Archive for May, 2014

The Rock-n-Roll Temple of Ex-Girlfriend

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.”



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A First Time for Everything


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.







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