Category Archives: Compulsive Masturbation

The Orgasm Gap

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When Lola Goes on a Date and I’m Left Alone

            Recently, a new phrase has been popping up in various articles on sex, relationships, and women: The Orgasm Gap.  Sometimes it’s referred to as “The Gender Orgasm Gap.”  It is the result of various studies’ data showing that women in heterosexual relationships have far fewer orgasms than their male partners.  This gap disappears in gay relationships. 

            There’s plenty of literature out there for you to do your own reading into the matter, but what I would like to discuss here is the orgasm gap that exists between Lo and me.  In our relationship there is undoubtedly an orgasm gap, but it is the inverse of the one referred to above. 

I’ve conducted my own non-scientific study.  One October a few years back (I deemed it “O-month,” for “Orgasm Month”) I did my best to count the number of orgasms achieved by Lola (either during coitus or on her own) and the number achieved by me, your faithful author.  The results were 70+ for Lo (not exactly sure of the actual number because I was relying on her reportage of her solo sessions and often she lost count), to my 18.  That’s approximately a 4:1 orgasm gap in favor of the female. 

            Now, in our relationship there are many “understandings.”  I am not allowed to jack it unless specifically instructed by Lola.  That usually means in her presence, so she can enjoy it.  I am not allowed to have sex with anyone outside our relationship.  Lo, on the other hand (so to speak), has no strings attached.  Solo sex, sex with others, accidental orgasms – all are fair game for her. 

            But a while back, when Lo was cross with me about something and thus withholding her pleasures from me, I took matters into my own hands, literally.  I got myself a Stoya Destroya Fleshlight.  It served the purpose at the time.  It also came in handy (can’t seem to get around that double-entendre) one night when Lola was too inebriated to give consent. 

Lola Fingering Stoya

            Lo doesn’t like my using Stoya’s pussy.  Her jealousy reigns supreme.  It matters not that it is literally just a pussy and not a person.  But the other night. . . .

            I had to work late.  I was at the office around 7 pm and I got a text from Lo saying that she was going out to dinner with her friend Candice.  Lo and Candice had become close friends over the past few months.  Candice is a self-described “thick” woman.  I would describe her as lusciously zaftig.  She is heavier than Lo by at least fifty pounds.  When they met, she was in a committed relationship, but that fell apart very suddenly.  Lo became her go-to confidante and wing-woman.  They went to clubs, bars, restaurants together about three or four times a week.  I think Lo enjoyed the singles scene and having someone to share it with.  Candice frequently found fuck-buddies, but was longing for a man who would be a dedicated daddy.  She admired Lo and was particularly envious of our special relationship. 

            Candice would often come over for brunch after her one-night-stands and dish the details about it to both of us over mimosas. 

            And then the other night. . . .

            As I was saying, Lo went out to dinner with Candice.  I thought nothing of it since it had become part of their repertoire.  I figured that Candice was horny and looking to find a cock to bring home for the night and Lo was going to help her, as usual.

            (A little aside here: If I were granted permission to have sex with just one of Lo’s friends, it would be Candice.  I find her voluptuousness very attractive.  But, either out of respect for Lo or lack of interest, Candice has never reciprocated my flirtatious banter with her.  Unless, of course, the juicy stories she tells us about her sexcapades are intended to rouse me, which they do.)

            But when I got home, I found Lo in bed, jillin’ herself silly.  She had all her toys on the bed and it looked like she had used each and every one.  Currently she was banging with the largest of the bunch.  It was stuck to the headboard and she was sliding her ass back, taking it all in, and then sliding forward.  Back-and-forth, slapping her cheeks up against the wood and then easing off.  She didn’t stop when she saw me enter the room.  I sat and waited, patiently by the foot of the bed.  She looked at me as she fucked her dildo.  Our eyes were locked as I saw her desperately trying to get off.  When she finally climaxed, slid off the dildo, and sprawled out in the sheets, legs spread and sloppy, I kissed her hello. 

            “Are you mad, Daddy?” she asked.

            “Why should I be mad?” I responded.

            “Get naked and I’ll tell you.”

            I did as she requested, got in bed next to her, and listened as she told me the following story:

            I went to the restaurant to meet Candice for dinner, but I was early and she was late.  I sat at the bar and ordered a drink while I waited for her.  As I waited, a handsome, young, black man came in and sat next to me.  He was very good looking, very fit, and I suddenly found myself getting very wet. 

            Candice finally arrived and as I was finishing my drink, the young guy got up and went to the bathroom.  I turned to Candice and told her how hot I thought he was.  She admitted to me that she thought so too. 

            When he came back, he paid his tab and got up to go.  But Candice immediately went after him.  She told him what I had told her in confidence, and he returned to the bar and sat between us.  He started up a conversation with me and I found out that he’s a football player for the college. 

            As we talked, he began rubbing my thigh and moving slowly further and further toward my crotch.  I didn’t protest. 

            Eventually he came very close to me and kissed me.  I reciprocated.  But then I pulled away and told him that I was there for Candice – her wing-woman.  She wasn’t supposed to be mine. 

            I think he liked that.  He showed an interest in both of us and the thoughts that went through my mind. . . .

            She didn’t elaborate, so I asked her, “What thoughts would those be?”

            I was fully expecting her to say, “Get in me and I’ll tell you,” but she didn’t.  After a pregnant pause, awaiting her command, I finally got between her legs, poised to strike, but she covered up her crotch with both hands and protested, “No, Daddy!  I can’t.  I’m sorry.”

            “Why not?” I asked, frustrated and eager.

            “I did myself a little too much.  I’m swollen and sore.”   

            Not only did I want her, badly, but I also wanted to hear the conclusion of her story just as badly.  I asked her politely if I could use the Stoya Fleshlight. 

She said, “Why don’t you just use your fist like a real man?”

            “I could ask you the same thing.  Instead of using your Hitachi, your 18” dildo, or your Remus, why don’t you just use your fist like a real slut?”

            She laughed despite her anger as she threw a pillow at me. 

            “Fine, get her out,” she said.

            “You’ll hold it for me?”

            She didn’t answer.  I rummaged through the back of the closet and pulled out Stoya.  I grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer and I got both Stoya and me nice and slick.  Lo took the hefty contraption in two hands and I slid right in. 

            “Comfortable?” she asked.

            “Yes, very,” I said, making her more jealous.  “Go on with your story.”

            “You like fucking her, don’t you?” she asked.

            “Not as much as fucking you.”

            “You like fucking Stoya.  You like that she’s a porn star.  You like thinking about how many men have fucked that pussy already, how many men have cum in it.”

Stoya’s Lovely Lady Parts

            I was getting very turned on by her dirty words.

            “Nothing would be hotter than seeing you make a porno,” I replied.  “I would stand in the wings while the director, the lighting crew, the sound engineers, and of course, the four or five male porn stars stood around your naked body as two or three of them fucked you on camera.”

            “Do you want me or do you want Stoya?”

            At this point, I admit, in my mind, Lola and Stoya were fused into one person as I imagined the set of the film.

            “Fuck her!  Fuck her good and hard!  Come on,” she demanded.  “Fuck that used, slutty pussy.  Cum in her.  Cum deep in her,” she commanded.  I can never resist her commands.  I came and I came hard as Lo pressed the Fleshlight down on my shaft, licking her lips as she watched me crumble as if struck by an arrow of pure pleasure. 

            I never did get to the end of her story that night. 

Lola’s Lolvely Lady Parts

            I have no idea how many times Lo came before I got home, but this is just one example of the so-called “Orgasm Gap” in our relationship. 

Her Porn Addiction

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How deep, how dark, how degraded, just how far down the rabbit hole of porn do you go?

Lola and I had a wedding to attend.  Yes, another wedding.  I couldn’t find my nice black leather shoes.  They weren’t in the closet.  They weren’t under my side of the bed.  So I looked under Lo’s side of the bed – yes, that side where she keeps her dildos, vibrators, anal beads, and other pornographic paraphernalia.  I knew I was entering dangerous territory, but what choice did I have?  So I began methodically opening all the brown shoeboxes, discovering that there were no shoes to be had, but only the mechanical instruments of female pleasure.

But then I came across it – the one box that was heavier than the others.  In it was not a pair of men’s shoes, but rather four or five books – all related to sex.  Among them, Erica Garza’s Getting Off.  There wasn’t much time.  I had to pack and be ready to go to the airport in a matter of minutes.  I grabbed the small volume and resolved that I’d just have to wear my brown belt and brown shoes to the wedding.

The flight was five hours, coast-to-coast.  Lo was exhausted because we flew the redeye after a long day at work.  She fell asleep on my shoulder as I used the time to read the book cover-to-cover.  There were certain pages marked with dog-ears and certain sentences underlined.  Almost all of them had to do with becoming inured to “conventional” porn and seeking every more degrading and debased images and scenarios.  One passage read:

 

My preferences were changing all the time.  I loved ‘old and young’ clips.  I’d also taken a liking to watching drunken girls get walked around on leashes or fucked by groups of men. . . .  I’d discovered the category of ‘bukkake’ and felt simultaneously disgusted and excited every time I watched multiple men come all over a girl’s face. . . .

 

 

I wondered about Lo and her late-night phone usage.  What depraved, debauched, dissolute, degenerate, dangerous and deviant electronic alleyways had my dear Lo followed that she should be so interested in these passages?  I was well aware of her penchant for multiple penises, how pee piqued her curiosity, her prurient interest in punishment, her salacious soliloquies on slut faming (the opposite of “slut shaming”), not to mention her downright dirty devotion to diddling while dreaming of bestial bullocks.  But had her fantasies, obsessions, and external stimuli ventured beyond these already extreme bounds?  I was in the dark.  I looked over at my delectable sleeping nymph by my side and pondered the extent of her perversity.  I recalled how years ago on a similar redeye transpacific flight she had utilized a highlighting marker as a dildo and got herself off in the crowded cabin as most of the passengers slept.  I would be fooling myself if I didn’t admit that these indiscretions were at least part of why I loved her so.

We suddenly hit some turbulence on our descent and Lo awoke from her slumber suddenly.  She saw me reading her book and asked, “What’s that?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

She sat up.  Recognizing the book, she asked, “Where’d you find that?”
“I’ll give you a hint, it wasn’t with my black shoes.”

Slowly an expression of cognition appeared on her face.  “Oh,” she said, conveying everything.

I flipped through the pages showing her each and every passage that she underlined.

“That’s private!” she said as she pulled the book from my hands.

“Is that so?”

We landed and Lola tucked the book into her bag as we deplaned.

We walked through the busy terminal and I said, “It was quite a read.  Did you like it?”

“Some parts,” she said.  “What did you like about it?” she asked.

“I liked that it reminded me of you.  Why didn’t you tell me you were reading it?”

“Because, you don’t need that book or any book like it,” she said, obviously referencing the other illicit tomes in the shoebox.  “You have me,” she said, putting her thumb to her chest, “and I’m all the sex-addicted, porn-watching, nympho you can handle.”

“That’s true,” I said as I dodged people rushing for their departing flights.  “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” she asked, talking past all the commuters.

“What porn have you been using to get off lately?”

“Define lately?”

We were outside in the sunshine and we found the taxi stand.  We hopped in and told the driver our destination.  In the backseat we continued our conversation.

“Look,” I said, pulling the book out of her bag and opening to the passage quoted above, “why is this underlined?  Have you been seeking out something. . .”

“You know, already.  I like bukkake, dirty old men like you fucking young beautiful women like me, facials, BDSM, female humiliation porn.”

I looked up and saw the taxi driver look at me and then at Lo through the rearview mirror.

“And?” I asked.

“And what?”

“Bestiality?” I whispered under my breath.

“Yeah, so what?  You already knew that.”

“What else?”

“You know it all already.”

“Do I?”

“Well, I also like seeing big, hung men fucking fat women or big fat men fucking sexy thin women.  I like cumming to gangbangs, machines fucking women incessantly, and also sensual massages.”

“So, basically everything you’ve ever done?”

“You could say that.”

We got to our destination and I paid the taxi driver in cash, giving him a generous tip on top of the juicy conversation he got to listen to on the way.

“You enjoyed that,” I said.

“Enjoyed what?” she asked coyly.

“You know what.  Saying all those filthy things in front of complete strangers.”

“Did I embarrass you?”

“No, but you are a loose cannon.”

“I’m loose alright.  And that reminds me, I also love to watch women with large labia and saggy tits.”

“I bet you do,” I said.  “I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Why don’t we go inside and fuck to my favorite porn.”

Her tongue licked her sparkling white teeth in anticipation and she asked, “What would that be?”

“I bet you could think of a few possibilities, but I’m not going to ask you to suggest anything and I’ll just come out with it.”

“I hope so,” she said, grabbing my crotch.

“My favorite porn is fucking you from behind as we both are looking at ourselves in a full-length mirror.”

“Mine too,” she said as we got in the hotel room.

Once we were in the room, we immediately stripped and I bent her over the dresser as we both looked into each other’s eyes reflected in the mirror above it.  I pulled out my throbbing rod, what she once called a “Truth Stick,” and slid deep inside her as she moaned with pleasure.  Once I had pinned her hips between my crotch and the corner of the dresser, I put her to the test.

“What else?”

“What else what?” she asked.

“What are the kinds of porn you didn’t tell me?”

“Oh, Daddy, please.”

I pulled back as her cunt squeezed my cock right out of her and she squirted on my bare feet.  I thrusted forward again, mounting her.

“Tell me.”

“Daddy,” she pleaded.

“If you want this, then you’ll speak,” I threatened, temporarily removing my pleasure pole from her wet snatch.

“NO!” she said.

I was confused at first.  No, I’m not telling or. . . .

“No, don’t pull out.  Deep.  Deep.  Please,” she continued.  “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“What gets you off?”

She looked up at the mirror and into my eyes that were watching the expression on her face.  She couldn’t tell me while our eyes were locked.  She dropped her head and her thick mane of hair covered it as her tits flopped forward and back with each thrust of my cock.

“OK,” she said in a tone of defeat.  “I like seeing my guy fans send pics of themselves to me wearing sexy women’s panties.  I like to see them hard-up for me in those sheer lace panties.  I like to see them cum in them.  I like them to cum to me, to my pics, to your dirty stories of me.”

Saying this, she came.

“What else?”  I knew she wasn’t done.  Not by a longshot.

“I like seeing women diddle themselves to me.”

“I knew that.”

“I like to see pregnant women get fucked hard.  I like to see women with giant bulging breasts and huge round nipples lactating.  I like to see lesbians sucking those huge tits, sucking the milk out of them.  I like to see women being milked like cows.”

She came a second time.

“Keep going,” I commanded.

“There’s not a deep, dark, dank corner of the internet I haven’t explored.  I’ve searched it all.  You name it: sex with aliens; gay men masturbating to my pics; couples having sex while watching me; teacher/student sex.”

I wanted her to continue, but at this point all her limbs went limp and she collapsed in the puddle she had made on the carpeted floor.  The orgasm was still causing convulsions and tremors through her flesh.

I let her lay there on the ground like a limp, wet pile of towels as I sat on the bed, my cock in my hands.  I watched her as she gradually regained consciousness.  She crawled across the floor to the space between my knees.  She looked up at me.  Her lips quivered as she tried to speak.

“That,” she said in a raspy whisper, “was fucking a-mazing.”

The Many Moods of Monday Morning

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Monday morning.  4 am.  Lo wakes me up by fucking herself with her glass dildo and Hitachi Magic Wand.  “Must you do that now?” I ask, irritated.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to do it if you’d fuck me at night, but you just went to sleep after getting in bed – like sleep is what the bed is made for!”

“Don’t blame your nymphomania on me.  You’re like Buzz Lightyear over there, masturbating to infinity and beyond!”

“Yeah, well, from the looks of things, you’re like Woody over there.  What’s that popping up under the covers?”

It’s true, I often wake up with a raging hard-on.

“I had crazy sex dreams all night,” she says, more sweetly.

“Really?” I ask from my own dreamlike state.  “Tell me about them.”

She tells me about how she dreamed about sex with a guy from work.  “I told him I want him to be with me in the biblical sense.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“What’s not?”

“To ‘be’ together in the biblical sense.  The saying is, ‘to know one another in the biblical sense.’”

“Well, I want to be together with him – in an existential sense.”

“Why do you think you were dreaming that?”

“Because you were groping me all night.”

“That’s impossible.  I slept like I was hit by a bus.”

“Well, groping while sleeping is one of your natural talents.”

“I have many natural and unnatural talents.”

“What are you going to do with that?” she asks, looking down at my rock-hard shaft.

“I’m going to suffer with it.  It’s my half-a-cross to bear.”

“Well, don’t get any ideas, I’m getting up,” she says as she pulls out her dildo and rests it on her nightstand.

“So am I,” I say, removing the covers, looking down at my phallus standing at attention.

A good erection is not to be wasted, I suppose, so instead of getting out of bed, she climbs up on my morning wood and eases herself down onto it.

When I don’t meet her descending motion with a thrust upward, she asks, “What’s the matter?”

“You’re using me,” I respond.

“Only for your body.”

“Oh, well, in that case then it’s ok.”

Within seconds she is gushing all over my hips.  She climbs off my body and collapses into the bed, eyes closed.

“Are you sleeping?” I ask, incredulously.

“Shhhhh,” is all she manages to respond as she drifts off back to dreamland leaving me hard-up at 4:10 in the a.m.

There’s no going back to sleep for me and I look at her peaceful face.

“Just jack it like any other guy would,” she mutters.

I get out of bed and do what I always do with my sexual energy – channel it into a good story.

A couple of hours later my phone buzzes.  “Come,” she texts from the bedroom.

I follow her command.

As I enter the bedroom, I find her naked, legs spread, fingers caressing between her glistening pussy lips.  I sit down gingerly beside her.  She looks up at me.  Her hair is a mess.

“What time did you come to bed?” she asks.

“When?”

“Whenever you came to bed.”

Not knowing if she was speaking about last night or this morning, I reply, “Just now.”

“Did I give you a handjob?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Why?” I ask, curious.

“I had a dream that I did.”

Her left hand is already fondling my hard cock over my pj bottoms.

“Take it out,” she commands.

I take it out for her to hold.  “Do you want to make your dream come true?” I ask.

She doesn’t bother to answer.  She is already stroking it with her left hand and stroking herself with her right.  Her eyes are closed as if continuing her dream.  Within mere moments she cums again, and falls back to sleep, leaving me hard-up for a second time.

I hop in the shower and then get dressed for work figuring that it’s just not my morning.

A few minutes after I leave the bedroom to have a cup of coffee, Lola walks into the kitchen.  I can tell just by her footfall that she’s upset.  Without a “hello” or “good morning,” she launches into a tirade.

“I’m so pissed,” she says.

“Why?”
“I just am.  My computer sucks, my schedule sucks, everything just sucks.”

“Do you want to go fuck it out?” I ask, hoping that I might finally release the tension between my legs.

“I thought you’d never ask!”

We return to the bedroom to have sex.  I slip out of my pants, but leave on my shirt.  I’m still horny from not cumming earlier in the morning and I figure this will be quick and fun.  But this time, she isn’t reaching orgasm like she did earlier.  She takes out her Hitachi and puts it on her clit and it vibrates between our bodies.  After only a few minutes she switches it off and stops her motions.  “It’s not working.  I think I’m broken.”

“What?”

“I’m not cumming.  I think I’m broken.”

“Lo, you had at least two or three orgasms already this morning!”

“Orgasms are like football, it doesn’t matter if you won your last ten games, the only game that matters is this one.”

“You don’t even like football.”

“So?  It still holds true.”

“You’re just thinking about all you have to do today.”

“Yeah, but I always cum.”

I get up.

“Where are you going?”

“To make breakfast.  Do you want some?’

“No.  I’m going to keep trying ʼtil I cum.  Everyone has to have goals.”

Two minutes later she’s walking naked into the kitchen.

“That was fast.”

“And how!  What’s for breakfast?”

After breakfast I say, “Well, Darlin’, I have to go to work.”

“You’re not wearing any pants!”

“It’s underwear Wednesday.”

“It’s not Wednesday, it’s Monday,” she corrects me.

“I plan my outfits ahead of time.”

“And don’t you mean Wonderwear Wednsday, as in, I wonder where my pants are?”

“Yeah.”

I go to the bedroom and put on my pants.  She follows me.

“You can’t go out in those pants!” she gasps.

“I could take them off, but I’d catch a breeze.”

“No no no.  I mean, I can see every line and curve of your cock clear as day through those.”

“Well, that never stopped you from wearing your yoga pants in public, now did it?”

“What are you talking about?” she asks defensively.

“As if you were unaware of your camel-toe.”

“Phhh,” she says, dismissively while staring at my crotch.  “That thing is huge in there!  Sheesh, you’ll scare your secretary.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of, or are you afraid she’ll get the same look in her eye that you have now?”

“Shut up.  You cannot go to work like that.  It’s bad enough that you have a young female secretary.  Now pull it out.”

“But Lo, I have only like three minutes to get going!”

She gets on her knees and unzips my fly, pulling out my cock.  But she also continues her rant.  “I’m just doing a public service.  If you go to work like this, then you’re just contributing to the misogynistic, patriarchal, intersectional systems of oppression.”

“Wow, that’s a mouthful.”

“You’re also a mouthful,” she says as she goes down on me.

“Are you doing a public service or do you wish to service the public?”

She pauses in her fellatio and looks to say, “Please don’t make bad puns while I have your cock in my mouth.”

With merely the gentle touch of her lips on the tip of my cock and the beautiful view of her on her knees, I finally cum.  So quick, so unexpected, and so much that it spews all over her face, neck, and tits.  She looks up at me and says in astonishment, “That was a hot surprise!”

“Sounds like a special in a restaurant.”

“It’s a plate best served horny.”

“So,” I ask, “what do you want to do with the remaining two and a half minutes I have?”

Suddenly she notices something and looks up at me with a scowl.  “You came all over my hair!  How did you do that?”

“That’s one of my natural talents.”

“And you came in like five seconds.”

“That’s one of my unnatural talents.”

“Did you like it?” she asks.

“I loved it,” I say, “but I’m so sleepy now.”

“Yeah, because you were groping me all night.”

“Impossible!  I slept like a rock.”

“You said you slept like you were hit by a bus.”

“Like a rock that was hit by a bus.”

“Where are you going all dressed up?” she asks after I zip up.

“I have a date.”

“With whom?”

“With destiny.”

“Who is she, I’ll tear her apart!”

“She’s a fickle woman who always gets her way.”

A few moments later, Lola appears in the living room, miraculously all dressed and ready to go to work.  She’s wearing a pearl necklace.

“That’s pretty I say.”

“This?” she asks, holding the necklace.  “It’s my second pearl necklace of the day!”

“Very funny,” I say.

She leans in to kiss me goodbye before we both leave.  “You’ll be home at 11:00 to fuck?” I ask.

“Yeah.  Will you be here?”

“Let me check my schedule to see if you can fit me in,” I reply.

“Darling, I could fit way more than you in.”

“Then I’ll bring a few friends.”

“Just be here at eleven.  I’ll supply the extras.”

[Art by JoKoss)

Sherry Rain

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I looked down and I saw Lola’s finger gently stroking Stoya’s pussy.  She slid her wet finger up and down the soft labia and then gently inserted one, then two fingers deep inside.  “You like this, Daddy?  You want to fuck her pussy?” she asked.  I did, but for the moment I was enjoying the view as I held my cock in my hands.

Now, allow me to tell you how we arrived at that supremely sexy moment.

It was late August.  Lo and I packed up our big cooler full of beers, G&T, and various snack items: salsa, hummus, cheeses.  We had a picnic basket full of chips, pita bread, pretzels, and basically everything you could want as an appetizer, but no meal.

We got on the road early.  We knew that the parking spots at the beach would fill up quick since the weather forecast for that Saturday was so perfect and we knew that there wouldn’t be many more opportunities to get to the ocean this summer.

All the way out there, Lo was in high spirits.  In summer she loves three things: heat, beach, and picnic baskets.  Well, and sex.  Don’t forget the sex.  I just like seeing her in her bikini (and out of her bikini).

We got there just in time to get one of the few remaining spots in the parking lot and I carried the heavy stuff while Lo rolled the cooler.  We set up the chairs and umbrella, spread out the beach blanket, and I pulled out a book and sat in the chair surveying the area while Lo lay spread eagle on the blanket.

“On the B.P.?” Lo asked me.  That’s our abbreviation for either “Beach Patrol,” or, more accurately, “Butt Patrol.”

There were a few couples around us, but we were in the mostly vacant far end of the beach, away from the crowds and screaming children.

The hours spent soaking up the sun sped by as Lo and I sipped our cold drinks and nibbled on the provisions.  I got a good chunk of reading done, swam a few times when I got too hot to bake any longer, and enjoyed seeing Lo apply and reapply her sunscreen.

When the sun was low on the horizon, Lo and I packed up our temporary home in the sand, put it all in the trunk and then headed off to one of our favorite restaurants, right on the water.

We walked up to the rooftop bar and, though it was crowded, we managed to snag the last high-top table for two overlooking the blue water below and the sunset in the distance.  It was perfect.  We were famished and already feeling the effects of day-drinking while sunbathing.

We ate our meal as the band played “Margaritaville” and other classic summer songs.  Lo’s feet kept rubbing up on my legs.  I could tell what she was hungry for now and I was eager to get her home to feed it to her.

We paid the bill and just as we stood to leave, we heard someone from the next table say, “Oh, don’t go yet!”  Was that directed at us?  I turned around and saw two women sitting at one of the other high-top tables.  Rather than sit across from one another, as Lo and I had been sitting in order to see each other, they both sat on one side of the small table and they were looking at us.  My back was to them the whole time, but had Lo seen them?  I don’t know.

“What?” I asked, politely, but a bit defensively.

“Don’t go yet,” one of them repeated.  Apparently they enjoyed looking at us.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Never mind her,” said the other woman in a deeper voice, “we’ve been here all day and now she’s drunk.”

“I am not!” the first protested.

“Whatever,” said the second.

We were in no hurry, we had been together all day, and something about these two women appealed to us (or appealed to our vanity), so we took a seat on the other side of the table.  We began with introductions.  The taller, deeper voiced woman was Sherry and the smaller, sandy-haired woman’s name was Rain.  They were a couple.  They had been together for about a year and they admitted to watching the two of us.

We ordered another round of drinks, even though Lo and I had already settled up for our dinner.

“You have amazing tits,” said Rain.  She was either less reserved than Sherry, or much more drunk.  I couldn’t tell since I knew them not at all.

Lo almost blushed, but not quite.  She was still in her bikini top and shorts.

“She has a great ass too,” I chimed in.

“I bet,” said Rain, liking her lips.  The gesture reminded me of Lo’s trademark move and when I looked over at Lo, it was like a mirror reflection of Rain.  They clearly had chemistry.  I looked at Sherry whose poker face was inscrutable.  Did she enjoy the flirting, as I did, or resent it?  Was this just another night out for this interesting couple, or was Rain playing a dangerous game?

No matter, it wasn’t my relationship at stake.

We continued drinking and finding out more about the two of them.  Rain was a yoga instructor.  Sherry worked in finance.  An odd couple, for sure.

The band continued to play and at some point after we had had another round or two, they played Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds.”

“I love this song!” Rain informed us as she jumped off her barstool and grabbed Lo’s hand saying, “Dance with me,” as she almost dragged her onto the dancefloor.  The two of them swayed back and forth and Rain put her hands on Lo’s hips as Lo put her arms around Rain’s waist.  I could see their lips moving, but not hear what they said. I realized that I wasn’t the only one watching them.  Not only were the other folks in the bar glued to these two long-haired, sexy beach babes dancing, but Sherry was also eyeing them closely.  I decided to use the opportunity of our being mutually abandoned to try to understand what was going on for her.

“She always this friendly?” I asked.

A tense smile hid her frustration.  “Rain?  She’s a very free spirit,” she said.  It was meant to sound like a compliment, but it came across as a complaint.

“Same with Lo,” I said, genuinely, “that’s why I love her so.”

She smiled again and I decided to lighten the mood a bit.  “You have great teeth.”

“Oh,” she said, surprised, clearly not used to being complimented, “thanks.”

One little observation goes a long way.  After that, she really opened up to me, telling me more about her and Rain.

The band played another song and Lo and Rain kept dancing.  I saw Rain move her hand to Lo’s butt, over her denim shorts.  Their bodies moved closer together, their steps smaller.

Sherry told me that this was her first relationship with a woman.  She was newly divorced.  She had two kids – teenagers.  They were very conflicted about everything.  I could see that either their emotions reflected her own or she was projecting.  She and Rain had only been together about a year and a half.  Rain had never been with a man, but was fascinated by men. . . and afraid of them.

Sherry was just as intoxicated as Rain, I realized, only she hid it better.  She hid, or tried to hide, a lot of things.  She went on to tell me that she’s often caught Rain masturbating to porn of guys jackin’ it and cumming.  “She’s fascinated by guys ejaculating,” she said as if it was the most bizarre thing for a lesbian to be curious about.  “She watches it again and again.”

Lo and Rain came back from the dance floor.

“At least someone dances with me,” Lo said, jibing me for my reluctance to set foot on any dance floor.

“At least someone talks to me,” I said, looking at Sherry.

“Oh yeah,” asked Rain, “what were you two talking about?”

“If I tell you,” I said, “you’ll tell me how nice Lo’s ass is.”

“Deal!” she said.

I looked at Sherry and saw real fear in her eyes.  Of course I wasn’t going to publicize her intimate revelation.  “We were just talking about Shelly’s kids and how quickly they grow up.”

“I know!  Right?” said Rain, “When I met them, I was taller than both of them.  But now they’re both this tall,” she said, putting her hand above her head by a foot.

Sherry looked relieved.

We talked some more, got some appetizers and more beer.  Lo and I opened up about our special relationship.  When Rain heard that I’m not allowed to have the same freedoms as Lo, she suddenly became more interested in me.  It was as if being off limits was a dare for her, a challenge, a goal.  She was now openly flirting with both Lo and me.

I completely lost track of time, but I knew we had a long drive home.  We got the check, exchanged numbers, and said that we all need to come back here again together before the summer was over.

We walked downstairs and out onto the sidewalk.  Their destination was the opposite direction from ours.  Lo gave a hug to Sherry as I went in to give a goodbye hug to Rain, but to my great astonishment, rather than a hug, Rain’s lips came in right for mine.  This was no little, polite peck goodnight, but an open-mouthed kiss, full of lips-on-lips and tongue exploration.  She hugged me close and squeezed and the thought occurred to me that she was squeezing me as she wanted to be squeezed.

When our embrace ended, I furtively looked over to Lo to see just how much trouble I was in now.  But Lo was busy talking with Sherry.  Had either of them seen what just went down?  Then Lo came over to Rain to give her a very proper and polite hug goodbye while I hugged Sherry.  There were no hard feelings, or at least none that I could detect.

Lo and I began walking along the dimly lit sidewalk next to the dark beach.  In our spirited conversation with the women, apparently Lo forgot the most important thing to do before departing a bar.

“Daddy,” she said, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“What?”

“I have to pee.  So bad.”

“Well, let’s go back.  You can. . .”

She cut me off.  “No,” she said, “why should we go all the way back when we have all the beach to ourselves?”

“What?” I asked, astonished as I saw Lo walk onto the sandy beach, pull down and remove her shorts but leaving on her bikini bottoms as she stuck out her bum like she was grinding into the invisible groin of someone in a dance club.

“Are you peeing?” I asked in disbelief.

“Come here and I’ll show you,” she said, grabbing my wrist, pulling my hand between her legs so I could feel the drips as they seeped through her bottoms.

“Lo,” I gasped, “you’re bad!”

“You love it,” she said.  “You know you do.”

She wasn’t wrong.

“OK,” she said, “let’s go.”

She grabbed me so we walked arm-in-arm and she sashayed down the sidewalk.

“Feel better, dear?”

“Much,” she said.  “Feel hard, dear?” she asked as she reached over to feel my cock under my bathing suit.  “Oh yeah,” she said, answering her own question, “you feel hard alright.”

She wasn’t wrong.

We got to the car and I got in, but I called to Lo before she got in.  “Hey, you plan on taking off your bottoms?”

“What?”

“Your bottoms.  Do you plan on taking them off?”

“Here?  On the street?”

“Yes here, on the street.  You certainly don’t plan on sitting on my car seat like that do you?”

“Like what, Daddy?” she asked innocently.

“Drenched in pee.”

“Drenched in pee?!  What are you talking about?”

“Your little trinkle on the beach.”

“What?”

“You honestly don’t remember?”

“No.  Is that why I’m all wet?  I just thought I was really horny.  I mean, I am really horny, but is that why I’m wet?”

“Yes.  So strip.”

“This sounds like a fun ride,” she said as she dropped her bikini bottoms onto the sidewalk, threw them in the trunk, and got in the car.

I started up the engine and she reached over to grab my cock.  “Do you want me to straddle you, Daddy?” she asked.

“No, Lo, I’m driving home.”

“Can I blow you?”

“No.”

“Hand job?”

“No.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do for this long ride home?” she asked as she put her bare feet up on the dashboard, spreading them to make a ‘V’ of her legs.  “Just look at what you’ve got here,” she said as she slapped her cleanly shaved pussy.

She put the seat all the way back and reclined it as far as it would go, keeping her feet up on the dash as she began massaging her pussy.  But within mere moments she was sound asleep next to me.

We got home and I roused her.  It took a great deal of effort, but I finally got her out of the car and up the stairs of our apartment building, all butt naked.

Once in our apartment she crawled into bed.  Now she was waking up.

“Fuck me, Daddy,” she said, spreading her legs.

“Lo, you’re beyond the ability to consent.”

“No I’m not, Daddy,” she protested.  “Don’t you want me?”

“I sure do, but I’m not having you,” I replied.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to take things into my own hands,” she said, pulling out her dildo from under the bed and swiftly inserting it between her legs.

“If you’re going to do that,” I countered, “then I’m going to have some fun too.  You’re not the only one with toys anymore.”

I rummaged through the closet and found my Stoya Fleshlight.

“No, Daddy!  You wouldn’t dare!” she cried, still masturbating.  “You wouldn’t have her when you could have me, would you?”

“Lo, I’m not having you.”

She grabbed Stoya from my hands and began touching her pussy lips.

“You can lubricate her for me, if you want,” I said.

She put out her hand and took some lube from the bottle as I squeezed it into her palm.

She stroked the pussy gently as I held my love organ in my hands.

“You like fingering her?” I asked.

No response.

“Are you thinking of Rain right now?”

“How’d you know?” she asked.

I was standing next to the bed as I watched all of this happening.  Then Lo slid so that her legs were dangling off the side of the bed.  With one hand she kept the dildo rhythmically fucking her pussy and with the other hand she slid Stoya’s pussy over my rock-hard cock.

“You like that, Daddy?”

Now I didn’t answer.

She went back and forth with the Fleshlight, fucking my cock with it as she fucked herself with her dildo.

“That’s it, Daddy, fuck her.  Fuck her like you’d fuck me,” she said until she squirted all over the wood floor next to the bed.  At the sight of her ejaculation, I grabbed Stoya with both hands and fucked Stoya hard and fast.  Lo reached down, underneath and held my balls.  She likes to feel them contract when I ejaculate.  I came and came a lot inside Stoya.

After we cleaned everything up, Lo lay in my arms.  She fell right to sleep.  I held her and thought of the sound of the waves gently rolling over the silent sand of the beach in the moonlight.

Deep C Fishing

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I had just returned from a week-long fishing trip with three of my friends.  For the record, I despise fishing.  Fishing is for people who want to be in nature but who don’t know how simply to be in nature without purpose, goal, or utilitarian project.  I am not of their ilk.  The silver lining to this trip was that it was up in the mountains, on a lake, in a log cabin.  The downside to this trip was that there was absolutely no wi-fi within a twenty mile radius of where we were staying.  That meant no communication with Lo for a week!

I was nearly beside myself needing a fix of her lovely skin, her soft touch, her caress.  I didn’t even have her voice to sustain me.  No gradual withdrawal from her, my drug of choice.  No substitute for her intoxicant.  The closest I could get was a specially curated set of photos I had of her stored on my phone.  “Favorites.”

We did get radio and this classic rock song played, mocking my predicament:

 

I’m out a luck, out a love
Gotta photograph, picture of
Passion killer, you’re too much
You’re the only one I want to touch
I see your face every time I dream
On every page, every magazine
So wild and free so far from me
You’re all I want, my fantasy

 

Yes, I missed her.  I craved her.  I wanted to praise her.  And I did, telling my friends what I could about my little nymph, without revealing too much or our special dalliances that are reserved just for us – oh, and all of you, our lovely reading public.

At night, I set up her image on my phone and sat at my computer to write sexy, sensual stories to her, for her, about her.  I dreamt of the naughty things she was doing while I was away.  I would look at the photos as lyrics from a song filtered in from the other room:

 

Photograph I don’t want your
Photograph I don’t need your
Photograph all I’ve got is a photograph
But it’s not enough

 

My pals knew how devoted to Lo I was, but they were unaware of how free I allow her to be.  One of them walked in while I was writing.  Seeing my phone on the desk next to me with Lo’s image on it, he casually picked it up.  I made as if to protest, but I didn’t protest too much.  He looked at the photos I had of her – naughty photos – and shared his discovery with the others.  They ridiculed me, ribbed me, and teased me for my Playboy internet pornstar.

Even the radio mocked me with the lyrics:

 

You can’t imagine what your image means.
The pages come alive.
Your magic greets everyone who reads.
Heart-break in overdrive
Are you for real, it’s so hard to tell, from just a magazine.
Yeah, you just smile and the picture sells, look what that does to me.

 

One night, after many shots of whiskey, they eventually pried out of me a confession of her sins.  They sat, wide-eyed, hard-up, and enraptured by the stories I spun.  At first they doubted, then they shouted, and finally they pouted.  They wanted her.  Two of my three friends were married.  One had been dating for under a year.  They envied me as I felt pangs of guilt for revealing the innermost sanctum of our little mystery cult of two.

They say that all of us live three lives: a public; a private; and a secret life.  Where is my life with Lo?  It’s secret, on one level.  But not secret to each other.  It’s private, between the two of us.  But yet we publish it for all to see.  Our most intimate parts are literally on display for the world.

Revealing who we are to you, our dear readers, is one thing.  Saying it directly, face-to-face to close, and long-time friends of flesh-and-blood is another.  They know the public, curated portrait of our coupled relationship.  That image is professional, wholesome, vanilla.  We do little to ‘queer the space,’ as the saying goes.

Privately, we are a kinky couple who invite others to join in with our merry mischief.  We are content doing this and feel no shame, no guilt about healthy, non-monogamous trysts.  Lo simply acts on the fantasies that many women share, but rarely articulate, even to their lovers.

Secretly, we each find delight in her exhibitionist tendencies.  That’s no secret to you, dear reader, but, if you happen to know us IRL (‘in real life’), we’d appreciate your keeping it to yourself.  Thanks.

But now, three of my closest friends were in on it.  Not as in on it as you are, mind you, since I didn’t reveal to them anything about the blog.  But they were in the know about Lo’s sweet, sexy, slutty side.  To my surprise, they were not only envious, but desirous.  Each of them requested a night alone with my phone.  Since there was no wi-fi, I thought it would be fine.  They couldn’t email themselves Lo’s sexy pics.  They couldn’t text them to themselves.  What harm would there be in letting my three friends get their rocks off to my girlfriend’s nude selfies?

It turns out I was quite naïve.  At the time, I knew nothing of “AirDrop” and how it could work without wi-fi.  Needless to say, all three of my friends now have Lo’s sexy pics on their phones and who knows how many other friends of theirs as well!  (I only found this out much later.)

Fishing, drinking, and jacking off to Lola was how we spent the rest of the week.

On the ride home, as soon as I was reconnected to the invisible world that surrounds us, I texted Lo.  I let her know my ETA.  She responded with: “TCB.”  That is, “Taking Care of Business,” our code for her masturbating.  I couldn’t wait to see her.

The guys dropped me off at home and I eagerly entered the house.  I found Lo wearing my flannel shirt, unbuttoned to her navel, and nothing else.  What a welcome sight!

I followed her to the bedroom, telling her how wonderful she looked.  Eager to preserve the moment, I took out the camera and shot a few sexy pics of her lying on the bed looking like the perfect temptress.

“Tell me about your week, Daddio,” she asked.

“Later.  Let me have you first,” I said, impatiently.

“Oh, but Daddio, I haven’t heard from you all week.  Tell me about it.”

“Later, Lo,” I pleaded.  “I want you now.”

She was clearly enjoying the role reversal of Coy and Craving.

I started to grab at her.  “You know, I’m not fast food.  You can’t just order and have your meal.”

“Let me spread my mayonnaise on you,” I said.

“Oh Daddio, so crude!”

“Lo, you don’t understand.”

“I’m not really into it right now,” she said.  She was truly going to milk this for all she could, and not in a good way.

“But I’ll get you into it by getting into you!”

“No, no,” she said like a coquette.  “Tell me about your fishing trip.”

“Let me plunge my fishing rod deep in your C,” I responded.

Then it struck me with great irony that here I am, a writer of erotica, rushing to physical gratification when all Lo wanted was to be wooed by my words.  She wanted me to tell her a naughty story.  And fortuitously, I had a good story to tell.

I got up close next to her and told her about how much I missed her, how I longed for her, how I gazed at her photos while writing stories about her, and how I got found out by the guys.  I revealed that her seductive image was used not only by me but by the other three as well.  Though it clearly upset her to know that they had seen her, it also excited her to know that they used her photos to get off.  Cognitive dissonance.

“Do you think that they stole my photos and have them on their phones?” she asked.

“How could they?” I responded.  “There was no wi-fi.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed.  “If they did, do you think that they’d look at them at night while their wives were sleeping?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Do you think that when they see me, they’ll picture me naked?”

“Not only that, I bet they’ll picture you doing all sorts of naughty things.”

“Like what things?” she asked.

“Sucking cock.”

“Just one?”

“Sucking cocks,” I said, correcting myself.  “Fucking many guys.  Dogging strangers at truck rest stops.”

She was getting riled up now.

“Have me, Daddy,” she said.

Finally!  The words I longed to hear all week!

She spread her legs wide, but then she said, “Wait,” just as I was about to plunge in.

“What?”

“Wait,” she repeated.  “Do you have a condom?”

“A condom?  No.  Why?”

“I’m ovulating something fierce right now.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“No.  You’ve been on the wagon for a week.  You’re not to be trusted.”

“I haven’t slipped a puck passed the goalie yet.”

“Will you stop with that awful analogy.”

She had her hands behind her knees and her knees up to her ears.  She looked up at me.  She wanted me, desperately.  I wanted her even more desperately.  She moved one of her hands to grab my cock.  She bounced the tip of it off her clit a few times and let out a moan.

“Are we good?” I asked.

“Jack it,” she commanded.

“I could have jacked it all week.  I want you.”

“What do you mean you could have jacked it all week?  Not without permission you can’t,” she said, reminding me of the rules.

“But you gave me permission, remember?  You said I could jack it so long as I jacked it to your pics and only your pics.  That was the whole reason that we took those sexy pics that the guys found on my phone.”

“And you didn’t jack it?”

“No.”

“Not to me?  Not to my pics?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted you.  I looked to your pics for inspiration.  I wrote like three novels up there about you, just gazing at your sexy photos.”

“But they jacked it to my pics?”

“Yes.”

Just the thought of it caused her to squirt on my incredibly hard phallus.

“Jack it,” she said again.  I could see that the image in her mind of guys jacking off to her photos was playing on her interior screen.  “Jack it like a man,” she repeated.

I grabbed my cock with my left hand.  She watched me.  “Do you like my pussy, Daddy?”

“Yes, Lo.”

“Play with it.”

I didn’t know if she wanted me to play with my cock or her puss.  It was ambiguous.

I let go of my member and she continued to hold both her legs back with her hands.  I gently caressed her hips and slid my hands down from the back of her knees to her inner thigh.  With both hands I pulled and pushed her pussy lips – spreading them apart, squeezing them together.

“Yeah,” she moaned.  She squirted on my hands and the warm liquid dribbled down her ass.  I let my fingers strum her perineum and anus.  She moaned, indicating she liked what I was doing.  I let my right thumb run circles over her special spot.

“I missed you, Daddy,” she said.

“Did you jill it when I was away?”

“Yes,” she said.

“How many times?”

“I don’t know.  A lot.”

“To what?”

“I don’t know.  Anything.  Everything.  Sometimes I thought about you.  Sometimes I thought about other men.  Sometimes I thought about other women.  Videos, pics that people send me, stories that you wrote, stories that other people wrote.”

“Did you talk on the phone to anyone?”

“No Daddy.”

“Did you have anyone over?”

“No Daddy.”

“Did you want to?”

“I always want to, Daddy.”

She came again.  She slapped her right hand on her pussy to keep the ejaculation flowing.  Then she took her soaking hand and stroked my cock.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She reached down, up and under my cock, grabbing my balls from beneath.

“They’re so big, Daddy.  Are they full?”

“So full, Lo,” I said.

She cupped them and one of her fingers pushed its way further back until she was doing to me what I had been doing to her.

“Cum, Daddy.  I want you to cum.  Let it out.  That’s it.  Be a good dog and let it go.”

I could take it no longer.  I grabbed my throbbing rod and fired off a load that shot up past her shoulder onto the pillow.  Missed.  But the second spurt was more accurate.  It made a high arc and landed squarely on her face.  Seeing that, more followed until I was falling back on my haunches in a fit of ecstasy and exhaustion.

“I’m hit!  I’m hit!” she cried out.  “Don’t just lie there, do something!”

All I could do was let out a chuckle amid my heavy heaving breaths.

She got up from the bed, my cum dripping down onto her breasts, and got a washcloth from the bathroom to clean up.

“Feeling better?” she asked as she looked down at me from the side of the bed.

“You have no idea,” I said.

Inveterate Masturbator

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It’s almost 9:00 a.m. and Lo hasn’t emerged from the bedroom yet.  I walk into the bedroom and as I open the door I find her lying on the bed, tum down, ass up, in her left hand she holds her phone and she is staring at it intently as her right hand manipulates a dildo in her puss and another in her ass.  She looks up briefly, caught in the act.

“I would join you, but I see you’re full up,” I say snidely.

“You can be next.  Just give me about ten more minutes.”

“You realize, it’s a quarter-to-nine, right?”

She waves me off, resentful of the interruption, concerned about the distraction.

When I walk in again at five-to-nine, she’s already in her tight pants, her pumps, and blouse, ready to go to work.

“What happened to my turn?” I inquire.

“Sorry Daddio, but I only had room for three this morning.”

“What do you mean, room for three?”

“I mean, three orgasms.”

“I didn’t even hear you.”

She shrugs her shoulders and walks into the bathroom to fix her hair.  When she does, I take a surreptitious glance at her phone.  I see that she had made a phone call at 8:47 to Brian.  I guess that’s why she was so quiet.

“You know,” I call to her from the bed, “you’re an inveterate masturbator.”

“What’s ‘inveterate’ mean, Daddy?” she asks in her little-girl voice.

“Chronic, confirmed, hardened, incurable, incorrigible, habitual, unrepentant.”

“Yep, that sounds like me.  I like it: Inveterate Masturbator.  It could be my superhero name.”

“And your superpower would be. . .  making yourself cum?”

“That and the power to make others cum.  You want to cum, Daddio?” she asks teasingly.

“Yes, yes I do!”

“Tell me more.”

“I want to cum.  Isn’t that enough?”

“Tell me how you want to cum,” she says, walking over to me and putting her hand on my crotch.

“I want to cum in you, on you, for you, under you – choose your preposition.”

“Do you want me to tug your cock and jack you off or do you want me to suck it or do you want to fuck my puss or do you want to fuck my ass?”

“Preferably, a little of each, you know, like tapas.”

“Hmmm,” she hums, “I like that.”  Then, abruptly, she turns and walks out of the bedroom.  “Too bad I have to go to work,” she calls over her shoulder.  “I guess you’ll just have to be hard-up for me all day.”

That is too much.  All niceties are off.  “What about your friend?” I call back to her.

“My friend?” she asks as she slips into her heels.

“Yeah, Brian, who you had phone sex with this morning.”

“Daddy,” she says, stopping in her tracks, “you were snooping.”

“Yeah, so.  It doesn’t change the fact.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to be really hard-up all day until I get home and have the time to tell you about it.  Kisses,” she says as she puckers up.  I am in no mood to kiss her after that torture.  She waits with her eyes closed.  When she feels nothing on her lips, she opens one eye and then the other.  “Fine,” she says, “if you don’t want to kiss me, I’ll find someone who does.”

With that she walks out the door.

Writing Nude

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I write erotica.  No.  Scratch that.  What I really write is love poems to Lola.  Really, really, really long love poems.  So long that, to the untrained eye, they read like prose.

Niel Gaiman once said, “If you’re only going to write when you’re inspired, you may be a fairly decent poet, but you will never be a novelist — because you’re going to have to make your word count today, and those words aren’t going to wait for you, whether you’re inspired or not. So you have to write when you’re not inspired.”  I don’t have a problem with this advice in general, but part of the problem is that when I’m not inspired, a certain detached, disinterested, distant feeling comes over me with regard to my writing.  I hesitate to say “objective,” because that implies a truth to the judgment and, for the life of me, I pray that that cold view of my writing is not true.

I struggle to capture exactly the feeling I get at these moments of disenchantment, but there are a few readily available examples of how I feel about my work that I can offer.  If you’ve ever seen The Big Lebowski, then you may recall the “modern interpretive dance” scene where The Dude watches his landlord, Marty, perform.  It is painful and comic to watch.  But it means so much to Marty.  That’s certainly part of it – if Marty was an author and not a dancer.

Another analogy is thinking thoughts when very stoned as compared to reading those thoughts when sober; some crucial élan vital is missing.  A third analogy is that of being naked.  One can be nude with one’s lover and that can be magnificent, or one can get caught naked in public, as often happens in humiliation dreams.  The difference between nude and naked is as great as the difference between consent and coercion.

Being nude is easy.  Writing is not.

But then there are also times like now.  Last night Lola and I went out to a party with some friends.  She wore her jack-pot top that prominently displays her cleavage and she wore her tight jeans with heels.  She looked good and I wasn’t the only one to notice.  Most of the evening her eyes sparkled and her teeth twinkled as she chatted and laughed, throwing back her long hair and touching the arms of those she liked.  She flirts.  And I love seeing it.  I watched her from afar and occasionally I sidled up next to her sliding my right hand over her round butt.  I wanted her all evening and the longer we stayed the more I wanted her.  But I’m not as young as I used to be.  The witching hour approached and my energy for performance and social settings dwindled.  I felt fatigued on the ride home.  Lo and I were traveling in the back of a cab and she was clearly not ready for the night to end.  She kissed me and reached down between my legs.  She reached between her legs and she enjoyed the thrill of being just out of sight from the driver as she made small-talk with him.

We got home and I got in bed, loving her, but needing sleep.  She joined me, naked, and feeling dejected by my drowsiness, pulled out her Hitachi, phone, dildo, and began her nightly bedtime ritual of self-pleasure.

In the morning I awoke before she.  She was curled in the fetal position facing away from me.  I was wrapped around her, holding her tightly for it was a chilly morning and we needed each other for warmth.  My hand roamed over her soft skin from her shoulder down to her breast, feeling the flesh of her tum and over her round hips.  I wanted her.  My rod was stiff between my legs, protruding into her.  She was down for the count.

Desirous of her, but respectful of her sleep, I snuck out of bed, washed up, made my coffee, and set up my little writing nest on the couch and began to compose this lustful literary tribute to her, my muse.  I know that when she wakes she will be full of passion for me as I will be for her.  And when I read these words to her, she will find them flattering, beautiful, and inspired.  That will make up for all the disenchanted moments when I look upon this massive encomium to Lola as if written by someone else.  My love, my longing, my lusty imaginings and my self-critical eye will all be aligned.  All shall be well, at least until the next wave of despair, alienation, and disenchantment plumes within me.  But, until then, I’ll take what I can get – of Lo and of writing.

Lo’s Lysistrata

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“No!” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“You know very well why,” she said, turning around, standing on her tiptoes and pushing out her naked bum.  “If you want this,” she added, slapping her ass for emphasis, “then you’re going to have to earn it.”

A little backstory here is in order.  We were in a fight.  Lo was upset with me.  She was more than upset with me.  She was furious with me.  I had recently hired a red-headed, buxom, bombshell of a woman to do Public Relations for my business.  The fact that she was a red-headed buxom bombshell was most certainly not the reason I had hired her.  She had an impressive résumé, impeccable credentials, and stellar recommendations.  She had found me via LinkedIn and had offered her services to me at just the time when I was thinking of expanding my business into a new market.  In short, there were very good and eminently rational reasons to hire this woman, none of which had to do with her looks.  But Lo couldn’t get beyond the surface appearance.

“A ruby red Jessica Rabbit?!  Really?  You just had to have a complete set, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely perplexed.

“Your secretary is a blonde bimbo.”

“She’s not a bimbo.”

“Your PR person is a ginger.  And I’m brunette.  You’ve got all your bases covered.”

“Lo, that has nothing to do with it.  Sheer coincidence.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.  I’m not even attracted to redheads.”

“All three of your previous girlfriends were redheads.”

“Exactly my point.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“All my ex’s are redheads.  I broke up with them.  Clearly red is not my color.”

“Well, no sex for you until you fire her.”

“I can’t just fire her.  That would be a violation of her rights.”

“What about my rights?” she said, thumbing her chest.

“What about them?”

“Don’t I have the right to peace of mind, quiet enjoyment, not to mention, my conjugal rights?”

“Lo, I’m ready to conjugate right now,” I said, pulling out my hard cock.

“Phhhht,” she replied, “Not until Jessica Rabbit is gone.”

Just to be clear, dear reader, the new PR person was not named Jessica, but for the purposes of this story, we’ll stick with Lo’s derogatory name for her.

“I know you’re a jealous woman but. . .” I began, trying to restate my defense.

“What sort of PR professional posts pics of herself in a thong bikini on the beach on her Instagram page?”

“You looked up her Instagram page?”

“Of course I did.  And I know you did too!”

“I most certainly did not.  But can I see?”

That little attempt at humor was definitely ill timed.  Lo put on her panties and work clothes and walked out of the room in her heels as she lifted her right hand to flip me the bird as she slammed the door behind her and called out, “NO SEX FOR YOU!”

I know that Lola wasn’t thinking rationally because what sense does it make for a nymphomaniac to go on a sex strike in order to get her way?  Nonetheless, she was upset.  Very upset.  And somehow I had to make things right.  But I didn’t know how.  Would she eventually come around?  Would I have to dismiss Jessica?  Would they have a knock down drag out cat fight?  Who knows.

One thing I was confident about was that Lo wouldn’t last long with this protest of hers.  How could she?  Unless she was going to go out there and find someone else to bang, which was always a distinct possibility.

Two, then three, then four days (and nights!) went by and she stuck to her guns.  I wasn’t even allowed to sleep in the same bed with her, but I was subjected to her moans and groans of self-pleasure.  A tantalizing torture.

After the fifth day of this cruel and very unusual punishment, I could take no more.  I had come up with a strategy for winning the war.  I put things into place and two days later, Monday afternoon, my secret weapon arrived by mail in a non-descript cardboard box, about the size of a shoebox.  It had my name on it and I purposefully left it out on the dining room table for Lo to ponder like Pandora’s box.

Like clockwork, when Lo got home and saw it she asked, “What’s that?”

“Oh, just something for me that I ordered on-line,” I replied nonchalantly.

“What is it?” she asked again, picking up the box and shaking it.

“Don’t shake it!” I warned.

“Is it fragile?  Is it for me?”

“It’s really none of your concern,” I said, knowing how much that would piss her off.

“What the fuck is it?!  You’d better tell me right now.”

“Calm down,” I said.  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“I’ll find out this instant!” she said, stomping her little foot.

“It’s just. . . just something to help me out.”

“Help you out?  How?  Is it a lifetime supply of Viagra?”

“Darling, I certainly don’t need any E.D. medicines.”

“That’s what you think.”

“But you are on the right track.”

“That’s it, I’m opening it up,” she said, making for the kitchen to get scissors.

She returned and violated the sacred law of the postal service – opening another’s mail.  And when she saw what was inside, she flipped out!  All going to plan.

“Stoya the Destroya Signature Fleshlight!”

“Yes,” I said calmly, talking the box from her hands.  “If you’re going on a sex-strike, then I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands,” I said.

“A surrogate pussy?!  You throw that thing out right now!  I will not stand for it!”

“Then get on your back and spread your legs for me.”

“No.”

“OK then,” I said, turning to leave with my pussy in hand.

“Where are you going?”

“To get laid.”

“The hell you are!”

I walked into the bedroom, removed my clothes, took Stoya’s pussy out of the box, read the extensive instructions and warnings, and began to follow the directions.  I was pleased to see that it came with its own small bottle of lube.

Lo walked in.  (I hadn’t locked the door.)

“You’re really going to fuck that thing?” she asked.

“Care to watch?”  (I knew that she wouldn’t or couldn’t resist.)

She sat on the side of the bed as I stroked lube all over my hard cock.  I then put lube on my fingers and began fingering Stoya.

“What are you doing?” she asked, perplexed.

“The instructions clearly say to lubricate the inside before use.”

“Wouldn’t you rather something that’s naturally wet?” she asked as she removed her panties.  She still had on her heels from work and her black dress.  She spread her legs on the bed and pulled at her pussy lips.

“Of course I would,” I said, “but Stoya is primed and ready for me.”  (I was purposefully being an asshole.)

“I’ve been primed and ready.  Wouldn’t you rather pump this,” she asked as she slipped in a couple of fingers.

“Are you really offering?”

“No.  You can’t have it.  I’m mad at you.”

“OK then,” I said as I penetrated Stoya’s soft and supple pussy.  I had two hands on the casing of the Fleshlight and I was sliding it on and off my cock as Lo fingered her own puss with one hand and then really upped the ante by fingering her ass and saying, “Is Stoya tight?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“As tight as my little ass?”

“I doubt it.”

“Do you want my ass?” she asked, fingering both her holes in front of me as I looked on hungrily.

I continued fucking Stoya, imagining I was fucking Lola.  “You know, there’s a Stoya anal Fleshlight as well,” I said.

“Then fuck that, because you can say goodbye to these!” she retorted as she turned around on the bed so she was lying on her tum, her head propped up by her hands.  I could still see her ass as her dress was flapped up over her waist.  I knew that something Lo loves is seeing guys masturbate.  She frequently requested that I jack it for her and she can never get enough since she can’t both watch me and have me.  That’s why she wants two men at the same time.

I did as she commanded and slid the pussy down and back on my rod.  I could see her grow visibly jealous of the device.

“What?” I said at her displeasure, “You have your Hitachi, your double-ended-dildo, your Remus, your. . .”

“Shut up and cum already,” she said.

“And you’re jealous of me because once, ONCE, in however many years I get a sex toy for myself?!”

“What about your sheath?  Your penis extender?”

“That was for you, not me.”

“Enough dialogue.  Fuck that pussy and cum if you’re gonna cum.”

“If you really want me to cum,” I said, “then hold it for me.”

“You want me to hold Stoya’s pussy so you can fuck her instead of me?”
“Well, are you willing to give me your pussy?”

She reached out and held onto the thick trunk of the sleeve.  I fucked more vigorously.  Her mouth opened.  At the crucial moment, I pulled out and, without warning, ejaculated the money shot all over her delighted face.  She was dripping in my cum when she said, “That. Was. Amazing.”

[p.s. – This installment of mysexlifewithlola was not sponsored by Stoya or Fleshlight, nor are we affiliated with them. (Though we’d love to be!  Hint hint.)

 

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.”

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.”