Sunday, May 20, 2007

Jed Turns Up Trumps!

I was at home, doing nothing, when the phone rang.

It was Jed!

Ha! So I’m thinking, “Not free tomorrow night, pal... you’ve got to contact me more than 18 hours in advance if you want to fu—” when he said,

“So, I have an early call tomorrow, but do you want to get together?”

“What, tonight?”

“Yeah. Come on, you’re not doing anything more exciting.”

Well, he had a point. I told him to come on over. As soon as we hung up I felt like I should have said no, since I don’t approve of saying yes at the last minute, but by then it was too late.

Then it hit me: this was a booty call! Despite my year’s experience as a slut, I’d never before had a genuine booty call. I’d had sex dates, but those had all been planned well in advance.

About an hour later he turned up in tight jeans that skimmed his ankles (Jed must be about 6’3”) and cowboy boots – such a cliché rock ‘n’ roll look, especially with his blonde curls, but it was kind of hot. Oh, all right: it was very hot. Usually I go for the art school nerd look—black framed glasses and ironic polyester short sleeve shirts, and Jed’s style has less humor in it but it certainly suited him. That self conscious rocker look and with a set of keys dangling from his skinny hips…and especially those tight jeans… Mmm.

“Here,” Jed handed me a bottle of wine and I was immensely grateful to him for thinking of it; I don’t know why the idea of a little alcohol hadn’t occurred to me. It might have made my last hour a bit less stressful. Unfortunately I did not have a corkscrew – I was between roommates and my kitchen supplies were on the Spartan side. So I went across the street, where my old roommate Jenny now lives, and borrowed hers. “I won’t be needing it for a while,” she said when I promised to return it the next day. Jenny is pregnant and has given up alcohol for the duration.

When I got back to my room, corkscrew in hand, Jed was examining my CD collection, which is not large. I think the height of my music cool was probably around 1990, and my CDs reflect that. I own Big Star but not the Artic Monkeys or Kaiser Chiefs or even bands that were hip in the more recent past, like 2002. Jed, I calculated, was probably at the height of his music cool now.

I put some music on and settled in his lap. Jed works in film and when I asked him what movie (if any) made him interested in film he said, “Well, The Matrix came out when I was fourteen, and I really liked that…”

“Fourteen…!” I knew he was only 23 but this detail made it much more real.

He looked a little self conscious: “Yeah.” I shook my head and smiled: fourteen! When The Matrix came out I was out of college, and all the years had started to blend into a long stretch of mistakes and movies that weren’t marketed at me.

After a glass or so of wine we were sprawled comfortably on my bed and had started to kiss. We got our clothes off but then I remembered my questions. I affected an air of serious purpose and gazed at him serenely:

“Do you have any diseases?”

He laughed, not a happy laugh: “Nothing that’s contagious.”

I wondered what that meant.

“How many people have you slept with?”

Jed frowned. “That’s totally irrelevant,” he snapped. I just waited. I didn’t think it was irrelevant at all. “About seventeen,” he said at last.

“Me too!” I said. We had something in common.

I wondered if he hadn’t wanted to tell me because he thought it was too high or, alternatively, too low a number. Compared to the men I’d bedded of late (ahem, Jefferson, Mmmark), Jed’s bedpost was comparatively notch-free. Then I realized that as he was 23, 17 was a fair-sized number.

Anyway, Jed had not injected any drugs nor fucked any men and soon he had my clothes off. I lay on my bed, naked, and Jed gazed at me: “I have been wanting to do this for quite some time,” he said.

Oh yeah? burst out that inconvenient part of my brain. Then why didn’t you call sooner? But luckily I kept my mouth shut and just gave him a half smile.

Naked, he was long and lean and golden. Oh, and uncircumcised, which I had only noticed when I’d gone down on him the other night at Jefferson’s. I hadn’t come across any uncircumcised American dicks before.

Jed leaned over me and I realized that he was ripe. Not very strong or off putting but noticeable, like he hadn’t taken a shower that morning. It was distracting, he didn’t have that delicious neck smell that Daniel (for instance) has. I find that neck smell pretty hot, so this was a shame.

I went down on Jed for a bit, which elicited a few groans from him. As I bent over him he thrust his hips forward, pushing his cock far into my mouth. I swallowed obediently, then gagged and paused.

“You don’t have to,” he began.

I looked up at him from under my lashes. “I know,” I said. “I don’t do anything I’m not comfortable with.” I had no problem with Jed’s sexual aggressiveness, I found it a total turn on. And part of the excitement was knowing full well that I was right: I would never dream of doing anything I didn’t want to with Jed. When he held my head, when he pushed his hips at me, I went for his cock eagerly. But when Jefferson got aggressive with me I shied away. I wonder if this is because deep down, I know that Jed, despite his awesome sexiness, has no real power over me? Because he’s younger, and I’ve always felt at ease with younger men and wary of older ones?

Then Jed slid on top of me and reached to the floor for his bag. He took out a tiny tooled leather pouch and, from it, a condom. Then he brought out a pump bottle of lube. Like a 20 ounce bottle.

I mean, I have lube.

When we were all slicked up Jed put on a condom and pushed himself inside me. I sighed. Nice, nice.

The thing is, I was sure that physically we were going to fit – chemistry wise, he did all sorts of things to me, and I had just assumed that this would be the easiest, least stressful sex ever. But instead we were looking at one another, and I was waiting for that fierce abandon I had anticipated. “How’s that?” Jed asked.

“Good…” I breathed slowly as he started pumping me. If only he had that delicious neck smell. Huh. “Can I get on top?” I panted.

He squirted yet more lube on the condom – OK, it was superior lube, this BabeLube – the bottle declared the content to be hypoallergenic, water-based, etc. and yes, this lube was so great it was probably biodegradable and registered voters in its spare time.

I climbed on top of Jed and slid onto his cock. Then I said what I always say: “You like that?”


And then the chemistry I’d been so sure we had kicked in, because he started talking like I wanted him to talk: “You like that?” he grunted. “You like being stuffed with my cock?”

I did, oh I did. I bounced up and down on his dick, pushing myself against him, the walls of my cunt tensing as I got myself all worked up. I pushed my breasts against his face, swinging them across his lips. In no time at all I was very close to coming.

“You want that cock?”

I came to a slow, slippery halt.

“Did you come?”

I nodded, the flush of orgasm all through me: “It was the words,” I explained.

Jed smiled up at me: “I should have known.”

I lay on my back and this time Jed slipped inside me, wrapping my legs around his neck. “Does that hurt?” Face to face, I saw that his hairline was receding a bit.

“No, it’s OK.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded and his cock raked through me, long and deep. Then he flipped me over onto all fours and I moaned while he chanted: “Do you want to get stuffed with my eight inch cock?”

Eight inches! “Yeah.” I mumbled. “Yeah. Give it to me,” I sighed: “Oh, God.” Jed’s legs pressed against the backs of my thighs in a constant rhythm. It hurt. It was a nice, tight muscle pain, the sort of pain you don’t quite want to stop.

Jed was nowhere near close to coming, so we took a break for a bit. “Hey,” I said. “Were you mad when I asked you how many women you’d slept with?”

“No,” said Jed.

“You seemed a bit put out,” I persevered.

“No, I wasn’t.”

He had been, though.

Then Jed asked me: “Have you ever had anal sex?”

“Uh uh. It’s my last virginity.” Well, one of them, anyway.

“You just have to go real slow, and use lots of lube,” said Jed, who sounded like he was repeating a speech he’d given before. As was perhaps the case. I got the impression that Jed was used to being the experienced one, the one who explained things to girls. And even though he probably is more experienced than me, despite my late blooming sexual free-for-all, I just couldn’t look to him like a great source of wisdom. He is eleven years my junior, after all.

When we’d first met, Jed had said he was amazed when he realized how old I was; he’d guessed I was his age. And then earlier tonight he’d said that even though he knew I was older, I still seemed young to him. It’s my demeanor, and I know that I cultivate that with the shy look from under my lids, the goofy awkwardness … and it doesn’t hurt that I am short and have a round face. I play young, I guess. On the other hand, I know I seem very mature to Jim who is in some (well, most) ways so inexperienced. But Jim doesn’t have Jed’s affectations, which, if I myself were 23, I would probably mistake for wisdom. But Jed’s air of worldly wisdom should be taken care of by the ensuing years.

“The hottest thing,” said Jed, “Is knowing that a girl wants it, wants me to fuck her ass.”

So is the best moment the fucking or the anticipation of the fuck – that heavy lidded look, the silent begging and thrust out ass? I considered this for a minute.

Then we started to fuck again and, after the application of a bit more lube, Jed came at last. We collapsed in a sweaty heap, breathing in rhythm.

“I should probably go soon,” said Jed.

“OK,” I said. The other night, Jim and I had had a big fight about just this: we had had sex and then, after a bit of cuddling, he’d announced that he was going home.

“You are?” I said, and had not bothered to keep the outraged dignity out of my voice.

“Yeah, well, I have to get up early in the morning…” he saw the look on my face. “I guess...”

“This isn’t something you could have told me before?” I asked. I was very annoyed: “You just come over and fuck me and now you’re going?” I sat up on the end of my bed, and turned away from him. I thought his behavior incredibly rude.

“Lily! No… it’s not that… I’m sorry, look I’ll stay.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want you to stay now.” I wasn’t trying to be difficult. “I mean, I don’t want you to stay, knowing that you’re staying against your will.”

“No! I want to stay. Look, just let me brush my teeth and…”

“I think you should go, OK?” And then Jim had started to cry. I had ended up comforting him and telling him it was OK, I didn’t hate him, but I’d sent him home anyway. Because there was no way that I wanted him in my bed against his will.

The following morning I’d opened a long and self loathing email from him, begging my forgiveness.

I mean, there wasn’t a great deal to forgive. I gather Jim has some OCD tendencies that involve lots of bedtime and morning rituals that sleeping at my place would have interrupted. He had only had to tell me that beforehand.

But Jed was a different kettle of fish -- look at how long it had taken for me to get him into my bed! While I thought it would be polite for him to stay, or at least to express a desire to stay, I hadn't expected him to and couldn’t be upset at his plans to leave.

Then Jed said: “Have you ever wanted anyone out of your bed after sex?”

“No,” I said. “Cause I don’t have sex with anyone who I wouldn’t want to stay overnight.” This is not quite true. When I slept with Dominant Jordan I had wanted him out immediately, which I guess is the reason I no longer see him. Anyway, in general this is the case: I like the men I sleep with. And I kind of enjoy the disjointed sleep you get when you’re conscious of a strange body beside you. At any rate, I don’t have a problem with that kind of intimacy.

“Well, it’s kind of late… can I stay?”

“No.” I rolled my eyes: “Of course you can.” Frankly I think it’s only polite. I was glad, even though his scent wasn’t doing much for me and he didn’t strike me as a cuddler.

We went outside so that Jed could have a smoke, and we sat on the stoop sharing an additive free cigarette. I told him about my novel and he told me about his screenplay, and I think we both felt pretty arty and cool. Then we went back inside and, as we’d fucked for a long time and it was a school night, went to sleep.


waveman said...

I was struck by the power of words to make you climax. That can really be a turn out but how do you know if you are insulting the woman you are having sex with? I know lots of women who hate the word cunt. But you included it in your description. It was hot, earthy and not negative — all key points to use it. But words do have the ability, whether spoken or even read, to arouse, to harden, to moisten, to make a body flush with orgasm. Nicely done. One thing I have to ask, though: With all that lube, how did you keep from slipping off?

Lily said...


In my (non-sexual) experience of women, "cunt" is not a word many of them like. I would not use the word in the heat of the moment with a woman, thought I like it tons myself. When I was writing this entry, I actually wrote "pussy" first, but the thing is, I personally prefer the word "cunt". I think the hard "c" and the dentalization give it a clean, blunt sound (I guess this is the old Germanic vs. the Norman French English language stuff? Will have to check). Anyway, the word "pussy" bothers me because it is a euphemism, and therefore kinda dirty. Also, in keeping with the sound issue, the soft "p" and sibilance don't have the sort of sexiness of "cunt," I think. I went into this with Jefferson once... here:
And I did slip off a few times! Waveman, you are very insightful!

waveman said...

You know, I could not have said it better. The hard C. That's the thing I couldn't put my finger on until you said it. Pussy was such a wimpy word. Really. And as long as you don't fall far or have someone to catch you, it's OK to slip.