Dirty and Clean

It was still early, and everyone was dressed. But when the phone rang our host wasn’t in the room. “Hey!” I called. “Your phone.”

“Incoming call,” trilled the automated voice: oh, that was my phone. I picked up. “Hello?”

“Hello, Lily? This is Jed Jones.” Gosh, his voice was really deep.

“Hey! How’re you?”

“I’m OK. Listen, are you going to Jefferson’s party tonight?”

I smiled at nothing in particular: “Jed,” I said, “I’m already here.”

**

But meanwhile I wanted to spend some time with Alex. He had brought his friend Amy, but she was in the midst of a conversation with a dreadlocked guy on the sofa, and they appeared to be getting cozy. Alex is so smart and easy to get along with – just nice to be around. He is shy, and I wanted him to have a good time, even though it wouldn’t be with me: it hadn’t been three weeks since we’d last fooled around, so, as per the rules of his open relationship with Katie, he was off limits tonight.

When Emma and Adam showed up I introduced Alex to them and we all stood around talking with Donny. As time wore on, Donny casually unbuttoned his shirt – a proactive kind of guy. He had a really impressive six pack, and he's super-cute, but not my type, sadly.

Meanwhile, on the sofa Amy and the dreadlocked guy were making out. I nudged Alex: “I guess that’s going well!” He nodded at me owlishly from behind his specs. Amy had told me she was an attorney, and did not appear to me at all like the type to be entwined with a stranger within 20 minutes of meeting him, but what do I know?

Cody turned up; I wanted Alex to meet her. They were both shy, sweet and good-looking, and I felt this kind of symmetry shouldn’t be ignored. However, they were in different conversational orbits, so instead I made Jefferson show me photos of his daughter Rachel’s wedding.

When Jed arrived I was chatting with Adam and Emma et al and as he leaned down to kiss me I gave him my most demure-but-sly smile. I would have gone with him into the back bedroom right then, frankly, but after a moment he drifted off to talk to Cody. I kept my eye on him, determined not to have a repeat of last month’s sex-free fiasco. Because I wanted to look nonchalant rather than desperate to get it on, it took me a while, but eventually I sidled up to Cody. She told me she had just been to meet Hanson at a record store and told me about her encounters with them (Zak is her favorite).

God, she is a sweetheart. Hanson.

Then Jed slipped behind me and put his arms around my shoulders. I tried to continue my conversation with Cody but I’m afraid I was totally distracted. Jed and I kissed and smirked at one another in a no doubt annoying manner before ambling down the hall to the back bedroom. I wanted the single bed – that’s about as much privacy you can get at Jefferson’s, unless you’re going to draw the curtain and fuck in the shower. But when we got there Amy and her new friend were sitting there, watching the foursome on the futon opposite.

The only person I could see (it was dark and, well, their faces weren’t really apparent) was Calico, the beautiful model. Her hair was in two schoolgirl’s braids and her pale body shone in the dark. It was a mash of people and as we watched, Amy walked over to the futon to get a closer look.

Jed and I settled onto the single bed next to the dreadlocked guy (I was hoping he’d take the hint and leave us the bed) while Amy edged her way towards Calico, who was facedown on top of someone or someones. Amy clambered onto the futon and bent her head down over Calico.

Calico’s head popped up: “Who’s there?”

Amy introduced herself.

“Oh, it’s OK,” Calico said, “You know, I just want to know who’s…”

I would personally have been kind of freaked out if someone put their mouth on my naked body without having let me know they were there, but Calico is apparently a laid back kind of person in that way.

I turned to Jed and we started to kiss, and at last the dreadlocked guy gave up the bed and we were free to stretch out.

We were slipping out of our clothes when others – I’m not sure who, but definitely Adam and Emma and maybe Carlotta, too, I think — tumbled into the room, laughing and chatting. Jed was lying on top of me, and I wanted him to cover me up completely: I felt really exposed. So I closed my eyes, like children do, the idea being, I can’t see you, so you can’t see me.

After some rather violent kissing Jed slid inside me and he was sweating ferociously and I tried to enjoy fucking him, but I was conscious of the others in the room, even though they were all otherwise occupied.

“Can I fuck your ass?”

“Uh huh.” Now I was a veteran! I knew that this was what Jed really liked.

This time, despite the application of much BabeLube, I was a bit tight, mostly ’cause I just couldn’t entirely relax, but again, it wasn’t painful. Of course, “it wasn’t painful” is not an overwhelmingly positive review. But I was too busy concentrating on not noticing the others, and couldn’t enjoy Jed’s grunts as he thrust at me with his long cock. Damn!

After he came I stroked his hair as he lay with his head on my chest, breathing heavily. I wanted to say, “Stay,” to hide me here beneath him until the room had cleared out. But I didn’t, because I didn’t want to have to ask him and I resented that I would have to ask him and anyway I knew he wouldn’t. He would want to be on Jefferson’s terrace, smoking cigarettes and flirting. When Jed excused himself I got dressed quickly, leaving the foursome on the futon and the group in the middle of the room, feeling worked up from all the fucking without orgasm.

I needed a break and when I went back to the living room I halted by the stereo: “Jefferson, are we listening to the Buzzcocks’s Singles Going Steady?”

“Why, yes we are!” Jefferson smiled.

Jacob, sitting on the sofa with some others, grinned at me. I had known that would get his attention. Though The Buzzcocks don’t really strike me as orgy music.

I slumped onto the couch next to Jacob and helped myself to a Double Stuf Oreo. “Hey!” I said. “How’s it going with that girl?”

“Ah,” he grimaced. “We’re just friends.”

This is an interesting story: at the last orgy Jacob told me he had just met a girl. They’d eyed one another at the supermarket near his apartment and then he’d nearly run into her on the street a few minutes later but for some reason had been unable to make contact. So he went home and posted an ad on Craig’s List’s Missed Connections! And, as he had told me, not 15 minutes later she had responded, and they had been on several dates and had not yet slept together and she was hotter than anyone here at the orgy now (I’m quoting).

But apparently it had come to naught, because, as Jacob explained, “I just don’t have the time to get involved with someone I’m not comfortable with.”

This struck me as sad – he’d been so enthusiastic. I expressed my sympathies and, after I’d eaten a suitable number of Oreos, got up to check out the action. “Don’t be a stranger,” Jacob urged.

I drifted back down the hall to Jefferson’s bedroom. The room was packed. And I was astonished and turned on to find Alex, in his underwear, wrapped around Mmmark in a hot clinch.

Ho boy. I swallowed. As usual, Mmmark seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. Alex’s face was hidden from view, but he, too, appeared pretty satisfied with this turn of events. Everyone else was likewise engaged. I slunk back against the wall for a minute, watching the couples writhe in the dark in happy abandon.

Part of me wanted to be in on the action, giggling and slurping and burying my mouth against someone’s skin. But I was also feeling just unwilling to be so exposed. Which is not the kind of attitude that serves one well at an orgy. OK. It’s time for me to go, I determined. I went to the bathroom and decided to make my goodbyes to Jefferson, and to Alex, whom I didn’t want to abandon. I found him in the back bedroom, sitting on Lillie’s bed. He was alone.

“Hey! You and Mmmark!” I said by way of greeting.

Alex nodded fervently.

“That was hot!”

Alex nodded fervently, again. I felt like I’d sent my protege out into the sex world for the first time, and he’d scored big. “Did you…?” What I wanted to know was had they done more than kissing? What had I missed?

Finally I abandoned all delicacy and, taking a seat next to him I whispered: “Did you go down on him?”

Once more, Alex gave me a nod. I high-fived him. “Well done! Doesn’t Mmmark have a nice dick?” Another nod from Alex while we both considered Mmmark’s anatomy. When I’d recovered I remembered my point: “Listen, I think I’m going to go.”

“OK.” Alex has the habit of looking as if he’s paying close attention when you talk to him, as if what you have to say is really important. I like that.

We hugged, and I sloped out of the room, only to run right into Jed. “Oh, hey. I’m about to take off.”

“What? You’re leaving?” I was gratified to see he appeared to be disappointed.

“Yeah, it’s late…”

“Oh,” He leaned down to me: “I was hoping you’d fuck me…”

Aha, the old ‘I was hoping you’d fuck me’ gambit! “Well, I… Oh, what the hell. Sure.”

So we tripped back into the back room, where we’d fucked earlier and where I’d last seen Alex perched on Lillie’s single bed. It was empty now. “I’ll go wash my hands,” I offered.

“People usually do that afterwards.”

“Well, I’ve got Oreo crumbs on me.” Not so sexy, Oreo crumbs.

When I returned Jed had stretched out on the bed. He was naked and the short, wide dildo I’d first encountered at his place a few weeks ago was beside him. I perched next to him, and then leaned over. We kissed. “Take off your shirt,” Jed said. I obeyed, keeping my eyes on him.

The room was empty but for the two of us, and I was relieved. As usual, I waited for Jed’s instructions. I like taking orders from him. Ahem.

He gestured to the bottle of lube, and I slid some all over my fingers. “Put a finger inside me,” Jed said after a minute.

I complied. I liked the slick, soft feeling of his innermost skin against my fingertips. Jed sighed, and I half smiled at his expression. Nothing else seems to get Jed as worked up as this. And even though I like it when he’s in control (over me), I like it when he’s out of control, too.

“Put another finger in,” Jed breathed. I fit my middle finger inside him, along with my index. He opened right up with no resistance at all. I liked that; how easily his body responded, how eager he was. I bent lower over him, stroking his ass with my skin.

“Put another one in,” he muttered, so I slipped my ring finger in this time. I went in slowly, so as to not stretch or hurt him, but it didn’t matter: he was wide open. His body was begging for it, just as women are supposed to be begging for it in the fantasy of fraternity brother speak. My breathing was getting a little shallow.

“More,” said Jed, so I fit my pinkie inside him, too. Sliding my hand in and out, I gazed at my fingers, astonished at what I was doing, and at the fact that the puckered dot of Jed’s anus could open up to fit all my fingers. Christ. I swallowed, and shifted a bit on the bed. I was getting wet.

“Put your whole hand in,” he urged. I looked at my wet hand doubtfully, but, after a moment, I slid my hand underneath him again and slowly inched my entire fist up his ass.

Holy smokes!

“Ahhhh!” groaned Jed.

My whole hand! I was fisting him! This was anal fisting! “Jesus Christ,” I gasped. “I’ve got my entire hand inside you.”

“Your hands are … really … tiny,” Jed breathed as he strained against me, arching and bucking. “Now the dildo.” I had almost forgotten about that in all the excitement. I slowly tugged my hand out, gazing at my sloppy wet fingers for a minute in wonder. It had been inside someone’s ass! But onwards: I squirted lube over Jed’s dildo, and then carefully turned it to face up, like he’d directed me the other week. As he squirmed on the bed, I fitted the dildo right inside him.

“Aaahh,” he said again. I crouched low over Jed’s torso, pushing the dildo up his ass, swinging my hand. “Oh, Lily…”

“Oh,” I murmured. “Oh, Jed, you’re doing great.” I slid the dildo back and forth, pushing it up Jed’s ass while he grunted. “You’re taking it like a champ,” I crooned. I have always, always wanted a chance to say this; to me it just sounds incredibly dirty and sexy. “Oh, you’re taking it really well, baby.” I slung my hips back and forth as I swung the dildo up his ass, slipping it out just a bit to hear him moan. Jed tugged on his dick. “Oh, Lily,” he said. “Fuck me, Lily. Fuck me.”

How I loved hearing him say my name. I bent lower, pushing my breasts towards him and rubbing the dildo more fiercely. “Oh, you’re doing so well,” I murmured. “That’s real nice.”

“Lily. Oh, Lily!” I watched smugly as with a shudder Jed came, a stream of semen spurting out onto his stomach. For a moment he lay still, his chest heaving.

Then I stood up and went into the bathroom, where I scrubbed my hands with Jefferson’s Vanilla Bean Noel hand soap from Bath & Body Works. When I got back to the bedroom, Jed was gone.

I pulled my shirt on, and back out in the hall I looked at my hands: I just had unprotected sex, didn’t I? Unprotected hand sex. Well, fisting. Ah: there was Jed.

“Heeeey,” he said, looking totally unconcerned, as usual.

I glanced down at my hands. “I should have worn gloves for that, right?” I don’t know why I was even asking, only he’d had experience with fisting (anal fisting! Wow) and I hadn’t.

Jed looked at me: “Give me your hands.” I placed my paws in his, and he held them up to the light.

“You’re fine,” he said after a minute. “You don’t have any scratches or anything, besides, I’m totally clean.”

I think he mean that he was free of disease; I already knew he was entirely clean, ass-wise. As Wendy had once asked me, “Do you think he spends all that time in the bathroom using an enema? That boy is immaculate.” (My guess: yes).

“OK,” I said, looking at my pink little hands, now smelling faintly of soap. “But if we do this again, we’re using gloves.”

And I trooped back to the living room, too tired to be worried about my bout of Unprotected Hand Sex. Alex had disappeared, as had Jefferson, and I really wanted to get moving before Jed suggested anything else I was likely to agree to. Though I’d fulfilled my directive to live somewhat dangerously and I felt smug, the apartment was hot and I was tired and hadn’t come and I was going home.

Another Virginity Gone! Or, Mermaids and The Theory of Jed

I got a text from Jefferson: “Want to see the mermaids?”

I’d forgotten: it was the day of the Mermaid Parade at Coney Island. I had never been. In fact, I don’t think I had been to Coney Island since I was three years old. Since I had between planning to spend the day stalking Jeremy I deemed this to be a healthier option. I said sure.

I got to Coney Island late, but Jefferson and company were later. I wandered for a bit, eating a lemon ice, then stationed myself outside of the Surf Ave. exit of the subway station, where people were streaming out.

It was hot and I hadn’t brought any sunscreen. I was moving back into the shade, right by the exit, when I saw someone: Jed.

What were the odds? It was so improbable and yet as I’d been thinking about him, I wasn’t as surprised as I ought to have been, statistically speaking. I started towards him: this was too good an opportunity to miss. Jed was talking to someone, a girl. For a second, I veered away, uncertain. Then I thought: Don’t be ridiculous. So I went up to him and tapped his arm.

A grin spread across his face: “What are you doing here?” I gave him an awkward kiss. He wore a camera around his neck and was carrying a silver board, I guess for lighting.

“Jefferson invited me … didn’t you…?”

We stared at one another for a moment.

Then he said, “I’m actually supposed to be meeting some friends but I missed them…”

I squinted up at him; he was a good head taller than me. Would he hang out with us, then? “Can you see?” Jed asked, gesturing at the mermaids.

I shook my head.

“Get on my back.”

I clambered up onto him and rode piggyback, feeling a little weird. After another phone we finally met up with Jefferson and the others: “Look who I found!” I glinted triumphantly at Jefferson.

I had recently proposed my theory of Jed to Jefferson. The previous week, I had lamented my inability to get quality time with Jed, and Jefferson had, sensibly, suggested that I go all out and actually contact Jed myself!

So throwing caution to the wind, I had sent Jed a brief email. It read: “Jefferson says that in order to get some time alone with you I should be blunt. I should say (his exact words) ‘Get me a drink and fuck me good.’”

Then I went on to say that while I felt this was a little forward, my sentiments were the same and, in fact, a drink wouldn’t be necessary – did he want to get together?

Jed never responded, which could be chalked up to his total flakiness, but also endorses my theory that Jed is interested in women who don’t approach him. I felt that Jefferson’s instincts had led me wrong and that I had made a tactical error by pursuing Jed. Hmmph. So now I was resolved not to approach Jed, which had gone out the window as soon as I saw him.

But here he was, flitting around with his camera and just being there in the corner of my awareness, all hot and no doubt conscious of the effect he was having on me.

Jefferson was accompanied by Callie, Jake, Cody, Viviane and a tall redhead whose name I didn’t know. He was wearing a blue tee shirt emblazoned with the words DADDY LIKES in raised felt letters, sort of old school looking. “I like your shirt,” I said, tapping him on the chest. Jefferson smirked.

Wendy caught up to us along the parade route – I’d thought she was with Jefferson and hadn’t grabbed her when Jed and I found Jefferson. So we all busied ourselves getting cups and digging Double stuff Oreos out of plastic bags. Cody was wearing a short sleeve shirt and I saw long thin weals along her left arm. That girl. When I first met her, in February, her naked torso was scratched with scars, which I had thought were evidence of a sexual masochism. But Cody’s self inflicted scars designate a more personal and less exuberant message. I hadn’t recognized them for what they were because I’d never seen the results of taking glass to the skin in an effort to overcome emotional pain with physical mutilation. Seeing her pale arms all scraped up made me want to shake her. She smiled at Jake and stood leaning into Jefferson and I thought, “You’re such a pretty girl. You don’t need all that makeup.” Her face was covered in foundation, and I’d like to see her bangs thinned out a bit, too. She’s so pretty, and they hide her face.

**

“Do you want to see?” Jefferson motioned me up to the front, and introduced me to the redhead, a.k.a. Meg, teacher and slut. I stationed myself right by the barrier, where I could see mermaids in all their weird glory: the Seapranos, the guys dressed as Vikings selling “Mermaid meat,” synchronized swimmers performing their routines on the ground. I hadn’t realized that these costumes were more than just mermaid outfits. I stared, open-mouthed as Jefferson took photos of the “Lady Marmalade” sex mermaids.

Jed strayed into the parade itself to take photos and when the parade ended he had disappeared. Wendy told me that he was planning to meet up with us later. Huh. I figured we had seen the last of him. So much for my plans for bedding him.

We all trekked to the beach, finding an empty spot far to the left of the Cyclone. There we settled ourselves with plastic plates full of Wendy’s macaroni salad and strawberries, drinking bottled water and red wine and gins and tonics from a big thermos.

We sat and gossiped and some adventurous folk even dipped their toes in the water. At 7:00 my phone rang: it was Jed. “Where are you?” he asked.

“We’re to the left of the Astroland sign,” I said helplessly. He said he’d find us but had to call back as my directions were so vague. I stood up. “I’ll come meet you,” I announced.

“Do you see the kites?”

I studied the sky: “No!”

But eventually I spied a fluttering red ribbon, just over the water. “Oh, right!”

“Meet me by the kite flyers.”

The kites bobbed above the water, and there I made a right and followed the strings, like that guy looking for Ariadne in the labyrinth, only without the nobility of purpose. At last I spied Jed, concentrating on the kite string he was tugging. He was standing next to two girls, both of whom appeared pretty impressed by their luck.

I greeted them all, and one of the women offered me her spool. I’d never flown a kite, and gingerly took the spool in my hand, and gave the thread a few tugs.

“You don’t have to raise you arms like that,” one of the girls counseled. “Just gently move your wrist.” She was, I noticed, wearing a black stretch bandage around her wrist. God, had kite flying given her carpal tunnel syndrome? Yikes. I adjusted my movements. Next to me, Jed swung his arm over his head wildly, enjoying himself, I would guess.

But the others were waiting for us. After a few minutes I returned the kite to the girl and Jed and I stumbled over the sand back towards the others. My sense of direction is not the best.

I gestured to the camera around his neck: “Did you get lots of good shots?”

“Yeah, great. Listen, do you want to come over later?”

Score! “Sure,” I said.

“Do you want to go on the roller coaster, maybe?”

I glanced at the Cyclone: “OK. I’ve never been on a roller coaster, you know.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah. Except for a kiddie one. But, you know, this is my year of living somewhat dangerously, so I should take the plunge.”

“Lily,” there was a laugh in his voice: “Am I just part of your experiment?”

I clutched his arm: “Oh, Jed,” I vamped, “You are so much more than that.”

**

When we reached the others everyone was starting to clear up. I helped pack up and then we made our goodbyes and headed towards the Cyclone.

At the line for the roller coaster, Jed went off to get something to eat. He came back carrying a corn dog, and offered it to me.

“I’ve never eaten a corn dog,” I offered, taking a bite. It was salty and boiled rather than grilled, and the cornmeal (?) was sweet and thick.

“Really? Well, this isn’t the best representation,” Jed allowed.

I took one more bite and gave it back to him. “I’m nervous about going on the Cyclone,” I said. Absolutely true. I had realized what I’d let myself in for: a ride on an elderly wooden roller coaster. “You’d better finish that.”

Jed wanted to sit in the front car but I, terrified, convinced him that it was enough for me to ride on the roller coaster, I needn’t have a heart attack as well. We checked our things and settled into the third car, locking ourselves into the seats. Jed put his arm around me and clamped his arm onto my hand. “Just hold on,” he advised. No worries there: my arm was glued to the metal rung.

We started with a slow rise, and it was beautiful, sunset over Coney Island. The sky was streaked pink and the lights from other rides were winking along the boardwalk. “Whoooo!” Jed screamed in happy anticipation. Then the car jerked and swerved, and we went over, swooping sharply down along the tracks. “Aaaaahhhh!” I, and everyone else, shrieked. “Keep your eyes open,” Jed counseled. Too late: I had shut my eyes just before we’d swung down, and I didn’t dare open them: “Ahhhhhhh!!” I screamed. With each movement I was lifted out of my seat a bit, and I was terrified that somehow I would be thrown from the car and hurtled to a gory death below. A girl flew off a roller coaster in the Midwest a few years ago; it’s happened.

We swooped up and down, and I dared open my eyes during our slow climb, but otherwise contented myself with gripping the armrest and shrieking. But it was over very soon, and we shambled to a halt under the grid of the coaster. My heart was pounding, and my limbs were weak with relief as I climbed out of the car. “I have to tell you,” I admitted, “I kept my eyes shut for most of that.”

Jed looked disappointed.

Safely on the ground he lit a cigarette. “Can I have a drag? I just rode a roller coaster, so I think I’m entitled.” I clutched his arm. “You know,” I said, “In my first ad…”

“What ad?”

“My Craig’s List ad. The one I published a year ago. Well, on it I said I wanted to do some of the things I’d never done, like have casual sex, ride a roller coaster, and eat a habanero pepper. Now I’ve done two of those things!”

“Let’s get you a jalapeno!” He tugged my arm. Luckily we did not find one, but instead threw softballs towards a basket in the hopes of winning some stuffed animals, with poor results, and shot up bad guys at an arcade. Finally I bought us both bottles of beer and we agreed to split a cab back to his place. We stood on the corner outside Nathan’s Famous. Jed, still clutching his silver board, was being jostled. He drew me aside and we stood in the dark, the people pushing past us, drunk and merry.

We kissed, and then he placed his hand where my neck and jaw meet, and that seemed to me a kind of possession, and I liked it. I swallowed, and trailed my fingers along the gap between his top and his jeans. “I like that,” he said.

We stood there for a moment. “Come on, let’s get a cab,” I said finally.

Eventually we found ourselves in the backseat of a Lincoln heading back towards his neighborhood, trading stories about our youth. I could picture him as a cocky adolescent, stalking around in his cowboy boots, declaiming on philosophy while eager girls hung on his every word. He had not lost the habit of declaiming, for he managed to turn every anecdote or sentence into a moral lesson or to explain how it had affected him. He appeared interested in my stories, but not as interested as he was in his own. Which I suppose is the case with all of us, only some of us know how to hide this disinterest better, perhaps.

**

Back at his place we dumped our stuff on the couch. His roommate was nowhere to be seen. Then Jed took my hand and I followed him into his room.

I took off all but my underwear – hell, I hadn’t shaved my legs, and I was wearing really old bikini underpants. That’ll learn me. I climbed up the ladder, and sat on his loft bed, the roof low over my head. After a minute Jed joined me.

We looked at one another. “Turn over,” he said, “I want to hit you.”

With a sigh I obeyed: “Start slow,” I warned him.

So he did, just how I like it – the first tentative brush, then the light slap and then the thwack. I clenched my ass against the onslaught. I was shaking. Wow. Wow. Wow. I heard myself whimper.

He entered me from behind. Although I find being on all fours rather exhausting and hard on the knees, I like lying on my stomach and being fucked. I don’t come that way, at least I never have, but it really feels good. “Are you OK?” Jed asked as he pumped away.

“Uh huh. You?” I am nothing if not polite. I turned my head to face him, looming over my shoulder.

Jed smiled: “Unless you’re penetrating me, you can assume I’m OK.”

Oh, right.

Soon I climbed on top. of him and started swinging back and forth, not taking my eyes off him. As expected, he slid a finger into my ass.

Jed’s hair spread out against the pillow. God, he was sexy. I thrust my hips forward and rode him back and forth. “I have been thinking about you all week,” I breathed. True: he turns me on so much, I’d been fantasizing about fucking him, off an on since I’d last seen him.

Jed didn’t say anything. Was this the wrong thing to say? Oh well. I came.

Afterwards we switched positions, with Jed on top of me. “Can I fuck your ass?”

He had asked me that before, and I’d said OK, but in the end he hadn’t done it. Later, I’d asked him why, and he said he could see it wasn’t that into it. He was right, I wasn’t, and I wouldn’t pretend otherwise.

“I had two fingers in there,” Jed went on. Meaning he thought it wouldn’t be painful.

“OK,” I said. He had the BabeLube and was prepared to use it, I knew, and would go as slow as I needed. I didn’t like the idea that it might be painful, but what the hell: Live Somewhat Dangerously.

So. He slicked up his dick and slid his finger up in my ass again, and then another. And then, after a bit more lube and fingering, he put his cock in my ass and slid his body on top of mine.

Hmm. I lay there, breathless, as Jed pushed himself inside me. I was astonished to discover that it did not hurt. Hallelujah.

“OK?” panted Jed. I nodded.

It felt strange, I was being fucked – I felt like I was being fucked—but at the same time there was this empty space in my cunt where cock usually fills me up.

“You like getting your ass pounded?” Jed muttered.

“Uh huh,” I said, in wonder. I kind of did.

“You like being destroyed?” He thrust at me.

I exhaled loudly: “Uhh…” then he turned me over and slipped back inside my cunt before he came. Ahh.

Well. So. I’d been butt fucked. Another virginity gone. And it hadn’t even hurt. I felt perfectly fine, not at all raw or sore. I stared at the ceiling, considering this. Then Jed and I clambered down his ladder and got dressed. At the door of his room we faced one another, smiling. “I dig you,” I said, looping a finger through his waistband.

We settled on the couch in his living room. After a moment Jed turned to me and said, “Lily, I have to talk to you about something; it’s really important.”

I drew back and raised my brows in mock alarm. “OK.” I looked up at him.

“No, really,” Jed nodded emphatically: “I’m serious.” I nodded again. “I want you to know that I really like you, but I don’t see myself falling in love with you. I just don’t see it.” He shook his lovely golden head and waved his hand to indicate no: “I don’t see it at all,” he added, in case I had missed what he was saying.

I stared at him, openmouthed.

“I mean, I just want to make sure everything’s clear. I just didn’t want you to think … I know that we’ve hung out together a few times…”

Like, what, when we went to the movies? Huh! Had I been auditioning for the role of girlfriend without being realizing it?

Here’s what I was thinking:

1. You twit! Of course you’re not going to fall in love with me, nor I with you. I am 11 years older than you.

2. What, do you think I’m falling for you? You conceited little… You’re not all that! I lust after you, but I should hope that at my advanced age I know the difference between chemically induced infatuation and romantic longing.

3. Huh! What, I’m not good enough for you to fall in love with? I’m hot! I’m smart! I’m kind! I listen to you! How dare you not want to fall in love with me!

4. Do I seem needy? Oh, please, not that.

5. Oh, grow up, Lily. You’re being a baby.

6. Am not.

7. Are too.

But I forbore to say any of these things. Because, as I’ve noted, I am 11 years older than Jed and even if he is tactless, I am not.

“Uh,” I said at last, smiling faintly: “I … don’t expect that from you…” I shook my head.

“Really?” Jed looked relieved. “I met this girl, and I don’t know her as well as I know you, but…”

But I didn’t have time for this: “Do I seem nee—”

“No, no,” Jed promised. “I don’t think you’re needy, or clingy, or anything. I want everything with us to stay exactly as it is now. I like talking to you, and I like listening to you…”

At least I wasn’t needy. And then I wondered if he’d deliberately waited until after we’d had anal sex to inform me. I mean, my vanity was wounded more than anything else, but if Jed had really thought I was falling for him, surely he had been selfish…

And Jed went on about this girl he was interested in, a Danish woman he had met briefly and “spent a few hours fucking,” as he put it. It occurred to me, and not for the first time, that Jed likes girls who aren’t really available. I watched him covertly (at this point I was mortified to think he thought I was falling for him, and didn’t want to stare), and I felt kind of sad for him. I don’t know why, exactly. So we sat on the sofa and Jed checked his email while I tried to decide how I felt about this conversation. There was a party going on at some warehouse and Jed wanted to go, but first we were going to stop at a different party on his roof.

“Hmmm,” I said. “Do I smell like sex? Maybe I should take a shower.”

“You smell like fresh girl,” he said. Which was nice.

So we went to the roof, but it was empty so we headed out onto the street. Jed had a yelled conversation with a guy looking out the window of the building opposite. I could not believe how much I was reminded of college, despite the urban setting. Then we headed over to the party.

It was held in an old factory about a ten minute walk from Jed’s apartment. We got our hands stamped and Jed bought a burger with onion jam and I had a gin and tonic. We sat at a picnic table and I tried to ignore the fact that I was older than everyone else here. And the fact that, thanks to our illuminating and ego-bruising conversation, I no longer felt comfortable with Jed.

Soon we got up and started to dance. I talked to some girls, and Jed disappeared. And even though we’d had our conversation and I had no intention of falling in love with Jed anyway, I still had my eye out for him and wondered if he found this or that girl attractive.

After about a half an hour of this Jed reappeared. We danced together for a bit, but by now it was pretty late and I was tired.

I said as much to Jed. “I’m torn,” said Jed. “I mean, it’s not even about other girls. I just want to dance. How about I walk you home and then I’ll come back?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I laughed: “OK.”

But first we climbed up the fire escape and checked out the rest of the party. There was a room where people were waiting their turn to play Centipede (Centipede! I mean it’s retro to the party guests who are in their 20’s but to me it’s an actual game I remember from arcade machines and on friends’ Ataris…) on a screen projected onto the wall. We wandered for a bit, then left.

Back at his place Jed disappeared into the bathroom while I slouched on the sofa. His room was so hot and dark, I wanted to relax here for a bit.

At last Jed came out. He walked over to me and, leaning over, said, “Remember how I fucked you earlier?”

I wasn’t likely to forget it.

He went on, “How would you feel about turning the tables on me, and you fucking my ass?”

Oho!

“OK,” I said. “Sure.”

“Really?” He shook his head. “You are something else.”

I went into the bedroom and after a minute I heard Air’s Masculin/Feminin start: this was kind of sexy. Then Jed appeared, carrying a messenger bag. He climbed up to the bed and took out a cloth-wrapped package. It was two dildos: one short and wide, the other long and thinner.

Jed lay on his back and I sat between his legs, examining the dildos; I’d never held a one before.

“OK,” I said, glancing up between Jed’s legs. “You’re going to have to direct me.”

He nodded. “Lube up,” he instructed and I, accompanied by the trusty BabeLube, obeyed, squirting the liquid all over my fingers. “Now put you finger inside me.”

I slid my hand beneath him, and between his butt cheeks; he yielded easily to me. OK, so far so good.

“Now take it out. Now put it in.”

I followed along.

“Now two fingers.” Jed was looking not quite at my face, but at somewhere behind me. I applied more lube, and slid two fingers inside him.

It felt tight and wet and strangely familiar, much like my cunt feels like when I’ve put a finger inside. I pushed my fingers inside his yielding, juicy flesh.

“Watch your nails...!”

“Sorry!”

“Take your fingers out. Now put them back in.”

This went on for a bit and then Jed said, “OK, take the shorter one—” he meant the dildo – “Put some lube on it, and, yeah, turn it so it’s facing up. Is it facing up?”

“Uh huh.” I held the dildo in my hand gingerly, with the head curving towards me. I hoped I was doing this right.

“OK. Slowly put it in.” I pressed my hand against the dildo, and it slid right up Jed’s ass. It fitted like a plug. I smiled.

“Now take it out,” Jed said. His voice took on a new urgency.

I pulled, and the dildo came out with a slight pop.

“Slowly, take it out slowly,” Jed advised, breathing steadily. “OK, now put it back in, and out. Put it in. Take it out.”

I obeyed, my hand thrusting and tugging as I watched Jed’s expression. He took a bottle of poppers and swiped it under his nose – hey, why hadn’t he offered me any? – while I concentrated on fucking him.

“Now the other one,” Jed breathed. I rubbed lube all over the second, longer dildo, and making sure it was facing upward, slowly slid it up Jed’s ass.

“Yeah,” said Jed, as he tugged on his cock. “Oh, yeah. Take it out. Now put it in.” I was getting wet, seeing how aroused he was. “Oh Lily, yeah, fuck me,” he said as I bent over him, sweating, determined to fuck him good and proper. “Fuck me, Lily!”

He’d never said my name before during sex; I liked it. I squirmed a little, my panties were wet.

“Oh, oh, yeah! Yeah!” And then with a sigh Jed slumped, his hand still wrapped around his dick. I held the dildo in place as he came, semen spurting onto his stomach. “Ahhh,” Jed sighed.

Well.

We looked at one another.

“That was hot,” said Jed.

I nodded. My knickers were still damp. “I’m just going to wash my hands,” I said. I climbed down the ladder again and in the bathroom carefully scrubbed my hands, all the way up the forearm, hands dependent, like I’d been taught when I volunteered at a hospital. I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was frizzy with heat and waved out everywhere. I had just been fucked in the ass, and had fucked someone else’s ass. I looked for evidence to this effect in my face; I looked the same as ever, if slightly overheated. I looked around, at the bathroom of the 23 year old boy I was fucking, and I felt a long way from home.

When I went back to the bedroom Jed was dressed in jeans and a striped t-shirt. He was going back to the party, and I was going to sleep. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he informed me.

He gave me a kiss, and as I climbed back up to his loft I heard the front door slam shut.

Drinking and Dating: Dangerous Yet Fun!

I met Dean for drinks at a bar on the West Side. This was the culmination of the sudden blast from the past – getting an email from Tim (who then promptly disappeared) and then one from the man I was about to meet: Dean. He had contacted me last spring via the personals, only to bail on our date the day of, due to (he claimed) having met someone. Whether he’d met someone or just changed his mind it was clear he was not entirely truthful, since after he cancelled on me he was still online all the time. But alas.

So we arranged to meet at 5:00 pm, which I thought was a neutral non-date kind of time, and would allow me to be out of there by 7:30, 8:00 at the latest.

When I arrived, the bar was empty (one of the benefits of meeting someone at 5:00 pm on a Sunday evening), so when a tall man in jeans and sneakers stood up, I had no problem identifying him as my date.

“Hi,” we shook hands. “I’m Lily.”

“I’m Dean. Do you want to sit outside? They have a back yard…”

I trailed Dean the length of the bar and into the back yard. There we settled ourselves at a table and ordered: a Flirtini (me) and a glass of Pinot Grigio (him).

I studied his profile: he was really cute! He had a thin, angular face with high cheekbones and blue eyes. Unfortunately, he was wearing high-waisted jeans and sneakers, a look I abhor. If only he had worn low rise jeans and a t that wasn't tucked in! Alas. Also, there was something awkward about him, maybe it was his height? (he is very tall). I would have thought that someone so handsome would be more at ease, but there was an hesitancy and awkwardness about him.

We got to talking. To my surprise and delight, Dean is a native New Yorker. He actually knows someone I’ve known all my life. And he lived in a neighborhood I know well.

“Oh, hey,” I said, “My friend Jessie lives on your block, in the apartment building on the Southeast corner.”

“I live on the street itself, not on the corner.”

I know my New York City streets. I don’t know that there are any apartment buildings on that block. That could mean only one thing: “Do you live in a brownstone?” I asked.

“Uh huh,” he said, unaware of the effect his revelation was having on me.

Wow: a brownstone. I ordered another drink.

When my Flirtini came I offered him a sip, and when he reached for my drink his hand shook. Again, it seemed at odds with his relaxed slouch and easy conversation. “I’m not looking for a serious relationship,” he offered as we sipped our drinks in the late afternoon sun. I gazed up at the sky. “I just got out of a serious relationship and…”

I nodded. Was this his usual spiel to ward off potential girlfriends or was this a response to me? I couldn’t tell. Did I look like a person who wanted a boyfriend?

“What do you do?” I asked, not really anxious to talk about relationships.

“I’m a poker player.”

“No kidding!” I was pretty sure that on his personals profile his occupation had read “writer.”

He nodded.

“Wow.” I really didn’t know what to say to this. Probably “So, you’re a professional gambler, are you?” wouldn’t go over well, ditto “Oh, did you get caught up in that late 90’s Vince Vaughan – retro – Rat Pack trend? I thought it ended in 2002.” So I settled for, “How long have you been doing that?”

“Not very long.” And with this, Dean edged his chair closer to mine, and slid his hand on top of mine.

Oh! Startled, I took another gulp of my Flirtini. He was bold. Well, sort of: I noticed that his hand was still shaking. I looked up at him.

He leaned over and kissed me.

I mean, I wasn’t complaining, but I’d known him less than an hour.

“Was that too forward?” Dean asked.

Again, I wasn’t really sure what to say. I didn’t mind being assaulted by a cute guy, but we’d skipped the preliminaries, which I so enjoy. To wit: the hand brushing, the shy glances, the admitted embarrassment, all of which I find a prerequisite to an hour or so of drunken making out. I feel that clumsy foreplay adds a certain frisson to the proceedings.

“Well, um… I guess not,” I dithered. “I mean,” I added, anxious not to be rude, “It wasn’t unwelcome, but I barely know you. Did you get the idea that I’m easy?” I asked (I was a little squiffy at this point.) “Cause I am, you know, but…”

Dean laughed, and I looked at my lap and sniggered. Then he kissed me again. He smashed his lips against mine, holding my chin in his hand. What the hell: it was a Sunday afternoon in the summertime. I kissed him back.

“Let’s go to Central Park for a bit and then maybe catch a movie,” Dean suggested after we’d each had another drink and split a quesadilla.

“Well, I don’t know if I can make the movie…” this date was already going longer than I’d planned. Of course, I had nothing else to do but read the new Harry Potter, and I was trying to savor that one, anyway. So I found myself walking to Central Park with Dean. He took my hand. Oh, this was awkward: I came up to about his chest. I’d get a crick in my neck if I looked at him.

We traded memories of our respective New York pasts – oh, how I love meeting native New Yorkers, it makes the feeling of inborn superiority that much sweeter – and eventually ended up on a patch of green in the Sheep’s Meadow. I was feeling pretty drunk, so I sprawled on my back, as did Dean. Was this loose behavior, lying prone in public with a total stranger? Yes, I decided hazily, it sure was.

“I forget if you put ‘Don’t use drugs’ or ‘Prefer not to answer,’ on your personals profile,” Dean said.

“Um, well, I don’t remember,” I said. I had no idea. I don’t really use any recreational drugs (the poppers incident aside), but I didn’t want to eliminate cute boys who happened to smoke weed from my pool of potential boyfriends.

“Ahhh.”

“So, do you…” I mean, did he smoke weed or was he talking about something more exotic?

He was talking about weed. Marijuana had been invaluable to him, he informed me, especially in getting him to appreciate certain aspects of sex that otherwise he had been unable to enjoy.

I gaped at him. “Are you trying to tell me that you couldn’t go down on a woman before you started getting high?” This didn’t impress me. Is overcoming an aversion to oral sex so commendable? I feel men should enjoy going down on women. I enjoy giving head, after all.

“No, I mean...” Dean backtracked. “Before I started smoking, I couldn’t enjoy going down on a woman for itself … I mean, now…”

I snorted. “So now you can enjoy the experience?”

“Yeah.” Dean looked embarrassed. He’d only meant to let me know that sex with him meant lots of eager tongue action.

“Oh,” I sniggered again. “I don’t really get off on oral sex, anyway.”

After a moment Dean rolled on top of me. We lay sandwiched together on the grass. Is this totally inappropriate? I wondered, looking at the people around us. I must be pretty drunk. He kissed me, hard, and then pressed his index fingers along the line of my eyebrows.

“I’m submissive,” I said, apropos of nothing.

“Are you? I like that.”

“I thought you would.” Clearly, I had decided to sleep with this fellow. Well, that’s alcohol for you. Or attraction. Whatever.

A man carrying a plastic garbage bag was hawking beer. Dean hailed him. “Want to have a drink then we can see a movie?”

“Well… OK.”

“I’ve got mojitos!” offered the guy with the black plastic bag.

Mojitos it was. We watched in amazement as instead of presenting us with two bottles, the man proceeded to break out a flask, and then mixed two drinks in plastic cups.

It was getting late; the sun was fading in the July sky. “Come on,” said Dean, “Let’s see a movie.”

**

When we got out of the theatre it was dark at last. “Let’s get dinner,” said my date.

Drinking usually kills my appetite, but what the hell, it was a nice night, and we could sit outside and drink some more and flirt: “OK.”

We walked a few feet to a crowded restaurant and were seated at a table outside. “Put your foot in my lap,” said Dean. I obeyed, and he rubbed my ankle and the top of my foot. Drink made me voluble, and when Dean asked me if I was seeing anyone else, I gave him an edited resume.

“So how many men are you sleeping with?”

“Um…” I counted off: Jefferson, Jed, Jim. three. “No, wait, four.” And Alex. Christ, I must sound like a complete whore. “How many women are you seeing?”

“Well, two, but one of them I don’t see very often. The other one…” I sipped my white wine and nodded my encouragement. “I met her on Craig’s List.” Well, that’s how everyone meets, isn’t it? “And, it’s kind of a situation where I help her with her bills.”

“Oh,” I gulped some more wine. Oh my God! He pays a woman to have sex with him! Actually, I didn’t understand this. Dean was cute and polite and smart, surely he didn’t have to pay to get laid?

“Well,” I said slowly, aware that I was drunk and wanting to choose my words carefully: “I really appreciate you telling me that.”

“We get along well, I mean, I mean, I don’t think she’s faking anything…at one point I said to her, ‘You know I don’t feel that comfortable—“

“Well I’m sure she needs the money!” I said, scandalized. Did he object to paying her? I poured myself some more wine. “Look,” I said when I had fortified myself with yet more alcohol, “I really appreciate you being honest with me about this. But you’re involved with a sex worker. If you want to sleep with me, you’re having an HIV test.”

“Really, I think I’m the only one—”

I nodded vigorously. Maybe he was right. Perhaps I slept with more men than Dean’s part time girl. Maybe I was a worse bet. But. I was drunk and feeling forceful.

Just then our food arrived. For a few moments we ate our pasta in silence, while I digested all this information. This was certainly an informative date. And a long one: it was practically my bedtime.

I pushed my naked foot at Dean’s groin and smirked at him.

“God, you’re sexy,” he said. I looked at my lap, embarrassed and pleased. “And I might have to take you over my knee and spank you for telling me I have to get an AIDS test,” he whispered. “Not that I mind about that at all,” he added in an entirely different voice.

I loved that he had said that: that he had told me he was going to spank me and then in the same breath went on to reassure me that I could demand this of him. I beamed at him. I didn’t know that I wanted him to spank me until he’d said he was going to, but I did, I really did.

When we finished our dinner, Dean suggested we get another drink.

“But it’s late!” It was about midnight. “I have to go home!” He kept talking me into stuff, and I kept enjoying it. Was a taste of our future interactions? Hmmm.

“Listen, I will take you for one drink, and then I will put you in a cab and give you cab fare to get home.”

I chose the path of least resistance, and more cocktails: “OK then. Let’s get a drink.”

We proceeded to another bar where we drank and fooled around until the bar closed. But we were talking a blue streak and I found I had no interest in this date ending anytime soon. We ended up sitting on the stoop of a nearby brownstone, explaining ourselves in an earnest manner. “I don’t fuck around,” I slurred at one point, in between some heated making out. “I mean, I’m honest and I don’t play games.” I’m not sure why it was important for me to stress that. Oh yes, I know why: cause I’d just told him I had a sex blog and given him this address! D’oh!

But finally it was time for me to go. We stood up but when we began to descend the stairs, he or I tripped and we both went flying. I landed next to him on the pavement, having scraped my shoulder but otherwise unharmed. God, how embarrassing. Then I got a look at Dean: “Oh, my God! Are you OK?”

Blood was pouring down his face. Under the amber glow of the streetlamp, I could see that his face was cut in several places. “I’m fine,” he said.

“No, you’re not!” It looked really bad. “Do you have antiseptic, and bandages at your place? Are you sure you’re OK?”

At my insistence we trooped off to a drugstore, and then went back to his place, where I dabbed at his wounds with cotton balls soaked in Bactine. “Are you sure you’re OK? You might be concussed.”

“Really, I’m fine. Come on, let’s sit in the hammock.”

We were on Dean’s deck. He lived in a duplex, and his bedroom opened up onto a terrace. And he had access to the roof above, too. Talk about an embarrassment of riches.

There didn’t seem to be any point in putting up anymore resistance, especially as I didn’t want to, so I followed him up a steep ladder to the roof, where we carefully lowered ourselves into his hammock.

The night was mild and cloudy and when we weren’t kissing I stared at the sky. “Oh sweetie,” Dean whispered, “It’s going to be so good.”

"Mmm," I murmured, kissing the man I'd met nine hours previously. He had several fingers inside me at the time, and I was inclined to agree.

Son of a Preacher Man

Alex was a friend of my friend Jake. He was tall and thin with fine dark hair and spectacles and a high color.

We met at Jefferson’s. The orgy was lively, with people tripping around naked, but Alex and I remained clothed and chaste. He had an interesting tattoo on his left forearm and another near his feet, and we discussed our families and our jobs with the sort of fervor that comes from knowing that while everyone else around you is about to have sex, for some reason you are Just Talking. I didn’t mean to Just Talk, but when Jed appeared at my elbow, despite my desire to get naked with him quick, for some reason I could not quit my conversation with Alex. He was a few years younger than I, an academic, with a serious girlfriend with whom he was experimenting with an open relationship. She was out of town for the summer.

“I think you’re really brave,” I said. “I could never do that.” It’s true: I don’t think I could handle the jealousy of not being the only one in a serious relationship.

“I couldn’t do what you’re doing,” Alex acknowledged, referring to my round-heeledness. “The only reason I can do this is because I have Katie to share it with, I can talk to her about it.”

As time wore on we both remained unmolested. But when I announced my intention to leave Alex said, “Listen, I enjoyed talking to you, and I’d really like to make out with you sometime.”

I beamed at him: “Me too! That’d be great. I’d really like that!” I was very pleased.

So a week later we met for a drink. We went to a bar not far from his place, which I took as a sign that we might get it on.

When he turned up we exchanged an awkward kiss, and settled ourselves in the dim, cool bar. Then he bought me a gin and tonic and himself a beer. He bought me a drink! This happens so rarely in my life: I liked it. We sat opposite one another next to a fish tank and Alex told me about himself: his father is a minister, he grew up in the Midwest, and he is a vegan and politically active, things I am not. But I liked his seriousness. It suggested goodness, a kind of moral purpose. Like Evan, but without the rage. And he had been married.

When he told me that I was taken aback; in fact I wasn’t sure that I had heard him correctly. I wanted to ask for details but figured this was not something he’d be keen to discuss, so instead I just nodded when he said he’d married his college girlfriend, but they’d split up a few years back.

We sat at the bar for awhile. Eventually Alex moved to sit next to me, with folded arms. And then he said, “You probably know this, but I find you really attractive, and would like it if you came home with me.”

I smiled at him: “OK.” We had barely touched.

**

We got a cab back to his place. At the door we were greeted by a tiger striped cat. “This is Mimi,” Alex offered.

“Hi Mimi!” I practically cooed. I took an immediate liking to the cat, who cocked her head at me inquisitively. I reached down to pet her, and her tail waved like a flag. She meowed.

I wasn’t sure what to do or say: it was clear that Alex was even less sexually aggressive than I am. I flirt, but in terms of physical contact I always let the guy take the lead. Alex and I hadn’t even kissed. But now we were planning to have sex. Good grief.

On the walls were photographs from a trip Alex and Katie had taken the previous summer. And stuck to the doorway to the bedroom was a Post-It note. It read: Hello beautiful. Welcome home. I wondered if this note was old or if Alex has put it up in anticipation of Katie’s return or what. This was clearly the apartment of a couple; you can tell because they tend to duplicate books. I was an interloper here, albeit an authorized one.

We put our stuff down and awkwardly stumbled towards one another. My back was pressed against the wall of his bedroom, and Alex’s eyes were closed: “Kiss me,” he whispered.

I obliged. No one had ever told me to kiss him before, usually I’m the one being kissed. Hmmm.

Our mouths sank together and I heard Alex sigh as I wrapped my arms around his neck. His skin was cool and soft.

We edged towards the narrow single bed and landed on top of the thin quilt, fumbling with our clothing. Soon we were just in our skivvies. Alex’s nipples were pierced. This seemed incongruous with my impression of him as a soft spoken minister’s son. “My nipples are really sensitive,” he explained as I gave each an experimental tweak.

Alex’s skin was smooth: practically hairless. The heat made his skin a delicious pink. When he took his glasses off I saw how delicate his features were; almost pretty.

“I so want to taste you,” Alex whispered.

Like I would object: “OK.”

He went down on me while I lay on his bed and all I could think was I feel like I’m being dipped in honey. It was the softest, most velvety oral sex. His tongue was slippery soft and I clenched my legs with excitement. After a moment he parted my thighs and stared at my cunt. Then he folded back the lips and held them there while he licked my clit. This always, always makes me think of how butterfly collectors pin specimens to boards.

I stroked his dick for a bit and after a while Alex said, “Can I fuck you?” I nodded, and he reached behind me to a shelf against the wall. From a shoebox he took out some natural organic health food store lube which appeared to contain wild yam, whatever that is. And a condom.

But Alex had lost his erection: “I get really nervous,” he explained, flopping back onto his pillow.

“That’s OK,” I said, curling up against his chest. “We can wait.”

“Oh,” he said, “I guess I should tell you the rules.”

“The rules? Oh, the rules.” He and Katie had explicit guidelines for what they could and could not do with partners during this experiment.

“Well first, this only happens when we’re apart,” Alex recounted. I nodded. “There’s no sleeping together.” I raised my head and pulled back for a moment. “I mean,” he explained, “You’re welcome to stay over, but I’ll sleep on the futon.”

For a moment I was insulted, but it did make a lot of sense – there would be nothing in the way of bleary early morning smiles and snuggling in the dark with that rule. And if you want to maintain your primary relationship, I guess that’s a good rule to have.

“We can only see other people once every three weeks, and we tell each other everything, before and after.”

I nodded. The rules seemed to pretty much guarantee I would have no chance to become a threat; that seemed fair, though I like cuddling and seeing the men I’m sleeping with more frequently.

“Anything else?” I asked. “I don’t want to break any rules without knowing it, you know.”

“Well, there are a few that aren’t relevant -- no sleeping with people from work or mutual friends.”

I digested this. “What about email?” Like, for instance, what if I wanted to send him a dirty message? Would I be breaching the walls of the Katie/Alex relationship?

“Well, we haven’t really discussed that,” Alex admitted.

“Oh.” And we lay there with my head against his chest, wondering what I thought about these rules.

But I have rules of my own, so I started asking him the questions. He had slept with a total of three women. There was no possible way for me to be intimidated by gentle, kind Alex. “You know,” I said after a bit, “I was really surprised when you told me you’d been married.”

“Yeah, we were really young,” said Alex. “It was more like we wanted to have a commitment ceremony but then…”

“It made me feel like in some ways you’ve more experienced than me,” I said.

The thing is, that wasn’t quite the truth. I think the fact is that I’m used to feeling intimidated by men. But there was no way I could possibly be intimidated by Alex, who has perfect manners and listens carefully and is sweet and endearing. So when Alex told me that he had been married, I grabbed onto that fact as a way to make myself get back to the (weirdly) comfortable feeling of being unsure of myself, of being with a more experienced man.

**

And then there was another surprise: Alex was not his name. “Colin is my real name,” he explained as we lay sprawled across his bed, limp in the heat.

“Oh, right, so Alex is your middle name?”

“No, I just chose it.”

I pulled my head back to stare at him: “What, really?”

“Yeah. I think people should be able to choose their own names. I like ‘Alex’; it’s not specifically male or female.”

I tried to wrap my head around this. I can’t imagine changing my own first name or being able to not think of myself as Lily. My name is who I am. “Does your family call you Alex?”

“My mom does.”

I found this very interesting. I had never really been involved with anyone whose sexual identity was not firmly male. I looked at Alex again: his delicate features and smooth, almost hairless legs. “Huh,” I said.

**

After a while we started fooling around again, and this time I climbed on top on him and he slid his dick inside me. His room was so hot, I couldn’t tell if the sweat was from our activity or just the heat. I slipped all over him, fixing my eyes on Alex’s gentle, handsome face. He smiled up at me as I rocked back and forth on his cock, the sweat sticking our thighs together. I placed my arms on either side of Alex’s head and stiffened my elbows, using the weight to leverage myself up and down his dick.

Within minutes I was ready to come, and with a gasp my body stuttered to a halt.

With a sigh I smiled blearily at Alex. “No kidding?” he asked, as if I’d been faking it.

My body relaxed: “No kidding.” I let my elbows give and slumped onto Alex’s body, resting my cheek against his chest. But soon it was his turn: “What can I do for you?” I said, hoping this didn’t sound too waitress-y.

“Pinch my nipples,” Alex said. So I did, pinching and twisting and licking, leaning up against him. He closed his eyes and pulled on his dick while I tugged at the small silver hoops threaded through the pinkish brown skin with my fingers and tongue and teeth. His breath caught. I paused with my teeth clamped around the hoop, unsure if I had tugged too hard. Alex shook his head, distracted: “It’s OK.” And so I went back to mauling his nipples.

He came with a groan, and, again, I lay with my head against his chest, listening to his heart rate subside.

After a while we got up. The heat was terrible, so I went to the bathroom and stood under the showerhead for a few minutes, letting myself shiver under an onslaught of cold water. When I went back to the living room, Alex was on the computer.

“Want to see some photos?” he asked. “This is me at a party.”

“You really look like a girl!” Dressed in a miniskirt and with painted nails he made a handsome, androgynous girl.

“This was the first time I ever did that,” Alex offered. And I guessed that the decision to rename himself had been a good one.

It was late and I didn’t want to go home, so Alex and I made up the futon. It was still stifling, but the living room was slightly cooler than his bedroom, so I waved off his offers of the bed.

“Mimi,” I drawled to the cat, who was watching us while keeping an eye on a mouse on a string Alex dangled in front of her, “Are you going to cuddle with me?” As I would not be cuddling with Alex.

Alex smiled at the cat. “She’s very affectionate,” he said. Mimi looked at us, and then went back to staring at the mouse.

We straightened the covers on the futon and looked at one another. “Well,” said Alex.
We kissed, and shared an awkward hug. Then he melted into his dark bedroom and I settled onto the futon, too hot to sleep. “Mimi?” I whispered. “Come here.”

The cat looked at me for a moment, then she, too disappeared into the bedroom.