“Lily texted me,” I texted to Lola, “and she invited me to meet her at the bar to watch the World Series.” It was the seventh game. She was hoping to see her team win. “Do you want to join?”
“Will Jim be there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nah,” Lola texted, “I’ll stay in.”
I walked into the crowded watering hole after a long day at work. Lily, was sitting at the bar, close to the TV. To my surprise, she had saved me a stool next to her. She gave me a hug and turned toward me. Despite the cold October air, she was wearing only a short skirt and a thin, loose fitting blouse. Her legs were spread a bit as she talked to me.
“Where’s Jim?” I inquired.
“He’s with some of his friends watching at their house.”
“You didn’t want to join them?”
I could see that she hadn’t invited me there just to watch the game. She was already on her second drink of the night. What was on her mind?
After just a little prodding (it didn’t take much), she revealed her true design. She was looking for some free legal advice and simultaneously looking for some special attention.
She had recently graduated and got her Master’s in Sexuality and Gender Studies. Now she was looking to do something with that degree and was interested in becoming a “Sex and Spirit Guide” to individuals and couples. The question on her mind was, “If my therapeutic techniques involve hands-on help and I accept money for it, what’s the legal distinction between that and prostitution?”
It was a real zinger of a query – one that they don’t ask you in law school! And my first inclination was to say, “I’m not sure I follow. Could we please go back to your place and you can provide me with a demonstration in order that I understand what you do a little better?” But I wisely withheld that request, which was purely for the academic purpose of gaining clarity, and I asked instead, “So you envision digitally manipulating and stimulating your clients?”
“Well, not only that, but possibly role-playing, BDSM experimenting, discovering their inhibitions through play therapy – you know, taking them on a real sexual and spiritual journey to the seat of their soul.”
“Yeah, this morning I had a professional photographer come to take some risqué photos to advertise my services.”
I got lost in my imagination as I envisioned the scene, but she continued. “And Jim even joined for some of them.”
“Oooh,” I cooed, “Boudoir photos?”
“Some were,” she replied alluringly. She began to pull out her phone as if ready to show me the raw, unedited shots. I wanted to look. I wanted to tell her all about the blog. I wanted to divulge everything. But I knew better. First, it’s Lo’s secret to reveal, not mine. That has always been the rule. Second, I’ve learned that letting on to the blog to people who are in the blog creates a Schrödinger’s Pussy situation – where the knowledge of being observed contaminates the observation.
Again I got lost in my thoughts.
She was clearly trying to attract my attention. She regained it as she unlocked her phone. I fumbled for my words a bit and said something stupid like the answer to her legal question would take some research. “A deep dive,” I remember saying.
“If you could advise me,” she said, playing the role of the helpless dancer in need of a savior, “I’d appreciate it so much. I want to heal people, not get arrested.”
Her allusion to consequences kept me in check and I soon paid my tab and said a friendly farewell to her, looking forward to going home to my sweet slutwife.
I got in late. I found Lola in bed, almost asleep, Stoya on my pillow.
“What’s this?” I asked. “Are you trying to tell me something?”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said. “Come to bed. I’ll explain.”
I removed my clothes, washed up, and got in bed. She was on the verge of sleep. I moved Stoya to the nightstand.
“I’m all ears. . . and a penis,” I said.
She rolled over toward me. “I was bad,” she began. I could have figured that. “I was thinking of Heather and Erin and all the other women I’ve been with. I was feeling like being with a woman tonight.”
“So you took out Stoya?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I tried a little experiment,” she said.
“Schrödinger’s Pussy,” I muttered under my breath, recalling my conversation of earlier in the evening.
“What?”
“Nothing. Continue.”
“I fingered myself a bit, rubbed some of my girly juice on her lips, fingering her, and put her over my clit. I fucked her pussy with my clit.”
“Did you cum?”
“Many times. It really does feel pretty realistic.”
She hugged me and asked, “Are you mad?”
“No. But I take it you didn’t wash her properly when done.”
“Sorry Daddy.”
I got out of bed and performed the recommended cleaning to Stoya’s pussy and then hung her out to airdry.
When I got back into bed, Lo was sound asleep on her tum. I was on my back. My right hand caressed her back. Then her lower back. Then the roundness of her rump. Then between her legs. I could feel how wet she was still. My fingers circled around her pussy, becoming soaked. I then slid one finger back and did circles around her other special spot. Slowly, gently, furtively, I dipped in, just a bit. No response. Then a bit more. Lo’s ass raised slightly. A little more. She either consciously or unconsciously elevated her hips. She looked like an inchworm as my finger wormed its way into her bum.*
Then a moan. Then a sigh. Then a “Daddy, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, Lo. Sleep.”
I was in up to my first knuckle. I went deeper. And deeper. And then added a finger. Her ass indicated it liked what it was getting. It was completely relaxed and open to exploration.
And then, without warning, it seized up on my fingers. It clenched like a vice and I heard Lo’s breathing accelerate. After only a few seconds it was over. I pulled my fingers out. She was back to sleep. I was hard-up.
“There’s always Stoya,” I thought.
* See the story, “Sin-esthesia” in which Lo gives her “blanket consent” to being fucked while asleep.
“Daddy,” asked Lo, “if it’s ok with you, when the guests arrive, I’d like to pretend for the night that I’m Robert’s girlfriend.”
I raised my eyebrows as a confused bunch of emotions swirled in my mind. Of course one of those emotions was arousal. But there was also intrigue, surprise, befuddlement, and a twinge of hurt and even a sliver of jealousy. Why wouldn’t she be ok with introducing me as her partner? Why the rouse? All of these thoughts flooded my mind, but then, at the flash of her pearly whites and her sexy red tongue gliding over them seductively, I could see that the real reason for the roleplay was because it excited her.
She liked the thought of taunting me, making me jealous, leaving me in the cold – the third-wheel as she got to be the center of attention. So, what was I to do? I capitulated and she gave me a devoted little peck on the cheek as a reward.
She practically danced back to Robert to give him the good news and I saw his face light up. I imagine he has felt a bit awkward as a middle-aged single guy in a mostly coupled world. And that awkwardness couldn’t have been diminished at all by coming to our house at all hours of the night for a booty call with Lola. So, her little charade for the evening’s entertainment must have boosted his confidence.
“You know,” I said to Lo at one point before the guests arrived, “there’s a job for what you do.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, clearly delighted by her acting role.
“It’s called ‘girlfriend rental,’ or something like that. I saw an article about it a while ago. Men who don’t have girlfriends can hire a woman to be their date for a company function or even for Thanksgiving!”
“Hmmmmm, interesting,” she pondered, “a little side-hustle.”
Mark and Stephanie came over for
appetizers before we all were going to go to see a play. Lo had planned this night for the four of us
months ago. She was very excited because
the play was one that she had heard great things about and she thought that Mark
and Stephanie were just the couple to invite to it. My guess was that she had designs on Mark and
was hoping to get him into a showdy corner of the dark theater and play a
little herself. But what actually
happened was way beyond my wildest imaginings.
Lo, as is her practice of primping
and prepping, spent most of that lovely summer Friday afternoon cleaning up the
house for our guests, making a special dip, stocking the bar, adorning the
small tables with bouquets of flowers, and then hopping into the shower. I, for my part, cracked open a beer and
watched Lo do all this work in her panties and bra. I hope you, dear reader, don’t get the wrong
idea about me. I’d be more than happy to
chip in with the chores, but Lo is such a perfectionist that I have learned the
hard way over time that it’s best to leave it to her.
As I sat on the living room couch, I
heard what could only be described as Lo’s mating call, if mating occurred for
her the way it does for komodo dragons, that is, through parthenogenesis, or
without the need of a male. Yes, this is
a very long-winded way of saying that Lo was fucking herself in the shower with
one of her many dildos and calling, to God, to me, to anyone, with her
distinctive, “OH GOD! YES! FUCK! YES!
YES! YES! YES!”
Not quite as poetic as the final paragraph of Joyce’s Ulysses, but the same sentiment. When she got out of the shower and found me
sitting on the bed, I wasn’t the only one who was long-winded. She was panting for air since her hot, steamy
shower only added to the heavy, humid air of our apartment.
“Thinking of Mark?” I asked
snidely.
“Mark, Mike, Matthew, Milton, it
doesn’t matter.”
“Allow me to rephrase. Thinking of dick?”
“Many, many dicks,” she said.
I got up off the bed to spank her
bottom as she was bending over the sink to wipe down the mirror when I caught a
glance into the tub and saw it was populated with not one, but four
dildos!
“What the hell did you need four dildos for in there? You only have three orifices to fill.”
“I like to feel wanted,” she said as
she set out to blow dry her hair.
“How many times did you cum?”
“Three or four or five.”
“Seriously?”
“No, deliriously. I used different dildos for different holes
and different sorts of orgasms. I used
this one,” she said, pointing at the one that was stuck to the tile wall by its
suction cup base, “for my puss. Then I
added this one in my ass,” she said, indicating her large red double-ended
dildo. “And then I used that same one on
both my ass and my puss before I used this one,” she said pointing to the horse
cock dildo on the floor of the tub.
“What about that one?” I asked,
pointing to the black dildo we call “Tommy gun” because it looks like a little
machine gun the way the ball sack is attached to it.
“Oh, that one I just held in my hand
for fun. You know my motto.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Be happy: jill off, jill often.”
“Well, you’d better clean up your
bathtub toys before our guests arrive.”
“Why, were they planning on taking a
bath?”
“You never know.”
“That would be fun.”
“I bet you’d like that. But, remember, Mark hasn’t had sex with Stephanie in over a year now.” We knew this from what Stephanie had told me at their Super Bowl party.
“First, that’s not
due to any deficiency on his part. And
second, even if it was, I know I could help him. I’m a cock whisperer.”
“I think you still
aim to ‘help’ him,” I said, knowing that Lo is terribly attracted to Mark.
“So,” she
responded, “Why do you think I have so many dildos in the tub? I like to get men hard. I like them to desire me. I like to be what gets
them up in the morning and what gives them sweet dreams at night. I want to be a vessel into which men drain
their lust.”
“Everyone but the
shoemaker’s wife,” I said under my breath.
“What?” she asked
as she slipped into her dress.
“Everyone except
the shoemaker’s wife,” I said more loudly.
“What the fuck
does that mean?” she asked.
I responded, “You have to clean up
your language, young lady.”
“Fine, I’ll clean it up. I’ll take out every word except ‘fuck.’”
“You know what I mean.”
“Fuck?”
“Stop it.”
“Fuck fuck.”
“You’re being vulgar.”
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”
“OK, I’ll play your game. What do you want to do tonight?”
“Fuck.”
“I bet you do. Fuck Mark.
Like I said, everyone except the shoemaker’s wife.”
“That’s the third time you said
that, now tell me what the fuck it means before I shove this shoe up your ass!”
she demanded as she held her high heel in her hand.
“It’s a saying. Everyone gets a new pair of shoes except the
shoemaker’s wife. The shoemaker never
gets to her because he’s so busy making the shoes for everyone else.”
“And what does that have to do with
us?”
“You’re the shoemaker. Everyone gets to drain their lust into you
but me.”
“Oh, don’t give me that,” she said,
feigning playing the violin for me. “You
get more than you can handle. Nine out
of ten times you deny me. That’s why this shoemaker has to go all
around town like the prince letting everyone try on Cinderella’s slipper.”
“Now this metaphor has jumped the
shark.”
“Look, if you want some of this,”
she said, slapping her pussy over her dress, “all you have to do is ask for it,
or better yet, take it!”
“I want it!” I said, lifting up her
dress and noticing that she hadn’t put on panties.
“Not now! They’ll be here in a minute or two.”
“I only need thirty seconds. You know that.”
“And people say romance is dead.”
At that moment the doorbell
rang. I went to go answer it and Lo
called to me and said, “Tell them I’ll be right out. Oh, and put the chips out and the dip. Oh, and can you turn on the Bluetooth speaker
to some up-beat music?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to remember
all I was supposed to do.
I took out the chips and dip,
grabbed Lo’s phone and pulled up Spotify, and turned on the speaker so it
played in the living room. Then I let in
Mark and Stephanie.
I invited them into the living room
and we sat down. “Lo will be right out,”
I said as we made polite conversation.
They looked very dapper, all dressed
up for the theater. She was wearing cute
flats, tight jeans, and a very sheer white top.
She doesn’t have very big breasts, but they are perky and she has a cute
bob haircut. He was in nice jeans,
leather shoes, and a tight fitting black t-shirt under a blazer. It was a dated, slightly “Miami Vice” look,
but he can be forgiven since he is from Miami after all.
I offered them drinks and they both
gladly elected for the harder stuff, passing over the beer and wine. I was surprised. Before theater events I find I can’t have
anything too strong, except coffee, lest I pull a Jack Nicolson and fall asleep
during the performance and begin snoring.
As I was entering with drinks in
hand, Lo made her stunning appearance. I
had seen her little, short black dress, but to see her with the sexy, shiny
black heels, her full makeup on, and that smile of hers was really
something. I wondered if she was still
commando or if she had elected to wear panties.
Ah, those perennial philosophical questions that I ponder in my life
with Lo.
We sat in the living room talking
since we had plenty of time before we had to leave for the play and somehow the
conversation turned to the topic of tattoos.
I pointed out that neither Lo nor I have any tattoos and we were
discussing what and where we’d get them if we chose to do so.
“Do you have any tattoos?” asked Lo
of both of them, but she touched Mark’s arm as she asked it.
“Lo, don’t you remember? – We went
to the beach with them. I didn’t see any
tattoos on either of them,” I interjected.
“Actually,” Mark said, “I do have a
tattoo.”
“Na-ah,” said Lo in disbelief,
grabbing his arm. “Where?”
“Well, I’m actually not too proud of
it.”
“Come on,” she said. “Where?” she asked, turning to Stephanie for
a hint.
“There,” said Stephanie, pointing at
his crotch.
“Na-ah,” said Lo again. “On his. . . ?”
“No,” said Mark. “Not on
it. Just above it.”
“What is it, I have to know,” said
Lo.
“If you’re that curious, I’ll show
you,” said Mark, standing up and moving to undo his belt buckle, but obviously
joking. But Lo didn’t take it as a
joke.
“Really?!” she said, the word
escaping her mouth faster than her brain realized what she had said and with
how much enthusiasm she had said it.
“No,” said Mark. “You don’t really want me to show you, do you?”
Lo unwittingly licked her lips and
nodded her head “Yes.”
“Fine,” said Mark, “I’ll show
you.” He actually unbuckled his belt.
I suddenly got up and said, “I’m
going to refresh my drink. Can I get
anyone anything?”
I was met with no answer. I looked at the tableau. There was Lo on the couch on one side of
Mark, her head directly level with his pelvis, looking intently. Mark was standing, undoing his belt buckle, a
big smile on his face. And Stephanie was
sitting on the other side of Mark, almost unable to see the action, her legs
crossed, a slight frown on her lips, watching her husband’s movements in front
of this woman who was over ten years her junior.
I was in the kitchen and I suddenly
heard Lo’s admiring voice coo, “Wow!
Impressive!”
When I returned to the living room,
Mark was buckling up his belt.
“So, why an eagle?” asked Lo, now
touching his knee.
“I was in college, I was drunk, and
I thought that. . . now this is really embarrassing.”
“Out with it,” demanded Lo.
“I was into the symbolism of spirit
animals and I felt that the eagle was my spirit animal and this,” he said,
running his hand across the top of his pelvis, “was the seat of my spirit.”
Lo did her best not to giggle and to
really stroke his ego (though she wanted to stoke something else, I’m sure). But then she said abruptly, “Oh, fuck, I
forgot, I have to send a quick email for work.”
I was confused and I saw her grab
her phone and scurry off. “I’ll be right
back. Just five minutes. Promise.
I just have to take care of this little bit of business.”
OH!
I thought, Is that what she’s
up to now. You see, “TCB – Taking Care
of Business,” is our little code for her masturbating. That’s what she texts me when she can’t come
to the phone because she’s busy cumming to something else.
And just as quickly as that
revelation hit me, a second, more menacing one alighted, “She took her
phone. Oh, shit!”
But that second realization was just
a bit too late in arriving. She must
have already gotten into the bedroom or bathroom, took down her panties, if she
was wearing any at all, and already found a dirty little video to watch because
suddenly the music on the Bluetooth speaker switched to the sounds of two (or
more) people fucking. Yes. Right there in the living room, the pornographic
soundtrack filled the air like an ambient disembodied orgiastic orchestra.
“Ha ha,” I fumbled, “must be a
random connection crossing paths with our wireless.” I jumped to shut off the speaker and couldn’t
find the confounded button fast enough!
Finally, in the awkward silence, we sat just sort of looking at each
other as I struggled to fill the air that was now devoid of sex sounds but
pregnant with nothing. Small talk into
the void, I thought, not finding the words that would penetrate those deafening
drawn out moments of muted embarrassment.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, that shriek of Lo’s
climax cut the stillness with “Oh FUCK!”
“I’ll just go to check to make sure
everything’s ok,” I said, in haste to remove myself not only from the living
room, but, if possible, from the continent.
“LO!” I whispered as I entered the
bedroom and found her with her dress up over her waist, one of her dildos up
her crotch, on hand manipulating it as her other held her phone as she was
kneeling on the bed. She scampered to
make it look like she wasn’t up to no good, but there was no evading her
shenanigans.
“What?!” she angrily asked, also in
a whisper.
“They heard you. They heard everything.”
“What?”
“Yes. The porn, the orgasm, all of it. Now, put your toy down and get out here. Oh, and make up some sort of an excuse.”
I returned to our guests, looking as
if nothing was wrong and said, “Oh, Lo just, er, dropped her computer on her
foot.”
“Is she ok?” asked Stephanie, seeing
right through the ruse.
“Oh yeah,” I said, waiving my hand
as if to say, nothing to worry about.
No sooner had I done that than Lo
came out, in her heels, smiling, and she said, “Sorry about that, I just found
out that something terrible happened at work.”
“How’s your foot?” asked Stephanie.
“My foot?” asked Lo, perplexed. “Fine.”
“We were all worried,” I said,
“about the computer you dropped on it.”
“Computer I. . .” she began.
If I could have stepped on her foot
to give her the hint, I would have, but as it was, I think my eyes were saying
everything.
“Oh yeah,” said Lo, “my foot’s
fine. Just a little bruise,” she
said. “Will you rub it?” she asked me as
she sat on the couch and took off her heel and put her foot up on my lap.
“I thought you rubbed it.” I said,
accusatorily.
“Oh, I did. I did rub it, but it still hurts,” she
said. “It needs more rubbing,” she
added, and I could just hear her saying, “Daddio,” but she kept that to
herself, thankfully.
She shook her foot, as if to demand
my attention, and I said, “Wasn’t it your other
foot Lo?” just to mess with her.
“No, silly,” she said, “I think I
know which foot I dropped my computer on.”
So I began caressing her foot. We all continued our little chat, but this
time without any ambient music.
Eventually it was time to go and we
went to see the play.
Prior to that evening, I had no idea
what the play was about. I hadn’t even
heard of it. But ever since, that play
has been etched into my mind. In brief,
it is the story of a late 19th century doctor who treats women with
hysterical paroxysms. He used to induce
them digitally, but now he has discovered this newly invented medical device
that uses the also newly invented technology of electric power. The device?
A vibrator! The wife, who is
sexually frustrated, becomes curious about this mystery treatment and uses it
on herself, to her delight. I won’t give
too much of the wonderful story away here, lest you, dear reader, go to see it
– which I highly recommend.
But for the four of us to see that
play together, well, I can only surmise that this was the scheming of Lo’s
cunning mind. For, as you know by now,
Stephanie and Mark have been struggling with rekindling the sexual spark in
their marriage. In many respects, they
may have felt like they were watching their relationship play out on
stage.
Lo’s little foreplay at home may
have been an elaborate prelude to the main event. A little masturbatory appetizer for our
guests, only in order to fete them with a full course meal of onanistic
explorations. During the performance, Lo
was squirming in her seat as she sat, very conveniently and strategically
between me and Mark.
At intermission, Stephanie pulled Lo
aside, leaving Mark and me to get drinks at the crowded bar. I was thankful for the distraction, for I
honestly didn’t know what to say to him.
When we did have a moment of awkward interaction, he asked, “What do you
think of the play?”
I answered, “Wonderful, wonderful,”
ambiguously.
“I can see what Lo likes about it,”
he said, just as ambiguously.
“What wouldn’t she like about it?” I
asked rhetorically.
Just then the ladies returned and
the lights flashed off and on indicating time to return to our seats.
The final act was a very satisfying
one, especially if Mark and Stephanie saw themselves in the main
characters. After the final curtain came
down, Mark and Stephanie said hasty goodbyes, claiming they had to get home to
relieve the babysitter. But who knows
what the actual cause of their haste was.
When Lo and I were alone, I rebuked
her for her bad behavior.
“Are you angry, Daddy?” she asked.
“Lo, why did you give in to your
carnal desires when we had guests? Were
you just prepping them for the play or were you too much in lust after seeing
Mark unzip his pants for you?”
A couple getting off to “Match, Cinder & Spark” and mysexlifewithlola.com together
“A little from column A,” she said,
“and a little from column B.”
“More like a lot from column B,” I
added. “What exactly did you see?”
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.
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.
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.
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.
“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.”
“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.”
Lo, as everyone knows by now, has her drug of choice: sex. I have mine. Now you may be thinking that my drug of choice is Lo, and you wouldn’t be wrong about that. But my addiction to Lo needs to be placed in a bigger context, a larger frame, a wider understanding of love and addiction.
I am one who is addicted to life. Now that may sound tautological since just about everyone who is alive wants more of life – I mean, it’s the one thing we just can’t live without, right? But not everyone living is really alive. Are you alive? Are you really alive? Are you living life to the fullest? And by that I don’t mean climbing Mount Everest, skydiving, or falsely claiming to adhere to the trite banality of “living every day like it’s my last.”
I mean living intensely. Feeling acutely. Spanning the extremes of emotion, exploring the treacherous terrain of thought, loving with passion and depth. Do you do that? Or do you go about your humdrum day as if dreaming of a life without ever living it? Is the closest you get to real life the vicarious thrill of observing it in others – whether on TV, the movies, or in books?
Well, this isn’t about you. This is about me and my addiction to joie de vivre. My love of Lo and all of her endearing idiosyncrasies is an extension of my own personality which oscillates between the extremes: manic-depressive, bi-polar, emotional rollercoaster ride, whatever you wish to call it. This amusement park of life’s possibilities can be euphoric and energizing or catastrophic and terrifying. Often both. Loving Lo is one part of it. But it also encompasses my relationship to work, money, and most pervasively, art. My writing is an obsession, an addiction, a compulsion, a release, a mania, and also my great downfall. I do everything for it and it does everything for me – everything, that is, except provide me with any semblance of stability. The only constant in my life is my perpetual state of peril. Perhaps that precarious existence leads to the anxiety and the anxiety to stress and stress to the manic-depressive episodes. Maybe it’s all a vicious circle. I don’t know.
But one day Lo might wake up and come to the insight that I’m no good for her.
We recently watched the movie Battle of the Sexes together and it cut to the quick for me. It is ostensibly the story of Billie Jean King’s fight for women’s rights and the focus of the movie is on her much hyped 1973 tennis match with Bobby Riggs, dubbed “The Battle of the Sexes.” However, despite a powerful performance by Emma Stone as Billie Jean, Steve Carell steals the show with his portrayal of the manically compulsive gambler and former tennis star, Riggs.
In the movie there is a scene where, at the insistence of his wife Priscilla, he goes to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting. I’ve taken a little liberty with the dialogue from that scene:
BOBBY: My name is Bobby and I am an addict. GROUP: Hi, Bobby. BOBBY: At least that’s what Priscilla says. She’s gonna leave me unless I quit gambling. Puzzles me, though, that word: “Gambling.” Whenever Priscilla gets a car out of the garage, she’s gambling big time. Never checks the mirror. Sticks it in reverse. Puts her foot down, right out onto the highway. Jeez Louise, that’s gambling! But here I am, Gamblers Anonymous. FACILITATOR: And your point is what, Bobby? BOBBY: My point is this: Life’s a gamble, right? That’s the thrill of it! You know, you folks aren’t here because you’re gamblers. You are here because you are terrible gamblers. Well, let’s face it, that’s the problem. You lose, and that’s why you’re here. FACILITATOR: Okay, Bobby… BOBBY: I’ve been looking at you guys yammering on about all of your stuff and…“Oh, woe is me” and “This is terrible.” But you know what the problem is? The problem is you don’t have a “thing.” FACILITATOR: Can we just… BOBBY: They don’t have a thing. They need an edge. You need an angle, an inside track, something. . . that’s gonna turn you from being a gambler to a hustler. FACILITATOR: All right, Bobby, thank you. BOBBY: From a loser to a winner. Why should we give up the one thing in life that we really love? Why should we give up what makes us come alive? We just want to feel alive, the thrill of the chance, the risk of losing it all or cleaning up. When Priscilla pulls her car out of the driveway, we don’t call that gambling because she isn’t aware of the risk, or she doesn’t feel it. But we, we know the risk, we take the risk, we feel the risk, and we love the risk. Life’s a gamble. We just bring the gamble front and center, we make it more intense and that makes life more intense. There’s the difference. These folks don’t need to stop what they’re doing, they just need to get better at it. Later in the film, as you might have surmised, Bobby not only didn’t stop gambling, he took it to new heights by bringing his gambit public on live national television and, with the greater stakes, Bobby’s mania grew as well. Priscilla finally had to get out of the maddening relationship. In that scene the following exchange takes place: PRISCILLA: Bobby, I love you. BOBBY: Well, I love you, too. PRISCILLA: I love how you make me laugh. I love your crazy ideas and all your schemes. And the way you walk into a room and you fill it up. I love the way you make me feel. I miss that a lot. But. . . I need a husband. I need someone who is steady. Someone that I can rely on. And that is not you. And that’s okay. It is more than okay. It is wonderful, because that. . . is who you are. I just can’t be with that person anymore. I just can’t. I’m so sorry. BOBBY: No. I’m sorry. That was the scene that really brought it home for me because I could see Lo saying those very words to me. They all seemed to fit. But one of the fascinating things about the movie is its hidden symmetry. Just as Bobby has his gambling addiction, so too does his nemesis, Billy Jean, have her own obsession. As her husband, Larry King, tells her lover, Marilyn Barnett, late in the film, “Tennis is her true love. If you get between her and the game, you’ll be gone.” It’s fucked up, but Lo loves me, at least in part, because of my writing. But it is my love of writing that may lead to losing Lo.
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.”
