I like Mary Ann much more than Ginger, don’t you?”

            “Doesn’t everybody?” I asked rhetorically.

            “I mean, she’s more of a secret slut and that’s what makes her so appealing,” she added as if musing to herself.

            “I can’t disagree with you there.”

            “But I was always attracted to the Professor,” she said, biting her lip while just thinking about him.  “I’d love to see him without that straight-laced Oxford blue shirt and khakis.”

            It just so happened that I was wearing a similar shirt and khakis.  What two stereotypes we made! 

            “You’ve thought about this a lot,” I remarked. 

            “I’m irrationally attracted to intelligence.  I’m a deviant in disguise,” she said, “just like Mary Ann.” 

“I bet you are.”  Little did I know then just how deviant.

Another time she invited me over to see her new apartment.  She was sharing a house with six people, all recently graduated from college.  Her “bedroom,” if you can call it that, was meant to be a study or, perhaps a walk-in closet for the wealthy person who built the old Victorian home.  As a result, it had no closet and it was the room through which the rest of the house had to traverse in order to get to the wrap-around porch. 

            I walked into her room with great trepidation and I saw strewn around the closetless space her panties, bras, and dildos of various sizes on some bookshelves, next to which were some of the classics of literature and a true classic Underwood typewriter. 

            “Ms. Down, you fancy yourself a writer?” I asked looking at the magnificent machine. 

            “Oh no,” she said, displaying some rare humility.  “I just like old things.  A bit of nostalgia.”

            Quick to correct, I said, “You can’t have nostalgia for an era in which you did not live.”

            “I have an old soul,” she said, followed by, “encased in a young body.” 

            “Our bodies are insufficient containers of our desires,” I said, quoting something I read once, “but yours seems to contain all my desires.”  Did I say that, or just think it?!  I wasn’t sure anymore.  I grumbled and made a banal comment.  “You must get absolutely no privacy in here!” 

            “It’s true,” she said, “people walk through here all the time to get to the porch.  Luckily, I’m a bit of an exhibitionist, so I don’t mind, especially when I’m having sex with my boyfriend or someone else or sex just with myself.” 

            I pretended not to hear her comment. 

            We walked onto the deck and I just wanted to hold her tightly in my arms, but instead I blurted out, “It’s big.  Really big, and wide!” 

            “Yeah, I always liked a big deck,” she said, looking to see if I heard what she thought I’d hear. 

            “Yes, er, well,” I stumbled and took a seat overlooking the street below. 

            I can only surmise that she found my awkward mix of desire and discomfort to be adorable.  Why the hell else would she pursue me for so long? 

            She sat across from me.  Not for the first time that day, I noticed her sexy strappy heels, her short skirt, and the smooth lines and curves from her ankles to her thighs.  But now, as I sat across from her, I had a much better view of these nether parts.  I tried to focus my attention on her pretty smile and seductive eyes, but perhaps out of embarrassment and feeling like she was penetrating my dirty thoughts, my gaze continually fell to her legs, feet, and toes. 

            “Oh, wait!” she suddenly exclaimed, startling me out of my salacious dreaming about those parts of her I was soaking in with my eyes.  She suddenly got up and dashed into her room.  She dove on her bed and was going through a pile books next to it.  In that position I could easily see right up her skirt as she searched her stack.  “Got it!” she said as she returned triumphant. 

            It was the book I had published years ago on art. 

            “What, Ms. Down, are you doing with that?”

            “I was hoping you’d sign it,” she said, knowing exactly how to unlock my heart, through feeding my ego.

            She was sitting on the edge of her seat, oblivious to the fact that her skirt was now riding up by her hips. 

            “Do you have a pen?” I asked.

            “Oh, right,” she said, as she got up again to rummage through the clutter on her small desk. 

            She returned and gave it to me.  “What would you like me to say?” I asked.

            “You’re the man of letters.  Say something sweet. . . and smart. . . and sexy,” she said as her tongue ran across her sparkly white teeth.

            I wrote: “Dear Ms. Down, This book is all about beauty, but as Emerson observed, no museum replica can compare to the sweet, smart, and sexy wit, charm, and loveliness of an evening with you in the flesh.” 

            I signed it and returned it to her to read. 

            She batted her eyelashes and looked up at me.  I swear I saw stars in her eyes as she looked upon me adoringly.  “Do you really think so?” she asked. 

            “That no museum piece compares to you?  Yes.  I do.”

            “I’ve always wanted to model naked for an artist, but. . .”

            “In my humble opinion as an expert on art and beauty,” I said pompously, “any drawing or painting of you would be merely one dimensional because there is no way an artist could capture the sparkle of your personality.”

            “Do you think you could capture me?”

            “Um, you mean. . .”

            “In words.”

            “As in a novel?”

            “Yeah, something like that.”

            “I think that the only way to come close would be to have words accompanying the images.  But it would take a very talented writer to do that.”

            “I think you’re talented enough to come close,” she said very suggestively.

            “I would like to try. . . someday,” I responded.  She was mere inches away from me.  She had indeed come very close to me.  I could almost feel her breathy words as she spoke.  “But I am an academic,” I added, “not a novelist.  I doubt that I would be able to do you justice.”

            “You never know,” she said, “I might just inspire you to do me. . . justice.” 

            Just at that moment about four or five people came bursting out through the door of her bedroom onto the porch, carrying beer and a bottle of booze and a joint.  Lo and I immediately pulled away from the intimate position we were in and the spell was broken. 

            Later that night, when I was back at home, I received a text from Lo.  It read, “I heard once that sex is energy between people.  What do you think?”

            I said, “Before tonight, I would have laughed at that as New Age crap.  But now I know what they’re talking about.  Was it good for you?”

            “What?” she wrote back.

            “Never mind.”  I felt embarrassed.  Was she playing me for a fool?  Was this her way of flirting?  Did she want me to be more explicit?  I don’t know, but I let it drop, though I played and replayed in my mind the “sex scene” we had shared many times since that night. 

Sex & Death

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“We have so little faith in the ebb and flow of life, of love, of relationships. We leap at the flow of the tide and resist in terror its ebb. We are afraid it will never return. We insist on permanency, on duration, on continuity; when the only continuity possible, in life as in love, is in growth, in fluidity – in freedom, in the sense that the dancers are free, barely touching as they pass, but partners in the same pattern.”

                                                       Anne Morrow Lindbergh – Gift From the Sea

            For a few months now, Lola and I have been like the dancers upon a large stage – not like the partners doing a sexy Spanish tango, but like performers of some contemporary choreography who move at a great distance from each other, yet always aware of the presence of the other.  Her work has demanded long hours and travel around the country.  My work has kept me at the office on weekends.  We have seen each other only occasionally – hastily preparing and eating dinner, a ride to and from work, a quick fuck before sleep. 

            Realizing the monotonous irregularity of our relationship, we consciously made an effort to set aside a weekend for a “love-in”: two days of nothing but lying in bed together, rediscovering each other’s bodies, reading naked next to one another, watching movies, and preparing luxurious meals – all in the comfort of our own home.  Laundry can wait.  Work can wait.  Life can be put on hold. 

            But fate had something else in store for us.  On the Friday that was to kick off our cocoon habitation, Lo got word of the unexpected death of her friend Cammy’s husband’s aunt.  When Lo relayed this to me, at first I thought, “So?”  I didn’t expect that such a tangential relation would in any way impinge upon our reunion weekend.  But, it turns out, Cammy is very anxious about death and dying, is prone to panic attacks, and since her new husband would be needed at the memorial and funeral services, Cammy pleaded with Lo to come along for moral support.  Lo graciously agreed.

            “It’s only for Saturday,” said Lo.

            “That’s fifty percent of our love-in.”

            “I’ll make it up to you,” she said, seductively.  “Promise.”

            “Can’t Cammy handle this herself?”

            “No, she can’t.  Besides, I already said I’d go with her.” 

            I was in a foul mood.  I grunted something incomprehensible, but clearly expressed my displeasure.

            “I’ll be back tomorrow night and we still have tonight.”

            It was no use.  My mood was spoiled.  Lo said to me that I was spoiled, and, in retrospect, she was right. 

            Friday we went to bed and I rolled away from Lo as she lay there naked next to me in the dark.  “Daddio, you realize don’t you that you could have me now.”

            Grunt.

            “Do you realize how many men would pay – would die – to have a naked nympho next to them in bed, wet, waiting, and willing to fuck?!  Do you?  You big grouch.  Come here.  Put your face in my cleavage, suck my tits, grab my ass and fuck me,” she said, pulling on my arm. 

            “No,” I said like a child.  “I don’t want a quick fuck and then sleep.  I want to have you all weekend, all to myself.” 

            She didn’t respond.  She just reached over and grabbed my cock and began to rub it under the blankets. 

            “I can feel you getting hard.  I know you want to have me.”  She was right.

            After some manipulation, I rolled over to her.  I got on top of her, spread her legs and entered her. 

            “That’s it, Daddio.  Have me.  Use me.  Use me like so many guys have used me.  Fuck me.  Get your rocks off on me.”

            She continued to encourage me like that.  Though her voice was soft and breathy, I could tell she wasn’t getting off herself.  Her breath wasn’t becoming short and rapid.  Her hips weren’t moving to meet mine.  She wasn’t using her body to help herself climax.  But she kept talking to me and the sound of her sexy voice was enough to stir me to a swift conclusion. 

            “Yes.  Cum on me.  Cum on my face.  Cum on my tits,” she said without cumming herself. 

            When I was done, I said, “You didn’t like it.”

            “No, Daddio.  I did.”

            “Then why didn’t you cum too?”

            “Because, I just wanted you to use me.  Sometimes I like to do that.”

            “You like to fuck.  You like to orgasm.  You like to do it all again.  I know what you like.”

            “Sometimes I just want to be your fuck-toy that you use to get your rocks off.  It was so hot seeing you cum on my face.”

            As odd as it sounds, when Lo doesn’t cum, even if I do, it leaves me feeling like our romp was anticlimactic.  I went to sleep feeling worse than I did before. 

            Saturday came and Lo got decked out in her little black dress and black leather boots. 

            “Do I look ok for a funeral?”

            “You look like the stereotypical mistress who follows a funeral.”

            “What?!”

            “Lo, your skirt doesn’t even cover your knees and that top really makes your chest. . . er. . . prominent.” 

Look Daddy, No Panties!

            “You think so?” she said, perking up.

            “Yeah.”

            “Shucks, you know how to compliment a lady.”

            “Good grief!”

            “Wish me luck,” she said as she gave me a peck on the cheek.

            “Luck?” I asked, surprised. 

            “Or, whatever one wishes when one goes to a funeral.”

            Off she went and I went to the office, thinking that she’d be rather late returning. 

            Half past three, and I before I even had a chance to go to lunch, I got a text from Lo – “I’m home.  Where are you?”

            I closed up shop and sped home to see her.  When I got in, there she was, greeting me at the door. 

            “Oh, hello,” I said, seeing her still in her mourner’s basic black.

            “Hello ole’ man.”

            “How was your, er, funeral?”

            “My funeral.”

            “I mean, the funeral you. . .”

            “It was fine.”

            “Fine?”

            “Well, better than fine – for a funeral.”

            “What do you mean by that?”

            “Come to the bedroom and I’ll tell you.”

            When I got to the bedroom, she had already hopped on the bed and lifted her skirt up over her waist, showing her bare ass.

            “Lo!” I said, taken aback, “You didn’t wear panties to a funeral in December?!”

            “How else is a girl supposed to amuse herself at a funeral?”

            “Seriously?”

            “Don’t you like?” she asked, wagging her ass in the air.

            “Um.”

            “Well, I can tell you, there were boys at the funeral who were very happy to see me.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “Get yourself out of those pants and I’ll explain.”

            I dropped my trousers immediately and pulled up behind her.

            “That’s it, old man.  Pound it.  Drive it home.”

            “Lo, why are you so randy today?”

            “When am I not?” she retorted, followed by a moan.

            “What got into you at that funeral?”

            “You should be asking who got into me.”

            “Lo, you didn’t.”

            “I’m sorry, Daddy, but I was like the song.”

            “The song?”

            “You know: ‘I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind.’  Bad habits, you know.”

            “They say bad habits never die.”

            “Ha,” she laughed, “It wasn’t a funeral for my habits, that’s for sure.”

            “What did you do?”

            “Remember the wedding we went to?”

            “Which one?”

            “The one where we got it on in the powder-room.”

            “Yeah.”

            “Well, that’s what I did, but at a funeral.  Same difference.”

            “But, I wasn’t there.”

            “I had no idea you were so fond of funerals.”

            “I had no idea you were so irreverent.”

            “Irreverent?  Don’t you think that it’s very respectful of the dead to enjoy life?”

            “Not that way!”

            “Sex is the emblem of life and orgasm its crowning achievement.”

            “The French call orgasm le petit mort – the little death.”

            “Well, then I died many times at that funeral!  Slay me once more.”

            “Lola!”

            “Do you like fucking me knowing that two other guys were in me earlier today?”

            I went at her with great vigor and she came as she talked dirty to me about it.  After she did, I pushed her body flat on the bed and ejaculated all over her back. 

            “Fuck!” she yelled out, “My dress!”

            Her mourner’s gown was now my cum rag.  I fell down next to her on the bed.  Between deep gasps, I said, “That’s how you should greet me every time I come home.”

“Even from work?”

“Especially from work?”

“Even when you just go out to the bar?”

“Yes, when I go out to the bar.  When I go out to do grocery shopping.  When I take out the trash.  When I enter through that door you should greet me just like that.”