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Slap Shot

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“Tell me about the hockey team,” I say.

“What hockey team?” she asks.

“Don’t be coy Roy,” I say.

“Oooohhhh, you mean the hockey team that I met on my trip.”

“Yeah, that hockey team.  Why?  Is there another I should know about?”

“There are a lot of hockey teams in the world.”

“And you’re just the gal for each of them, aren’t you?”

“If you say so,” she says, batting her eyelids.

“Just tell me about the hockey team you began telling me about the other night.”

She had begun telling me about it the night she returned from her business trip, but I was so primed and ready for our reunification that I didn’t last long enough to hear any more than the teasing preview.  Now a few weeks had gone by of my living in ecstatic mystery wondering about her little hints and jibes and I felt ready to hear the full-length tale.

“First,” she says, “get naked and lie on your back.”

I follow instructions.

She pulls out the massage oil and drips it over my cock.  She begins to rub as the starts up where she left off.

“I told you, I was on my way back up to my hotel room when I got in the elevator with a bunch of guys who had arrived in town for a hockey tournament.  I think they positively could smell how horny I was.  They began to make small talk with me and I flirted back.  They told me that they had the entire ninth floor of the hotel.  I told them I was on the eleventh floor and I asked if they were up for coming up.”

“Let me guess, they were all very hard-up.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, caressing my member with both hands.  “Just like you. . . only bigger.”

“And?”

“Well, they invited me to their floor first and so I got off.”

“Off the elevator?”

“Well, I got off on my floor, went to my room, got myself off, freshened up, and then went to their floor.  All the doors were open on their floor and everyone was coming and going like in a dorm room.  I flitted here and there and some of them were changing or walking around with their shirts off and a few had just gotten out of the shower and had nothing on but a towel around the waist.  They were all gorgeous.”

“I bet.  I bet you didn’t even see their faces.”

“Oh, no.  I saw their faces and their arms, their chests, their lovely sculpted legs.  I saw just about everything.”

“But you wanted more.”

“More is my favorite amount.  So I invited five of them down to my room.”

“You did what?”

“You heard me.  A select five.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that.  How did you select them?”

“I had the whole team stand at attention in a row naked and I selected the five longest cocks.”

“You did not!”

“No, but a lady can dream, can’t she?”

“Anyhow, I selected the five nicest guys and we went down to my room and I told them a bit more about me before slipping off my panties.  I had my little black cocktail dress on and I bent over the side of the bed and let them take a look under it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  And I encouraged them to pull out their cocks and jack off behind me, which they did willingly.”

“I bet.”

“And then I said, ‘Go on, slap it.’  And one of them gave me a good, solid whack.”

“They were so kind and considerate.”

“I thought so too!  My fingers were down between my legs, caressing and pulling my long pussy lips.  They could see as they took turns slapping my ass.  First they were timid, but then they grew more confidant as I moaned and said ‘Yes.’  Then I asked who wanted to be first in.  One of the guys immediately got behind me and began thrusting as hard and fast as he could.  It was rough and manic like a jackhammer horizontally placed in my cunt.”

“And you loved it, I bet.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong.  But he came so quickly, deep inside me.  I crawled up on the bed and let the next guy in.  He was slower, more loving.”

“Loving?”

“Well, more gentle.  I turned over my shoulder and said, ‘You can do better than that,’ and his friends encouraged him.  They each had their puds in their hands, except for the guy who had just cum in me.  But guy number two couldn’t finish.  I guess it was a lot of pressure.  He pulled out and a lot of cum from the first guy dripped out of me.  One of them snapped a photo of me from behind just before the third guy went in me.  After that, I sort of lost track of who was where because then one of them got under me and entered me so that they were double penetrating my pussy just like I always wanted.  And later one was fingering my ass and then he let himself in there, cumming deep inside while a different guy was under me in my puss.  I have no idea who came where or how many times I came.  One of them even got in front of me and came in my mouth and on my face.  In the end, let’s just say that everyone had scored at least once.”

“Who says that hockey is a zero-sum game?”

“Right?  Win-win!”

“Any chance I can get a shot on goal?”

“It’s wide open,” she says as she gets on top of me and slides her puss down my pole.

“How’s it feel,” she asks.

“Smoother than ice, and a whole hell of a lot warmer.”

Pride Day

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Lola and I happened to be in the nation’s capital for Gay Pride Day.  It was a perfect sunny June day and we had just had brunch in our little B&B in the center of the city.  We looked over the events listed in the LGBTQ paper and had forged a rough plan for the day.  We began at Dupont Circle watching the crowd of ebulliently self-proclaimed “fags,” “dykes,” and “traps” congregate.  We wandered along with the flow of folks until the stream we were in grew to a mighty river of revelers.  The party and parade were in full swing and we were cheering on the costumed and carousing throng.

After a while of this, we grew thirsty and hungry and we wondered off the main route to some smaller streets to find someplace to replenish our energy.  As we walked about in a neighborhood we didn’t know, we saw two guys, obviously a couple, in their mid-forties or so and we asked them for a recommendation.  They stopped just long enough for one of them to say, “If you turn right down this alleyway, there’s a small bar with good food and cold drinks at the very end.  But,” he looked us over quickly and immediately concluded that we were a straight couple, “it probably isn’t for you.”

I took great offense at that, but Lo brushed it off or, more accurately, she took it as a personal challenge.

We followed his instructions and sure enough down a long alleyway, just wide enough for us to walk single file, we found a door.  There was no name.  There was nothing to announce that this was any sort of dining establishment.  Just a door.  There was nowhere else for us to go, so we went in.

On the other side of that mysterious door was a dark room full of men of all ages.  There were no windows so not even a hint of the glorious day filtered into this shady hole in the wall.  Guys were playing pool, others were sitting around the bar drinking beers, and some others, but very few, were at tables having lunch.

Instead of sports games on the various TVs in the bar as you would see elsewhere, there was a seemingly endless slideshow of naked and semi-naked men projected on every screen.  Each man was buff, handsome, and totally gay.  Lo was practically drooling looking at them.

“Hungry?” I asked her.

“You have no idea,” she said before snapping out of it and asking, “You mean, for lunch?”

“Lunch, or whatever,” I said back.

“I could do whatever.”

We sat at the bar and got a few odd looks from the patrons.  She was the only women in there and the fact that I was with her made it even more of a spectacle.

We ordered some food and two cold beers.  We were parched.

As we waited for the food to come, one affable fellow with less xenophobia than the rest started up a conversation with us.  He asked us where we were from, what brought us to D.C., how we were liking it, and our experience of the Pride Parade.  He was tall, about six feet, and easy going, as if from the south – or further south than D.C.  He had a moustache and a chiseled jawline.  He made us feel at ease and the fact that he was talking to us was a sign to the rest of the guys that it was ok.

After we ate and had about three beers, Lo was feeling like playing pool and so she challenged this gent to a game.  He laughed, as if Lo couldn’t possibly beat him, and accepted her offer.  Lo’s pride was at stake and she marched up to the table and racked up the balls.  She picked up the cue ball and said, “Do you want to break or shall I?”

“You can,” he said with a chuckle.

“What?” asked Lo, “You think I don’t know how to handle some heavy balls and a long stick?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied, amused.

Lo bent over the table, revealing a bit under her denim skirt, and took her shot.  Nothing went in.

“You might be able to handle balls and a stick, but getting it in the pocket is the trick,” he said.

“Trust me,” said Lo, “I know how to get it in the hole.”

He laughed again as he took his shot.  It was an easy shot but he did it with the cool and confidence of a pro.  I was worried for Lo’s pride.

The game went on with his taking five shots to every one of Lo’s.  He quickly vanquished her.  But he was kind about it.  He offered to buy us both a drink to show no hard feelings.

“No hard feelings,” said Lo, as she took a sip of her beer, cheersing him, “but is anything else hard?” she asked.

“You got yourself a woman who really likes a challenge,” he said to me with a playful wink of his eye.  Then to her, “If you want to find out, follow me.”

He put down his drink and started to walk off toward an even darker corner of the bar.  Lo looked at me as her tongue ran its way over her lips, and she followed him.  They sat at a small, private round table in the shadows and from where I stood at the bar I could see them making out.  His big hands found their way up her skirt and I could see her convulsing.  She then repositioned herself, straddling her legs over his knee as she sat looking at him and kissing him, her right thigh rubbing up against his crotch.  I saw her right hand reach down between his legs and rub his cock while he buried his face in her breasts.

Though the others in the bar could see it if they chose to look, they simply ignored it.  Lo’s left hand was rubbing up and down the man’s right bicep.  Knowing Lo, I was sure that she was squirting all over the guy’s jeans.  Then there was a moment when they both froze, as if the movie was on pause.  Then they moved really slowly.  The guy went to the bathroom.  Lo sauntered proudly back to me at the bar.

“Did you pay the tab?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good, let’s go.”

“But you didn’t say goodbye to your new friend.”

“That’s ok.  He’s going to be a while cleaning up.”

And just like that we walked out, down the long alley, and back into the sunlit celebration of sexuality.

“Do you know what made me cum?” Lo asked.

“Rubbing his strong arms?”

“Well, yes, that, but also he said to me that he wished you would join in and he could suck your cock while I sucked his.”

“Did he now?”

“Yeah.  How do you feel about that?”

“Well, it’s too bad you didn’t tell me earlier.”

“Would you do it?”

“I guess we’ll never know since you took care of him all by yourself.”

“Well, why didn’t you follow me to the table?”

“You looked like you had things well in hand.”

“But you could have joined.”

“I guess,” I said, “but I like to be asked.  It’s a matter of personal pride.”

It’s Complicated

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Time passed and the doppelganger couple, Lily and Jim, got engaged.  Prior to their engagement, but after Jim’s big reveal, Lily had invited me, just me, out for drinks a couple of times.  My suspicion was that Jim had told her about our conversation.  Now she knew that we knew of their open relationship.  But did they know of our half-open relationship?  Had Lo told her, him, them?  Or did Lily just suspect?

In any case, one thing was very clear to me – Lily was trying to seduce me.  She opened up to me, very casually and very explicitly, about the nature of the “intimacy” issues between her and Jim.

“As you know,” she began nonchalantly, “before I moved here, before I met Jim, I had a very active and interesting sex life.”  Everything about her was always “very interesting,” or at least she tried to make it seem so.

I just nodded my head as if to say, “Go on.”

“I was with a lot of men.”

This was clearly a ploy to get me to want her.  It was the fish hook that she thought she’d use to reel me in.  Nothing sparks desire for a woman like knowing that that woman is desired.  But what she didn’t take into consideration was my total contentment to Lo.

“They taught me things,” she said, alluding mysteriously to techniques and esoteric sex lore.  “And they were good.  Big and good.”

I didn’t need eyes that could see around corners to see where this was going.

“And Jim,” she continued, “I love him.  But. . .”

She didn’t say it, so I did, “But he’s small.”

“Yes!”  She felt relieved.  “So small!”

“Small can be cute,” I suggested.

“Cute doesn’t cut it,” she retorted.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said, not knowing what she was after – empathy, sympathy, understanding, or my cock.

“Thanks,” she said flatly.

“So that’s why you’re in an open relationship?”

“Yeah, but it’s not working out as I had hoped.  I was hoping that I’d be able to get some satisfaction in bed and he’d maybe learn a thing or two.  You know he’s very inexperienced sexually.”

I nodded or grunted or some such thing.

“But he just hasn’t been able to seal the deal with anyone else and it’s making the whole situation untenable.”

I thought for a while about the obvious question and then, throwing caution to the wind, I blurted it out.  “Why don’t you teach him?  I mean, if he has a lot to learn in bed, who better to teach him what you like?”

She leaned in very close to me and said in a more hushed tone than the bravado voice she had been speaking in up to now, “Because I’m a sub.  I don’t want to teach him.  I want him to take me, teach me, tell me what to do, and make me do it.  But he’s so nice,” she said it like it was a bad word, “he defers to me all the time.”

“Ah,” I said, leaning back and taking it all in.

She was still leaning towards me, which placed her eyes slightly below mine and so she was looking up at me with an expression that said, “I want you to take me, teach me, tell me what to do, and make me do very bad, dirty things.”

Just at that moment, I perceived ever-so-faintly the melodic voice of Camila Cabello waft through the restaurant singing:

 

Am I out of my head?
Am I out of my mind?
If you only knew the bad things I like
Don’t think that I can explain it
What can I say, it’s complicated
Don’t matter what you say
Don’t matter what you do
I only wanna do bad things to you
So good, that you can’t explain it
What can I say, it’s complicated

 

Yes, she wanted to do bad things to me.  Very bad things.  Though the image of Sabina Spielrein being spanked over Carl Jung’s lap (as depicted in the movie A Dangerous Method) crossed my mind for an instant, I wasn’t going to have it.  First, Lo.  Second, I like Jim and if he’s already beside himself with jealously, then I’m not going to put our friendship at risk for a tryst.

But in that moment I struck on an idea.  “What if Lo taught him?”

“Lo?” she repeated, sitting back in her chair, pondering the possibilities.

“Naked Brunch”

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“Lo!” I called from the bedroom into the bathroom through the closed door.  “LO!  What are you doing in there?!”  As if there were any question, really.

“Grrrrr, you’re not helping, you know!” came the response.  “This water pressure sucks!”

“Jim will be here in fifteen – no, ten minutes.”

You see Jim, of the “doppelganger” couple, was to come over for brunch that Sunday morning.  Lilly, his girlfriend, was out of town for a week and he had called me and asked if I would have time to talk.  When I told him that Lo and I were free Sunday morning, he clumsily apologized and said, “Oh, I meant just you and me.  I’m going through something and I. . .”

He was clearly uncomfortable and I felt bad for my assumption.  I didn’t put him through having to explain it all on the phone, so I simply said, “No worries.  Come on over at eleven and we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Well, now it was ten to eleven Sunday morning and Lo had been in the shower, no doubt sitting on the tub’s floor with the showerhead between her legs, for the better part of half an hour.  She was supposed to be out of the house by now and I was getting irritated by the lack of consideration.  When I presented the plans to her, in typical Lola fashion she took umbrage at not being the center of attention.  “What could he possibly have to say to you that I can’t hear?  Do you think he’s breaking up with Lilly?  Do you think she left him?”

“Lo,” I said, “I don’t know.  But I do know that he’s a friend in need and I will find out the whole story on Sunday.”

“Well,” she said, insulted, “I have two ears just like you do.  I’m a good listener.  I can dole out advice.  I’m a comforting soul.”

“All of that is true, Lo,” I said, “but, hard as it is to believe, maybe he needs to talk man-to-man.”

“Harrumph!” she said, dramatically, “I could have a penis too, if I wanted one.  I’ve got like four or five different strap-ons under the bed.  Maybe if I had a penis he’d want to talk to me.”

“Lo, most men want to talk to you most of the time – penis or no penis.  Can’t you accept that this one time a guy wants to talk to me. . . alone?”

I got her to promise that she’d let us alone for a few hours so that I could hear whatever it was that Jim had to say to me.  But now she was dangerously close to intruding upon that precious one-on-one time.

The bathroom door opened, releasing a plume of steam into the bedroom.  From within the cloud, the naked body of Lola appeared like the epiphany of a goddess out of heaven.  Under normal circumstances, this would be the perfect opportunity to bend her over the edge of the bed and get on my knees to worship her posterior.  But we had a guest – no, correction, I had a guest – scheduled to arrive in mere moments.

“You like, Daddy?” she asked, seeing me soak her visage in with my eyes.

“Lola,” I said in my Ricky Ricardo to Lucy voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here in a jiffy!”

I took her word for it and went into the kitchen to take out the ingredients for the brunch I was preparing.  The doorbell rang and I welcomed Jim in, explaining that Lo is just getting a bit of a late start.  He greeted me with a smile and a bottle of champagne, “For mimosas,” he said.

“Wonderful idea!  Shall I pour two now?”

“It is brunch time,” he said.

I went into the kitchen and popped the cork and poured the bubbly in two long-stem glasses with OJ.  The kitchen is half-way between the living room and the bedroom.  From where I was in there, I could hear Lo beginning to moan.  I hastily grabbed the two glasses and returned to the living room where I said, “Some music?”  I turned on a Sunday blues station louder than was necessary, exclaiming, “I love this song!”

“Oh, who is it?” asked Jim.

Truth be told, I had no idea.  I just wanted something to drown out the inevitable cries of pleasure that would reverberate down the hallway.  “I forget, but I haven’t heard it in a long time,” I said as I felt beads of sweat on my brow.

We sat in the living room talking in raised voices over the music, just catching up with each other since it had been a while since we last spoke in person.

“Refill?” I asked when I saw his glass was empty.

He passed me his glass and I went to the kitchen.  I went to refill his glass and quickly darted over to the bedroom where I peered in the door.  Lo was naked on the bed, Hitachi between her legs.  She looked over at me and whispered, “Sorry.”

“Are you done?” I whispered back, accusingly.

“Yes, Daddy.”

I closed the door and brought out the mimosas to the living room, turning down the music now.  We chatted some more and then Lola walked into the room wearing her thin, tight, black yoga pants and a crop top, exposing her midriff.

“Hi Jim,” she said, flirtatiously.

“Hi Lola!”

“Don’t mind me.  I’m just on my way to the gym for a yoga class.  I know you boys want your time alone.  I just have to get my gym bag.”  Though her gym bag was in the hall leading to the living room and she could have simply picked it up, she made a production of turning around, bending over, protruding her tail in the air and then picking it up.  It was a classic stripper move designed to provide the best view for Jim.

“Doesn’t that class start at eleven?” I asked facetiously.  “You’d better get a move-on.”

“I’ll hightail it there, D—”  She almost said “Daddio,” but stopped herself mid-consonant.  “Don’t worry about me,” she stammered.  She gave me a kiss goodbye and was finally out the door.

I observed with keen interest how Jim’s eyes followed Lo’s ass as she sauntered away.

When she was definitively gone, I got up and said, “Want to accompany me as I prepare the brunch?”

He followed me into the kitchen where I sliced and diced, fried and prepared the meal as he made some small talk.  We sat down, ate, drank some more mimosas, and then, finally, he got to that which was on his mind.

“You know that Lilly is in Miami now,” he said.

“Yeah, how’s that going?”

“Well, she’s been away for four days and. . .”

I thought he was going to tell me that they had broken up and she wasn’t returning back, even though – or perhaps because – they had just moved in together.  But that’s not where he was going with this.

“Well, you might not know this,” he continued, “but she and I are in an ‘open’ relationship.”  He made air-quotes around “open.”  No.  No, I had not known that.  Does he know about Lo and me?  I hadn’t told him.  Had Lo?  Why bring this up with me?  Had he found our blog?  So many things ran through my mind at that moment.

“Until now,” he continued, “it really was an understanding between us, an operating principle, but it wasn’t put into practice.”

“Ah ha,” I nodded, indicating my understanding.

“But she called the other night – it was the first night she was down there – and she asked if she could sleep with a guy she met at the bar.”

“Oh,” I said.  “And?”

“That’s just the thing – I was already asleep.  I didn’t get the message until the next morning and by then it was too late.”

“Too late?” I didn’t know if he meant the opportunity had come and gone or if the opportunity had cum and stayed.

“Yeah.”

“What happened?  Did she?”

He swallowed hard and admitted, “Yes.  She didn’t hear back from me and, operating on our understanding, she slept with him.  She did try to ask permission and she waited for a reply,” he said in defense of her before I even had a chance to react.

“How are you doing with that?”

“That’s just the thing, I’m doing horrible with it.”  The distress was clear on his face.

I still hadn’t figured out why he had chosen to confide in me about this.

“What, exactly, is upsetting you about it?”

Let’s be clear here, in most situations if a fella came to his friend’s house and told him that he just found out that his girlfriend had slept with another man, there wouldn’t be any question as to what, exactly, was upsetting about it.  But this wasn’t most situations.  He got that and I did too.

“When I agreed to an open relationship, I did so because I knew that that was what she was used to and what she wanted.  It was at the beginning of our relationship when you feel like nothing could derail the connection.  But. . .”  He took a deep drink of mimosa and I refilled his glass.  “But since then we’ve had some issues. . .”  Long pause again.  “Intimacy.  She says that we don’t connect sexually and spiritually.  She says she loves me in every other way, but. . . and this is really hard to admit, she’s just not satisfied with my performance in bed.  So, to hear about her with another man, it’s driving me nuts!”

I thought to myself, “You can either let it get to you or embrace your inner cuck and love your hotwife for who she is.”  I didn’t say that to him, of course.  I just lent a compassionate ear to his tale of woe.  I gave some worldly advice, perhaps revealing more about myself and my relationship with Lola than I had intended, but not stating anything explicit about my relationship with her.  I was eager to find out the root of their sexual disconnect, but careful not to pry.  I knew that, had Lo been there – had she been the Lady Confessor – she would have been able to coax it out of him.

No sooner had I thought this than in the door appeared Lo.  Jim put on his best smile and greeted her.  “How was the yoga class?”

“So good,” said Lola.  “How was your brunch?”

“We’re just finishing up,” said Jim as he cleared his plate and, as it seemed to me, hastily began to say goodbye.

As soon as he was out the door, Lo looked at me and said, “Did I scare him off?”

“I think you did,” I said, as surprised as she by the abrupt departure.

“Good,” she said, “now we’re alone.  Tell me everything!”

“First, young lady,” I said in a scolding manner, “you have a lot of explaining to do.”

Hearing my rebuking tone, she turned tail and said, “I’m sorry, Daddy, spank me!”  She bent over in her yoga pants and put her bum in the air.  I gave her a good, hard, thrashing with my flat, open hand.  It was clearly having an arousing effect upon her.

“Why are you spanking me, Daddy?”

“First,” I said, giving her bum a whack, “for jilling it in the shower.  Second” and another whack, “for being late out the door.  Third,” Whack! “for jilling it in bed.  Fourth,” Whap! “for walking out in those yoga pants.”

“You noticed?”

“Noticed what?”

“I think you know.”

“Your cameltoe?”

“So you did notice?  I didn’t wear any panties under the yoga pants.  I pulled them up tight so that when I walked out my pussy, with all its clearly outlined folds, would be eye-level with Jim as he sat in the living room.”

WHACK!

“Yes, Daddy,” she said, licking her lips at the pain and pleasure.  “I was bad.  I purposely teased him.  Did you like that?”

I pulled down her yoga pants and spanked her bare bottom now.  “Fifth, for returning so early and teasing him again!”

“Take me in the bedroom and tell me what happened.”

I took her and told her the whole story.  She masturbated to each detail and then said, “Do you think he came to you because he suspects I’m a hotwife?”

“Yes,” I said, “and not only that, but I think that what’s really going on is he’s feeling threatened that Lilly will get all the action and he’ll get none.  I think his coming to me was his way of asking permission if it would be ok to fuck you, just so he can play too.”

“Really?!” asked Lo, very excited.  “What makes you think that?”

“Just my gut.  But I think he’s way too shy or uptight to actually come out and say it.”

“Do you think he has a small cock?  Or trouble getting it up?  Or. . .”

“Lo, I really don’t know.  I haven’t put too much thought to it, but I’m sure you could be the cure to whatever ails him.”

“Oh, Daddy, hurry up and get in me!”

As soon as I had penetrated her puss to the hilt, she came in waves, gushing all over me.  It took nothing more than that initial lance before she was convulsing upon my hard shaft.  When she was done, she asked, “Did he like your brunch?”

“I think he would have preferred to have your naked peaches and cream.”

Original art by Jo Koss

Sexy Shorts: All Hands on Dick

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I awoke and in the darkness I could see the blurry blue light of the alarm clock.  5:50.  I usually get up at six, but I figured, close enough.  Then I noticed that something was not right.  Lo was not quietly snoozing beside me.  There was a pale blue light cast from the bathroom.  The door was open.  I peered in and I saw her sitting naked on the pot, her phone held in one hand, her other hand hidden from my sight between her legs.  I realized also that my cock was at attention under the covers.

I swung my legs out and over the side of the bed, sat up, and got up, naked.  I walked into the bathroom silently and Lo practically jumped to the ceiling with fright.  She clutched her phone tight.

“What the hell?!”

“I think I have a right to ask you that,” I responded.

I walked to the sink, next to her, and pulled out my toothbrush and put toothpaste on it.

“Mmmmm, what is this?” she asked, looking fawningly at my protruding member.  I had to be careful not to bang it on the porcelain sink.

“Why don’t you tell me?” I said, looking down at her accusingly.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said, looking up at me subserviently.  “I had very sexy dreams.  They woke me and I was wet.  I tried to get you up, but then came here so as not to bother you.”

“Looks like you succeeded at getting me up,” I said.  “Did you squirt?”

“I was about to when you startled me.”

“What are you looking at?” I asked.

“Nothing, Daddy.”

“Nothing?”

“Just a story I was reading on Medium.”

“What story?”

She changed the subject by grabbing my cock with her left hand and stroking it.

“I never jacked someone off while he was brushing his teeth,” she said.

“That’s probably the only sexual act you haven’t done yet,” I wanted to say, but couldn’t because my mouth was full.

“I’ve never sucked someone off while he brushed his teeth either,” she added as she turned me and leaned in to take me in her mouth.

I spat and rinsed.  She squirted.  I could hear the stream of high-pressure fluid spray the pot.  She took me in her mouth deeper.  Soon I was ejaculating in her mouth as she leaned further forward to get it all.

After we both cleaned up, she pulled me back to the bed.  She lay me down and grabbed my flaccid cock.  “Get hard.  Please get hard,” she said as if praying to a god.  “Please.”

She used every trick in her tool box to reinvigorate my member, to no avail.  Finally she said, “If you won’t get hard for me, I will have to take matters into my own hands,” and she pulled out her arsenal of toys.  Looking through them, she found two or three that she thought would be best suited for her mood.

“Can I go now?” I asked.

“You don’t want to watch?”

“Lo, you’re like ‘Gilligan’s Island,’” I said

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked, angry.

“Nothing, just that I’ve seen you jill it so many times before.”

“You’re saying my sexy body is a rerun; a tired old show that’s been put into syndication; a dated, aged joke?”

“No no no,” I said, realizing I was now in hot water.

“Then what do you mean?”

“I mean, it’s time that you put all hands on dick and I’ll show you how the professor takes care of Maryanne.”

My Love is a Red Red Rosebud

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“I’m so fat!” she decried as she stood in her bikini looking in the mirror at her reflection.

“You say that like fat is a bad thing,” I said with a smile.

“Shut up.”

“What?  All I’m saying is I like some meat on your bones.  You always tell me how much you like my meat and to bone.”

She threw a pillow at me.  “You’re tapping into my greatest insecurity.”

“Your weakness is your strength,” I replied.

“Your weakness is me.”

“I know.  I know.  Lola, you’re my Kryptonite.  I’m the Man of Steel.  But after being around you I go soft as a Slinky.  But seriously,” I said, “come here.”

She walked to me like a child who had just been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. She stood in front of me.  I grabbed and kissed the small bulge above her bikini line.

“Stop it!  You know I hate that!”

“But I love it.  It’s so sexy.”

“I have to work on my beach body.”

“I’m working on my beach-ball body.”

“We both should exercise.”

“Exercise?!  Are you kidding me?  I just heard about a forty-year-old man who dropped dead – DEAD! – while on the treadmill.  Oh no.  Not for me, thank you.”

“What are you talking about?  He probably had a preexisting condition.  He probably had heart problems or was overweight.”

“That’s proof!  Proof that exercise is bad for you.  Positively lethal!”

“That’s not proof.”

“All I’m saying is that you never hear of a perfectly healthy forty-year-old man dying on his couch while reading a book.”

“Give me a break!” she said, throwing her arms in the air.

Lo and I went down to the pool of the hotel.

It was Valentine’s Day, we were on vacation in a warm-weather city, and Lo was looking like one sweet-tart.

Lo thought that, as usual, I had failed to make any plans for V-Day.  There she was wrong.

After some hours by the pool where she only got jealous of the other bikini babes walking past me, lounging in the reclining chairs, or dangling their feet in the water, we both were hungry and, after changing, I surprised her for the first time that day by actually having a lunch destination suggestion.

“Chinese?!” she questioned, both skeptical and disappointed.

We drove through the grid of the city to the special Chinese restaurant I had scoped out.  This wasn’t just your average Chinese joint; it was a newly opened, chic, “Asian-fusion” place simply called Red that was all the rage.

Luckily, Lo was impressed.

After our meal, Lo’s Fortune Cookie read: “Emotion is energy in motion” and I added “in bed.”

When we got back to the car, a compact, two-seater, Lo laughed as she got in.

“What?” I asked, curious as to what she found so amusing.

“Nothing,” she replied, enigmatically.

“I want to know.”

“I’ll tell you later, when you’re older.”

“Lo, I’m older now.  I’ll always be older.  So, out with it.”

“Where are we going now, Daddio?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Where would you like to go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. . . some dive bar.”

“That should be easy enough,” I said as I got the car started and, put the top down, and pulled out into the busy road by the beach.

No sooner had we gotten stuck in the see-and-be-seen crowd of the resort road, than Lo leaned back with one high-heel shod foot dangling seductively over the edge of the door and the other up on the dash as she flashed me, venting up her skirt in the warm, humid, sea-salty air.

“Lo, you’re doing it again?”

“Doing what, Daddio?”

“Flashing in public.”

“Am I?  But we’re in the privacy of our own vehicle.”

“Lo,” I said, as I gave her a side-long glance, trying to focus on traffic.

“You like, Daddio?” she asked.

That night I surprised even myself by having dinner reservations, chocolate, cupcakes, roses, and a card all lined up.  Good job, HH.  I congratulate you.  When we got to the red rented convertible, I popped the top down and looked in the back seat, saying to Lo, “Oh, look there, someone must have left something in the car before we rented it.”

She looked over the bucket seat and saw, sitting on the leather behind her, the scarlet box of chocolates, the bouquet of roses, a box of pink-frosted cupcakes, and a cardinal colored envelope.

Hopping in, she tore into the card.  It was an e. e. cummings poem and a little note from me.

She read the e.e. cummings poem and looked at me seductively and said, “Soon I’ll be-e cumming too.”

She then opened the cupcakes and slowly sank her mouth over the pink-frosted top, taking a slow, seductive bite.

“Lo!  We’re on our way to dinner,” I jokingly rebuked her.  “You can’t eat dessert before dinner.”

“But Daddy,” she said, looking at me with frosting on her lips.  “you know that I can’t pass up a good cream filling.”

“How did you know it was a cream filling?  You’ve only just had the frosting.”

“I wasn’t talking about the cupcake,” she said as she bit into it again.  She then leaned over the seat and gave me a big, wet, frosted kiss.  “But I know that you know that cream filling is my favorite and so I figured you got me what I wanted.”

Secretly, I delighted in seeing her eat the cupcake.  A certain kink, that is, if she was into it too, which she most definitely was not.

We got to the restaurant and Lo was wearing a cute, short red dress and matching pumps.  She looked adorable.  I could tell that all eyes were on her, just as she likes it.

“Lo,” I said as we sat at our romantic, candle-lit table, “you look better than ever!”

“Oh, go on,” she said, vainly.  I love her vanity.

“Really, they say that men get better looking with age and that may be true.  But you, my dear, look better to me every day we’re together.”

She slipped her right foot out of her sexy shoe under the table and lifted it to rub my leg up and down, showing her appreciation of my sincere, but flattering words.

“Don’t do that,” I said.

“Why not, Daddy?”

“Because I may have to ravish you right here and now, rather than wait until we get back to the hotel and in bed.”

“Sex is not just something that happens in bed.  Sex is a lifestyle.”

“You should write adult fortune cookies.”

She continued to rub my leg up and down, stretching now to touch my crotch.  Her antics were hidden by the long tablecloth draped over the cozy round table, but I have no doubt an onlooker would be able to tell what she was up to.

After our meal, the waiter asked if we’d like dessert.  I looked at Lo.  “I really shouldn’t, I had the cupcake in the car,” she said.

I looked at the waiter and ordered an espresso and the red velvet cake for the lady.

After the waiter left, Lo said to me, “Daddio, I shouldn’t.”

“But you want to, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Then do it.  Why not?  It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

The cake and espresso came and I almost did too as I watched Lo eat the decadently delicious confection.

“Let’s go to the hotel and order a whole cake for you to eat while I eat you out,” I suggested, eager to have my luscious little Lo.

“Not yet, Daddio,” she said.  “It’s early.  Let’s go out for a few drinks first.”

“But I want you so much right now,” I said as I watched her tongue lick her red lips of the crimson cake crumbs.

“I’ll give you an appetizer in the car.”

We got in the convertible and Lo turned toward me in the red leather bucket seat.  She spread her legs and rubbed her pussy over her cherry colored panties.

“I like how your entire outfit matches.”

“I’m good like that.”

I drove down the main drag of the city and Lo let the seat go back, lifted her feet onto the dashboard, and removed her panties.  “I won’t be needing these where we’re going,” she said as she tossed them high in the air.  I saw them fly upwards and then down onto the road behind us.

“Lo!” I scolded.

“She laughed.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have ordered a bottle of champagne for the two of us.”

“Oh, Daddio,” she said, rubbing my arm, “don’t be so rigid about the rules.  Are you rigid?” she asked, moving her hand down to my cock.

“Like a ruler,” I said.

“If only you were twelve inches!” she exclaimed.

I parked the car and we went into a cute little bar called “Rosebud & Thistle.”

“Remember Citizen Kane?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she said as we walked to the joint.

“Rosebud.”

“What about it?”

“That was the last word he said.”

“And the name of his sled.”

“Did you know that it was also what William Randolph Hearst called his wife’s clit?”

“Now you’re just making that up,” she said skeptically.

“I appreciate your esteem of my creativity, but that’s a fact.”

“Well, why don’t you have a pet name for my clit?” she asked peevishly.

“Because, to me, you’re so much more than your clit.”

“Good save,” she said as we walked in the bar.

Inside was drenched in dim, romantic, rubicund light with lots of tufted leather love seats and a long bar with classic, 1950s style shiny red leather and chrome stools.

“Bar or booth?” I asked Lo.

She scanned the space and settled on the bar, leading me to the far corner.  We found two vacant stools kitty-corner to each other.  She made for one that was next to a lone gentleman who stared into his dwindling drink.  She interrupted his ponderings to ask if the stool was taken and he politely invited her to sit.  She slid up on the stool which, given her diminutive size, meant that her feet didn’t touch the ground.  She smiled at him and I could see her eyes penetrate his dark soul.

Immediately she initiated small talk with him, telling him that we are from out of town and never had been to this place before.  “Is there something pretty and sweet that catches your eye?” she asked before adding, “on the menu.”

He began to make a recommendation, but before he could even get it out, she interrupted him and said, “You know,” grabbing his elbow, “I’m in the mood for something stiff.”  He looked at her, his eyes growing a little wider.  “What are you drinking?” she asked.

He simply said, “Whiskey.”

“Straight?” she asked.

He nodded.

“Well, I’m not straight,” she said, “I want something complicated.”

She looked at the drink menu and put her finger to her lips, contemplating the choices in her mind.

I cleared my throat since throughout this award-worthy performance, I had remained silent.

“OH!” said Lo, introducing me, “This is my man, HH.  HH, this is. . .”

Obviously she didn’t know his name.

“Ron,” he said.

“Hi, Ron,” I said.

“HH, will you order me a pomegranate martini?  I’m going to freshen up,” she said as she attempted to scooch off of her stool.  But the sliding down lifted up her red dress and nearly exposed her rosebud.

“Whoops!” she exclaimed, waiting just long enough for Ron to see before pulling down the front of her dress.

Lo gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared.

I sat at the bar making conversation with Ron for a few moments before Lo returned.

“So, Ron,” she said almost immediately, “why are you here all alone on Valentine’s Day?”

I felt that that was none of Lo’s concern, but there was no putting the question back in between her just glossed lips now.

Ron went into a long story about breaking up with his girlfriend of four years only a few days ago.  Turns out she was cheating on him.

“What can I do to cheer you up?” asked Lo, sliding her dress up.

“You’re already cheering me up,” he said with great appreciation in his voice.

Lo’s drink came.

“How’s your drink?” I asked as she took a sip.

“It’s wet.”

“Your drink?”

“That too.”

Soon she ordered a slice of strawberry shortcake.

I took great delight in seeing her eat her third dessert and flirting with Ron as I sipped my Manhattan.

“Mmmmm, this is so fucking good!” she said as she took another bite.

“‘Fucking’ is unnecessary and vulgar,” I replied.

“I don’t agree at all.  For me fucking is completely necessary and appropriate.”

“Only if you’re doing it,” I said.

“That’s what I meant,” she responded immediately.  “Why, what were you talking about?”

“I was talking about your vocabulary.  You have a dirty mouth.”

“Not nearly as dirty as my mind.”

Then Lo turned and offered a taste of the cake to her new friend and he took it.  “Isn’t that just heaven?” she asked as her right hand rested his left arm on her bare leg.  He nodded yes and I could see him rubbing her thigh.  When the cake and drinks were consumed, Lo paid the bill, pulling some dollars out of her ruby purse.

“I would have got that,” I said as the bartender took Lo’s cash.

“That’s ok, Daddio,” she said, “this has been my treat.”

Lo kissed Ron on the cheek, slid awkwardly off the stool again, and wished him a happy Valentine’s Day, adding, “Next time, let her cheat – it’s more fun that way.”

Lo put her arm around mine and we went out to the car.

“Lo, you were very bad in there,” I said.

“Was I?” she asked, feigning innocence.  “I thought I was very good.”

When we got in the car, she kicked off her heels and put her feet up on my lap.  “Rub them, Daddy,” she said.

I caressed her toes and instep with my left hand and she moaned.

“Did you like Rosebud, Daddy?” she asked.

“You mean the bar or your clit?” I asked back, looking at her rub her pussy as I pulled out of the parking spot.

“Yes,” she said enigmatically.

“I liked watching you eat three desserts,” I said.  “Maybe tomorrow I’ll get donuts for breakfast.”

“I’m like the perfect donut – delicious, hot, fresh, with a lovely hole.”

“You sure have a way with words,” I said.

“My tongue is wicked, that’s why it’s red, but my soul is pure as the driven snow.”

“Well, that wicked tongue of yours was really charming the pants off of good ole Ron.”

“Can it charm the pants off of you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked as I looked at her, driving distracted.

“Take your cock out.”

“Lo, I’m driving.  In a convertible.  On the main street of this city.”

“Exactly,” she said, wiggling her toes over my lap.

At a red light, I unzipped and pulled out my hard shaft.

We drove on and as we did her feet and toes caressed me. The surprise of it all brought me to an unexpected climax as well, covering Lo’s toes with my warm jizz.

This presented a problem.  My trousers were soaked.  The seat had a puddle.  Everything was wet and sticky.  How were we to get into the hotel to clean off?

“Well, isn’t this a fine mess you got us into?” I asked, mimicking Oliver Hardy’s constant refrain to Stan Laurel.  But the allusion was lost on Lo.  Different generation.

“What do you mean I got us into?!”

“Just kidding, dear.  But what are we going to do?”

“Not a problem.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Just drive up to the side entrance of the hotel.”

“What are you going to do, put on your invisicloak?”

“Sort of.”

I drove up and Lo said to me, “Leave your phone and wallet in the car and follow me.”

I followed her and she used her hotel key to let us in the pool entrance.  She walked as if she was tipsy and, as if she were walking a balance beam, she tiptoed along the edge of the pool before “accidentally” falling in.

After a split second of shock, I kicked off my shoes and dove in after her, fully clothed.

A few of the guests and the staff ran over to the pool.  I held Lo in my arms, her red dress clinging to her breasts, her little bare feet kicking and splashing.  She faked coughing.

“It’s all right,” I called out.  “I got her!  But could someone get us a couple of towels?”

Men rushed to help and we both got out of the pool even more soaking than we had been a few moments ago.  We wrapped ourselves in the plush white terrycloth towels and I turned to Lo and said, “Pure as the driven snow.”

She looked at me, her mascara dripping down her face, her hair matted down, and she smiled saying, “You’re welcome.”

“You’re welcome?!  I saved you!”

“By letting you save me, I saved you.  Happy Valentine’s Day Daddy.”

Back in the hotel room, after a long hot shower, as I lay naked on the bed watching Lo brushing out her hair, I put on a song that summed up Lola’s V-Day shenanigans.  It’s called, “What Ever Lola Wants,” sung by Sarah Vaughan

 

Whatever Lola wants
Lola gets
And little man little Lola wants you

Make up your mind to have (your mind to have)
No regrets (no regrets)
Recline yourself resign yourself you’re through

I always get what I aim for
And your heart and soul is what I came for

Whatever Lola wants (Lola wants)
Lola gets (Lola gets)
Take off your coat
Don’t you know you can’t win (can’t win you’ll never never win)

You’re no exception to the rule
I’m irresistible you fool
Give in (give in you’ll never win)

I always get what I aim for
And your heart and soul is what I came for

When she came out of the bathroom, she said, “Damn straight!  And now I’m coming for your cock.”

She crawled on the bed and, just to tease her, I said, “I thought I’d read a little.”

She spread her legs and replied, “Read between the lines,” as she placed her middle finger between her lush red labia.

“Looks like it says, ‘Rosebud,’” I said as I indulged in my dessert.

Sexy Shorts: Punctuality

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It was one of the first really cold days in November and we went to a football game together.  When we returned home around 4:30, we were both cold.

“My hands just can’t get warm,” cried Lo.

“Put them down my pants,” I said, “I wore long johns.”

“You would,” she said as if implying something, but that didn’t stop her from putting both hands down there and cuddling my cock and balls in her chilly palms.

“Thanks,” she said.

“My pleasure.  Truly.”

We were expecting company, but not until 6:00.  After her hands warmed up, Lo began to stroke her pussy with one hand while tugging on my cock with the other.  Suddenly the doorbell rang.  “Who the hell?” I asked, upset at the interruption.  I had to hop out of bed to answer the door.  Lo stayed in bed.

It was our guests.  I felt like telling them that punctuality is a deadly sin in my book.

I popped my head in the bedroom to announce our guests to the lady of the house.  She was decidedly not impressed by their promptness.  “Whatever happened to fashionably late?!” she asked, pulling her panties up and scrounging for something to wear.

Later that night, as the company was going out the door I said, “Come again.”

After the company left, Lo said to me, “I can’t believe they came so early!  I had plans.”

“What sort of plans?”

“I was going to jill it and cum and you were going to do me and cum and I was going to jill it some more and cum again.”

“Those are the best sorts of plans.”

“Yeah. . . the best laid plans.”

We’re Good

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Once, while doing a little internet search to find out if any other guy is in a similar situation as I, I came across the following plea for help to some advice columnist:

 

I recently found out that my girlfriend waits for me to go upstairs and take a shower, or goes upstairs to the shower herself so that she can masturbate.  I have never, ever rejected her for sex.  I have even told her many times that she could have me whenever and wherever.  We have been together for almost five years.  When I caught her – long story – she claimed that this has only been going on for a few months before I found out.  I was really upset about it.  When I confronted her about it, she said that it only happens ‘six out of every ten times’ that I’m not home.  So, more than half of the time that I’m not there, she would rather fuck herself than me.  She acts happy and she tells me she loves me multiple times a day.   She says that everything in our relationship is good.  However, over the past six or seven months, she only had sex with me maybe once or twice a month.  (When we started dating we were having sex at least once or twice a day!)  She claims that she wants sex, but she just would rather masturbate than have sex with me – even when I’m at home.  I just don’t understand why.  And now I feel like I just don’t know who she really is or that our relationship is as truthful as I thought it was.

 

I felt really bad for the poor dejected boyfriend, especially because it could easily have been written by Lo’s ex-boyfriend – the guy she was with just prior to me.

You see, she was with this boy, Steve, for close to three years.  The first year was wonderful – so she tells me – but the last two, not so much.  At some point she fell out of love with him.  It happens.  Now, Lo being Lo, though the love was lost, she couldn’t just turn off her libido.  And, if she were very honest, she would tell you that she stayed with this fella because he did have quite an amazing cock – over 9” in length and thicker than her forearm in girth.  As a result, she resorted to the methods of the hapless fella’s girlfriend as quoted above.  She would masturbate in bed after he fell asleep.  She’d masturbate in the shower when he was home with her (at his parent’s house).  She would masturbate when he wasn’t around.

What’s more, when Lo began to deny this strapping youth the pleasures of worshiping at her alter, he, being virile himself, would often jack it in the bed next to her.  She could feel the bed moving, his breathing growing heavy in short quick breaths, and sometimes even the warm ejaculate upon her back.  Through it all she remained stoic and still, feigning sleep until it was her turn.  She knew that only a few moments after he came she would have her chance.

Yet, every once in a while she still craved that cock of his and she would get her fill.  On occasion she would open her mouth to receive all nine inches of that rod; she’d bend over to take it in her puss or her ass; she’d get on her knees to have him cum on her face.  And this was enough to give Steve hope and keep him returning to the well for more.

Much of this relationship was while Lo was in college and Steve, who didn’t go to college and lived at home with his parents, was none-the-wiser of Lo’s various “boyfriends” she kept at school.  There was Gerald and his diminutive endowment enhanced (or, rather, the opposite of enhanced) by the use of steroids.  There was Teddy and the massive member he carried around with him like a Smith & Wesson 500 Magnum.  And there was the elusive Ryan.  These play-things were good for some thrills, but Lo was unable to extricate herself from the place she carved out in Steve’s nuclear and extended family.

She went through all the motions of Thanksgiving and Christmas, birthdays, and family vacations with them.  Yes, the first year she entirely enjoyed him and his family.  In truth, they were a very good group of people – so good that when she felt herself falling out of love with him, she lamented leaving them more than leaving him.

She remained in this limbo, as I said, for about two strained years.  I knew her during this time and, on occasion, we would see each other.  It would only be years later, after she and I became a couple, that she revealed to me that she had a thing for me all that time and that frequently, after we would get together for a coffee to catch up, or an innocent meeting at a concert or bookstore, she would jill it to thoughts of me.  (Flattering.  Very flattering.)

But then, in some magical way, sparks of romance began to shoot back and forth in our Platonic relationship.  Soon enough she was slipping away from Steve in order to meet with me for the illicit dark alley kiss; the so very risky blow-job in my office, or the unrestrained fuck in the front seat of my steamed-up car.

Then came that fateful day that she and I were at a remote bar, staring into each other’s eyes, talking, after having two or three drinks, when she revealed to me something that cut me to the quick.  “So, last night, after we met and you got me all riled up,” she began, making reference to our long, lustful make-out session that resulted in her cumming a number of times without any actual penetration, “I needed it.  I had to have it.  I went home and I woke Steve up from bed and I sucked his cock till he was good and hard.  I spread my legs and, as he was going at me with that massive cock of his and I was just on the verge of cumming and cumming in a BIG way, I found myself unconsciously saying. . .”

“Saying what?” I asked, on the edge of my seat when her words trailed off.

“Saying your name.”

“Out loud?!”

“Well, loud enough that I heard it.  I don’t think Steve heard me.  He was going at me furiously.  When I finally came, I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from screaming your name cause, you see, I was imagining that it was you fucking me and not him.”

These words of hers poured into my ears like a mixture of poison and elixir.  They swirled in my chest and elicited the most confused concoction of emotions I had ever known.  At one and the same time I was delighted to hear this story; excited to imagine it vividly in my mind; repulsed by the image; disturbed by the thought of her going home to him for sex, even if she was thinking about me.  I had no words for any of this.  Waves of heat descended over my body from head to toe.  All I could do was look into her lovely eyes and gaze at her beautiful and oh-so-dirty mouth.  And, without knowing what it was that I was doing or saying, I grabbed her hands and my mouth pronounced the words, “Lo, I need to tell you, I love you.  I love you desperately and deeply.  I love you in a way that I have never, ever known.  I love you and I have loved you and every day I fall deeper in love with you.”

She looked at me with confusion and joy on her face.  We were in the middle of some dive joint in the sticks, country music playing on an old jukebox, the bar filled with sad, drunk people.  This was hardly the place that I would have picked to profess my love for her and I think that the confession came as quite a surprise to her as well.  But her response to my unreasoned and untoward words surprised me equally.  She said simply, “I love you too.”  It wasn’t the sort of pat, formulaic response that is said out of politeness.  It was heartfelt.  They were four simple, monosyllabic, yet very weighty words pronounced with measure and sincerity.  Perhaps more than the words, the look in her eyes as she said them lent them the reassurance of truth that reading them on the page fails to do.

Her hands clutched mine and I knew that we had something, something real and something special – something that we had to do something with and about in order to become the people we were.

Sometime after this mutual exchange of love, I said to her, “Lo, but there is one thing I need you to promise me – to promise me very solemnly.”

“What?”

“I need you to swear that if ever you fall out of love with me like you have fallen out of love with Steve, you will tell me.  You will have the kindness and courage to say it to my face immediately.  You will never string me along.  You will never stay with me out of convenience.  You will never fuck me and whisper to yourself the name of some other man.”

Little did I know back then what I know now – that I would give my blessing to Lo’s fucking as many men and women as she pleases.  Yet one thing still holds true – I demand her love.  I know that when she fucks someone else, it is I whom she loves.  I know that when she masturbates to wild fantasies, it is I whom she loves.  I know that when she lusts for men and women whom we pass in the street, it is I whom she loves.  As long as I know that, we’re good.  We’re very, very good.

[Image, of Lola Masturbating by JoKoss.]

Money, Booze, Sex, & Lola

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“Did you see this?” she said, holding a piece of mail in her hand and waiving it in the air.  I could tell by her tone and the scowl on her face, we hadn’t won the Publishers Clearing House prize.

“What?”

“You bounced our rent check!  That’s what.”

“I bounced it?!”

“Yeah, you.”

“Well, it’s our checking account.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one responsible for balancing the books.”

“Oh, so because I do more than my fair share of work, I am also responsible?  No good deed ever goes unpunished in this house!”

“You’re not responsible because you take on the balancing, you’re responsible because you fucked up the balancing.”

“How the hell am I supposed to balance a checkbook when you have the debit card and spend through our cash?”

The fight went on like this for some time before I finally walked out the door.

My phone rang.  I didn’t answer.  I was in the car with no particular place to go other than away.

The phone rang again.  Again I didn’t answer.  I just grew even more heated.  Why should we talk when we’re both angry?

A text came through, “You’re being conflict-avoidant again.”

At a red light I texted back, “And you’re being annoying again.”

The light had changed and the guy behind me honked his horn before I had time to hit send.  I gave him the finger.  Asshole.

I drove to my office – my refuge from the storm.

She called again.

“What?!” I said, answering the phone.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a contrite voice.

I wasn’t expecting an apology.  I was expecting a continuation of the fight.  My tone was completely over-the-top.  But I wasn’t ready to apologize yet.  Her apology was met with silence.

“Are you there?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she asked.

If she was looking for a reciprocation of an apology, then she was sorely mistaken.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Come home,” she said.

“No.”

“Are you going to the bar?” she asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but that’s a good idea.”

“No!  Come home!”

“I might.  It depends on if I’m coming home to a hornet’s nest or not.”

“You won’t!  I promise.  You’ll come home to a horny-nest!”

“Lo, sex isn’t the answer to every one of life’s problems.”

“I’m not looking for answers, I’m looking to get off.”

I returned home, a little more calm.

We talked about money a bit more in quieter tones.  I explained that our finances are just a bit short right now, “but I’m confident things will be better next month.”

“That’s just the problem,” Lo said, exasperated, “you always think that next month will be better than this month.  What if it’s the same?  What if it’s worse?”

“So you’re saying that my worst quality is that I’m an incorrigible optimist? – I can live with that.”

“No!  I’m not saying that’s your worst quality, but that’s what you hear because you are an incorrigible optimist.”

I fixed myself a whiskey on the rocks.

We talked some more before agreeing to revisit the problem another day.  She suggested going out that night.

“Out?!” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.  “Let’s go out and have a good time.  Maybe you can watch me flirt with someone.”

“Here we are, scraping together the pennies from our spare-change jar to pay the rent, and you want to go out?  I’m sorry, I just find the idea of going out tonight repugnant and odious.”

“At least you can masturbate with your words.”

I shot her a look before taking another sip of whiskey.

“Well,” she said as she spread her legs on the couch and rubbed her pussy, “if we can’t go out, can you at least cum in?”

“Why this sudden erotic twist?”

“I don’t know what you mean.  I’ve always been erotically twisted.”

“I’m in no mood,” I said.  “You’ll just have to man the torpedoes tonight.”

“I know I don’t look so good tonight,” she said, referring to the mascara that had run when she was crying and the old sweatshirt she was wearing, “but I promise, I feel good,” she said as she put her hand between her legs and rubbed her pussy, revealing that under the oversized sweatshirt, she wasn’t wearing anything else.

“Can I just sleep here tonight?” I asked, feeling tired and comfortable on the couch.

“Are you drunk or just an asshole?”

“Can’t I be both?”

“No, you can’t sleep here tonight.  You’re coming in the bedroom. . . and I will be too, soon!”

We went in the bedroom and I got naked and in the bed.  As I waited for Lo to get out of the bathroom, I dozed off to sleep.  I awoke to find her straddling me, naked, grabbing my cock and using it as a dildo to rub her clit.  I heard her moaning and then fell back to sleep.

The next day I saw that she made a Facebook post at two in the morning.  I asked her about it.  She told me that she couldn’t sleep.  I asked her if she jilled it.  She said, yes.  I asked, “To what?”

“I used you.”

“What?”

“I licked your soft, little, good-for-nothing dick in your sleep until it got hard and then I used the tip of it to jill my clit.

“Yeah, I saw that, but that was right before I fell asleep, around ten o’clock.  You made your post after two in the morning.”

“Well, it worked the first time, so I did it a second. . . and a third.”

I went to sit up and get out of bed, but my body ached and I moaned.

“What’s the matter?” she asked me.

“Nothing.”

“You’re hung over,” she stated.

“No I’m not.  I’m sick.  I’ve been fighting off a cold.”

“You’re dehydrated.”  Her go-to diagnosis.

“No.  Didn’t you see how much water I drank last night?”

“I didn’t see you drink any water.”

“I drank it right in front of you.”

“You drank two whiskeys.  Don’t you remember?”

“Yeah, and what was in the whiskeys? – Ice!!!”

“Why do I even try?”

“I wasn’t even going to have one, but I was so agitated, I felt compelled to have a drink.”

“And how do you explain the second?”

“Well, after the first, my throat didn’t hurt anymore and I was feeling quite good, so I thought: if one caused that much improvement, two will be even better.”

“And was it?”

“Last night it was.”

“And now?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well, it was a bad idea.”

“I may be great at making bad choices, but at least I’m great at it.”

“You have to preserve yourself.”

“I’ll buy a jar of formaldehyde.”

“As long as you use it to keep your cock stiff and hard.”

“Watch it babe.  One of these days I’ll be dead and then you’ll miss me.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be married to a rich guy and I’ll have his money to console me.”

“Money won’t make you happy.”

“I wouldn’t know, but I’m willing to give it a shot.  Have I told you my plan?  I’m going to marry a rich man and then keep you on the side.”

“Stop promising and hurry up and do it.  I ain’t getting any younger here.  My plan is to grow old disgracefully, and you’re just the gal to help me do it too.”

Friday is Boobday!

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Hey y’all, every Friday is Boobday over at A Dissolute Life Means. . .

Last Thanksgiving we sent her the photo below.

Quick story of the making of it:

Lola and I were staying were visiting friends for Thanksgiving out of town.  We were invited over for the Thanksgiving Day meal and, just before sitting down, Lo saw that her phone had a message.  She opened it up and looked at a photo that one of her fans had sent.  She bent over to look at it more carefully.  She asked me to fuck her in the bathroom.  I found her irresistible and entered her from behind while she continued to admire her admirer.  I took out my phone and took a quick pic of us in the mirror.

On the right is the photo the friend sent in.

The story is now published and you can read it here: Very Thankful