Saturday, October 27, 2007

Oooh, Sugasm!

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #103? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks

She Told Me
“She told me she had a headache.”

Fantasy: If you can’t stand the heat…
“You set the ice cube down and force my legs apart.”

Sugarbutch Star: Bad Bad Girl
“I brought my lips down on hers hard, crushing, devouring, insistent.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Upskirt Video from V Magazine

Editor’s Choice
Blog Action Day: Sexual Activism or Lightning Doesn’t Strike Twice

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

And more!

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

More Lesbian Hijinks Ensue!

I was having a bad day and feeling sorry for myself so when Jefferson invited me to hang out I was only too grateful to be taken out of myself. I went down to Toad Hall to meet him, Anna Smash, her boyfriend Nick and one of Jefferson’s blog correspondents, a Californian named Eleanor.

I was feeling that peculiar aftershock of unhappiness, where you’re holding misery at bay by feeling very detached. I had eaten very little all day and had decided that perhaps my unhappiness would inaugurate some weight loss. But when Nick offered to buy me a drink I quickly relented: “A gin and tonic, please,” I said automatically.

“Sure,” said Nick. He turned to Anna Smash and held out his palm for money. “Honey?”

We all laughed. When Nick stood up to get the drinks he rubbed his arm against my back. Oho! I thought.

We drank and laughed and every so often thoughts about unemployment and family problems flickered through my brain and sometimes I ignored them manfully and other times I probed the thoughts like a sore tooth, trying to see how they hurt. Everything got funnier and we all gave one another high fives – over the fact that I correctly guessed the spelling of Eleanor’s last name, that Eleanor and I were the same age, that Anna Smash had created such a remarkably cool and sexy blog name.

Anna Smash was so pretty, with a glossy black Louise Brooks bob that framed her face like a parentheses. She had fine, delicate features and a slight body. She was gamine and soignée and other French adjectives, as well as being very young; her boyfriend was 38. When Nick told me how old he was I realized he reminded me a bit of
Jeremy. Nick had a nice face, plump lips and slightly protuberant front teeth. He also had a faint Southern accent, which I didn’t hear until Anna Smash pointed it out. He was awfully nice. He bought another round of drinks and when he sat back down he slid his hand over my knee.

I liked his hand on my knee, but was this kosher? “Is this OK with Anna?” I hissed.

Nick smiled broadly: “It’s totally OK,” he said, and turned to smile at his girlfriend. She smiled back.

“OK then,” I slurred, and when Nick rubbed my knee I slipped my hand onto his thigh. After another few sips of gin and tonic we kissed; it felt great.

We kissed some more. “Are you going to let me fuck you later?” Nick murmured.

“Is it OK with Anna?” I asked again, just to let everyone know where my feminist loyalties lay, even if I was behaving like a slut.

“Totally,” Nick assured me. “Right, Anna?”

“Uh huh,” said Anna Smash.

I looked at Nick from under my lashes. “Yeah,” I said, “And I’m going to go down on you, too.” We kissed again. I was really turned on.

Eventually we stumbled out of the bar and back to Jefferson’s apartment. I was fairly wasted by this time and within a few minutes we were naked. Anna Smash was ridiculously gorgeous nude. Her nipples were pierced and they tipped upward like little teacups. She was thinner and prettier and younger than me, but luckily I was too drunk to feel outclassed. And then I realized that I was staring at the Sassiest Girl in America.


In case you weren’t an alienated teen or an ironic adult in the late 1980’s and early 90’s, Sassy was a bitchy, smart alternative to more traditional (and frankly pretty insipid) teen fare like Seventeen and the now-defunct YM. It was edited by future Jane editor-in-chief Jane Pratt and the staff featured the likes of Kim France (Lucky). Sassy was relentlessly opinionated and published some provocative stories, like interviews with neo-Nazi teens and an infamous Karen Catchpole article on what losing your virginity feels like (“It will hurt.”) The virginity story created such a furor that Sassy had to backtrack, and a few months later the magazine published a pro-chastity follow up: “Virgins Are Cool.” Yes, really.

I didn’t actually love Sassy as much as I was supposed to, mostly cause it seemed to be written by mean girls. Smart girls, but kinda mean, especially, if I recall correctly, about stuff like blonde starlets, pegged jeans and Milla Jovovich. I was massively uncool in high school and Sassy didn’t make me feel any cooler; it only made me long to be like Sassy staffers, who all seemed to live in the East Village and know all about the cool bands you weren’t seeing. They were your smart, skinny classmates who made fun of all the trends but still managed to be trendy.

So anyway Sassy had this annual contest – The Sassiest Girl in America. It was not a modeling competition, as at Seventeen, but featured contestants from around the country, who sent in amusing entries and wowed the staff. The winner got cash, money for a favorite charity, plus a cover shoot – and the SGIA wasn’t always thin, which was cool. Anyway, watching Anna Smash, it hit me that Sassy would have loved her – that jet bob with its parentheses framing her pale face, her elegant lithe body, coolest girl in the room demeanor and rapid-fire conversation. She would have been a shoo-in for The Sassiest Girl in America, if only she hadn’t been about 4 when the magazine folded.

In a bid for gender equality, the magazine even had a Sassiest Boy in America contest. The winner was in an indie band, natch, and really cute. On a side note, when I first met Jefferson, he revealed to me that he had once met The Sassiest Boy in America!


Anna Smash’s pussy was bald but for a tiny thatch of hair. We all tumbled down the hall to Jefferson’s bedroom and flopped on the bed. Then Anna straddled me and we kissed.

Her mouth was so nice and soft and it was clear she was in charge which was a relief for me after the
Jessica affair, nice though that was. As it is I hate to take the lead and with girls even more so. We kissed for a while, our mouths just sort of swirling together. Beside us Jefferson sucked Nick’s dick, and I came to when Nick said, “Sorry, sucking my balls just doesn’t do it for me,” regretfully. I moved my mouth to Anna’s tits, which I sucked and kissed. Then Anna Smash gave me sort of a half-questioning look, and then she slid down between my legs and started to eat me out.

Christ I hope I don’t taste bad or smell funny was all I could think. Anna Smash herself probably smelled and tasted perfect, but I didn’t get the chance to find this out, which was probably just as well since later on Anna revealed that she had once actually fallen asleep while a friend was going down on her. But I didn’t get a chance to really indulge my neuroses since shortly thereafter Anna slipped onto her stomach and stuck her ass towards Jefferson: “Hit me,” she said.

Jefferson obediently retrieved his cat o’ nine tails and Nick, Eleanor and I looked at one another and then scurried from the room. “I need to get some air,” Nick declared. We tugged our clothes on and walked out into the warm, muggy night, ending up in a nearby diner.

They ordered food (I was still too drunk to eat); it was clear that Nick was upset. But we all chatted for a bit and after his meal he seemed more cheerful. Afterwards we walked back to Jefferson’s and at the apartment Nick and I started fooling around – what I’d been waiting for: “I want to make you tremble,” he said, kissing me. We were half dressed. Oh Christ, I thought, and bent my head towards his groin. “Let’s go and have sex,” he added.

“OK!” I said, and followed him to the back bedroom. In the dark room we got onto the futon, but our combined weights were too much and the wooden frame popped up, like a Murphy bed. “Come on,” said Nick. So we distributed our weights at the foot of the bed and wound ourselves around one another.

He started to fuck me and it felt great. I was so wet and felt all melty inside. I got on top. He murmured: “Lily, you’re so beautiful. You’ve got beautiful breasts.”

Nothing makes me feel more like sucking cock than being told I’m beautiful.

I was shaking as I slid my thighs close together around his cock, my breath raggedy. “You’re going to be a good girl and suck my cock?” Nick went on.

This made me squirm, I was so turned on: “Oh yes.” And I had a revelation: when I suck cock I’m a good girl rather than, say, a naughty slut. I’ve always been a good girl, always sought approval. I like approbation. So if I’m sucking cock, I want to be called a good girl. Though, I must admit, on occasion being called a filthy slut does give me a thrill.

But anyway. I rocked back and forth on top of Nick, and I was so excited but couldn’t seem to come; and it occurred to me that I was really too drunk to fully appreciate how great this felt.

Eventually he got on top but when he thrust inside me he stopped suddenly: “The condom slipped off,” he announced. We sat at an awkward angle and then he tugged it out. “Suck me for a while,” he said then. So I did, eagerly, gratefully, but after a minute he pulled his cock out of my mouth and slid another condom on and started to fuck me again. He slipped a finger in my ass. “Are you going to come for me?” I whispered, as he pumped the breath out of me with his thrusts.

“Yes, I am,” he said, and again I was reminded of Jeremy, who, I remembered,
used to say “Yeah, I do” or “Yes, I will” instead of just Yeah. I had liked that.

Then Nick came and we lay there, glued together. He smelled really good and is so nice; this was a good idea.

“Thank you for that,” said Nick. “It was just what I needed.”

He meant that this had distracted him from thoughts of Anna Smash being smacked silly in the next room. He didn’t like to watch his girlfriend being hurt.

“You don’t have to thank me,” I said. “It was my pleasure.” True, that. I smiled at him.
“Do you want a towel?” he asked, and, before I could explain that I was used to being all sweaty after sex, he disappeared, returning a minute later with a damp towel, which he rubbed gently across my cunt.

After we cleaned up we got up and peeked next door: Anna Smash was sprawled on the bed, with Eleanor in the voyeur’s chair with Jefferson’s head in her lap; they were all asleep. “I think I’m going to sleep next to Anna,” Nick said. I nod, and we kissed goodnight and I toddled back to the futon.

But a few minutes later Nick joined me. He put new sheets on the bed and then for a minute he put his arms around me – oh, he smelled so nice. Then he turned on his side and started to snore and eventually I fell asleep, too.

I woke up at 4:30 am, and shortly thereafter Nick woke up, too. He left to join Anna, and I read for awhile before Jefferson wandered in – musical beds! “Hey,” Jefferson whispered, eyeing me blearily. He sat on the edge of the futon.

“Careful,” I said, and told him about how the bottom of the bed had popped up earlier, and that we were at risk of being crushed in a Buster Keaton-style mishap. “Couple die in futon massacre,” I intoned. “Orgy goers stunned.” Jefferson darted a quick, worried look at me. I think he was perturbed that I’d referred to us as couple, even though it was only for the purposes of an Onion-style headline.

Jefferson slipped into bed beside me. I was sleepy, but when he began to stroke my breast I decided I wasn’t that tired. We started to kiss, but I was very tense – overtired, probably -- and it took ages to feel my muscles relax. After a while Jefferson climbed inside me and tugged my legs up around his shoulders. “Oh,” I said. “Oh.”

He gave me a peculiar, searching look – or maybe it was just knee strain – and we fucked for a long time. Funny thing: Jefferson and I talk non-stop, but our sex is generally silent. Jefferson has lots of stamina; but I felt raw and shredded. Jefferson said, “Sit on my face,” so I did, and my legs shook as his darting tongue made quick flickery movements against my most secret skin. After a bit he commanded, “Suck my cock.” He thrust his cock down my throat, but I couldn’t do much in the way of deep throating. My throat just wouldn’t cooperate, my gag reflex was working overtime. But he kept holding my head down and shoving his dick up. At intervals I rubbed his cock against my tits and slipped my fingers up and down the shaft. “My lips are numb,” I said at last – my usual complaint with Jefferson. So he pulled out of my mouth and tugged on his dick until he came. Then he went to sleep and I read, and I thought about being a 34-year-old unemployed would-be writer, and about a fight I’d had with my mother. Then when the sky was light I started to cry.

I cried loud enough to be heard; I wanted to be heard. Jefferson tugged me close to his chest and stroked my hair while I wept.

Saturday, October 13, 2007

My Afternoon with Alejandro

It used to be that I had sex with someone because I couldn’t bear not to. I had to touch his skin, be as close as humanly possible, in the words of a short story writer whose name I’ve forgotten (which I read in a collection called Writing Our Way Home: Contemporary Stories by American Jewish Writers). Now I have sex because I’m horny. Which is not a bad thing, but is less dramatic, or romantic, certainly, and I guess is what happens when you’re 34 and not nineteen. Not that I had sex at 19. I had sex, once, at 17, and then there was a 7 year drought before Luke Parker wore me down with his incessant, arrogant wooing and blunt, uncircumcised dick. But anyway.

I mean, ever since I became a slut the goal has been adventure rather than intimacy. I have had occasional, terrifying forays into intimacy: with
Sweetheart Daniel, especially, who is still my favorite non boyfriend ever. But now sex is more about getting off than anything else. Thus Alejandro.

After he
contacted me the other week I hemmed and hawed before agreeing, ’cause, though he is cute and our sex was satisfactory, surely sex ought to be more than satisfactory. But. Of late my number of sex partners has shrunk – Alex’s girlfriend is back in town and Jed is, as ever, completely unreliable, so I thought what the hell, and told Alejandro to come on over.

He turned up on Sunday afternoon. I hadn’t seen him in over a year, and it occurred to me that he could be anyone at all. I remembered him as tall, dark-haired, and handsome, with a very faint Brazilian accent and a leather thong around his neck. When I saw him on my doorstep on Sunday – well, it could have been any tall, dark-haired man. “Hey!” I grinned, like we were long lost friends. “Come on in.”

Mmmark, Alejandro was definitely the most handsome man I’d ever slept with, but sexually we were sort of ho-hum. We had sex two or three times, and it was quiet, polite, eyes closed-type sex. That is, he doesn’t talk dirty. He was clean cut, and had a nice body, lean and lightly muscled, as I believe the term is, but I had no desire to be as close as humanly possible to him.

So I got him a glass of water and gestured for him to go to my room, and there I sat on my bed and we discussed what we’d been up to in the year and a half since we’d last met. “I took a break from acting,” Alejandro informed me, which I took to mean he’d gotten burnt out from rejection. “But now I’ve started teaching and acting again. It’s going really well.”

Yeah, yeah. He put his backpack on my armchair and after a bit more in this vein, walked over to me: “Are you ready?”

“Huh? Oh—”

“Cause last time you had to drink…” He lifted his arm and mimed drinking like in commercials for soda where people throw back their heads and gulp down high fructose corn syrup. I recalled that on our first date I had insisted on drinking several alcopops (English slang for those soft-drink like mixed drinks you can buy at the supermarket) before getting naked.

“Oh, no—” How things had changed! I could now have casual sex sober.

Alejandro crouched down in front of me and put his face close to mine. He smelled faintly of cologne; Aqua di Gio?

Our faces were close together, but instead of kissing, his lips just hovered next to mine. He was making me wait, which I appreciated, since it added an element of seduction to what was otherwise, well, not a very seductive scene. For a long time we stayed like this, our lips not quite touching as our bodies mimed closeness. I nipped the air surrounding him, waiting for his mouth on mine.

At last we kissed, and Alejandro pushed me backwards onto my mattress. He lay on top of me and I closed my eyes as we kissed, because I was afraid that looking at him would make me feel too detached.

He gently, then not so gently, bit my neck, and I scraped my nails along his back. I always notice a man’s smell, and while the cologne wasn’t overpowering, the cologne made me feel like I was making out with the ground floor of Bloomingdale’s.

We kissed and kissed and I kept my eyes closed so I could concentrate on the sensation instead of asking myself what I was doing with this person. He pulled my shirt over my head and when he struggled with my bra I unhooked it for him. Then I tugged his t-shirt off. His skin was warm against mine. He unzipped my skirt and I slipped off my underwear, and then he pulled off his jeans so we were naked. His dick was medium sized, thick, nice.

His fingers drummed at the skin around my cunt, but not at my clit or lips, again, he teased me. My breathing got heavier, and I wrapped my hand around his dick, it felt thick and solid in my fingers. Still Alejandro’s fingers lingered at my clit, the ghost of his fingertips on me.

At last he slid his fingers to my clit, and I moaned with relief. I was slick for him, all the waiting had done me good. He rubbed his finger inside me for a minute and then turned on his side: “Do you have a condom?”

I nodded, and handed him. I watched as he put it on, then gestured that I wanted to be on top. After a moment I lowered myself on top of him, and closed my eyes as his cock opened me up. For a second I paused, and we looked at one another. Then I pushed myself all the way down, and felt his dick sink all the way in. I sighed.

I started rocking back and forth. Alejandro’s face looked rounder, his skin more olive. He smiled up at me, and I smiled back. He bent his head, and took my left breast in his mouth. Had he remembered that I liked that or was that something he wanted to do? I arched my back against him.

We fucked in silence, exchanging polite smiles as we pushed against one another. I came quickly and then Alejandro took over, rolling on top of me and pinning me to the mattress.

We kissed a bit as he fucked me, and I relaxed with his cock nice and smug inside me. He thrust back and forth, grunting occasionally, and I ran my hands along his back, feeling like I was soothing him somehow.

He took a while to come and when he did he gasped like he’d run a race. As soon as he came I thought: OK, you can go now. Which is very ungenerous on my part, seeing as how Alejandro is a perfectly nice guy and had just given me a perfectly nice orgasm. Nonetheless. We have nothing in common except sex, and now that he was lying next to me in a post-coital way, I felt obliged to make small talk. And anyway if he’d just gotten up and said, “Well, that was great! See ya!” I would have been offended. “So,” I said at last, clearing my throat, “How are you?”

And Alejandro told me, but I didn’t really pay attention since I was wondering how long he might think it was appropriate to stay since clearly I couldn’t kick him out. After a few minutes he got up, dressed, got himself a glass of water and when he got back he reached for his knapsack. “Well,” he said, “I better get going.”

“Well!” I said, jumping out of bed and pulling on my clothes. “Let me see you out.” So I trailed him to the door and we touched lips. He stepped outside and blinked in the bright sunshine.

“Good seeing you,” I said, and gave him a friendly, disinterested smile. He waved, and for a moment there was almost a rueful glance, but then he turned and I shut the door and was alone once more.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Oooh, Sugasm!

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #101? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Do you want me…?
“The shiver that runs through you tells me everything I need to know.”

Love that ass (his perspective)
“But as long as we are in here, she submits to my command; to my every whim.”

Hubb and Spoeker
“He was good for show and good in bed, but an asshole in the real world.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
125 Magazine, Alternet and Enviromentally Friendly Porn

Editor’s Choice
The very best of Sugasm…. so far

More Sugasm

Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

I Succumb to Jefferson's Dastardly Lesbian Plot!

It was summertime. The sun was shining, and I was going to Atlantic City with Dean.

I thought we were going to stay in a seedy seaside motel, and Dean would relieve elderly daytrippers of their money at the poker table while I wandered the boardwalk and sampled the saltwater taffy.

Instead, we stayed at a perfectly respectable, even luxurious, hotel and ate lots of rich food. I was bemused by the miasma of cigarette smoke and the constant musical roar of slot machines in the lobbies, but seediness was in short supply. I did buy a $4 cappuccino, however.

But my Atlantic City experience was destined to be short, since I had other plans. Or rather Jefferson had other plans for me: “The clock is ticking on your girlginity,” he informed me. “What time are you coming over?”

Oh, right.


It had started like this: Back in
December, Jefferson had suggested I might want to get it on with a carefully selected woman. I had shrugged. In Jefferson’s orbit, being straight is a bit of a novelty and I wanted to hold onto whatever distinction I might have. Nonetheless, it occurred to me that if I was trying to Live Somewhat Dangerously, perhaps I ought to put my money where my mouth was, or rather, put my mouth where …

The thing was, although Jefferson knows tons of attractive bi and lesbian women, when you’re approaching your first lesbian encounter as a kind of adult-ed experience, it’s not like choosing a hot boy to fuck. I could agree that a woman was comely, but there was no connection between my brain and my groin, so it had no context. And I don’t like to fool around without context.

Also, I realized that there were certain other barriers to me getting it on with a woman. Like, I did not want to hook up with someone I was friends with. I can do that with men, but with a woman it just seemed too overwhelming, too much opportunity for sidelong glances, misunderstandings, etc. I wanted it to be with someone I didn’t see on a regular basis.

She would have to be more experienced, and amenable to the fact that I was a girl virgin and awkward in the extreme, I decided.

So what I wanted was someone I could be attracted to, did not know very well, was experienced, and furthermore did not threaten my fragile ego in any way. With these demands in place I felt confident that I’d outmaneuvered Jefferson and would not come face-to-pussy with my fears in the near future.


When I first met Jessica my only thought was that she and her boyfriend should definitely attend Jefferson’s orgies. She was pretty, brunette, and friendly, with long hair and a nice giggle. The word vivacious would have been appropriate.

Actually she was kind of like me, though I am not always vivacious. She and Sean stopped by Jefferson’s one afternoon. I was on my way out, but I stuck around long enough to echo Jefferson’s assertions that they would definitely have a good time if they turned up at a party.

Eventually, they turned up. This was at the May orgy. Jessica, stripped to her bra, made out with Jed while I watched. The next day I emailed Jefferson, “You know, if I were going to hook up with a girl, Jessica’s the kind of girl I would do it with.”

Jefferson interpreted this as a green light and took it upon himself to arrange the great lesbian experience. He sent me an email later that day saying we were all set: Jessica and Sean were game. It would be, Jefferson informed me, what was known as a “soft swap”: While she and I would hook up, Jessica would not have sex with Jefferson, nor would I fuck Sean.

I was mortified. Not only had Jefferson organized My First Lesbian Event, he’d done it in a way that made me look like a third grader. He’d probably passed Jessica a note in language arts: Do you want to have sex with Lily? Check Yes ___ or No ___.

It turned out that Jessica was likewise inexperienced with women, which I hadn’t realized. From the conversation we’d had when we’d met I’d had the impression she’d slept with several women.

So now I was committed to sex with another straight-identified woman. One who’d probably felt obliged to say yes. Gah.


Of course, I hadn’t actually protested when Jefferson told me we were getting nekkid. Jefferson gets me to do things I wouldn’t ordinarily do, because he arranges them and then informs me of the fact, so I never have to take any responsibility. Passive aggressive on my part, but he’s never complained. I considered this as I made my way to Jefferson’s apartment one hot Saturday afternoon. When I reached his door, I gave myself no time to consider what I was in for, and rang the bell before I could start worrying.

Jefferson peeked around the door at me: “Hiiiiii,” he smirked. I stepped inside.

Jessica and Sean were seated on the couch. “Hi!” I tried for insouciant cheeriness. They waved.

I made my way to them and, in a bold move, sat next to Jessica on the sofa rather than in the armchair opposite. I swallowed.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Jefferson twinkled at me. He knows I find alcohol invaluable in these situations.

“Can I have a gin and tonic?” I glanced at Jessica, and then at Sean.

Jessica leaned over and looked up at me from under her lashes: “We went to brunch and had six mimosas,” she confessed. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who’d needed Dutch courage. I grinned at her, and she grinned back.

Jefferson brought me a large g and t, with a wedge of lime, and soon enough Jessica and I were talking a blue streak, about how alcohol combated nerves, how she and Sean had started dating, about Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

In fact, Jessica was awesome: engaging, friendly, good natured. Her boyfriend was lovely, too: quiet, with dark hair and sort of boy scout good looks. He watched Jessica with pride. OK, he was totally hot.

Eventually, when I’d downed my second very large g and t, Jefferson indicated it was time for us to get moving. Marcus was coming over later, and, as Jefferson had told me, if he turned up while Sean and Jessica were around, all hell would break loose.

“He’d insist on an orgy on the spot,” he’d emailed me. “That might spook Jessica and Sean, so we have to finish up early.”

Jessica and I looked at one another. I raised my eyebrows. “OK?” She nodded, so we headed off down the hall.

Jefferson and Sean left us alone, as per intro lesbian etiquette, I guess. Jessica and I sprawled on Jefferson’s bed, topless, drunk, game.

“Listen,” I slurred, giggling, “I didn’t realize that you had never hooked up with a woman—I didn’t want you to think—” What I guess I didn’t want her to think was that she was, you know, obliged to hook up with me, even if we were both half naked and entirely drunk. Or maybe I was still embarrassed at how the whole thing had been arranged. I dunno.

“That’s OK,” she sniggered.

We whispered for a while, gingerly touching one another: “Your skin’s really soft!” Jessica exclaimed.

I stroked her arm: “So’s yours!” I lowered my voice, though no one else was in the room: “Can I touch your tits?” Her breasts were at least a D, with large reddish brown nipples.

“Uh huh.”

“Hey, what’s going on in there?”

We looked up. Jefferson and Sean stood in the doorway, beaming at us.

“Go away,” I mumbled.

Tentatively I licked a nipple. Jessica nodded her encouragement. “You can come back in,” I called.

The boys trooped in, and Jefferson supervised the rest of the undressing; I was too far gone to be of much use. Naked, Jessica was smooth and curvy all over, with pale skin that glowed in the darkened bedroom. The room spun, and I wondered if I should have had quite so much to drink.

I looked up at Jefferson: “Now what?”

“Now you go down on her,” he said.

“OK.” My eyes met Jessica’s. “You’ll have to direct me,” I said. She nodded.

I scooted onto my knees. Jessica’s pussy was completely bare except for a tiny thatch of hair just above her clit. Cautiously I slipped my finger against the hood of her clit. “It’s like a button!” I exclaimed. I had never seen anyone’s clit – other than my own – before.

Jefferson and Sean watched in polite silence while I studied Jessica’s pussy. Then, after a moment, I put my mouth to her clit and licked.


I licked again, and then put my tongue up close to her and pressed it against her skin. In all the dirty stories (I mean, erotica) I read, women have a smell -- like pepper, or orchids, or spices or whatever. I couldn’t smell or taste anything from Jessica, though. I licked her again.

“Higher,” she said. “Steady pressure on my clit.”

I obeyed, and lifted my mouth to slide my fingers against her skin. After a minute I slid my index inside her; she was wet.

“How’s that?”

She nodded. “You can put another finger in,” she said. I obliged. “Yeah, I just get very wet,” she explained, smiling, while I slid a finger in and out. Indeed. I concentrated on her clit for a while, and then Jessica slid down on the mattress and slipped between my legs. I hoped I tasted OK.

After a bit Jessica moved away, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed Jefferson move towards her. They kissed. Then Sean leaned over from his side of the bed and kissed her, too. I was on my haunches, watching them. When Sean lay back on the bed next to me, I leaned over and whispered to Jessica: “Can I go down on your boyfriend?”

She smiled: “Sure.” Generous girl! His dick was standing straight up, full and hard. I bent over and wrapped my mouth around him, I’d never felt quite so compelled to suck someone off. It was a relief to blow him, he felt great in my mouth. A dick, that’s my natural habitat.

I could have gone like this for some time, but alcohol made things blurry and I don’t remember much else. We parted with great cordiality and later on, when I asked Jefferson if he’d seen me and Jessica kiss, he said he couldn’t remember.

Did I manage to have sex with a woman without kissing her? Worse, did I kiss her and not remember it?


After Sean and Jessica disappeared, I lay on the couch in an alcoholic daze. Then I perked up: “Where’s Marcus?”

Jefferson had promised I could meet his boyfriend, who was supposed to turn up with his boyfriend. So I stuck around, and soon enough, Marcus showed up with Seamus. Marcus was, just as promised, tall and handsome in the Ben Stiller vein – dark haired, lanky, gregarious. Seamus was mild mannered, built. He sort of reminded me of Grant Mitchell of Eastenders, only without the ruddiness. I generally don’t go for bald, stocky (or, you know, gay) men, but I took a shine to Seamus.

We ordered Chinese and sat around while I tried to remember whether or not Jessica and I had kissed. Marcus regaled us with stories of his life as a whore, and I tried not to look gobsmacked. Then Jefferson leaned over and whispered: “Don’t hook up with Marcus.”

I shook my head – I’m very skittish about sex workers; and anyway, I prefer my men a little less alpha. I like shy, angst-ridden boys who look like they could use a good meal or might like to educate me about some band I’ve never heard of, not hottie motormouths who have sex for a living.

Marcus was telling us about one of his clients, whom he had accused of not trusting him. “So anyway,” Marcus went on, “I had my foot up his ass and…”

He had his foot up some guy’s ass. I cast a covert glance at Marcus’s feet, currently shod. He had a big foot. Wouldn’t this be unhygienic? Not to mention exceptionally painful? Did Marcus wash his feet before shoving them up a man’s ass? Or were there foot condoms out there to prevent athlete’s…

Eventually Marcus and Seamus wandered out to the deck, and I turned to Jefferson: “He is getting nowhere near me.” I found Marcus fascinating and attractive but, also, you know, gah!

But all my gins and tonics were taking their toll, so when Jefferson suggested I stay over, I gratefully acquiesced. I took a quick shower (it was still very hot) and then put myself to bed in Jefferson’s room, wrapped in a bath towel. Some time later I felt Jefferson slip off my towel and curl up next to me.

We must have been asleep, because I woke up to the sound of Jefferson’s shrieks: “Stop it!” he cried. I opened an eye. Marcus and Seamus loomed above us, and Marcus was smacking Jefferson lightly with a DVD – Lost, season 1. What the--?

Then Marcus grabbed my arm. “Hey!” I squeaked. He wrapped one of Jefferson’s neckties around my wrist and started tying me to Jefferson. “What are you doing?!”

Hooting happily, Marcus and Seamus rained blows on Jefferson, who protested, but not very strongly. I think, in fact, that if I hadn’t been there, he would have been quite happy to have been assaulted with DVDs.

Marcus laced me to Jefferson and started swatting at me. “Cut it out!” I cried, really annoyed. I was naked, in front of two men I’d just met. When that happens, it’s because it’s my choice, not because someone has woken me up and pelted me with video discs. I glared at Marcus. “Stop it.”

“Stop!” Jefferson laughed, but Marcus and Seamus kept it up.

I leaned over and reached for my bra. This was ridiculous. “OK, that’s it,” I said.

“Yeah, stop,” said Jefferson again, pushing Marcus away. Chastened, Marcus and Seamus swept from the room, chuckling. Jefferson began to untie himself.

I sat there, wide awake, my bra halfway up my arms. Jefferson tossed the necktie to the armchair and rolled his eyes. “Ow,” he said, rubbing his arm, where Marcus had scored a direct hit.

My fists were clenched. Jefferson gave my arm a squeeze, then rolled onto his side. Within minutes, he was snoring.

I sat on the bed, staring straight ahead. My bra still hung on my arms. I could hear the low laughter of Marcus and Seamus as they got ready for bed. My hands were shaking; I was furious.

I looked again at Jefferson, nestling quietly at my side. “Jefferson,” I whispered, “Jefferson?” I tapped him on the shoulder, but he just snored.

I got out of bed and got dressed. I hunted for a pen and piece of paper and stared at it for a minute. Jefferson, I wrote at last, I tried to wake you but you were dead to the world. Talk to you soon – Lily.

I turned off the light as I left the room. As I made my way to the door I could hear the steady squeak of the futon from the second bedroom.