The ruined temple looms ahead, its ancient stone walls partly tumbled down and overgrown with moss. A few black birds startle at our approach, croaking harshly underneath the cloudy, leaden sky. A single entrance is visible, a gaping hole in the outer wall like a missing tooth smack dab in the middle of a wide salacious smile. Rubble partially obstructs the doorway. On either side of the entryway is a pair of statues, a man and a woman, nude and gesturing obscenely at each other. The path leads directly to the entrance.
The table is strewn with the detritus of an all-night session: coffee mugs and soda cans, empty bags of Doritos, graph paper, polyhedral dice, character sheets, meticulously painted miniature figures. Cinthia, until very recently my undefined other/fuckbuddy/mistress of pain, is sequestered behind a cardboard screen. She is the dungeon master, an irony not lost on her or me. I am sitting on her left. Jack (accountant by day, Thar, barbarian from the western steppes on Friday nights) is on her right. Then Dale and Amy; bookstore employees and cleric and sorcerer, respectively. It is an open secret that they are fucking. Then, to my right, is Ruby, elven magician/thief, the object of my latest crush, sexily straddling the line between curvy and plump, smart and awkward, bound for college in the fall, and significantly less than half my age.
We organize the little miniature figures into a marching order and cautiously approach the dark and forbidding entrance. The party is filled with an imminent sense of danger and foreboding. Mountain Dew is slurped and coffee is sipped. There are many hours between now and dawn.
The first time I was with Cinthia, she tied me to a straight-backed chair. “Try to relax,” she said. The rope she used was black and stiff, the kind mountain climbers or terrorists might use. She lashed my ankles and chest, and bound my wrists to the side of the chair. “Enjoy the ride,” she said, tipping the chair onto its back so that I was staring at the cracked plaster ceiling of her apartment. “I know I will.”
I was naked, she was fully dressed. I felt so vulnerable it gave me vertigo, like peering over the edge of a very tall cliff. I was totally exposed. I felt it in my toes, my stomach, my anus, my scrotum, my dick. It was kind of a rush, in a sick way.
Watching her get undressed was one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. I had to crane my neck to watch. She stripped out of her Simpsons Comic Book Store Guy t-shirt and grubby jeans. She was wearing a white bra and no panties. Her body was pale and taut and toned. She unsnapped her brassiere, setting her large, round breasts free. Her pussy was nearly shaved, just a tiny patch of hair, a Hitler Mustache as she called it, perched atop her puffy slit.
She knelt over my face and I strained and struggled to reach her pussy with my tongue. She pulled my hair and snarled at me to lick her asshole, which only made me hornier. Finally she relented, and lowered herself onto my tongue. Her pussy was hot as hellfire and sopping, drooling, dripping wet. I relished it, even as I struggled to breathe, even as she pinched and twisted my nipples mercilessly. I kept my tongue on her clit and she ground herself back and forth, finally orgasming all over my face with a sound like a jet airplane crashing into a skyscraper.
My cock was hard: rigid, throbbing, achingly hard. It flopped and twitched urgently as she climbed off my wet and sticky face. She laughed. “You’ll get yours, don’t worry. But first, I want to get some more of mine.”
She righted the chair and untied me, got me a glass of water while I shook the blood back into my hands and feet and my treacherous cock strained and twitched like an over-eager puppy.
“Hold out your hands,” she instructed. “Straight out, palms up, like this.” I did as I was told.
She picked up a wooden ruler, and smacked it hard against my upturned palm. “OUCH! MOTHERFUCKER!!” I howled. There was a livid red rectangle embossed right across the palm of my left hand.
She lazily ran a finger between her pouting labia. “I’ll stop if you tell me to,” she said. Whack! She smacked my other hand, just as hard as the first. “God, that’s hot! Tell me if it hurts too much.” Whack! Whack! Whack! She rubbed her pink and juicy pussy with her free hand while she beat the shit out of my palms. “Oh yeah,” she grinned, “I’m going to fucking come hard.”
My hands were a pair of fireballs, red and swollen and throbbing. I was in agony. Fat, salty tears, real tears ran down my cheeks as she masturbated herself to another violent orgasm.
“You’re so cute when you’re in pain!” Cinthia gushed. “Now you’re going to think of me every time when you jerk off this week!”
And then she got down on her knees and proceeded to give me a blowjob. Well, not exactly a blowjob. She certainly didn’t suck my dick. She didn’t actually touch it with her hands, and she didn’t take it into her mouth at all. She simply licked me, running her tongue languidly up and down the shaft, and flicking the underside of the head with the tip of her tongue, like a kitten drinking milk. I was in heaven. I don’t know how long it took: five, ten, fifteen minutes, an hour, I really don’t know. The throbbing pain in my poor hands only made the sensations more intense. When I finally did come, it was the most intense orgasm I could remember ever having.
Cinthia made me lap up my spilled semen, every last drop. Then she smiled sweetly, “See you next Friday”, and sent me on my way.
I drove home as the sky became pale with dawn, holding the steering wheel gingerly between my forearms, and promptly broke up with my girlfriend.
As the brave adventurers approach the temple entrance, there is a sudden movement from within. David Bowie and the Rolling Stones appear. The Stones carry spiked cudgels, Bowie is wielding an iron mace. Dale’s cleric turns undead, and most of the Stones disintegrate into cocaine-and-carcinogen-ridden dust, but David Bowie and Mick Jagger are unfazed.
Bowie is pelted with fireballs and arrows. He swings wildly, wounding the barbarian. Thar gives a furious roar, and dispatches him with a single blow of his two-handed sword. Meanwhile, my paladin is jousting with a slightly scorched Mick Jagger. The man just refuses to die. We trade hit points for a few rounds before he finally succumbs. The party heals its wounds, rummages through the pockets of the dead rockers for a few measly gold pieces, and then carries on, into the temple proper.
My fling with Cinthia started four weeks previously. We’d finished the adventure of the Disco Death March, defeating the evil Abba, and made it back to the Dew Drop Inn, where we spent our hard-earned gold pieces on wenches, ale, new equipment, and magical items. It was a convenient stopping point, and Dale and Amy quiet obviously wanted to be elsewhere for some quality time together, so we wrapped up early. It was barely 12:30.
Normally, Amy gives Cinthia a ride home, but Amy very clearly had other plans, so I offered to give her a lift. It was out of my way, but I didn’t really mind.
In my car, she tuned the radio to a classic rock station, and cranked the volume way up high. I cannot stand classic rock, but I didn’t say anything.
I can’t tell you exactly what passed between us in the car that night: a look, a touch, a feeling, I don’t know, but we both felt it. I stopped the car in front of her place, and she didn’t get out. In an uncharacteristically bold move, I put my hand on her thigh, and leaned over and kissed her on the lips. She kissed me back.
It was a good kiss. We seemed to sizzle. When it was over, she pulled back. “I’m not convinced this is a good idea at all. I’ve got a feeling I’m way too kinky for you.”
“I don’t mind,” I said blithely. “I’m up for anything.”
Cinthia smiled. “Anything?”
I had a girlfriend at the time, at least nominally. Sharon, who I’d been dating for nearly two years. We lived separately; me alone, her with roommates; we hung out more or less daily because that’s what you do when you are dating; and we still fucked on a fairly regular basis.
Sharon was a meat-and-potatoes gal: she liked no-frills sex, and plenty of it. She liked me to be on top, or upon occasion to screw her from behind. We had sex in the bedroom. And nowhere else. She liked my penis in her vagina. And nowhere else. She liked me to come inside her. And nowhere else. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with that kind of sex. It was very vanilla, but it was high-quality vanilla. When we first got together, we were fucking two, three times a day. Our orgasms were almost always simultaneous. It’s just that I was bored. And I suspect that she was too, though she’d never admit it.
My dick led the way. I got out of the car and followed Cinthia’s jiggly, wiggly little blue jeans-covered ass up the steps into her house.
Inside the temple proper, we quickly dispatch a squad of tour rats and a giant spider. We light our torches, and venture on. The hallway leads to a staircase, descending down into darkness. At the bottom of the stairway, the passage branches. We choose the left-hand passage. We round a corner, and are promptly ambushed by a dagger-wielding ex-girlfriend. She is immediately hit with a barrage of arrows, sling bullets, magic missiles, and a spear courtesy of the barbarian. All that is left for me to do is finish her off.
Dawn was my first ever girlfriend. I was a sophomore in high school; she was a senior. We ran cross-country together, jostling for last place. We became friends, and then, quite out of the blue, she asked me to go steady with her.
She picked me up at my house in her dusty and dented Toyota Corolla. I thought we’d go see a movie or something. “Are you kidding me? Let’s make out!”
We parked at the end of an abandoned-looking logging road, and proceeded to kiss and grope. It was my first time doing either of those two things, and I loved it! She did her level best to shove her tongue down my throat and at the same time encouraged me to feel up her breasts, both through and underneath her t-shirt and bra. This having a girlfriend thing, I thought to myself, was the bomb!
And then she extracted my hyper-excited teenage cock from the claustrophobic confines of my pants, dropped her head onto my lap, opened her mouth wide, and gave me my first ever blowjob. She bobbed her head up and down, swirling her tongue all around, noisily and wetly sucking me like a fiend. It was pure bliss. She popped up for air. “Don’t hold back,” she told me. “Come in my mouth!” I was only too happy to oblige.
Up until that moment, all my orgasms had been self-inflicted. I humped back against her eager mouth, losing myself in pleasure, exploding with a strangled howl, pumping gobs and gobs of semen into her mouth, which she discreetly spat out the passenger-side window.
My dick wet, and briefly soft, Dawn instructed me on the fine art of finger-fucking. She showed me how to find and touch her clitoris, and very soon, I was giving her an orgasm of her own. Which was almost as pleasurable and exciting as being on the receiving end.
The next week, Dawn plucked my virginity like a ripe, low-hanging fruit. She went on the pill so we didn’t have to use condoms. We told our parents we were going to every movie that was in the theaters that summer, and spent our time parked in the car, fucking like weasels. She taught me to go down on her, how to lick her clit, and make her come with my tongue. She showed me the trick of slipping a wet fingertip into her asshole just before she came, a technique that worked like voodoo with nine out of ten subsequent ex-girlfriends. We looked at porn together; we shared fantasies about trying out bondage and threesomes; she dropped broad hints that she’d like to give anal sex a whirl.
And then I got claustrophobic. Dawn was graduating, and talking about getting an apartment and moving in together. I didn’t even have my driver’s license yet. It was all a bit much for me. And there was also the nagging thought in the back of my head: if Dawn was so into me, maybe other girls would be too. Maybe there were other girls out there who wanted to find out what hot and kinky sex was like with me. Shouldn’t I give them a chance to find out?
So I broke up with her. She cried a lot, which made me feel like a complete shit. When she was done crying, she told me, very calmly and in a matter-of-fact way, that I was an asshole, incapable of love or of being loved, that I had hurt her in a way that she would never get over, and that I would hurt everyone I ever touched, and that I would live a sad, pathetic, and lonely life and die alone.
So I entered into a long dry spell, and an apparently permanent state of self-doubt and loathing. It was three years before I got laid again.
We search the ex-girlfriend’s body, finding a few silver pieces, a bracelet that radiates magic, and a few other oddments, before venturing onward and downward. The passage slopes slightly but steadily downward. Strange scenes are carved in relief in the walls to either side: images of sex and violence, intermingled. Ersatz, Ruby’s elven thief, detects and disarms a trap, a nearly invisible tripwire that would have triggered an avalanche of stone penises on top of our heads.
I feel Cinthia’s foot brushing suggestively against my right leg, which shouldn’t be happening, because she broke it off with me last week, in no uncertain terms. At the same time, I feel a tentative brush of Ruby’s hand; plump, shy, delectably sexy Ruby brushing her hand softly up against my thigh. Interesting. There is chemistry there, for sure, but for the love of God. The girl is still in high school, for fuck’s sake.
The second time I went home with Cinthia, there was no discussion. After the game wrapped up, about 2:30 in the morning, she accompanied me to my car, and turned on the classic rock station, really fucking loud. There was no conversation as I drove the car to her house; the music was deafening. My dick was hard the whole drive. My hands had mostly recovered from out previous encounter: she was right, I had thought of her each time I’d jerked off that week.
The world had that fuzzy, dark grey pre-dawn quality to it: too much caffeine, not enough sleep. Now and then a car went by, headlights harpooning the gloom. There was a blanket of low clouds, and just a hint of pink on the eastern horizon. I followed Cinthia up the walk toward her front door, in thrall, a sacrificial lamb.
She sat down on the steps leading up to her apartment building, hoisting up her skirt and spreading her legs. As usual, she was wearing nothing underneath. Her pussy blossomed like a night flower. “I’ve been thinking about this all night,” she cooed. “Well go on, it ain’t gonna lick itself!”
I got down on my knees on the cool, hard cement, and got to it. She wasn’t lying; she was already very wet. She tasted musky, sweaty, pervasively seductive. I dove in like a pearl diver, immersing myself in her folds, losing myself in her wet and slippery vulva. It was easy figuring out what she liked: whenever I did something that didn’t work for her, she pulled on my hair, hard. I liked it. It was a kind of instant feedback I’d never gotten from a girl before. I had her coming in what seemed like no time whatsoever; two fingers in her asshole, my thumb in her pussy, my tongue drawing furious little circles around her clit. She came hard, snorting like a bull, squeezing my face between her surprisingly muscular thighs. I couldn’t breathe for a long moment, and I started to panic before she finally relaxed and I could take a breath. My face was covered with her slick wetness.
“Not half bad,” Cinthia pronounced. “I hope you’re thirsty.” She arched her back, put her hands on the step behind her, and proceeded to urinate on my face. I was able to catch most of it in my mouth. The taste didn’t bother me, particularly. Despite my best efforts though, my shirt got soaked with her piss. I had a feeling she liked that.
“Are you ready to get fucked?” I stood naked in front of her in her apartment living room, her body fluids still all over my face, my cock jutting out eagerly. She tied me securely to the chair she’d used last week, pulled out her trusty ruler, laughed when I flinched, and beat me liberally across the thighs and chest just for her own amusement. My dick was oozing precome, practically purple with horny anticipation.
“It’s a shame to have to wrap this rascal,” she sighed, rolling a condom down my engorged penis. “Enjoy the ride,” she said, straddling my lap, “but don’t you DARE come!”
She lowered herself onto my cock. It was glorious. Her pussy was scalding and droolingly open and utterly ready, engulfing my penis eagerly into her slick, hot wetness. It took everything I had not to explode right away. She smiled beatifically, savoring the moment, and then she started to ride me, her breasts bouncing like ripe fruit, inches from my face. She was gorgeous, and she was clearly enjoying every moment of this.
She rode me hard. She rode me fast, she rode me slow. She bounced up and down, she ground back and forth. If she ever thought I was on the verge of getting over-excited, she pinched and twisted my nipples until I screamed, tugging like she was trying to pull them right off my chest. She finally came, slamming herself up and down on my cock like a pile driver. It was beautiful to watch. I could more-or-less taste the semen welling up in the back of my throat.
When she was done, she stood up. My cock stood futily erect, a latex-wrapped, girlcome-covered totem pole of urgent desire. She carefully removed the condom. My balls ached. I needed to get off so badly I could literally taste it.
She turned around, spreading her angelic butt-cheeks, and captured my penis in between the two soft hemispheres of her ass. The cleft was quite wet and slippery from all the licking and fucking her pussy had received. I would have given everything I owned, and every penny I would ever earn, I would have cheerfully accepted a cancer diagnosis, if I only could have slipped my dick up Cinthia’s tight little asshole at that moment. But that was not to be.
My cock nestled between her ass-cheeks like a hot dog in a bun, she slowly rubbed herself up and down my shaft: once, twice, three, four times. That was all it took. With a howl, I exploded all over her ass and the small of her back. She chuckled gleefully, smearing my come up and down the crack of her ass.
She untied me, and kissed me on the lips, biting down until I tasted blood in my mouth. “You made a bit of a mess,” she said. “Better clean it up.”
Cinthia got down on all fours, and I eagerly came up behind here, licking up all my salty-bitter spilt semen from her ass until none was left. This, of course, led to me tonguing her asshole while she masturbated to another rock-n-roll orgasm. Then I got dressed and went home, sore, confused and horny, to masturbate to instant replay memories of the evening.
We are barely past the disarmed trap when the next two ex-girlfriends come screaming at us from behind, hurling insults and brandishing scimitars as the party turns to fight in close quarters. Fireballs and missile weapons are useless here; it is down-and-dirty hand-to-hand fighting, with the weakest party members suddenly thrust into the front lines. It is a battle of attrition, hit points for hit points, and in the end we finish them both off, but it is not pretty. D’hane, the cleric, uses up most of her healing magic bringing us all back up to strength.
Melissa had made it pretty clear what she wanted. Explicitly so. We were at a party, my second year of college, and she cornered me, literally backed me into a corner and made her proposition. Shortly thereafter, we discretely exited the party and headed back to her place, an off-campus apartment in a building with a perpetually empty pool next to an active set of railroad tracks.
Horny is not the word. We barely made it through her front door, never mind into the bedroom. We were all over each other, kissing, touching, fondling, undressing. Clothes were shed like autumn leaves in a windstorm. It was like getting hit by an express train; a very shapely, sexy, sassy, red-headed express train with pert little boobs and puffy nipples.
Next thing I knew, we were sprawled over her couch, locked in a 69. Her petite little pussy was right up in my face as she gargled my dick. She was wet as motherfucking Lake Pontchartrain! I licked her furiously, trying to keep up, running my tongue up and down the folds of her labia and all around her clitoris as she did tongue-acrobatics up and down my shaft and all around my extremely sensitive glans. It was sort of a seesaw effect: neither of us could quite achieve orgasm without neglecting our duties. We danced around the edge of climax for what seemed like forever, before exploding more-or-less simultaneously in each others faces. It was super hot, a much-needed re-introduction to sex. Sex with people other than my own two hands, that is.
We didn’t have any condoms, so we couldn’t fuck, but that didn’t stop us from fooling around all night long. I think we got a couple hours of sleep in there somewhere; but mostly we spent the night licking, sucking, fingering, and rubbing, with a healthy dose of sticky snuggling mixed in. I got to watch her masturbate, which was a first for me; and she encouraged me to jerk off onto her cute little boobies. I tried the finger-up-the-butt trick on her, and it worked beautifully; she did the same to me in return, and it was revelatory. All and all, it was one of the best nights of sex I’ve ever had.
I woke up the next morning, after a very brief sleep, in a strange bed; smiling and satisfied, and ready for more.
Here’s the problem: Melissa was hot, smart, sexy, nice; I fell head over heels in love with her. She, on the other hand, was only looking for a one night stand, some no-strings-attached fun; which she made gently but very firmly clear.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t take a hint. I mooned and pined and followed her around, behaving (in 20/20 hind site) like a creep and a stalker. She was very patient and tolerant for a few days, until she had had enough, at which point she told me off in a very direct and public way. I was devastated.
And then along came Minnie. Minnie was two years behind me in school, and had a body that was roughly beetle-shaped. I wasn’t especially attracted to her, and we didn’t have a lot in common. She was, however, really into me. She asked me out one day after class, and we proceeded to date for the next three months; at least two and a half months longer than I should have let it go on.
Minnie was not quite a virgin, but she wasn’t far off either. She was mortified by the idea of oral sex; either giving or receiving; and penis-in-vagina sex was something that guys did to girls. In bed, on top, in the dark with the lights off. It beat jerking off, at first, but got old quickly.
On top of that, her life was a constant series of crises and drama. She had a heart condition. Her dad was diagnosed with cancer. Her mother threatened suicide and got committed. Her dog died. I told myself I wasn’t breaking up with her because I didn’t want to hurt her, but that fact was that I was chicken. So I sucked it up and kept at it for nearly three whole months before finally throwing in the towel. I did it in the most chickenhearted way possible, by text message while she was home visiting her father in the hospital.
When she got back, she told me she was still in love with me. I said I was sorry. She asked if we could have breakup sex. I agreed.
We did it in my bed, with the lights on, a first. Minnie got down on all four, rump thrust up in the air, and asked me to please fuck her up the ass, to boldly go where no man had gone before.
She had brought along a bottle of lube, and I very gently applied it, rubbing it up and down the crack of her ass, making her butthole nice and slippery. I started with my finger, carefully penetrating her tiny crinkled anus, just the tip of my index finger, very slowly and gently. My cock was at least as hard as it had ever been before, and I couldn’t wait to slide it up that tight little hole.
I coated myself liberally in lube, spread her cheeks apart, and savoring the view, slowly and carefully eased the head of my cock into her butthole. She groaned something inaudible. She was super tight, grasping my cock like an undersized glove. I eased myself further in, deeper and deeper, reveling in the sensation and the raunchiness of it. Finally I was all the way in, balls deep, my pubes pressed up against her butt cheeks. Slowly I began to fuck her ass, moving in and out, straining the whole time to not shoot off prematurely, wanting to savor the experience a little.
I reached down and around to pet her pussy, and found her dry. Not just a little dry, but arid as the high desert sand dry. She was weeping into the pillow, chewing on my bed sheets, tears streaming down her cheeks. I was too far gone to stop, but I stopped holding myself back. Two more deep thrusts, and I came, emptying my balls deep inside her asshole.
I pulled out as gently as I was able and went to kiss her, but she pulled away. We both got dressed. I thanked her, and she said “It’s OK.” She left after that, and we never spoke again. I felt like a grade-A shit, and actively hated myself for weeks, even as I jerked off to the memory of fucking Minnie in the ass.
We are deep underground now. We sense the weight of the temple complex bearing down upon us. Ersatz, the elf, discovers a secret door: a clever mechanism by which swiveling the erect penis of a statue in one room causes the legs of a female statue in another room to part, revealing a door. We swing the door wide and enter into a short tunnel that soon opens up into an anteroom and we are immediately attacked by a furious ex-girlfriend swinging a battle ax with one hand and holding a long knife in the other.
After Minnie, I stayed single for a long time. My ego and self-esteem, not in the best shape to begin with, were reduced to a pile of rubble. I jerked off a lot, looked at a lot of porn, and wrote a bunch of really bad slash fiction. Then I met Jessica.
We met online, in a totally unrelated chat forum, started an email conversation, and really hit it off and became friends offline, and then started dating. Jess was nominally a lesbian, but she made an exception in my case.
Jessica was a lighting technician for theater and rock-n-roll, and she spent a lot of time on the road, and when she was in town she was often working crazy long hours. But when she was around and available, she was insatiable.
She liked sex a lot, and she liked it wild, hard, raucous, and often. She loved to get fucked in the ass; one of her favorite things was for me to fuck her up the butt (“Harder! Don’t hold back; come on, fuck my ass HARDER!”) while I pulled her hair and slapped her ass and a big fat purple dildo buzzed away inside her pussy.
She liked to play rough, she liked to play kinky. She liked me to fuck her mouth and come on her face; she liked to have sex in risky, public places (the walkway across the Williamsburg Bridge for instance). She expressed a desire to fuck me up the ass with a strap-on. I opted out of that, a chickenshit move that I still kick myself for today.
The only problem with Jessica was that she was batshit crazy. The girl had snakes in her head. She was tempestuous, unpredictable, moody, obsessive, and jealous. She was prone to fits of rage, crying jags, periods of black self-doubt, and episodes of bleak depression and manic activity. Interspersed, of course, with some of the hottest, wildest sex I’d ever had. It was exhausting, and I couldn’t keep up.
We were together nearly a year, though during a lot of that time she was out on tour and we had to get by with phone and/or webcam sex. Anyway, when I finally decided that I’d had enough of her craziness, I broke up with her in the lamest, most chicken-hearted way possible: I stopped answering her emails, phone calls, texts, and voice mails.
It really doesn’t get much more passive-aggressive than that.
The party crashes through an ornately carved gate into the central chamber of the temple. Flickering sconces on the walls give light to the room. Before an explicitly pornographic altar, stands the High Priestess, clad in leather armor, wielding a long, barbed whip. Between us and her are an even dozen tour rats, a couple hefty roadies, and the original line-up of the Ramones. The party is low on magic and hit points. Most of our healing potions and items have been used up. With a shout, we draw our weapons and charge into the fray.
I drove Cinthia home last week, the strains of “your rock-n-roll favorites from the ‘60s, the ‘70s, and to a lesser extent the ‘80s and ‘90s” blaring through my car. My dick was stiff with anticipation, though I was a little apprehensive. Getting it on with Cinthia tended to hurt.
We parked in front of her building, and I shut off the engine. She killed the volume on the radio with a click.
“Listen,” she said. “Listen. There’s really no good way to say this, so I’ll just say it. This isn’t working for me. I mean you’re nice and all… maybe too nice. It just doesn’t feel right. You’ve been really tolerant of my kinks, and I appreciate that, but I want to be with someone who is really into it. I want to whip someone black and blue, and have him kiss my feet and beg for more. You’re just not that guy. Sorry. I’m just not feeling it.”
Wow. I’d just been dumped.
“I’m sorry,” Cinthia went on. “Listen, I know you were expecting to get laid tonight. If you want, I’ll give you a blowjob before you go. I won’t even bite.” She smiled sheepishly at me.
I don’t know what I was thinking, but I turned her down, and drove home alone. Pride, maybe it was pride. I beat off as soon as I got home, to confused, disjointed fantasies of ex-girlfriends and perverted sex acts.
I’d met Sharon, my latest ex-girlfriend (not counting Cinthia) in a very straightforward way: a dating website. We seemed reasonably compatible; she was attractive and attracted to me; the sex was energetic and frequent, if a bit white-bread. It seemed like an OK thing.
The ‘wet finger up the asshole just before she comes’ trick was a major fail with Sharon. She wrenched away, and told me in no uncertain terms that if I ever touched her anus again she’d break up with me. Which, now that I think of it, might have been a more graceful way to get out of the relationship.
When I told her that it was over, that I was seeing someone else, she turned her back on me. She told me that her mother had been right about me all along, that I really was a walking bag of douche. Then she told me to get the fuck out of her life and never come back.
So I went home and jerked off, with sore and swollen hands, thinking of kinky Cinthia. Who summarily dumped me two weeks later.
We fight our way through the minions, finally defeating a baseball bat wielding Joey Ramone. All that is left is the High Priestess. Our hit points are low, and our spell casters are out of magic. The barbarian is down, and the elf is binding his wounds. It is just me and her, single combat. She cracks her whip menacingly, and advances on me, a cold light of hate burning in her eyes.
I roll a 20, and score a critical hit. Double damage. My long sword pierces the High Priestess’ armor and she goes down. But she is not dead. Her body evaporates, changing into gaseous form, wafting out of the room, to some secret abode where she will heal her wounds and live to fight another day.
“You’ll never defeat her,” Cinthia tells me, somewhat to the befuddlement of the other players. “You’re just going to have to learn to live with her.”
It is late. Or early. Ruby asks if I could give her a ride home. I say ‘sure’. Cinthia winks broadly and lewdly at us as we leave.
“Well, that was an interesting adventure,” Ruby says from the passenger seat. “Ex-girlfriends. That’s a pretty good monster, if you ask me. Cinthia is the best dungeon master I’ve ever played with, but damn, that girl is weird.”
‘You don’t know the half of it my friend’, I think to myself.
“It’s not your fault, you know.”
“What isn’t?” I ask.
“All those ex-girlfriends. You’re not a dick or a douche or a scumbag loser or a sociopath, not as far as I can tell. It’s never any one person’s fault. It’s just a part of life. When you get together with someone, you’re accepting the possibility that you may end up getting hurt. It’s not the end of the world. It’s just life.”
We arrive at Ruby’s place, a suburban house on a suburban block. The sun is coming up. Presumable her parents will be waking up soon. Shit. I have a hard-on a yard long for a girl who is still in high school. Graduating next month, but still…!
“I really like you,” she says. “Can we get together? For a while. Maybe longer, I don’t know. I mean, you’re way too old for me, and I’ll be leaving for college in the fall, but can we just try it out and see what happens?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’d like that.” I reach over and kiss her on those plump, perfect lips. She kisses me back.
“Technically,” she says, “I’m still a virgin. I’d like that to change. But not now. My parents will be up soon and… you know. But if you don’t mind, I’d really like to suck your dick. Right here, right now.”
I don’t mind. Not one little bit. I recline the driver seat and Ruby unzips me. After donking her head on the steering wheel, she drops her golden-blonde locks onto my lap and gives me the most amazing blowjob ever. Whatever Ruby lacks in experience, she more than makes up for with creativity and enthusiasm. She goes fast, she goes slow, she opens wide and tries to swallow me whole; when that doesn’t work out, she nibbles and strokes and pets and slurps and slobbers, pushing me straight to the brink and beyond. She already knows the wet-finger-up-the-butt trick, and applies it at exactly the climactic instant. Bucking my hips up, I come hard and she unhesitatingly takes it all in her mouth, swallowing hungrily. When I am finally done, she comes up for air, a big smile on her cherubic face, and gives me a big fat wet and salty kiss on the lips.
“You can get me back for that later on,” she says.
“Absolutely,” I gasp. “I can’t wait. What are you going to major in in college?”
“I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully. “Either physics or math. I think. Or possibly just kinky oral sex.”
“Are you kinky?” I ask dumbly.
Ruby flashes me a mischievous smile. “Mmm…You’ll just have to wait and find out.”
Not for the first time, I woke up with a strange man in my bed. This one I called Mr. Face, for the heavy-handed way that he’d Photoshopped his profile picture.
We had slow and sultry morning sex, which in my book is some of the best sex there is. When I first awoke, Mr. Face was still asleep. We were naked, snarled in my tangled bed sheets. He was lying on his back; I rolled over and threw my leg over him. Sitting up, I rocked back and forth, dragging my pussy up and down his penis until he was hard all over again. Face was awake now. He looked up at me. We made eye contact, and he smiled sleepily.
I grabbed a condom off the side table, and he fumbled the wrapper open and rolled it down his erection, almost, but not quite, breaking the spell. He hadn’t wanted to use one the night before, but I had insisted.
My pussy was drenched. Juicy-wet and hot and wide open. As slowly and as deliberately as I could stand to, I eased myself down onto his big fat cock. It felt glorious.
Mr. Face, apparently, agreed. I could feel his hips bucking underneath me as he started to hump. He was straining, thrusting up into my pussy, spearing me with that delicious thick hard cock, building toward a crescendo.
I was having none of it. I grabbed him by the wrists, pinning him to the bed. I leaned over, letting my tits dangle in his face. I wanted to be in control. I worked my hips back and forth, up and down, riding him like a cowgirl atop a bucking bronco.
Face groaned something inaudible and struggled underneath me as I slowly, steadily fucked him. I wanted his hands on my butt, I wanted his finger inside my asshole, but I wasn’t about to release his wrists. He had almost made me come the previous night. Almost, but not quite.
I was close. Really close. I maintained a steady rhythm, savoring the sensation of the textures of his cock sliding in and out of my pussy. I was about to explode all over his gorgeous dick. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, bearing down on him… So very close!
He wrenched his hands free and reached around my back, pulling me close and burying his face in my tits. He thrusted wildly, completely screwing up my rhythm, and shot off deep inside me. There is nothing -nothing- I like better than the sensation of a naked cock exploding inside my satisfied pussy, filling and overfilling me with hot cream; but I’d know this dude less than 12 hours, and I wasn’t about to take his word for it that his junk was clean. Slutty, yes. Stupid, no.
My own orgasm startled like a skittish bird, and fluttered away out of reach as the last residual twitches wracked through his body. Oh well, the day was young. This was still salvageable. My clit throbbed hungrily. My ovaries fairly ached. It was high time to discover what Mr. Face could do with his tongue.
Mr. Face squirmed out from under my limp and non-skinny body, exiting my juicy hole with a pop. His dick was already soft. Not making eye contact, he sat up and tossed the slimy, spent rubber into my bedside trashcan. He got up, located his underpants, and started getting dressed. I knew at that moment with one hundred percent certainty that I would never see him again. This was not my first time around the block.
Oh well, his loss.
He was gone, and I was sweaty, sticky, horny, and running late for work. Time to kill three birds with one stone. I turned the shower on hot, grabbed Samuel out of his drawer, and stepped inside, relishing the sensation of warm water spraying on my skin. I was about ready to relish some other sensations too.
If I’ve learned one lesson in my 24 years of life, it is to never ever skimp on sex toys. Samuel was expensive, a week’s worth of retail-hell take home pay, but he’s never let me down. We’re old friends now. I moistened his suction-cup base and stuck him with a -squirk- to the injection molded plastic wall of the prefab shower stall.
Samuel protruded obscenely from the smooth white plastic surface of the shower wall. He looked even bigger than he really was, long and thick and black and ripped. I wondered if he bore even a passing resemblance to Mr. BiLingual, my date for the coming evening. One of the wonderful things about unwrapping a new boy is discovering the differences in his details: the equipment may be all basically the same, but the variations are endless and delightful.
I suppose this is the part where I should make my excuses. I was a slow starter, a late bloomer. I didn’t date at all in high school. And then when I did discover sex and drugs and punk rock music, I became for a time exclusively a pussy-licker. I played bass in a hardcore punk band and toured the US and Canada for a few years, making a lot of noise, and sleeping in the back of a van, and fucking a lot of girls. Then I got my shit together, went to college to be a nurse, discovered a long-suppressed interest in male anatomy, and simultaneously entered a long dry spell. And then I discovered the internet.
The internet is just chock-full of boys who will happily fuck you, even if you aren’t a ‘traditional beauty’, or a life-size Barbie doll; even if your body type is what the dating sites euphemistically refer to as “Rubenesque”. They may not want a second date, or ever call you back, or respond to your horny and salacious texts, but they’ll definitely fuck you on the first date. And that, by and large, is just fine by me.
I had high hopes for Mr. BiLingual though. ‘Bi’ because he’d already confided to me that he was sometimes attracted to guys, and loved to take it in the ass (two factoids that were a huge turn-on for me); and ‘Lingual’, because he claimed to love eating pussy. A fact that, if found to be true, would be another huge turn-on for yours truly. On top of all that, he seemed like a genuine nice guy; he took the time to spell out words like ‘see you tomorrow’ (as opposed to ‘C-U tmrw’); and he hadn’t yet sent me a dick-pic. This fine fellow might just be a keeper.
Am I the only girl in the city who keeps a bottle of lube next to the shampoo in her shower stall? My pussy was still swollen and pouting open; my clit was buzzing and erect. As hot water streamed down my shoulders and back, I pried my butt-cheeks apart and backed up, easing Samuel’s significant girth and length gently but relentlessly up my horny asshole.
I played with my clit, rocking back and forth, enjoying the full-up, stretched-out sensation of being impaled. In my mind’s eye, it was Mr. BiLingual who was fucking me in the ass, and then, in an improbable feat of contortionism, he was suddenly licking my pussy at the same time. I started to come, frigging my clit in tight little counter-clockwise circles and bucking spasmodically back and forth on the dildo in my ass, howling loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood.
It was a good orgasm, well worth the wait. And then I quickly got clean and dry and into my scrubs, and got my ass out the door and uptown to the Children’s Hospital.
I arrived on the floor literally just in time for report, and was rewarded with a dirty look from my charge. Frigid old biddy that she is. I had two patients to care for that day: Hank, a 3-month old Down Syndrome baby recovering from a pneumothorax; and Female Child S__, a 32-week preemie who had been delivered by emergency c-section the previous night.
Hank and I were old friends. He was a sweet baby, and wouldn’t require a ton in terms of interventions. I looked over the stats for my new patient who did not yet have a name. Her mother had been in a car accident the night before, and was downstairs, recovering from surgery following a fractured pelvis. Her APGARs were 6/7; she weighed 1814 grams; all her vitals were within normal limits, she was getting O2 via nasal cannula, and the plan was to have her on room air by the end of the shift. She looked to be a ‘well-preemie’. It might not be such a bad day after all.
My asshole still tingled from Samuel’s invasion; my clit was pleasantly tender. I wondered what Mr. BiLingual was up to this morning; whether or not he had a big cock (which is nice, but not required), whether he’d jerked off yet, and whether he’d thought of me when he was doing it. Maybe after the main event later on, I’d put some gay porn on and we could watch each other jerk off. I love gay porn; I love watching guys masturbate; and I love the hungry look a guy gets when he watches me whack off. I’d love to watch how he touches himself, how he handles his cock, how it gets red and swollen and how his balls draw up tight when he gets really excited, and what he sounds like when he comes. He could shoot off all over my tits. Or into my mouth. Or, quite frankly, wherever he wanted to.
OK, this train of thought was getting me all hot and slippery and raring to go, and that was no good. I had work to do. I forced the sexy thoughts out of my mind, buckled down, and slipped into full-on Nurse Mode, and next thing I knew it was lunch.
Both my patients were looking nice and stable. I handed them off to Richard, who’d had a hot date of his own the night before, and since it was a nice day I went down to the park to get a bowl of soup, some fresh air, and some eye candy.
I sat on a bench and slurped my noodles, and watched the beautiful people walk by. If you know how to look, practically everybody is a beautiful person.
I wondered what it might be like to fuck Mr. BiLingual up the ass. Pretty hot, I bet. I own a strap-on, but I’d only ever used it on girls. I imagined getting down on my knees and sticking my face in between his taught little buns and licking his asshole, getting him all loose and wet and juicy, until he was just moaning for me to fuck him. Then I’d gird my loins, and his sweet blue eyes would get a little wide when he saw the size of the phallus projecting from my crotch. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” I’d say; and I would be.
He’d get down on his knees and suck my cock a little bit, which wouldn’t do much for my physically, but looks sexy as all hell. Then, when neither of us could stand to wait any longer, I’d lube up and slide my cock straight up his tight little asshole, savoring every whimper and whine, and then when I was all the way in, I’d start fucking him, grinding the base of the dildo against my clit with every shove, slowly at first, and then faster and faster and harder and harder, his hard dick flapping in the breeze, fucking the air in front of us with excruciating urgency, and then I’d reach around and grab his hard penis in my hand and jerk him off in time with my thrusting, and we’d both come at the same time, so fucking hard…
I was sopping wet, and more than a little tempted to finish myself off right there and then. I have a little pocket-rocket that is part of my kit, and I have used it at work before (a fact that might horrify some of my patient’s parents; but hey, would you rather have a stressed-out, sexually frustrated nurse, or a relaxed, satisfied, sated nurse caring for your sick baby?).
I didn’t use it though, for the possibly stupid reason that I wanted to be all revved up and ready to go for Mr. Bilingual. I wanted my first orgasm of the night to be the moment his bulbous crown penetrated my cunt; or when the tip of his tongue first found my clitoris. His choice.
When I came back from lunch, Richard handed back off to me. Hank had had a bowel movement and was sleeping quietly; baby S was running a slight fever and her respirations had increased. I thanked Richard, and put him on his own lunch break to go ogle hot guys, the pervert.
Little baby S was restless, and her O2 sat wasn’t where I wanted it to be. I called the resident and obtained an order to increase her oxygen rate. She wouldn’t be going on room air on my shift. ‘Where is your Mommy little one, where is your Dad?’ I wondered, ‘What will they name you?’ I had started thinking of her as Fiona, for my own baby sister, a habit that was not quite professional, but which was very hard to break.
An hour later, her alarm went off. In the NICU, alarms are constantly going off, but some are more alarming than others. Baby S’s respiratory rate was over 200, and her blood pressure was dropping like a stone. I called for the Attending.
Two seconds after I had hung up the phone, baby S went into cardiac arrest.
“Code Blue, Code Blue, Code Blue.” I stabbed the button on the wall behind the incubator. My teammates were already running, pushing the crash cart in front of them like a bobsled.
I started chest compressions, Richard was on the rebreather. The resident looked as if he might faint. “Epi,” I reminded him. Please don’t faint, kid.
“Uh yeah, 18 mg epinephrine, stat.” Betty was already on it, pushing down the plunger on the syringe even as he spoke the words. “Where the fuck is the mother?”
Baby S’s vitals stayed flat as a North Dakota highway. We shot her up with another dose of epi; nothing. Dr. Segel, the attending physician, finally showed up, and the resident fairly oozed relief at no longer being in charge.
“Mom’s on the way,” another nurse, I’m not sure who, reported, “They’re wheeling her up from the PACU right now.”
“36 mg epinephrine, now.” “Should we intubate?”
Dr. Segel took off his stethoscope and looked up with sad brown eyes. “You can stop the chest compressions,” he announced. “She’s gone.”
I lifted baby S out of her incubator, pads and sensors and wires and tubes falling away like autumn leaves in the wind, and held her to my chest. I felt her heart flutter a few times, she twitched once or twice, and then nothing. She was gone. I held the small, limp thing in my arms until her mother arrived, groggy and weeping on her hospital bed. I handed the little body over to her, and she clung to it, clutching it like a life preserver in a storm-tossed sea.
It was the first time a baby had died in my arms.
I cried a little bit myself, but I had work to do. Hank still needed me, and there was a ton of paperwork to do. Then a 26-weeker fresh out of Labor & Delivery came onto the floor, and I took him over. He was on CPAP, and needed constant fussing over. Soon enough I had lost myself into Nurse Mode again, and then next thing I remember, I was giving report to the night nurse.
One of the first things they teach you is that you can’t take the job home with you. Up to now, that hadn’t been a problem for me.
Mr. BiLingual was even hotter than his profile pictures, which happens sometimes, and is always a nice surprise. Way better than the opposite, which happens a lot more often. He was charming, a little shy, cute, and funny, and we hit it off pretty well over Vietnamese food.
I always put out on the first date; it’s kind of a tradition with me. Besides, there’s hardly ever an opportunity on the second date; because there rarely, if ever, is a second date.
I held up my end of the conversation, but I kept thinking back to the little girl who’d died with no name to call her own that afternoon, and I was feeling distinctly unsexy. So I found myself in the unusual position of liking Mr. Bilingual quite a bit, feeling very attracted to him, and having no desire to fuck his brains out. Just at the moment.
He walked me home, and then made so bold as to ask if he could come up, just for a bit. “Sure,” I told him, “but I wouldn’t count on getting any hanky or panky.”
So he came up to my apartment, and we hung out on my disreputable old couch and had a drink and talked for a while, and that turned into cuddling, which turned into kissing and a little making out. We started to get into some dry-humping, and I kind of loved the urgent way his cock strained through the fabric of his pants. If he’d been a little more aggressive and pushy and unzipped, I probably would have given him a monster blowjob despite myself. I do love sucking dick! But he was a gentleman, and eventually I told him that it was really getting late, and he agreed and said he had to be at work in the morning, and so we said our goodnights.
“I had a really good time tonight,” he said, framed in my front door. “I’d like to go out with you again sometime soon.” His erection jutted out the front of his jeans, looking really quite fetching. And sizeable.
“Sure,” I said. “That would be awesome.” And then I closed the door and went to bed. It was the first time I’d gone out on a date with a man and not had sex with him. My loss, I guess. I suppose there’s a first time for everything.
I slept hard, and I slept long, and I was finally woken up by the chirping of my cell phone. I figured it was the charge nurse calling to see if I could cover an extra shift. I could and would; I certainly needed the money.
Actually, it was Mr. BiLingual on the phone. “Is it too early,” he said, “to ask you out on a second date?”
No, it was not too early. Definitely not.
What do you know, there really is a first time for everything.
It was early spring, and the morning sky was the color of a robin’s egg. It was going to be a beautiful day. Hot, even. Not a cloud in the sky, and the leaves were not yet unfurled. Up on the cliffs there would be no shade. If I were a different, younger man, I’d already be out rock climbing. But I wasn’t, and this morning I was up early, in the back yard of the old upstate farmhouse we’d bought a couple years before, splitting wood under the bare branches of the old willow tree.
Sweat was already running down my chest and tickling my shoulder blades. I took off my shirt. The young sun felt good on my naked skin. I’d probably burn.
As always, it felt wrong to be splitting firewood while the sun shone. We wouldn’t be burning this wood until the winter after next, but I’d be glad of it when the time came. I found an easy rhythm with the heavy ax, and let my mind wander.
It so happened that I’d gotten laid the night before. These things happen, from time to time when one is married; once ever six weeks, couple of months these days. Matilda and I have been together north of twenty years now; in the early days we used to go at it like rabbits. Lately, we barely go at it at all. “Slow,” I thought, “Like old people fucking.”
It had been nice sex. Who wants nice sex though? It had been ages and ages since I’d put my dick anywhere other than in Matilda’s pussy. It just seemed like too much effort these days. Still and all, I could feel my cock swelling at the memory.
It was about then that I looked up and noticed her. A young girl, a wisp of a thing, with strawberry-blonde hair down to the middle of her back. She was lying in the short grass under the willow tree, and she looked like she’d been there a while. Her eyes were gold, the color of fallen leaves, and they were fixed directly on me. She was wearing some kind of sheer top which showed off her breasts, such as they were, quite clearly. I could see the dark of her nipples. She was wearing a short green leather skirt, which rode up high on her skinny pale thighs. By the looks of her, the girl couldn’t have been much older then twelve. I felt a pang of guilt for looking at her like that. But that didn’t keep me from looking.
“Well don’t stop on my account,” she said. Her voice was soft and musical. “I was enjoying the show.”
Her hand darted between her legs and her leather skirt slipped up higher. I caught a glimpse of soft, sparse, curly hair, the exact color of the hair on her head. I was going straight to hell and I knew it. But I did not look away.
She got up from where she had been lounging in the grass. Not a blade was bent to show she’d been there. The girl might have weighed eighty pounds, soaking wet. There was something slightly unearthly about the way she walked. Her bare feet didn’t seem to actually touch the ground.
When she was so close that I could feel her body heat, she stopped. “I’ve been watching you,” she said, kneeling down. “For a long time now.”
Long, clever fingers were already undoing my zipper. My cock was straining inside my jeans. I hadn’t been this hard since my fucking wedding.
She deftly extracted my dick from my pants. My hardness ached, straining out toward her, the head purple and swollen, drooling pre-come. Her fingers encircled the shaft. I hadn’t been touched by hands other than mine or Matilda’s in… decades. She looked up at me, smiled, opened her mouth wide, and swallowed me whole.
Her pale, pink little-girl lips closed fast around my erection. It was then, I suppose, that I noticed her ears: long and pointy Mr. Spock ears. Not that I had much time or inclination to think about it. Despite myself, I was already humping her, fucking her wet little mouth with my hard cock.
She leapt up, leaving my wet cock bouncing in the bright morning sunlight. “Oh no you don’t,” she laughed merrily. “I’ll suck you dry another day. This time you’re all mine.”
She took a step back, shedding her clothes like a chrysalis. She was short, barely reaching past my navel, and slender as a willow wand. Her budding little breasts stuck out, proud and firm. A fluffy triangular patch of reddish hair crowned her puffy little pussy, like the poof of a dandelion.
Four iridescent dragonfly wings sprouted from between her shoulder blades. They quivered with excitement, catching the morning sun, shimmering and glinting. Very gracefully and deliberately, she raised her left leg high above her head, resting the ankle on my shoulder. Then she lowered her pouting pink pussy onto my engorged cock.
I didn’t think it would fit, I honestly didn’t. She was so tiny. I slid right in though. Her pussy was scalding hot and slick and soaking wet, and it seemed to grasp my dick like a fist.
“Oooh,” she cooed, “I love mortal cock!” Her face was right at the level of my sternum. She grasped me by the shoulders, and wrapped both legs around my back. We fucked like that, her small titties bouncing up and down, her wings vibrating like a hummingbird. It was glorious.
“Pinch my nipples!” she cried, “Pinch them hard!”
I did just that, pulling and twisting her pink nipples like my hands were a pair of vice-grips. I could feel the semen bubbling up in my balls, urgent for release. I wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer. My pixie was bouncing up and down on my cock, her strong legs squeezing me tight, her pussy making happy squooshing sounds as we fucked.
“I’m going to come!” I managed to choke out.
“Me too!” she giggled. “Stick a finger in my asshole!”
I obliged her, releasing her cute little nipples, which were now hard as pencil erasers, spreading her buttocks, and jamming one finger against her tiny little rosebud.
She threw back her neck and came, singing like a morning songbird, her small breasts jiggling and blushing mottled red. I came right along with her, pumping what felt like gallons of cream into her convulsing juicy pussy.
Finally we disentangled from each other. I tucked my wet and tired penis away, and she gathered up her clothes without the slightest hint of modesty.
“See you soon,” she grinned and winked.
“What’s your name?” I managed to ask.
“Ah,” she laughed, “now that would be telling!”
I made love to Matilda that night. Partly it was because I felt guilty about what I’d done that morning; but mostly it was because thinking back on the strange encounter and playing the details over and over again in my head made me incredibly horny.
Matilda was pleased, if surprised. We hadn’t done it two nights in a row in I don’t know how many years. She rubbed her clit while I fucked her. I love watching her touch herself. She isn’t a skinny woman, not by a long stretch, but damn is she sexy!
Instead of coming inside her, the way I normally do, I pulled out at the last second and shot off all over her large round breasts. She liked that. I put a finger inside her while she masturbated again, and then we cleaned up and went to sleep, sleeping like spoons.
I was repairing the fence around Matilda’s garden. Damn rabbits are always finding a way in. Matilda was at the grocery store. It was mid-morning, and I was just starting to think about lunch.
She was perched atop a fence post, legs crossed at the ankle, knees apart, watching me work with an amused little smile on her face.
“You look just delicious,” she said. “Good enough to eat.” She lifted up her skirt, revealing the blossoming petals of her pussy. I could see the moisture, and the little pink pea of her clit from where I knelt with my staple gun and pliers.
She grinned, fluttering her wings, and plunged two fingers deep into her juicy little pussy. “Guess what I’m having for lunch?” she asked.
She hopped down from her perch, landing on the grass next to me. My cock was already hard as a rock. “Take off those silly clothes, and I’ll do the rest.”
Quick as a bunny, I pulled off my jeans and underwear, letting my cock flap free in the warm sunlight. “And the shirt too,” she said.
I pulled off my t-shirt and lay naked in the grass. She grinned broadly, golden eyes sparkling, and peeled off her own skirt and top. Her small breasts bounced proudly. She straddled me, parting her puffy outer labia, and dragged her pussy up and down the length of my cock. She was very wet.
“I’ve been looking forward to this,” she said, “ever since the first time I saw you. I’m so glad you bought this house.” Her hot and slippery pussy traversed the length of my dick, hesitated at the very tip, and then started the return journey back down toward my balls. “The last owners were a pair of spinster sisters with no sex drive at all.” We’d purchased the house two years before, moving away from the city after Matilda’s book deal came through. “I haven’t had any mortal action in years.”
She hopped up, leaving my penis twitching and damp with her juice. With a wicked grin, she again inserted two long fingers into her pretty little pussy, pulled them out, and licked them off with a satisfied smirk. “I am going to suck you dry!” she declared.
Matilda used to give a fairly competent blowjob, but it had been years.
She then proceeded to do exactly that, though she certainly took her time about it. She started out by encircling the shaft of my cock with both her little hands, and just flicking at the plum head with the tip of her tongue. When I couldn’t stand that anymore, she opened up her mouth and captured the swollen, throbbing head of my cock while moving her hands more rapidly up and down. I raised my hips up off the grass and started humping back against her. Her timing was exquisite. Just as I started to get over-excited, approaching the point of no return, she stopped.
Grinning from pointy ear to pointy ear, she slurped the underside of my cock, from my swollen balls all the way up to the little crease before the crown. I winced as she took one testicle into her mouth, swirling her tongue all around the sensitive little gland. It was an incredibly erotic feeling, though a little scary.
“Don’t worry,” she said, spitting my tender ball out of her mouth, “I won’t hurt you… unless you want me to.”
She had two fingers in her pussy again. She was certainly enjoying herself. “Come in my mouth mortal,” she said. “Don’t hold back. I want you to.”
Her mouth engulfed the top of my cock once more, and one hand busily stroking up and down the shaft. Her other hand went exploring, probing down behind my ball sac, back between my ass cheeks. This was new territory for me. Her finger found my asshole, which was suddenly super-sensitive, and brushed against it, circling all around my anus. Then, very gently and carefully, she inserted the tip of her finger into my virgin hole.
It was just too much for me. Howling, I humped at her face hard, desperate to get off. She stayed right with me, never losing her rhythm, while her probing finger delved deeper and deeper up inside me.
I came, and came hard, squirting my semen into her mouth. She hungrily devoured it, milking me for all I was worth, not spilling one drop. Reluctantly, she let my softening cock slip out from between her lips, and extracted her long finger from my butt. I was still gasping.
“That,” she said with satisfaction, “was delicious. Now you owe me one!”
And, gathering up her clothes, she lifted up into the air and disappeared.
I had every intention of pouncing on Matilda when she got home, seducing her for some lovely afternoon sex like we used to have. But she was busy with chores and writing, and kind of crabby, and then it was dinner, and by the time we went to bed we were both too tired.
The next morning though, I slipped into the shower with her. She was surprised, but not in a bad way.
We fucked under the warm falling water, and it was pretty glorious. Then she surprised me by lifting off my aching cock, getting down on her knees in the shower stall, and taking my dick in her mouth.
Sucking me was never really her forte, but it did feel really good, though she wasn’t going to get me off. She looked really pretty like that, hair wet and stringy, tits hanging down, lips wrapped around my cock. Soon enough, she came up for air.
“My pussy’s a little sore,” she explained, “from all the attention it’s been getting lately. Not that I’m complaining…”
She stood up and turned around, capturing me between soft and pillowy butt cheeks, and I grasped her big fat breasts and kissed the back of her neck and slid my penis up and down the warm, soapy cleft of her ass until I came with a shout.
“That,” she said, “was the nicest shower I’ve had in years. Thank you. We should do that more often!”
I was mowing the lawn when I saw her next. She was lounging, naked, on a low branch in the big old willow tree over by the woodpile. Her golden eyes glittered with mischief, and the little triangle of pubic hair looked soft and inviting in the warm sun. She kicked her legs playfully.
“Come her mortal,” she called, “It’s time to pay the piper!”
I shut down the mower and jogged over. She smiled and spread her legs. Her pussy was already moist and excited. My own cock was firm too.
“I want you to eat my pussy… I want to feel your tongue… I want you to make me come.”
I’d always enjoyed going down on Matilda, but she’d always been rather shy about asking for it, and I never felt like I was doing it right. I’d never made her come that way.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked, parting her lips and exposing her pink clit. “Come on! Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what to do.”
She was right at head level on her branch, which made things easy for me. I dove in and started licking, aiming my tongue at the button of her clitoris.
She tasted like clover honey.
“No, too fast!” she tugged on my hair. “Start slowly. Run your tongue up and down my pussy, get me really wet, and then go to work on my clit.”
I did that, dragging the flat of my tongue across her vulva, studiously avoiding her clit, and that seemed to do the trick nicely. I couldn’t believe how wet she was getting.
“Now lick my clit,” she told me. “But gentle!”
I flicked her little pink button with the tip of my tongue, and she sighed, leaning back like a kid on a swing. “Put a finger inside!”
Following her instructions, I slid a finger up inside her pussy. She was very hot, and very wet. I kept on licking at her clit, finding a rhythm she seemed to like.
“Play with my asshole…!” she gasped, and I did, running another finger up and down her butt crack, toying with her anus. This made her even wetter. Her feet were flying high in the air. Her pussy and ass were totally exposed and beautiful.
On impulse, I released her swollen clit and stuck my face between her petite ass cheeks. I stuck out my tongue and tentatively licked her anus.
“Oooh, yes! Do that!” I attacked her asshole with my tongue, burrowing it up inside her like a tunneling worm while I finger-fucked her pussy. She came like that, kicking her legs and singing like a robin. It was beautiful.
When she’d calmed down a little, she slipped down off her branch and kissed me. “You could fuck my ass,” she said with a smile, “If you want to.”
She turned around, spreading her cheeks, offering herself up to me. There was no way, I thought, that I was going to fit. Her asshole was tiny and glistening wet, a miniature rosebud, crinkled tight. You couldn’t slip a pencil up that, I thought, never mind my erection which, I have to say, is not small.
Nonetheless, I was willing to give it a go. Dropping my trousers, I pressed the purple crown of my erection against her butt hole. I was liberally leaking slick clear precome. She giggled and pressed back against me.
We stayed like that for a while, locked together, my horny cock grinding against her tiny little anus, rocking back and forth. I cupped her small breasts with my hands, squeezing them hard. She made a little sighing, grunting noise, bent over, and bore down hard against me.
I felt her open up and yield, and the head of my cock slipped inside. She was vice-tight. “Slow, slow…” she whispered through clenched teeth. “Oh, it feels good.”
Slowly, carefully, I worked my way inside her, her anus stretched tight around my dick. We were both excited beyond belief now. Finally, my cock was all the way inside, her girly butt cheeks pressed against my hips. “Fuck me,” she growled, and I did, slow and deep, working my dick in and out as her asshole clenched at me. She reached down and stroked her clit, and she fucked right back at me. I was going to come.
“You horny old goat, just what ARE you doing?”
It was Matilda, in a floral summer dress, two tall glasses of lemonade in her hands. I looked guiltily down. My pants were around my ankles, and my hard cock was stuffed into a small knothole in the trunk of the old willow tree.
“Come over her and fuck me properly, right here in the grass,” Matilda said. She licked her lips. “God, you’re a randy old thing. I like that. On second thought, why don’t you fuck me on the front porch… where the neighbors can see.”
I never saw her again after that.
Matilda and my sex life has taken off like a rocket though. We used to get it on once every month or two; now we are doing it two or three times a week. Sometimes more. We’ve both been boning up on our oral sex skills, and I’ve caught her looking at pornography on the computer when she’s supposed to be writing. Lately she’s even dropped some pretty broad hints about wanting to try anal sex out for size.
One night in October, I woke up to find the bed empty next to me. It was after midnight.
I went downstairs to take a piss and have a drink of water. A harvest moon was on the rise, hanging fat and low over the hills, casting long, weird, blue shadows among the half-naked trees and across the leaf-strewn grass of the yard.
Some movement caught my eye. I grabbed the binoculars we kept by the kitchen window for bird watching.
There she was, under the old willow tree. Matilda was stark naked, riding a twisted old root like a cowgirl. Her back was arched, her head thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. Her breasts shook like piñatas. She was tangled in a thicket of willow branches, wrapped head to toe, long slender branches curling around her buttocks, caressing her neck, rubbing up against her wide, dark nipples, and circled around her waist with the intimate embrace of a lover. I zoomed in on her pussy. She was sliding back and forth, up and down on the outstretched root. I could almost see the wetness on the root as she ground herself back and forth on a woody knob.
My own erection jutted out from my pajama bottoms. She looked beautiful like that. I let her be, left her to her own pleasure, and went back to bed, falling asleep to weird, horny, disjointed dreams. The next morning, we had slow, sultry, lazy, sweet morning sex, some of the best sex we’ve ever had.
The days are short in December where we live, and this day was the shortest of the year. Not even four, and it was already dark outside.
We were sitting in the living room, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Matilda was reading her book, and I was working the crossword. We’d already fucked once that day, on the floor in front of the wood stove, her on all fours and me taking her from behind with a finger up her asshole. Our bellies were full from dinner, we were sleepy from drinking wine, and we were contemplating going to bed early.
There was a knock-knocking at the door. We weren’t expecting any visitors. I got up to answer it.
Sitting on the matt, just outside the front door, someone had left a tiny, swaddled newborn baby. The little thing was wrapped in blankets, snug against the cold night air inside a wicker basket. He had Matilda’s nose and my chin, and golden eyes the color of fallen leaves. We named him Willow.
I can’t think of many fates more frustrating than growing up a smart, horny, deeply closeted lesbian in a small town in upstate New York. I took all the hard classes, banged out homework, and remained studiously indifferent whenever anybody brought up the subject of boys or dating. Meanwhile I whacked off furiously to all the girls at school, but Tara Franks in particular. She was in my AP English class: a strawberry-blonde volleyball star, honors society president, presumptive valedictorian, straight as an arrow and totally out of my league.
In retrospect, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t fooling anyone, my parents in particular.
The house across the street from us finally sold. It was one of those awful McMansions, immense and generic, and in immensely poor taste, and it had stood empty for years, a monolithic testament to the recession and the financial crisis.
The people who bought the place were from New York City. Yuppies. Weekenders.
They were a gay couple (which I thought was cool, though I don’t think that has anything to do with this story) and they had kids — two girls, identical twins actually — who were almost exactly my own age. They were cute, in a wholesome Life Magazine sort of way, but they were from an utterly different world. They went to school at some fancy private school down in the city. I rarely ever even saw them, but they seemed nice enough. At least Faith did; Grace struck me as a bit of a twat. Actually, I had trouble telling them apart. But that didn’t stop me from whacking off to them.
Like I said, I didn’t see them very often. But one fine Saturday morning in September, when my parents were at the god-damned farmer’s market and I was home alone in my bedroom, horny and kind of bored as usual, I happened to look out the window and saw one of the twins sitting alone on her white plastic front porch, reading a book. Some combination of boredom, lust, and curiosity impelled me to cross the street and go say ‘hi’ to her.
She closed her book and watched me approach, making me feel self-conscious in the extreme as I plodded across their neatly manicured lawn.
“Hi,” she said, “I’m glad you came over! I’m Faith by the way. It’s OK, people get us mixed up all the time. Do you want to do something? Do you want to go for a hike?”
Did I ever!
“Cool, it’ll be a hoot. Come on upstairs with me while I change.”
I didn’t know why she needed to change clothes – she was wearing jeans and a light sweater – but I didn’t mind. I followed her inside and up the stairs to the bedroom she shared with her twin.
The place was sterile, operating-room clean, far cleaner than our house had been, ever. I felt schlubby and corn-fed in those austere surroundings. We went into a bedroom that looked like a page out of the Ikea catalogue. The door closed behind me, and Faith pulled her sweater off over her head.
Her boobs weren’t all that big, but she was wearing an expensive-looking lacy and frilly scarlet bra, the kind that I didn’t own and probably never would. It looked damn good on her. She flashed me a smile – didn’t even try to hide it – and slithered out of her jeans. Her panties – what there were of them – matched the bra.
“Do you like them?” Faith asked, “Do you want to see what’s inside?”
I just stammered and gaped.
“I’ve been following your eyes,” she said, “Go ahead, you know you want to. It’s no big deal.” She tossed her blonde hair fetchingly. “Practically everyone at our school does it.”
I emitted an unsexy squeak that must have sounded close enough to a ‘yes’. Faith peeled off her skimpy, sassy panties. Her tan lines were starkly defined, and her pussy was shaved just as bare as in the pornos. She looked beautiful.
My own panties were sopping wet, and my clit was at rigid attention. I wanted to lick her cunt in the worst sort of way.
Faith sat down on the edge of her bed and spread her legs apart. Petite lips pouted slightly open. Her labia glistened wetly, and a strand of drool hung tantalizingly suspended in space. She was excited too.
“Go ahead, have a lick,” she told me, biting her lips flirtatiously, just like a magazine model. “I want you to.”
I got down on my knees with my face so close to her pussy I could feel the heat radiating off it. She sighed softly and ran her fingers through my hair. “Lick me,” she whispered. Her clit was fat and pink, and seemed to strain out toward me.
I’d tasted plenty of pussy before: my own. This was an entirely different kettle of fish. I shivered with anticipatory delight. I stuck my tongue out and gently traced the opening of her slit, all the way from the fold of her butt-cheeks to her hooded clit. She was salty and musky and I was immediately addicted.
Faith moaned out loud and gripped my hair tighter as I licked her pussy. I didn’t know what I was doing; I made it up as I went along, probing the depths of her pussy and circling her clit. Whatever I was doing, it sure seemed to be working: she was soaking wet and huffing and puffing like a steam train. Of course, the more excited she got, the wetter that made me.
I slid a finger, then two, up inside her pussy. She was hot and tight inside, and her pussy seemed to gobble me up. She was flat on her back on the bed now, moaning and groaning in a most gratifying way. Her wetness was all over my face as I tickled her bulging clit with the tip of my tongue.
“Put a finger in my ass!” she begged/commanded. Her butthole was tiny and crinkled and sexy. I withdrew one of the fingers from her pussy, slick with her juice, and pressed it against her winking anus. It slid right up inside, captured by the little ring of muscle.
“Oh fuck me!” Faith wailed. Her legs were kicking wildly in the air, her hips were bucking hard, mashing her wet pussy against my face. I kept my tongue glued to her clit as I fucked her pussy and her ass with my long fingers.
“I’m going to fucking come! …You’re going to make me come! Holy shit, I’m coming! I’M FUCKING COMING!!”
I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t much care. I stayed with her all the way through her flailing, thrashing orgasm. When she finally settled down, I came up for air, grinning like a fiend. I felt like Queen of Fucking Everything.
“Well let the whole block know, why don’t you?” Faith’s sister Grace was leaning in the doorway, applauding sarcastically. “Nicely done,” she said to me. “Now are we going to the fucking mall, or what?”
Faith got dressed without a sideways glance at me. I followed them downstairs. They got into their sporty little red convertible, and since they didn’t seem inclined to invite me along, I plodded back across the road to my own house, feeling like a fall leaf tossed and tumbled in the wind.
It was the next Saturday morning, and I was raking leaves. It seemed like a pretty pointless activity to me; they just blew back down again, and they’d all be covered with snow soon anyway; but my Dad insisted, and he paid my allowance.
I was lost in meandering thought, playing back in my head the events of the previous weekend while the rake rasped, when I happened to look up. There she was, standing not six feet away from me, watching me work with an appraising look on her face.
Despite myself, I broke out into a huge, idiotic grin.
“You’re really good at it,” she said. “Or that’s what my sister says.”
Oh fuck. It was her.
Grace stuck her tongue out at me. “You looked really good at it too,” she said. “Only one way to be sure though. Come on over.”
I let the rake fall, the handle burying itself in grass and brown leaves. I’d spend half an hour searching for it later on. I followed Grace blindly across the street, dodging an SUV that was doing at least twice the speed limit.
Inside the house, Faith was sitting by the coffee table with their two dads and some grown up guests. She flashed me a sweet smile as I followed her sister meekly up the stairs.
In the bedroom, the door closed behind me with a click. Good thing. I’m not sure I would have had the presence of mind to close it myself.
Grace turned to face me. She shrugged and brushed the hair out of her face. “You want me? Go ahead and undress me.”
I could hear muffled conversation downstairs. Feeling clumsy and slightly ridiculous, I lifted her pink sweater up and pulled it off over her head. Grace stood passively, barely raising her arms to help.
She stood in front of me in a black lace bra and jeans. I got down on my knees and unlaced her tennis shoes, pulling them off one at a time. When I pulled her socks off, she raised her legs, one at a time, offering me the soles of her feet to kiss. My panties were sticky and drenched, my clit throbbing.
I fumbled with the fly of her jeans while she smirked down at me. I could feel the heat of her pussy even through the denim. Finally I got them unbuttoned and tugged them down around her ankles. She was wearing black panties that matched her bra. My own underwear hardly ever matched.
She sighed dramatically, reached around her back, and unsnapped her own bra, letting it fall on the floor beside me. I gazed up at her tits as she pulled and pinched her own nipples.
“Go on,” she said impatiently. “While we’re still young here.”
I pulled her panties down. They slid down her smooth legs and settled in a small heap around her ankles. Grace’s pussy was bare as a baby’s. Not a single stray hair, no hint of stubble. She was drooling wet, and her clit bulged expectantly out. Even that up close and personal, I couldn’t tell her apart from her sister.
“Lick,” Grace said, squeezing her fat labia with two fingers, making her clit bulge out even more. I licked, flicking my tongue like a kitten drinking from a bowl of milk. She tasted like sex; that is to say salty and tangy, and if not actually delicious then absolutely intoxicating. She seemed to like what I was doing: my lips were covered in her wetness and her juices were dribbling down my chin.
“You look fucking horny like that,” Grace told me. I grinned into her pussy and redoubled my efforts, lapping until my tongue ached.
“I want to feel inside you,” I told her, running my fingers up and down her juicy, swollen vulva, teasing in between the lips.
“Oh no you don’t,” Grace said, grabbing my hand and moving it out of the way. “Not unless you’re rich. I’m a virgin. Bonafide. And I intend to stay that way until I get a suitable offer. Now keep licking.”
I kept licking.
It didn’t take her very long. When Grace came, she grabbed me by the hair and mashed my face into her pussy, grinding my outstretched tongue against her clitoris. She sucked air in through her teeth with a hiss, stood up on her tip-toes, and her whole body quivered. I felt like God. My cunt had never been wetter.
When she was done, she took a step back, pushing me away. I had soaked straight through my jeans.
“You are good,” she said with a satisfied grin. “Now that you’ve had lunch, are you ready for dessert?”
She turned around, bent over the bed, presenting her gorgeous pale ass to me. I swear, it was like she could read my filthy mind. I dove in, sticking my face right between her cheeks and lapping eagerly at her dainty little asshole while she masturbated. It was fucking hot.
Grace came again, with that same quivering hiss, and I almost came right along with her, just from the raunchiness of the situation. My face was slick with her come, and there was a massive dark wet spot in the crotch of my jeans.
She finally pulled away from me, and I fell to the floor, panting. Grace turned around to face me, and ran one lazy finger in between her puffy labia, slowly and deliberately licking her juices off of it. Her sister cleared her throat, directly behind me.
“I came up to see if you guys wanted any cookies,” Faith said. “But I see you’ve already eaten.”
“Honey, your friends are here.”
I’d been upstairs, slogging away at homework, and thinking seriously about ditching it and whacking off instead. Faith and Grace had become my favorite masturbatory subjects of late, though Tana was still a close second.
There they were, framed in the doorway, their sporty little red convertible parked in our driveway.
“You should go out with them,” my mom said. “You’re always so diligent about schoolwork. Go out and have some fun for once!”
Two minutes later I was wedged into the back of that red convertible while the twins exceeded the speed limit by an order of magnitude.
We went to the Blue Stone Tavern, a bar my parents went to sometimes. Nobody seemed to look twice at us as we sat down at a table and ordered drinks. I asked for a whiskey sour. It felt cool and exciting to be masquerading as an adult.
The twins took pills with their vodka tonics; a handful of multi-colored capsules apiece. They didn’t offer me any. The place was dark and musty and the music was loud. Grace deftly unbuttoned my pants.
Faith was on my left, and Grace was on my right. “Pull your panties down,” Grace whispered in my ear.
I did as I was told, feeling wild and totally out of control. I was, of course, soaking wet and slick already.
Grace and Faith were wearing matching cute little schoolgirl skirts. I slid a hand under both their skirts and found out that they weren’t wearing panties. Both of them were slick and wet. They reached across my lap and started touching me under the table, running their fingers up and down my clit, darting inside my pussy, circling my clit. I could feel their thighs pressed against my own. Above the table, we maintained a façade of normal conversation. They were bitching about the allowance they got from their dads, which was about ninety dollars a week more than I got.
A redneck with a denim jacket, a skanky beard, and a faded blue denim jacket sat nonchalantly down at our table. The girls, their fingers buried to the hilt in my crotch, smiled like they’d been expecting him.
There was a transaction. Between the cocktail and the fingers that never stopped molesting my cunt, I was fuzzy as to the details; but Dude handed Grace a rolled-up wad of cash, a lot of twenties rubber-banded together; and Faith discretely passed him a ziplock bag.
“Who’s your friend?” the redneck leered. “She’s awful quiet.”
“She’d love to suck your dick,” Grace said.
“But it’ll cost you double,” Faith put in.
Dude laughed like he was in on the joke, and disappeared into the crowded bar. I squirmed, squelching in a puddle of my own making, aching to come.
“I’ve got to pee,” Grace announced.
“Care to join us in the ladies?” Faith asked.
I hurriedly pulled up my panties and buttoned my pants, and followed the twins to the bathroom.
Thank God it was clean. Faith and Grace snorted lines of what I assume was coke off the sink. Then Faith sat down on the toilet and spread her legs, and I got down on my knees and licked her wet pussy until she came, while Grace filmed us with her iPhone.
They traded places. I took the opportunity to pull down my pants again. “That’s right babe,” Grace said, “Masturbate for us.”
Someone knocked on the door. “Just a minute,” Faith called, as she slipped the tip of one wet finger up my asshole. I lapped furiously at Grace’s pussy.
Grace came hard, kicking her legs and hissing like a cat. I was just about there myself. Faith’s finger was insinuating itself deeper and deeper up my butt.
“Don’t move,” Grace growled, and I didn’t. My face was coated in her tangy, slick juice, my tongue pressed against her slick swollen cunt.
The knock at the door again, more insistent this time. “Just a minute,” Faith repeated, extracting her finger from my gasping butt hole.
Grace urinated right into my mouth. It took me by surprise, so some if it splashed onto my face and shirt, but mostly the warm, salty liquid just filled my mouth like some weird kind of sports drink. I swallowed thirstily. It didn’t taste gross or anything; I didn’t think it was nasty, just super hot. When she was done, I licked her clean, we all three got dressed, and left the bathroom, parading smugly past a line of impatient women.
In the back seat, on the way home, I spread my legs and whacked off furiously while Grace and Faith watched in the rear-view mirror.
“We’re having a party at the house next weekend,” Grace said.
“Our dads are staying down in the city, so it’ll be just us,” Faith put in. “Will you be our guest?”
“You’ll be the piñata,” Grace said.
Of course I would come.
Everyone was there. All the jocks, all the rich and popular kids; everyone I would never hang out with. It was a party I would never ever have been invited to.
Tara Franks was there, looking gorgeous and effervescent in a fluffy pink sweater. Her boyfriend was there too, Cliff Something-Or-Other, the quarterback of the football team and class president.
The music was blastingly loud, Lady Gaga or some shit that I don’t listen to. Everyone was drinking, and the whole house reeked of pot.
They led me upstairs, into the bedroom. They’d shoved the bed to one side and set up the big, class-topped coffee table in the middle of the floor.
I stripped while the twins watched me objectively. There was only one bed in the bedroom, I noticed for the first time. They must sleep in it together at night. The implications of that made me a little weak in the knees.
When I was naked, they had me kneel atop the coffee table. Faith produced a pair of shiny steel chrome handcuffs and secured my hands behind my back. The window panes rattled in time with the bass line.
Grace had a large and expensive-looking bottle in her hand. “Have you ever had a champagne enema?” Faith asked me.
I’d never had an enema of any sort.
“You’ll love it,” Grace told me, and gave her sister’s boob an affectionate squeeze through her shirt. “Bend over.”
I lay my head down on the glass tabletop, with my naked rump thrust up in the air. After a bit of a struggle the sisters got the cork out with a satisfying *pop*, and foamy liquid came bubbling out. Grace proceeded to shove the neck of the bottle up my ass.
It felt distinctly strange. First of all, getting it in kind of hurt, and Grace wasn’t gentle about it. Once the neck of the bottle was in past my anus though, it mostly just felt weird. I felt vulnerable and kind and ridiculous, but my clit was definitely singing. The bubbly liquid stung and cramped as it infiltrated my bowels. I moaned, and Grace giggled. I wished I could touch my clit, but my hands were cuffed behind my back. The position I was in was deeply humiliating, and I felt totally out of control. Grace was right, I did love it.
Without any warning, she yanked the bottle out, leaving my asshole gasping. I went off like a geyser, spraying champagne across the bedroom. Both girls squealed with hysterical laughter.
It was about then that it hit me, like a framing hammer right in the forehead, that I was drunk. Fucked-up, shattered, shitfaced drunk.
Faith opened the door to the bedroom, and kids came in and started milling around. It should have freaked me out to be naked and on display in front of all the popular kids from school, but between the alcohol and my libido, I don’t remember it bothering me at all.
“Everything is free tonight,” announced Grace, “Everything is on the house. You want something to take home, just talk to Faith.”
You know how some people black out when they get too drunk, and can’t remember a thing? Well I remember it all, in glorious living Technicolor, though it has a disjointed quality to it, like someone’s vacation slides where the sequence got all mixed up.
I remember random people squeezing my butt and my boobs. I remember seeing a bunch of kids doing lines off the top of the dresser. I remember seeing Cliff Something-Or-Other, with Faith’s help, shoving a big needle into his muscular forearm. I remember Tara screaming at him, calling him an asshole, and a bunch of people laughing.
Then Cliff got naked and climbed onto the bed, and Faith and Grace stripped down to their underwear and snorted fat lines of cocaine off his erect cock.
I’d never seen an actual erection before, and I remember thinking it looked strangely biological. I didn’t find it disgusting or anything, just odd. What a weird design. I don’t know how anyone kind finds the things attractive. But to each their own…
The lights got turned down, and it got quieter, and I think the mood and focus of the party shifted. I saw Grace and Faith in bed together, tangled up in a 69, while Cliff masturbated.
Then someone tried to stick his dick in my pussy, but came before he could get it inside. Someone else was trying to stuff his cock into my mouth, but it wouldn’t seem to get hard, and he was yelling furiously at me and slapping me across the face like it was all my fault or something.
And then Tara grabbed me and pulled me away and helped me get down the stairs, and we ended up in another bedroom, the Dads I guess, and we were kissing in the dark, and then her clothes came off and I was eating her pussy out like a starving woman.
She had soft fur down there, and she was very wet, and she tasted like some spice I can’t think of, and she came so long and hard and loud that it was kind of scary.
Then I started to feel a little sick, then a lot sick, and then I was dry-heaving, and struggling my way out of the house and across the lawn and across the street and into my own front yard. I crawled the last little way into the house, gagging and sobbing.
My mom, to whom I am forever grateful, didn’t ask any questions beyond “Are you OK?”. She cleaned me up, used a bobby pin to unlock the handcuffs, got some pajamas on me, and put me to bed. I slept long and hard, and felt like shit the next day.
American History was my worst class. It was the only class I had that wasn’t A.P. or honors, and it was painfully boring. I still felt shaky and fragile, and I knew that half the school had seen me naked, and it was only Monday morning and I already wanted the day to be over. Mr. Crowfoot, the teacher, was droning on and on about the Reconstruction, and I was more or less wishing I was dead, when Cliff What’s-His-Name collapsed.
I’d never paid much attention to Cliff: he sat in the back of the class and was kind of a loudmouth joker. The only reason I’d even been aware of him was that he was my primary crush’s boyfriend. Anyway, he fell out of his seat like a big bag of potatoes, and the whole class kind of gasped simultaneously, and then things started happening really fast. Mr. Crowfoot walked over and checked his pulse, and then yelled “Someone call 911!” and started doing CPR, and suddenly there were sirens everywhere and people were sobbing and parents were showing up and grabbing their kids and no-one seemed to know what was going on.
In the end, eight kids died that day, and another thirteen were in critical condition. The word was someone had been selling bad heroin from down in the city. Later that day, every cop car in the world converged on the house across the street. By that weekend, a For Sale sign had gone up. I never saw or heard from Faith and Grace again.
Tara Franks caught up with me in the hall.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m OK,” I said cautiously, “How is your boyfriend?”
“Cliff,” she said. “Ex-boyfriend. He’s still in the hospital. They say he might have brain damage. I’m not sure how they could tell.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be. Listen,” Tara said, and suddenly she was very close to me, and my heart was pounding in my chest. “Listen, you made me feel really good the other night at the party. I’d like to make you feel good too. Do you think you could teach me?”
I took her hand, and she squeezed my fingers. My clit jumped and my pussy drooled. She did not let go of my hand. “I’d be happy,” I said, “to teach you anything you want to learn.”
I’d told my wife I’d be out working on my sunburn. She was already sitting in front of the computer, plugging away at her novel. I went down to the beach.
I was sitting on my beach chair under a very large and very ugly umbrella, hiding behind a cheap pair of dark sunglasses, pretending to read Dostoyevsky. In actuality, I was looking at all the pretty girls go by, mentally undressing and molesting them. Some were in bikinis, some in one-piece suits, some in shorts and tees. My dick was lazily half-hard in my swim trunks. I love the female body in all its iterations: the fat and the skinny ones, the wives and mommies who are my age, the college chicks half as old as me, and their saucy and giggling younger sisters too. I’m going to hell, I know it, but I’d fuck them all, each and every one, young and old, in the pussy and up the ass.
Two girls were coming toward me, sashaying along the scandalously young end of the spectrum. I studied them from behind the safety of my shades. They were both wearing shorts and t-shirts. One girl was tall and winsome, like a sapling willow, with dirty shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and the smallest hint of breasts under her camisole. The girl walking beside her was short and curvy, chunky even, with a cheerful freckled round face, an up-turned button nose, short dark hair, cut-off denim shorts, and big round boobs that bounced pleasantly under her shirt as she walked. She was holding a large blue Slurpee, and when her pretty lips wrapped around that straw for a sip, I died a small death.
I studied them carefully as they approached, as secure behind my sunglasses as an arc welder behind his mask. There was something funky about the way the shorter girl walked. Finally, I figured it out. Her legs ended at the knee. From there on down, she was walking on dull, metallic gun-metal grey carbon-and-titanium prosthetics, terminating in black high-top sneakers. Were her legs amputated? Was she born that way?
Suddenly, the girls were right in front of me, almost close enough to reach out and touch. What was going on? I wondered if they had felt the intensity of my gaze. I blushed behind my glasses. I couldn’t decide if it was worse that I was staring at the short girl’s prosthetic legs, or at her tits. They stopped directly in front of me, and my heart pounded. My thoughts were most definitely impure.
I wondered what their pussies looked like: did they shave, were they trimmed, did they have bald little snatches? The tall one, I guessed, had a neat little landing strip; her shorter friend would be the natural type. Pouty, hidden lips; or proud pink labia that peeked out? They both had really cute tits. Fuck, I was getting hard. They stood just in front of my beach towel, the skinny girl’s toes curling in the sand. The chunky girl with the mechanical legs looked impatient.
She nudged her taller, skinnier friend. “Um,” Skinny Girl said, “Excuse me. I was wondering… do you think we could borrow twenty dollars?”
“Pardon me?” I set my book down in the sand, losing my imaginary place.
Artificial Legs nudged her again and Skinny seemed to get a little bolder. “Could we, like, you know, borrow twenty bucks from you?” She sounded like a spoiled little brat asking Daddy for an advance on her allowance. Christ, just how old were these girls? Or, more to the point, how young?
“We’ll make it worth your while,” Shorty chimed in. “C’mon Jessy, show him your boobs.”
Skinny Girl Jessy froze. She stood up straight and glanced quickly side to side. The tips of her ears glowed fiery red. “Catherine–”
Short Girl Catharine elbowed her hard, hard enough to leave a bruise. “Don’t use my real name!” she hissed. “Just show him your fucking tits.”
Jessy sighed dramatically. The blush had spread from the tips of her ears down to her angelic cheeks. She wriggled out of her t-shirt. She was wearing a little purple bikini top underneath. Shyly, she lifted up one cup, exposing the boob beneath.
It was perfect, the kind of breast that might have been Photoshopped up by the editors of some sleazy website devoted to beautiful, airbrushed, flat-chested teenage girls. It was pale and flawless, barely a speedbump, with a tiny little nipple, stiff and erect, like a luscious little candy, right in the center.
I saw it for a second, and then it was gone, hidden behind the soft and silky fabric of Jessy’s swimsuit.
“Pfft!” Catharine scoffed. “He’s not going to give you twenty dollars for that. Now here’s a pair of twenty-dollar tits!”
She lifted up her own shirt, clenching it between her teeth, revealing a pink and frilly bra. Both hands gripped the cups of her brassiere, and her breasts tumbled out: huge and soft and jiggly, with large, crinkled brown areolae and thick, stiff nipples that poked out like pencil erasers.
Catherine let me ogle her boobs for a long moment before stuffing them back into their restraints. My dick was now standing straight up inside my aqua-blue swim shorts.
“Well Jess,” Catharine sniggered, “It looks like we have his attention. Maybe you’d like a look at her purdy little pussy. That should be worth twenty bucks.”
Jessy unbuttoned her cut-off shorts and shimmied them slightly down. She was wearing a skimpy purple bikini bottom underneath. She hooked a thumb in the front of them, and leaned forward, offering me a glimpse of what lay inside: an large unruly patch of soft and fluffy light-brown hair.
“Pretty nice, huh?” Catharine stuck out her tongue at me. “You should taste it… delicious!” She unbuttoned her own jeans. “I’m not wearing a bathing suit.” She opened up her fly to give me a peek. I saw fleshy, puffy, baby-bare labia coming together in a pouting hairless crease. “I’m going skinny dipping later on.” She smiled wryly. “Or chubby-dipping.”
Catharine brushed the backs of her fingers against the erection that was straining to burst out of my swim trunks. It felt like she was jangling a jackhammer directly on my nerves endings. I clenched my ass as my dick jumped like an over-excited Labrador puppy about to go for a walk.
Jessy stood in front of me, and I let my eyes slowly traverse her body. Her navel was a tiny dent, a crater-like button in the midst of her otherwise flat stomach. I imagined my cock slamming into her, sliding in and out of her juicy, tight pussy, coated in her young juices. I imagined myself pulling out at the penultimate moment and squirting all over her, filling that belly button up with semen even as her own orgasm rocked through her tender, lithe body. It was a pretty nice image.
“OK then,” Catharine said to me with an air of finality. “Let’s see the goods.”
Suddenly I knew exactly where this was going. As soon as I was naked, I was vulnerable. My trunks would come off, and the girls would snatch my swimsuit out of my hand and run away squealing and giggling and pointing, leaving me with a waggling flagpole of a boner in the middle of a public beach. The police might or might not be summoned. Either way, it would not end well.
I looked around. There were probably a couple of hundred people in this section of beach, but no-one seemed to be looking at a sallow-faced, middle-aged white dude sitting under an umbrella talking to a couple of teenage girls. I shrugged and pulled my swim trunks down and off, exposing my privates to the unfamiliar sensation of direct sunlight.
“Ver-r-rey nice,” Catharine cooed. Jessy smiled and bit her lip. “That’s the nicest one we’ve seen in a long time. Sizeable, but not too enormous. I’d go so far as to call it perfect. And look at those balls! They’re so cute!”
I wasn’t sure what I thought of my nuts being referred to as ‘cute’, but I didn’t say anything.
“Jessy may not be very good at sucking cock,” Catharine went on matter-of-factly, “but I bet she could give you twenty dollars worth of blowjob. Whaddya say?”
Well, what was I going to say? Catharine didn’t wait for an answer. She turned to Jessy. “Whatcha waitin’ for, sis? Get down on your knees and start sucking his dick. And pull your top down, bitch. You look cute like that.”
Jessy glanced around and apparently came to the same conclusion that I had: nobody was paying any special attention to us. She slithered her bikini top down around her midsection, exposing her pale, barely existent breasts, and got down on her knees on the sand in front of my chair. I could feel her hot breath on my cock as she knelt down in front of me. The she opened up her mouth and took the plunge.
My wife doesn’t hold with oral sex, so it had been a long, long time since I’d gotten a real blowjob. This girl was beautiful, and the sight of her dirty blonde hair cascading down, her naked breasts and shoulders, and her pretty lips and delicate tongue on my meat was plenty of stimulation. The warm wetness of her mouth was exquisite. But Catharine was right. Jessy wasn’t very good at giving head. My sense was that she was just deeply inexperienced. She couldn’t find a rhythm. She kept getting distracted. Her teeth got in the way. Worst of all, she kept popping up and looking to Catharine and me for approval. It felt amazing, but every time I started to get really worked up, she lost it. It was a kind of delirious torture, and I loved every second of it.
I moaned out loud and Catharine grinned. “Aren’t you afraid someone will hear?” Between the seagulls and the surf and the yammering kids, I didn’t think that was anything we had to worry about. I wasn’t going to worry about it anyhow.
While Jessy kept on gloriously bungling the blowjob, Catharine slid her hand down the front of her own shorts and waggled her eyebrows at me salaciously. I imagined her lying flat on her back on the sand, shorts discarded, tits hanging out. I imagine licking her bald pussy, her artificial legs wrapped around the back of my head. Servo motors whine, pulling me into her like some sex-crazed terminator. I suck desperately at her clit and slide my fingers up her pussy and asshole. She is sopping wet, and when she comes, she squirts all over my face.
Catharine finally pulled her hand out of her pants, her middle finger shiny and slick. Grinning evilly, she wormed her hand down the back of Jessy’s shorts, which solicited a grunt.
“Jess likes it when I play with her asshole,” Catharine said. “Well, that’s not exactly true,” she corrected herself. “I like it. I’ve never asked her. But her cunt sure is wet.”
This went on for a brief eternity; Jessy ineptly sucking me while Catharine molested her from behind. How long could this torment/bliss go on? Much more and I was going to lose my mind; more to the point, somebody was bound to notice the action under my umbrella.
Catharine suddenly stood up straight, extracting her hand Jessy’s shorts. She wafted her finger under my nose. The scent was intoxicating.
I took the opportunity to look around, and sure enough, a heavyset woman in a black one-piece swimsuit with a big floppy hat was lying on her side gazing raptly in our direction while her kids built messy sandcastles. She smiled. One hand was captured between her thick, fleshy thighs.
Catharine gripped Jessy by the forehead. She mashed the back of Jessy’s head hard against her own denim-covered crotch, grinding up and down like a scrub-brush. This had the effect of forcing Jessy’s head down on my dick, jamming my cock halfway down her throat. She choked, coughed, and gagged, but stayed with me. I felt myself slipping over the edge.
I’m pretty sure Jessy couldn’t breathe at all; she was kind of convulsing, and the red marks her fingers left on my thighs lingered for weeks. Her tiny tits jiggled adorably; her throat made gurgling, gargling noises.
“Fuck her mouth,” Catharine growled huskily, and I complied, humping away at Jessy’s throat.
Catharine bore down hard on the back of Jessy’s head, masturbating herself with a vengeance, reveling in the friction. This had the effect of forcing Jessy’s mouth all the way down my erection. Jessy’s face was pressed hard against my pubes, her slobber was running down my balls. She choked and convulsed. Her spasms were just enough to set me off, and through the blissful haze of my orgasm, I was aware of Catharine coming, eyes screwed shut and grunting like a bull.
My own orgasm seemed to last forever. It felt like I had just shot off more semen than I ever had before in my life, gallons and gallons of the white sticky stuff. I never saw a drop though; Jessy swallowed it all.
Catharine released her, and my wet dick slipped out of her wide-open mouth as she collapsed, gasping into the sand. The first thing she did after she’d taken a breath was wiggle her bikini top up, covering her exposed little breasts. I was in no condition to practice any such modesty; I sat there naked in my beach chair, bedazzled and bemused, my soft wet dick hanging out there for anyone passing my to see.
Catharine adjusted her shorts, pulling them out of her crack, gave one fat tit a playful squeeze and winked at me. She then picked up her big blue Slurpee from where she had set it in the sand, and proceeded to pour the liquid contents down the back of Jessy’s pants. Jessy squealed in a way that didn’t sound especially distressed.
“I’ll be licking all that up later on,” Catharine said over her shoulder to me. She gave Jessy, who was still coughing and rasping, a hand up. Jessy’s bottom was distinctly wet, and a large blue stain was spreading down the backs of her thighs. Catharine’s mechanical legs clicked softly but audibly as the two walked hand-in-hand away from me down the beach and out of sight. I hastily pulled up my shorts before anyone could come over and investigate. My heavyset neighbor in the big floppy hat under the next umbrella over grinned and licked one finger seductively.
The first thing I did was check my wallet, which astonishingly was still where I had left it, next to my beach chair. I looked inside, and all my credit cards were present and accounted for, as well as the two hundred bucks I had taken out of the ATM that morning.
I hoisted my book, flipped to a random page, and pretended to read. My curvaceous friend in the black one-piece and hat was strolling casually over, her kids safely occupied playing dump trucks and front-end loaders in the sand. No doubt she was about to ask me the same question I was currently asking myself:
“What the hell just happened?’
I’ve been waiting for him, waiting patiently, for a very long time.
The sun is already so bright that the glare off the sandy beach, white as uncut Columbian cocaine, makes me squint, even behind my dark sunglasses. A few tourists are up and about, chatting happily, ordering breakfast. Seagulls dodge and swoop in the morning breeze, for the sheer joy of it. The roar of the surf is ceaseless, great Atlantic breakers lining up to slam into the beach. Below that, a constant, barely audible subsonic hum, felt more than heard, tickling the soles of my feet. The Doomsday Machine, percolating away, counting down the days, hours, minutes, and seconds, deep in the vaults below the island.
I idly swirl my straw, tinkling the ice cubes in my glass, agitating the unnaturally blue liquid before drinking it down in one long slow, lazy slurp. The stuff is the color of antifreeze, the consistency of crude oil. Raspberry Nyquil. It numbs the back of my throat, filling me with a sickly rush of nausea. I lift my pinky finger, signaling the waiter. He knows his cue, and brings me a fresh bottle, pre-chilled. They keep a case of the stuff sitting on ice behind the bar, just for me.
White dress with navy-blue polka dots. Classic American cut. My nails are perfectly lacquered, poison-apple red. My hair is neatly coiffed, the same chestnut brown it was twenty years ago when he first came to me, up out of the sea. Thank you, Miss Clairol. Pearl earrings in gold settings. Red belt, red flats. A titanium pendant hangs suspended around my neck. My breasts aren’t the same breasts they were two decades ago, but I do what I can with what I’ve got. Surgery, I always believed, is a liar’s game.
A lone man is swimming toward the beach, diving underneath tremendous crashing breakers, drowned for sure, only to surface again in the bubbling, frothy whitewater. After each set of waves he is a little closer, until he stands up and climbs out of the surf. I pick up my binoculars, and one hand strays between my legs.
There are sharks out there in those waters, out beyond the break.
I am wearing the same dress I wore the day I first met Jack. It is the same dress and it is not the same dress. My cough syrup cocktail sits on the plastic table in front of me, condensation beading up on the sides of the glass, utterly forgotten for the moment. My labia are suddenly swollen and moist. One hand pets my pussy through the sheer fabric of my panties, while the other hand attempts to hold the binoculars steady. He always said he’d be back.
It is him. It is not him, but it is him. He is walking up the beach toward me now, directly toward me, focused with intent. I examine him through the 20x Zhumells. It is not him. This one is young, far too young; his chest is smooth and hairless; he has a tattoo on one arm, a seal balancing a beach ball on its nose; but my imagination lets all that slide. It is him. He wears nothing but black swim trunks, a trim little black backpack, and a combat dagger strapped to his ankle. The swim trunks leave nothing to the imagination. He is not circumcised, and doesn’t suffer from shrinkage. The backpack will contain a delicate little handgun with a big fat silencer, and a bunch of other deadly little gadgets. He has killed before, this one has. He’s got the walk. My cunt is juicy wet, and my clitoris is hard as a diamond.
He walks like a predator, a big jungle cat. They always do. Relaxed but ready. Baryshnikov in a bespoke suit, packing a submachine gun. SAS, SEAL, Spetsnaz; they all have that same walk.
It is my Jack, come back to me from the bosom of the sea, and it is not my Jack.
My dress is piled up on my lap, a confusion of deep blue polka dots. I may be making a spectacle of myself. My fingers slide inside the elastic of my panties and come back wet and slick. I am ready for him.
I was really just a kid. Straight out of the Midwest. A bona fide virgin, as a matter of fact. I was working for Doctor Nyet at the time. He’d been trolling the strip, looking for pretty girls to round out his new headquarters. He was so clumsy and awkward with the girls it was comical, and endearing. We got to talking, and I guess we hit it off. I’d already done a little modeling, the kind you don’t bring home to show mother; and when he offered me the job, I was dancing at a go-go club. So I wasn’t exactly an innocent. But I wasn’t very worldly either. This was before Google, before the internet was everywhere, before everyone had a cell phone, before Cleveland was reduced to a pile of smoking radioactive rubble as a demonstration of Project X. If I’d known then what I know now, I’d do it all over again.
Jack killed him, of course. That was what he’d come to do. Pop,pop…pop,pop,pop. His tiny little automatic sounded just like popcorn. Two bullets in the head, three in the chest just to be sure. I couldn’t watch; I covered my face and sobbed like a little girl. He kissed me before he left, a kiss that told me that he meant it when he said he loved me, and he told me he’d be back. I could still feel the heat of his gun.
I was Dr. Leonid Nyet’s personal secretary, which wasn’t nearly as sordid as you might think. My duties included a little light typing, answering telephones, hanging around and looking pretty; and most importantly holding the key. The key is an interrupt, the stop codon to the Machine. Doctor Nyet hung it around my neck one night, and it has remained there ever since. He told me that he trusted me. He told me to protect it with my life.
Some of the other girls complained about the Doctor. They told whispered stories of girls wrapped up in Saran wrap and left to expire in their own body heat; girls dipped in liquid nitrogen; girls thrown out of helicopters. It was hard for me to imagine the Doctor doing anything of the sort.
They complained about being used as sexual playthings; dancing topless for visiting dignitaries, sucking the cocks of oil sheiks and Russian scientists, stories of getting golden showers and spankings from Korean generals. None of that sounded so bad to me. One girl said she’d been greased-up and butt-fucked by the Doctor himself out in the courtyard above the sea wall. Another claimed he’d raped her. I didn’t believe it. The Doctor, I was fairly certain, was gay. The girls were just bitter. And some of them were lezzies, as I was to discover later on.
Sally Slipknot came to me one night, when the Doctor was celebrating the initial success of Project X with his friends and investors. She was the head of Security, and she was beautiful in the same way that a finely crafted weapon is beautiful. She was strong and lithe and utterly feminine. She reminded me of a snake, and she showed me things that two girls could do together that I hadn’t imagined before. She teased my virginity with her fingers, but never quite plunged inside. She played with my anus as she kissed and nibbled up and down my pussy. Her flicking tongue brought me right over the edge, something that hadn’t happened to me before, not with another person, not without the help of my buzzing pink plastic vibrator. As the sun came up over the storm-churned Atlantic, she kissed me goodnight and slithered out of my bedroom, leaving me dazed, shaky, and confused. Did this mean that I was a lesbian too?
I wanted to be alone. I wanted time to think. I was still wet and sticky and sensitive between my legs. I pulled my navy blue polka dot dress on over my naked body and went down to the beach to walk by the waves.
Jack came to me out of the roaring surf. He wore nothing but black swim trunks, trunks that left nothing to the imagination; a combat dagger on a belt; and a little black backpack that contained, among other things, a tiny automatic handgun, and a beautifully fitted hand-tailored black suit.
He swept me off my feet, quite literally. He was soaking wet and salty from the cool ocean water. His chest was covered in curly dark hair. His muscles rippled smoothly under his skin. He moved like a man who killed men. We ran through the waves together, and he lifted me up and whispered in my ear that I was beautiful and that he wanted to see me again.
My dress was wet with seawater and my pussy was naked and vulnerable underneath. He was hard. He kissed me, and I gave him my passcard, the magnetic-striped card that allowed access to the compound. When I got back, I explained to the guards that I had left earlier without my card, and they let me through without question.
The Doctor had no time for me. He was lying on a bed of heated stones, getting a massage from two young Asian boys. Another Asian boy, who looked like he might have been twelve, was giving his head a fresh shave. It was going to be a busy day in the command center; the American had capitulated after the Doctor’s autonomous robots had incinerated Cleveland, and paid an unprecedented ransom. The next stop was the United Nations. There was to be a teleconference on the Jumbotron with the Secretary General at noon, and all the technicians were getting the gear ready. Sally Slipknot refused to look at me. The Doctor rolled over onto his back, and the solemn-faced Asian boys removed the towel around his waist.
I ran back to my bedroom and took a very long and very hot shower.
The Doctor loved me. He liked me, for sure. He certainly trusted me. He loved me, I’m pretty sure of it, in his own way. He never knew his own father, he told me once. My dad ran out on us when I was little. I think Dr. Nyet liked to think of me as the daughter he knew he’d never have.
Sometimes at night, when the Imetrex won’t keep the migraines at bay and the Ambien is useless or worse, and I can’t stomach the Sertindole, I take the pendant off my neck and open the little titanium tube. There is a slip inside; not paper and not plastic and not metal, with numbers printed on it. Hundreds of digits, almost too small to read. It makes one number, one very big number. The Doctor said it was the product of two primes, the biggest one his computers could find. That is the key, the one and only key that will stop the Doomsday Machine. He gave it to me, and told me to keep it safe.
He trusted me, and now he’s dead.
Sometimes at night I masturbate, and sometimes I find I’ve forgotten how.
Jack met me for lunch at the tiny little seaside café that catered to the island’s tourists. He had changed into a sleek, well-made black suit, and he moved like a panther. I was still wearing my navy-blue polka dot dress, but this time I had panties on underneath, and pearl earrings set in gold. We sat under an umbrella and drank Mai Tais and talked for what seemed like hours. We were both, it turned out, from Ohio. His parents had owned a small farm, a gardenia plantation on the outskirts of Cleveland. He placed his hand on my knee as he talked about the summers of his boyhood, skinny-dipping in the Cuyahoga River. As we talked, his hand slowly moved further and further up my leg.
He came back with me to my bedroom. Security didn’t even blink. The Doctor was in the middle of presenting his ultimatum to the U.N. and all eyes were on the television. A guard nodded absently in my direction as I scanned my card, Jack in tow behind me.
I thought he’d drag me straight to bed as soon as the bedroom door closed behind us, but he didn’t. He picked out a CD and slipped it into the hi-fi—this was before iPods or anything of the sort; the Doctor himself had a twenty pound ‘laptop’ with the launch codes inside that he had a minion lug around—and we danced together on the balcony, under the equatorial sun.
Oh Man, could he dance! I hadn’t danced much before, other than gyrating around a pole, but he held me and guided my movements. He stood a head taller than me. I felt small and safe in his arms. While we spun and swayed on the balcony to the strains of Tchaikovsky, time seemed to stand still. The chemistry that had sparked between us on the sand that morning grew and intensified. The more we danced, the more ready I felt. And he was ready too. I could feel it.
When Jack finally took me to bed, I nearly wept with relief. He removed my dress and underwear as if he were skinning a deer. Then he took off his own clothes. He had an evil-looking scar just below his shoulder blades that I hadn’t seen before. It was white and raised. Courtesy of the mujahedeen, he told me. His cock was erect, and big enough to be a little scary.
I told him I was a virgin, and asked him, my voice quavering a little, to be gentle.
Oh, he was gentle! It is amazing to me that someone so deadly could also be so patient and careful. He touched me slow soft, until I thought I was going to burst. When he finally did enter me, he did it so deliberately and carefully that it didn’t hurt. Not one bit, not at all. He did it to me slowly, holding my hands and kissing me as if he’d never kissed a girl before, and when he came, he exploded deep inside me. I nearly came right along with him, almost, but not quite. I got nervous at the last second and my orgasm fluttered away.
We talked afterward. I answered his questions. I told him about the secret passage into the command center. He kissed me, and told me he’d come back someday.
I followed him, keeping a safe distance. I’m not sure why I did that. I think I couldn’t quite believe that Jack was going to do what he’d come to do. Maybe he just wanted to talk. Maybe he’d just arrest Nyet. I was so innocent back in those days!
After the deed was done, klaxons were going off and equipment was exploding in showers of high-voltage sparks, and Security was shooting at each other and Jack and at the commandos who were now swarming the compound, dressed up in composite body armor, Spetsnaz or Delta Force I think, but I wasn’t asking and they weren’t saying. They blew up everything in sight, the whole command center, but they couldn’t breach the one door that really mattered, and their higher-ups figured out soon enough that blowing through that door would be a really bad idea anyway. Before he left, Jack squeezed my hand one last time and promised me he’d come back someday.
He must have known he was going to die, or suspected he would anyway. Project X was just too risky, the stakes were too high. So he designed the Doomsday Machine as a kind of insurance plan, or a post-mortem revenge plan, I don’t know which.
The autonomous robots have two modes. In their primary mode, they are hypersonic little nuclear smartbombs the size of motor scooters, capable of destroying any city on earth within an hour of receiving the launch code. In secondary mode, however, they can be set to reproduce, building exact copies of themselves out of raw materials, the population growing exponentially like bacteria in an agar dish, until they reach a certain critical mass.
He is not my Jack. Same species, different animal. He is not my Jack, but he’ll do.
When he walks up to my deck chair and greets me, his voice holds a slight twang; West Texas, or perhaps Arkansas. He is unfailingly polite. He stands by my deck chair and asks if he can join me, and I lick my finger thoughtfully, as if I’m actually thinking it over.
He tells me his name, and I forget it immediately. He puts his hand on my knee, and tells me that he hadn’t expected me to be so beautiful. Base flattery, but it works. I ask him to tell me about himself.
He joined the Navy over his mother’s objections, because he couldn’t face putting the family in debt just so he could go to college. He volunteered for SEAL training half as a joke, and when he got accepted, he discovered that he was too proud to quit, no matter what the instructors did to them. He tells me about giving CPR to a classmate after the kid drowned during an underwater swimming test. He tells me they run training missions against mock-ups of the autonomous robots; they have a kill rate of about one in ten.
He asks me to dance with him. They must have a file on me somewhere, where it says I love to dance. I wonder if all the agents have to take ballroom lessons from an unsmiling old dowager with huge bosoms and an iron spine before they slip off the aircraft carrier into shark-infested waters to infiltrate me. It works anyway. Like a fucking charm.
We dance on the beach, leaving our footprints in the firm wet sand by the sea. He holds me close, guiding my steps, and I feel his hardness pressed up against me, through his damp shorts. I place my hands on his tight, muscular buns, pulling him closer. He squeezes me tight. It is time. I whisper in his ear that he should ask me now.
I’m rich, I suppose. Doctor Nyet left me a big fat 401(k) and an interest-bearing numbered Swiss bank account; but I never bothered to take much out beyond what I need for food and drink. The compound has been falling apart for years. Soon it will be just rubble; jumbled blocks of hardened concrete and rusting rebar. The only part I’ve bothered to maintain at all is my old bedroom.
He’s kind of a tornado in bed, which surprises me because Jack was so slow and deliberate. He undresses me with the urgency of youth, pulling my polka dot dress off over my head and tossing it aside. His erection is straining out from his shorts.
I remove his swim trunks for him, and his cock pops out, glad to be free of the restraining fabric. He’s a little smaller than Jack, or maybe it is just 20/20 hindsight; either way I’m not complaining. His cock has a curious corkscrew twist, and a slight upward curve, and the head was fat and purple. He looks delicious.
He pulls off my lacy white panties, and jams them against his face, inhaling deeply. I don’t think he’s faking this, but if he is faking it, he’s doing a damn fine job. His cock is rigidly erect, and bounces as he moves. His balls are drawn in tight.
He goes down on me for what feels like an hour. He does not hesitate to touch me in my most private places, licking me greedily from asshole to clitoris and back again. He plunges his thick fingers deep inside me, probing me, playing me like an instrument. I come on his face, and I threaten to come again. Finally I push him away, if only because I want some of that dick for myself.
I swallow him whole, and I enjoy every centimeter of it. I lavish my tongue around his swollen head. I lick his balls, and up and down his shaft. I tease his pee-hole with the tip of my tongue. I stick my face between his ass-cheeks and lick his anus until he mews like a kitten.
He offers to put a condom on, but I am way beyond such mundane worries. I tell him to just hurry up and fuck me, and he complies. He fucks me hard and deep and ferociously, and I fuck him right back, pulling him deeper inside, urging him to do it harder, faster. I surprise myself by coming on him, coming on his thrusting dick. Wonders will never cease. He pulls out, gasping, his cock slick and sticky with my juice.
I ask him where he wants to come, and he responds shyly, “Your ass.”
I tell him that what’s mine is his. I get down on all fours on the bed, my rump thrust up and out, my breasts hanging down in a parody of their former glory, and he comes hungrily at me from behind. He eats my ass out, which no-one has ever done to me before, and when he replaces his tongue with a finger, I find myself humping back against it, trying to get more inside. Before long, I am begging for his cock.
He slides it in, easy as slicing Jell-O. It does not hurt. Having his cock in my asshole feels strange… strange, but good. Very good.
He fucks my ass slowly, methodically. One hand reaches down, finds my aching clitoris. I cannot believe how wet my pussy is. I collapse on the bed under his weight. He is slowly losing control, and I am losing it along with him. We are both gasping and panting as he thrusts. Finally he comes, swelling and shooting his semen deep into my asshole, and I surprise myself by coming right along with him.
We talk afterward, snuggling together in the warm and sticky afterglow. He keeps his soft cock lodged up inside me, which feels odd, but nice. He asks me questions, and I answer him honestly. It isn’t my fault he doesn’t know the right question to ask. And then I feel him getting hard, and he is ready to go all over again, and so we go.
Soon, all too soon, he leaves me. Off into the darkness, out into the surf. I go back to my deck chair and my cough syrup cocktails, waiting, patiently waiting. Deep underground, in windowless vaults beneath the island, behind triple-steel doors that would let loose a swarm of nuclear-armed autonomous robots if ever they were breached, the Doomsday machine is counting down, ticking out the hours, minutes, seconds, picoseconds. The hum of their machinations tickles the soles of my feet as the robots forge new copies of themselves, doubling themselves, relentless exponents of two, getting closer and closer to that secret magic number that equals deployment.
Jack will come back for me someday. I know he will, because he is my Love. And I will be waiting for him, here by the sea. He’ll be older, I know, but I will be too. He will know the right question to ask. Even if he doesn’t, I will tell him. If there is still time, I will give him the key, the stop codon. I will give it to him freely. But he’ll have to work a little bit first to get it out of me.
I should have been writing, but I wasn’t. Instead, I was admiring the waistband of Daniel Haite’s tighty-whities, and speculating as to what exactly was kept snug inside them. My boy Danny had an ass straight off a Calvin Klein billboard.
It was Ms. Hasen’s sixth period Creative Writing class, and Dan sat directly in front of me. What he was doing in Creative Writing at all was a bit of a mystery. Danny was an unapologetic football jock. Ms. Hasen had assured us all at the beginning of the semester that this would be no easy A; and sure enough I spent more time on her homework than for any other class. But Danny held his own. His writing wasn’t great, but it certainly wasn’t bad either. He might have been a jock with a gorgeous body, but there was clearly a lot more to him than just that.
I looked him up on Facebook recently. After high school, he went on to be a Rhodes Scholar and a Navy SEAL; apparently he teaches English Comp at a community college in Wisconsin these days. I’ve even contemplated getting in touch with him, but I seriously doubt he would remember me at all.
I squeezed my thighs together, imagining him turning around, asking me out. I would have jumped his bones in a heartbeat. I didn’t think it was going to happen, but it made for a nice fantasy. I started writing. This was definitely not the kind of short story Ms. Hasen was looking for. But I didn’t care.
In retrospect, I probably should have asked him out. He probably would have been thrilled. I think he may have just been shy. When I look back at high school pictures, I can see that I really was actually pretty hot, in a young-and-awkward-librarian sort of a way. If I had taken that leap, a lot of things might have played out very differently in my life. Might have.
By the time the bell rang for the end of class, my panties were seriously damp, and I had eight blank pages that had to be filled before tomorrow afternoon. Well, the pages weren’t quite blank, but what I had written during class, I wasn’t about to turn in to Ms. Hasen.
I fidgeted through dinner, a silent and formal affair with me and Dad at opposite ends of the long, dark dining room table, with place settings as always laid out for three. I was looking forward to cloistering myself in my bedroom, having an epic masturbatory session starring Danny Haite and his penis, and then busting out some homework. But at the end of the meal my dad cleared his throat, and asked to speak with me in his study.
After the dishes were rinsed and put in the wash, I tapped nervously on the door of the study. What he wanted to discuss, I had no idea. Dad and I led very separate lives; on most days I would only see him at dinner. Sometimes we’d sit and read together of an evening, but that was fairly rare. His eyes always seemed to drill through my skull. I preferred the privacy of my own room.
He was sitting in his easy chair, wearing a grey linen suit—I could literally count the number of times I’ve seen my father not wearing a suit—with a tall glass of whiskey close at hand. He gazed at me, aloof and austere, his pale sea-blue eyes unreadable behind his black-rimmed glasses.
Self-consciously, I sat down opposite him, in my reading chair, feeling rather like a specimen on a microscope slide. My mother had left us when I was not quite ten, slamming the door and striding purposefully out of our lives into a waiting yellow cab. Since then it had been a strange and austere kind of life. We didn’t talk much, Dad and me.
“You’ve grown up a lot,” he said.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing.
“So…” he said at last, when the silence between us had become unbearable. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
We’d never had a discussion about dating; I’m not the kind of girl who gets asked out a lot. Hell, we’d never even had the sex talk. Between library books and internet porn, I’d figured it out on my own.
“Yes,” I blurted out. “His name is Daniel Haite.”
“Very good…” he said thoughtfully, letting it hang out there in the air between us. I squirmed uncomfortably as he sipped his whiskey. “Are you two doing anything together?” he asked placidly. “Sexually speaking?”
I was blushing furiously. “No,” I told my father. “Not yet anyway.”
“I see,” he went on after an awful long pause that seemed to stretch out like a flat, unbroken stretch of Midwestern highway. “Well, have you started to masturbate yet?”
It was all I could do to shake my head ‘No’.
It was a lie. I had, of course been whacking off for years, ever since I had found a copy of Buttman’s European Vacation that my dad had left in the VCR. And before that, even. My preferred method usually involved one or two fingers sliding in and out my pussy, with the heel of my hand pressed hard against my clit. And sometimes a hairbrush handle up my butt at the same time. I was just that kind of a girl. Still am.
“It’s completely normal and nothing to be ashamed of,” Dad went on, as casually pedantic as if he was explaining how to program the dishwasher. “Take your pants off and I’ll show you how to do it.”
I still don’t know why I did it. I should have told him it was none of his business, and walked right out of the room. But I was so flabbergasted that I found myself doing exactly what he said, unbuttoning my jeans and sliding them down my legs. “Panties too,” Dad added pedantically.
Mortified but compliant, I rolled my underwear down my legs, kicking them off my ankles, keeping my knees pressed firmly together.
Dad took another sip from his whiskey. “Good,” he said. “Now show me how you think it should be done.”
I may have been mortified, but I was also inexplicably sopping, dripping, droolingly wet. I allowed my knees to part, reached down between my legs, and slowly inserted my middle finger all the way up to the knuckle in my hot, slippery pussy. I couldn’t believe I was doing this in front of him; I couldn’t believe he was watching me do it. It was somewhere between unbelievably horrible and unbelievably hot.
“No, no, no,” my father chided. “Show me your clit. You do know where your clitoris is, don’t you?” I nodded my head meekly.
“Show me,” he said. Blushing hard, I pulled back the folds to reveal my pink little button, which, despite—or because of—the bizarre situation, was swollen and erect.
“Wet your finger,” he instructed. His pale blue eyes felt like lasers burning holes in me. My feet were up on the seat of the chair, knees apart, all modesty temporarily forgotten. I licked my index finger, trembling under his steady gaze like a poor, doomed bunny rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming semi.
“Now draw little circles around your clitoris,” he said, “Softly! Don’t touch it! Just circle close. Closer… Yes, that’s it. You can play with your breasts too, if you want.”
Yes, that was certainly doing the trick. Dad had simultaneously shown me a more efficient method of masturbation, and ruined it for me forever. Either way, I was going to fucking come. I reached up under my t-shirt and tweaked my nipple. Faster and faster, I drew tiny concentric circles around my swollen, aching clit. The sensation was amazing, I was drenched, juice was leaking out of me like Niagara freaking falls, and Dad’s eyes staring at my wide-open cunt just made it all the more intense.
“Now touch it,” he said, “Touch your clitoris and come for me!”
And I did. Just barely brushing my finger across the top of my little button set me off. I rubbed it like a fiend, abandoning any remaining restraint, choking down a guttural cry and blasting off into high earth orbit as my finger skated back and forth across my clit.
“That was very good,” Dad smiled benevolently, “for a first time. Now, off to bed with you.” There was an enormous and obvious lump in the front of his grey linen pants, and it disturbed me just how interested I was in finding out just what exactly was going on inside my father’s trousers. “I really think you should start exploring your sexuality with this boyfriend of yours. Of course, I’ll want to hear all about it.”
Without another word I pulled my pants back on and went up to bed.
I stayed late at the library after school, scribbling dirty stories in my yellow notebook and furtively petting myself under the table, through the soft material of my panties. For dinner, I ate Taco Bell all by myself. My pussy was wet and my clit just wouldn’t settle down.
Dad was waiting for me when I got home.
“Well,” my father asked, aloof and unreadable as always. “How did it go?”
I felt myself blushing despite myself. “It was nice,” I said. “We went out for burgers and cokes after the show.”
“Is that all you did?”
“Well, after that he wanted to find somewhere to park and fool around a little.”
“And you agreed to this?”
“Well, we found somewhere to park, next to a construction site. We kissed for a while. He wanted to… see my breasts. And touch them. So I let him. He also wanted to… touch my, um, pussy.”
“And you let him?”
“What happened then? Touch yourself while you tell me.”
That’s what I was waiting for. It was almost a relief. My panties we already sopping wet. I shucked down my jeans and my underwear and put my feet up on the arms of the chair, exposing my sex. I could feel the intensity of my father’s gaze on my cunt, and that only made my clit bulge out more.
“He fingered my pussy, but it was kind of annoying because he couldn’t find my clit. He just kept shoving his big fingers inside me. It felt kind of nice, but it wasn’t really doing the trick either.” I drew little circles around my pink, swollen clitoris while my dad watched, making up the story as I went along.
“It was so frustrating, and I was getting so horny! I reached over and unzipped his pants, and fished out his penis. It wasn’t as big as I expected it to be, but it felt nice in my hand. We kissed a little more while I handled his penis. He kept fingering my pussy, and I was starting to get sore, so I figured that the best way to make him stop was to make him come.
“It worked. When I wrapped my hand around his shaft and started sliding it up and down the silky-soft skin of his hard penis, he lay back in the driver’s seat and pulled his fingers out of my pussy. They were all stuck together with my juice. I was kind of shocked at how wet he’d made me!”
There was a large and prominent lump in the crotch of my dad’s grey suit pants. A part of me, a shamefully large and perverted part of me, really wanted him to fish out the cause of that lump. It must have taken a lot of willpower on his part not to touch himself. I kept on masturbating while I told my story.
“I moved my hand up and down the length of his shaft. His penis seemed like it had grown a little since I first wrapped my hand around it. His breathing changed, getting shallower and more rapid. His stomach flexed. His balls tightened up. He started to beg me. It was really hot.”
It was really hot. I was getting extremely turned on describing a scene that had never happened. What I really wished was that it had, on a real, actual date with a flesh-and-blood Danny, and that I wouldn’t have had to relate every last gory detail to my father afterward.
“Faster and faster I moved my hand. He wrapped his own hand around mine, guiding me. My arm was starting to ache. Suddenly, without any warning, he made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. I felt his penis swell up under my hand, and he exploded. He shot white sticky stuff all over his bare stomach and all the way up the front of his shirt. Oh… fuck!”
Without meaning to, I had totally brought myself off. The image of me jerking off Danny Haite in his car, making him squirt semen all over his nice clean t-shirt was just too much for me. I didn’t process until much later that this was the very first time I had ever used the word ‘fuck’ in front of my father. He watched placidly as the orgasm rocked through me, his erection straining against the thin fabric of his linen pants. I could make out the contours of his glans, outlined in stark relief through the thin fabric. I clenched my teeth, petting my sensitive, engorged clitoris, trying not to moan out loud.
“And then we cleaned up and he dropped me off at home…” I panted. “Fuck.”
“Next time,” my father said pedantically, “You should suck his dick.”
Next week, I described to my dad how at first I’d been nervous about going down on Dan, afraid I wouldn’t like the taste, afraid that I wouldn’t know what to do. I described tentatively licking his cock, finding that I didn’t mind it at all, opening my mouth wide and trying to get him all the way down my throat, with semi-disastrous results. I described finding the happy medium, wrapping my lips around the swollen crown, trying to keep my teeth tucked safely out of the way, bobbing my head up and down while stroking the shaft of his penis with my hand at the same time. That, I told him, seemed to do the trick quite nicely.
In my story, though, I’m not quite able to push him over the edge. He apologetically pulls away from me, his engorged cock slick and dripping with my saliva. He climbs on top of me, straddling my chest, and jerking off onto my bare boobs. He comes, squirting his jizz all over my breasts, all the way up my neck and onto my chin.
The image was enough to set me off, and Dad watched patiently while I writhed through an orgasm, my slippery fingers dancing gingerly on my clit, biting down hard to keep from howling out loud. For whatever reason I hated making noise when I came in front of my dad.
When I had settled down, Dad took a big fat sip of whiskey from his tumbler. His erection was straining visibly in the front of his grey pants.
“Try just keeping the crown inside your mouth while you stroke the shaft; swirl your tongue around the head,” my father suggested, “Gently play with his anus with one wet finger and see what happens.”
After my next fictional date with Danny, I described the blowjob I had given him after the movie we had supposedly gone to together. I wrapped my hand around his cock and pumped, slurping hungrily at his swollen, crimson crown. When I sensed that he was close, I wet one finger and carefully slipped it up his tight asshole. He made a cute little sound like a puppy dog, and exploded into my mouth. The taste, I reported, wasn’t bad at all.
Back in the study, I focused on the lump in the front of my dad’s trousers as I brought myself off, circling my clit the way he liked me to do it, occasionally letting a finger or two slip up inside my hungry, juicy pussy. Once again a part of me; a large, horny, and perverted part of me; wanted to see just exactly what was causing that lump, and maybe just maybe do something about it. Maybe he was just waiting for me to ask him to unzip and show it to me.
Don’t think that I never thought about it, because I did.
I had this whole fantasy worked out where, for whatever Freudian reason, I would come to his bedroom late at night, wearing my mother’s old wedding dress. I’d pull down the zipper of his trousers—in my mind’s eye he was always still wearing his grey linen suit—and use my hands, breasts, and tongue to bring his cock to its full state of hardness. When my father’s dick was completely erect, straining up toward the ceiling, I’d climb on top of him, and straddle his crotch. I’d rub the swollen mushroom-shaped head up and down the length of my vulva, smearing my wetness all over his cock. When neither one of us could stand it any longer I’d slowly, very slowly lower myself onto his cock. I’d savor the sensation of him penetrating my pussy. When he was finally all the way in, I’d ride him like a cowgirl, gratuitously taking my perverted pleasure from his incestuous prick, bucking, moaning, and grinding my way to an outrageous screaming orgasm. He’d come at the same time as me, and I’d feel him shoot his hot semen into my grasping pussy. I’d reach down and scoop up a big gob of his come, feed it to him with my finger, and then kiss him full on the mouth.
Looking back, I’m honestly not sure why I never did that, or something like it. I’m pretty sure that’s more or less exactly what he wanted. In the end I think I just didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
I did ask Dad once if I should fuck Danny. He told me no, that I should make him wait.
The whole charade was just too weird and too stressful. I finally told Dad that Danny had jilted me. He’d been kind about it, I said, managing to sound as if I was trying not to cry. He’d said that he liked me, but he felt like it just wasn’t working out. He thought we should just be friends.
“Are you alright?” Dad asked.
I nodded. “I think he was just disappointed that I wouldn’t fuck him,” I said.
“Why don’t you tell me about it,” my father said, indicating for me to pull down my pants. “Tell me what it would be like to fuck a boy.”
I left home shortly after that. Moved in with my friend Katri. Relations with my dad remained cordial, but weird and formal. He paid for my college education without complaint, and he never forgot my birthday, but aside from that we were strangers.
I went over to see my dad when I was home for Christmas break once, in the middle of undergrad school. The house looked exactly the same. I hadn’t been there in a long time. Dad’s forehead was a little higher, his hair a little more grey, and he moved a little stiffer. He now had just the suggestion of a pot belly under his grey linen suit, but mostly he was the same as always: dry, terse, and authoritarian. He poured himself a tall snifter of brandy and offered me a glass. I declined. I was more of a beer drinker, in those days.
“You look good,” he said.
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
“College is treating you well, I see. So, have you lost your virginity yet?”
I had, as a matter of fact. I’d taken care of that bit of business the first semester I was at school.
It was a Friday night, and I was out in the quad. It was hot, and it was humid, and I couldn’t sleep in the non-air conditioned dorms. I was sitting on a bench, composing a short story by the light of the gibbous moon. I had words that I needed to get out of my head. I had started writing erotica, really raunchy sex stories, scribbled in my nearly illegible handwriting on a yellow legal pad; the basis for my first published collection.
Everyone else was out doing whatever college kids do on a Friday night: playing beer pong or trying to get laid. The only person out in the quad with me was Nate, this kid from my poetry composition class. Nate was very tall, very skinny, very pale, and had oversized hands, hollow cheeks, and big brown eyes. He would end up being one of my best friends, and sometime fuckbuddy, but at the time I barely knew him.
I felt like being alone, so of course, he came over and asked if he could share the bench with me. “Look,” I said, “I don’t want to sound rude, but I’m not interested in hooking up with anyone. And I’m definitely not looking for a boyfriend.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not like that.”
“You don’t want anything to do with me,” I said, “I’m damaged goods.”
“Damaged goods?” Nate laughed bitterly. “I’ll tell you about damaged goods. My dad used to come home drunk and make me watch him jerk off….” He paused and gazed up at the fat, orange moon. “Fuck it, I’ll tell you. Sometimes he used to make me jerk him off too. He’d pour baby oil all over my hands and close his eyes while I jacked him off.” He held his big hands out, palm-up, for me to inspect. “He called me his little faggot.” Nate stuck out his chin defiantly. “He always threatened to fuck me up the ass, but he never did. He said if I ever told anyone, he’d waterboard me. He said nobody would ever believe me anyway, he said they’d just laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing,” I said. “I believe you.”
We sat together under the moonlight for a while. He put his arm around me. We kissed a little bit. It felt nice. I put my hand in his lap. His dick was hard.
“You should come on back up to my dorm room,” I said.
Up in my dorm, Leslie, my roommate, appeared to be sound asleep. That girl seemed like she could sleep through anything. Nate and I got busy on my bed. We kissed a lot, and touched. He was a good kisser, but a little shy about the touching. I made up for that in spades. I stuck my hand right down his pants, and liked what I found.
Our clothes were sweaty and in the way anyway. We got naked. I got a look at what I had groped before, and I liked what I saw. Nate seemed to like what he saw as well.
He knelt on my bed, his nearly-hairless dick pointing straight up and out, like the prow of a ship. It was my first look, in person, at an actual, naked penis. The tip was bulbous, red and swollen. A strand of clear drool leaked out the end, forming a gossamer thread that threatened to drip onto my sheets. His balls hung heavy and low. His skin was flushed and sweaty. He looked delicious.
And then I thought of my dad, and imagined him watching us, sitting in his easy chair, directing our actions like my own personal film auteur, instructing me in his calm, pedantic tone exactly what to do next and when and how, and gently correcting me when I strayed from the script. It was a bit of a buzzkill. I tried to block him out of my head.
“Should I lick your pussy?” Nate asked me. Over the next four years, he would spend a lot of time doing exactly that, and he would get quite good at it. For a gay guy.
“No, I think you should just fuck me.” His cock seemed to swell and grow. I could almost see it throbbing in time with his heart.
“I’m sort of a virgin,” he said apologetically.
“I am too,” I told him. My knees were as wide apart as I could stretch them. I could feel my clit bulging out. I reached down and parted my labia apart for him. I was soaking wet.
“Shouldn’t we use a condom?”
“Fuck it, just screw me!” As long as I was being idiotic, I might as well go for it.
He positioned himself between my spread legs, and plunged inside with a huff of sharply exhaled air. It hurt for a second, I’d been afraid it would be much worse, but it wasn’t bad. It was like the pinch of a needle when you get an injection. After a second the pain melted right away, and it just felt good.
He was thrusting slowly in and out, his jaw tight, and his eyes locked on mine. “Uh, fuck. Shit, I’m not going to last. I’m going to fucking come.”
“Fuck me hard,” I told him, and he did, bucking up and down on top of me, sliding his dick wildly in and out, making a delicious squishing squelching sound, battering my pussy, and nearly, but not quite pushing me over the edge along with him.
I felt him swell and explode inside me, and I relished the sensation, and the dazed look of pleasure on his face. Slowly and carefully, he extracted his slippery, wilting penis from my cunt. I had bled like a sacrificial lamb; all over his cock and all over my sheets.
“Thank you,” he gasped, and I kissed him on the lips.
“No, thank you!” I replied. Over in her bed, Leslie was still snoring softly.
After Nate was gone, I masturbated; a finger in my asshole, a finger up my tender pussy, and the palm of my hand mashed hard against my clit. I came hard, screaming softly into my pillow.
I kind of lost track of Nate after we graduated. I know he moved to San Francisco and got a boyfriend, and I think he got ordained as a minister, but we haven’t really kept in touch.
“Tell me how you lost your virginty,” my dad said, sipping his brandy and watching me intently.
Either from force of old habit, classical conditioning, or something else, my pussy was damp and my clit was fat and tingling. I lifted up my skirt and peeled my panties off down my legs. The ghost of a smile flitted across my father’s face as I exposed my clitoris. I started drawing tiny little circles around my bulging pink button, circling close but not quite touching.
“It was at a party,” I extemporized, “a beach party. The moon was full, and a bunch of us decided to go skinny-dipping.
“I swam out to a dock and climbed out of the water. There were two guys there already. They were naked, and they were kissing, and their bodies glistened in the moonlight. Both their cocks were already big and hard. They were beautiful together.
“When they noticed me watching, they both started kissing and touching me. One guy had his hand on my breast, the other guy slipped his hand between my legs. It felt really good. I reached out and grabbed a cock with both hands.
“One of the guys offered me his dick, and I got down on all fours and started sucking it, just the way you taught me. It felt really good to be naked and sucking him, under the sky, out on the water. The other guy came from behind me, and started rubbing his penis up and down my pussy. I was soaking wet and slippery.”
“Did he have a condom on?” My dad interrupted.
“Of course,” I said, “They had brought a fanny-pack out to the raft with them. It had condoms in it.”
“Excellent,” he said, “Please, go on.”
My cunt was swollen and juicy with the fantasy. I let my fingers stray inside, sliding my digits up into my hot and slippery hole. My dad raised an eyebrow, and I returned to circling my clit.
“Slowly and carefully, he slid his dick up inside me. ‘Damn, you’re tight’, he grunted. I wondered if he could tell I was a virgin. It didn’t hurt at all, and I moaned onto the other guy’s dick.
“They flipped me over so I was on my back. The other guy put on a condom too. They took turns fucking me; and the whole time they were kissing and jerking each other off. It was incredibly hot.”
Back in my dad’s study, my heels were up on the seat cushion, and I was strumming my clit like a banjo. “I can’t tell you how many orgasms I had. I just kept going off, like it was the Fourth of July. I really wanted a dick in my mouth, and I was just about to tell them that, when another guy climbed up onto the raft. This guy was younger, my age, and black. His skin was the color of dark chocolate, and his dick stuck straight out from his crotch. He didn’t hesitate, but climbed right aboard, straddling my chest and feeding me his cock. I sucked him hungrily, licking the shaft, his balls, and tracing my tongue around his asshole while he masturbated and mashed the head of his dick between my lips.
“Meanwhile, the guy who was fucking me pulled out, tore the condom off, and came with a shout, splashing come all the way up my belly. His buddy took his place, fucking my pussy, while the first guy lapped up his own come and tickled my clit with his tongue. The second dude came inside his condom, grunting like a bear. Oh fuck.”
Without meaning to, I had pushed myself right over the edge of the precipice, and I came hard and sudden. I had to bite down hard on my own shoulder to stop from yelling out loud. The next day, I had a wicked bruise.
After I had calmed down enough, I went on with my story. “The two guys watched while I sucked off the black kid. I buried a finger in his asshole and wrapped my lips around his purple head and jerked him off until he came. I sucked every drop of come out of his dick. Then the three of them slipped back into the water and swam off into the night, leaving me gasping for air like a stranded mermaid.”
My dad emptied his snifter. The lump in his pants bulged prominently. “You’ve come a long way,” he told me approvingly. “I’ve taught you well.”
One year, for my birthday, my dad sent me a vibrator; one of those ‘rabbit’ ones with all the whistles and bells: a wiggling, waggling, squirming, rotating dildo and a built-in clit stimulator. I threw it away unused.
Afterward, I kicked myself for doing that. Those things ain’t cheap, and I was going through a long dry spell.
Just before I turned thirty, my dad suffered a stroke. It was a pretty bad one; it left his mind intact, but the entire left side of his body was paralyzed, and he was confined to a wheelchair. He had to move into a home. It was almost impossible for me to imagine my father being anything but independent.
I went to visit him in the assisted living facility. The place was bare, utilitarian. It reminded me of a Marine Corps barracks.
He was still wearing his trademark grey linen suit, but he seemed diminished. He looked different, His hair was greyer and more sparse, but his eyes were just as intense as ever.
“I’ve been dating a girl,” I told him. He smiled a weirdly lopsided smile, and it took me a moment to realize that it was because the muscles on the left side of his face were all slack.
Janie was in my writing group. We’d been flirting for months, with less and less subtlety. At the last meeting, where I’d presented a fairly raunchy and highly personal short story, her feet had found mine under the table. We’d gone out for drinks afterward, and the veiled attraction between us came bubbling up to the surface. She put her hand on my lap. My nipples strained inside my bra. This could no longer be ignored; it had to be dealt with. One way or another.
We took a cab back to her apartment, and made out in the back the whole way. She was a good kisser, and at least as horny as I was. I’d never done anything with a girl before, though I’d certainly masturbated to the idea plenty of times. That was about to change.
Up in her bedroom, Janie more-or-less threw me onto her bed, and pounced on top of me. Her shirt had somehow come off, and the bra underneath it. Her breasts felt really good pressed up against mine; I could feel the heat of her crotch near my own. She kissed me fiercely, pulling my hair and biting my lips while she fumbled in her nightstand drawer.
She came up with a pair of shiny, nickel-plated handcuffs, and proceeded to shackle my wrists to her headboard.
“I didn’t know you were into S&M,” I said, a little nervously, but not unhappily.
“I’m not especially,” Janie replied. “I just want to make sure your hands don’t get in the way.”
She tugged off my jeans and panties, leaving me naked and exposed from the waist down. My pussy was soaking wet and drooling, and my clit ached.
Janie stuck her head between my thighs, and spent a lot of time carefully and enthusiastically licking my pussy.
Nobody other than Nate had spent more than two minutes licking my kitty before. He used to spend what seemed like hours going down on me in my dorm room (after freshman year I’d had my own tiny private room in the old dorm building). He used to concentrate on my clit, like it was a tiny penis, giving me a mini-blowjob. He was never able to make me come that way, but it was always deliciously, excruciatingly good, and he never seemed to get tired of trying.
Janie was really good at it too, although her technique was utterly different from Nate’s. She had more of a butterfly, scatter-shot style, flitting and teasing up and down and all around my hyper-excited vulva, rarely pausing at any one location for more than a lick or two. It felt really good—amazingly good—but it wasn’t going to make me come.
She finally came up for air, beaming from ear to ear. “You’re delicious!”
“Thanks,” I said weakly. Getting eaten out like that was like surviving a severe attack of tickling. My cunt was so horny it hurt, and if my hands hadn’t been cuffed, they would have been busy between my legs.
“I am going to make you come,” she went on, “One way or another.”
She fucked me with both hands, two fingers of one hand in my asshole, two fingers of the other hand pistoning in and out of my pussy. At first she would bend over from time to time and lick my clit while she double-fucked me; but as we both got more and more into it she stopped that and just concentrated on fucking the living shit out of me. She was pounding my asshole and my vagina, alternating thrusts like a cybernetic fucking machine, her tits shaking, and her forehead wrinkled with concentration. I saw sweat running down her chest between her breasts.
It worked. The thing snuck up on me, and before I really realized what was going on, I was coming. My entire body shook and strained, and I screamed like she was murdering me, screaming out loud for all of New York Fucking City to hear, and she stayed with me, fucking me slow and deep all the way through my orgasm.
It was the first time I’d ever come from another human being touching me.
I was shaking. “Are you alright?” She undid the cuffs and held me tight, hugging me close. I wept onto her shoulder for probably half an hour.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized that while she’d given me an orgasm, I hadn’t returned the favor. When I pointed this out to Janie, she said “Oh, not to worry… there will be plenty of time for that!”
I slept over that night. It was good.
“It’s a good idea to experiment a little,” my dad said, smiling his weird half-smile benevolently at me from his wheelchair. I could already see the erection rising in his pants. “So… tell me all about it.”
I pulled down the collar of my shirt and peeled back the bra cup, exposing my left breast, and the shiny steel barbell that bisected the nipple. Janie had held my hand while I got them pierced.
“Use your imagination,” I said to my dad, and turned around and walked out of the room, out of the assisted living facility, and out onto the street. I never looked back.