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.

In Which Emotion Rears its Ugly Head

I got Fleshbotted by Jefferson (whoo-hoo) on Friday, to my great delight, and then on Sunday I got an email from Jordan. Since the entry picked up by Fleshbot was all about my night with Jordan, I panicked when I saw his address in my inbox. I was afraid he’d seen my blog and was writing to bawl me out. What could I say? “Yes, sorry, I thought your tartan trousers were horrendous, and, yes, I said you smelled wrong to me. Sorry you had to come across that on what was no doubt an innocent Internet trawl for porn.” But, as it turned out, he was only writing to see if I’d finished brooding about the other week, and if I wanted to meet again. It was actually very good timing, and I am going to say yes, for reasons I will detail below.

I saw Daniel on Friday night. We’d had a long IM session on Wednesday. In some ways it was really nice, quite complimentary and flattering and sexy and dirty. On the other hand, it was kind of disturbing, as I got full disclosure about him and Robin. He seems to spend a good deal of time with her, which, I am sorry to say, makes me envious. He asked if I’d like to meet her. “She’s not a jealous person,” he added. She sounds perfect.

“Do you think she’d like me?” I asked.

“I think she would,” he said, and this segued into him imagining a threesome. (“I don’t know if I’m man to satisfy you both, but I’d like to try,” he offered. “Just thinking about one of you riding me while the other sits on my face. I mean, damn.”) I deflected this by saying, “I’ve never fooled around with a woman before. I’d probably do it wrong.” Only half joking.

“That’s OK. Robin has. She could direct us,” Daniel explained. Of course she has.

The thing that really scares me about a threesome is I’m sure the other woman, whoever she may be, will be prettier and thinner and with a better body than me. That’s the thing that’s really keeping me from it. If I see how beautiful another woman is, I’ll just think, “How can he stand to be with me when he could have her? She’s the woman he really wants to fuck, I’m just the extra.” If I knew for a fact that Robin was plain and chunky, I wouldn’t mind. However, I’m pretty sure that this is not the case. That says so many damaging things about me, it’s just embarrassing. Nonetheless, it’s the truth.

Daniel and I made plans for Friday and that morning I got an email asking me if I wanted to go swing dancing, since he is a big fan. I missed the swing dancing craze somehow, and was skeptical, but he was really keen, so I said sure.

We met right outside the bar at about 9:00. The dance was held in the upstairs room of a midtown pub and wasn’t too crowded. Daniel looked adorable – he was decked out in a pinstripe suit, complete with a fedora and wing tips. “I have many facets of geekdom,” he explained over drinks while we waited for the dance lesson to start. “I missed you,” he said. I beamed at him and we made out, our fingers entwined.

When the dance lesson started I got all flustered, since I’m not in the least coordinated. Daniel knew what he was doing. But the instructor kept up the “forward, back, ROCK step,” and I got along OK. Standing at attention, clutching Daniel’s hand with my paw, I felt sort of dazzled, and it occurred to me how hot choreography can be. I felt so awkward, and he was smooth, and when I wasn’t concentrating on my feet I looked into his eyes and felt all fizzy. “This is kind of sexy,” I gasped, tripping over my feet. We gazed at one another. Or at least I gazed at him, stretching the high-school flirtiness of the moment. He smiled at me. “I…” I said.

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to have you inside me later,” I said, a little breathlessly.

He smiled.

Normally I don’t mkind feeling like a fool, but I don’t like to look like this in front of Daniel. Nonetheless, I enjoyed myself. It’s the only time outside of a wedding that I’ve seen couples of all different ages getting down on the dance floor.

We left at about 11:00, and took the train back to his place. He showed me around his apartment but all I could think was, Let’s go to bed, eh? Then his roommates returned, and he introduced me to them. He’d mentioned his roommate Wendy, whom, he said, he’d dated the previous summer. I was surprised (and, let’s face it, pleased) to see that she was quite fat. He’d described her as this very sexually open person, so I’d been intimidated at the thought of her. She was nice. Wow, I am shallow.

Anyway, in his room, he showed me the Disworld art book, and I quelled my instinct to jump him. At last we started fooling around. He uses Trojan Magnums, as I’d guessed. Mmm. We fucked and fucked and the slats of his platform bed got loose, so we moved to an armchair. I sat with my back against him, riding him as he fingered my clit. “You going to come for me, baby?” he hummed in my ear. Yes, apparently.

Then I settled on the floor at his feet and took him into my mouth, as much as I could. He moaned, holding the back of my head close to him. God, it was a lot. I kept kind of gagging, which is hardly attractive. “Sorry!”

“No, it’s OK. You want to snowball?”

I nodded. I hadn’t even known what this was until he’d explained it to me the previous week. This is something he does with Robin. Although you, dear reader, probably know exactly what this means, I didn’t. Basically, he comes in my mouth, and then I pass his cum to him, which he then swallows. What a guy. (“I’d never ask you to do something I wouldn’t do myself,” he said judiciously, when I’d explained I hadn’t had time to shave my legs. A feminist after my own heart.)

I worked on him eagerly, delighted by his moans. “I’m going to come,” he said, and I sighed in relief and pleasure. When he came, I tried holding his cum in my mouth and then just gagged. “I’m so sorry,” I gasped. How insulting is that?

“It’s OK.”

“No, really…I’m sorry!” You make me sick. That’s the message I’m giving him. Good grief.

Eventually we made it back to the bed and soon he was asleep, snoring like a vacuum cleaner. I struggled in and out of dreams. We woke up just as it was getting light and we started fucking again. His bed creaked. It was so loud I was sure his roommates would be woken up by the noise. This was too embarrassing to contemplate, so I tried to ignore the sounds.

I stroked his cock, and slid my fingers around to his ass. Tentatively. I wasn’t quite sure where to put my hand.

“You want some lube?” he whispered.

“OK.” I slipped some lube over his cock.

“No, I meant—“

“Oh!” I giggled. “Right!” I’d never done that before, either. Slowly I massaged his anus, feeling for an opening, wondering where exactly I should put my fingers. But at last I felt my index finger slip inside his ass. It was so tight, clutching at my skin as soon as it let me in. He sighed. I tried not to scratch him, but rubbed against him, sliding deeper in.

“I like feeling you inside me,” he whispered. That’s what I usually say. It felt weird, being on the receiving end like that. When he came it was light out and we went back to sleep.

When we woke up again it was almost noon, and we made breakfast and watched television with Wendy. “What’s this?” Wendy demanded, pointing to a Pepto Bismol-pink tab stuck to the coffee table.

“I think it’s from a Lucky Charm,” Daniel said at last. “That’s either me or Robin.” Robin, I thought, tightening up inside.

I was going out that night, and knew I should start heading home if I wanted to get anything done before meeting Ben for drinks later. Also, I knew that if I didn’t go soon I would not want to leave at all. I didn’t want Daniel to be waiting for me to leave.

We went back to his room and without further ado I took off my clothes. I slid right onto his cock. I was wet and excited, but sore by this time. I rode him and we sighed in unison.

“Can you do something for me?” I whispered. My hair covering me like a curtain.

“Sure.”

“Talk dirty to me, OK?”

He smiled. “You like this? You like being fucked?”

“Uh…”

“You need a good drilling?”

That’s it: a drilling. Yes. “Lick my nipples?” I pleaded. He obliged. I came almost immediately.
“You came?”

“Uh huh,” I breathed.

“Good girl.” Being called a good girl is, I think, really very dirty indeed. “That was quick,” he smirked.

“You got me all excited,” I said, which is, I think, the correct response in these situations.

He flipped me over and began drilling me all over again. Christ. “Uhh…” I said. “I love the way you pound into me,” I said. It was this sort of solid pumping. Aah.

“This way,” he said, slipping off the bed. I slid onto my stomach, sticking my ass towards him. He bent over me and slid himself back into my cunt. “Yes, yes,” I said, hearing myself groan.

At last he came and again we collapsed, our limbs sweaty and stuck together. I stared at nothing, thinking, Do not ruin this. Do not get too attached. You are not going to mess this up.

“And this is only our third date,” Daniel said, stroking my hair.

Fuck, fuck fuck!

What I really wanted to do was go to sleep and then wake up and fuck him again and again. So instead I watched the clock and at 2:30 I got up. “You’re going to go?” he said.

“Yeah, I’d better,” I said. I got dressed and he walked me to the door, where we kissed, briefly. “Well,” he announced. “I’ll give you a call sometime, and I’ll see you online,” he said. Sometime? I thought. You’ll give me a call sometime? That’s quite an obvious blow off. But what could I say? By the time I had considered whether or not it would be appropriate for me to shrug, Eh, Daniel, I’ll call you sometime isn’t the most flattering way of saying goodbye, you know, it was too late, and I was nodding and heading for the stairs.

I walked home, wondering how long I could possibly do this without becoming insanely jealous of Robin or wanting Daniel to by my boyfriend. Can I last to the new year? Cause maybe we could do something then… were my thoughts. Of course, maybe he’ll have plans with Robin for New Year’s Eve. I don’t think I can do this, I thought, and practiced telling him so. In my mind, though, he protested. I don’t think he’d disagree if I said we’d better not see one another anymore, since he doesn’t want a serious relationship and, truthfully, I don’t think it’s what I need, either, but I’d be pretty damn annoyed if he didn’t at least seem sad about it. What if he didn’t seem sorry? I’m going to wait it out as long as I can because damn, I fancy him. No, that’s not true: I like him. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

So when I saw the email from Jordan I thought, ha! Perfect timing. This will keep my mind off of Daniel, and will serve to remind me that other men are eager to fuck my brains out. I will therefore feel desired and as if the ball is not entirely in Daniel’s court. Which it is. I just have to hope he doesn’t know that. Not ’cause I begrudge him the knowledge that I think he’s totally ace. But because I think that if he did know how I dote on him, he’d run screaming. Which he probably should do, anyway. Sigh.

Daniel, Part II

Last night Daniel came over. It was so much less stressful than Tuesday night. I can't even think of much to say except it was fun, he's sweet, he made me come during missionary-style sex (fairly unusual for me), and right now the inside of my lower lip is a little sore from sucking him off. My shoulder and neck are all cramped because I slept with my head on his chest for most of the night. He sounds like a vacuum cleaner when he snores.

When I answered the front door he presented me with a small, square box. "I got you something," he said, smiling. It was a box of tissues.

"I got one, too," I smirked. I'd actually dithered and finally bought baby wipes, the alcohol and fragrance free kind. Damp clothes are a bit more extravagant, but I was planning on enjoying myself, after all.

We went upstairs to my room and after a bit of back and forth about eating (later, we decided), we started making out. I told him about the previous night, and he told me about his bi experiences. This is what happened: a friend of his sort of set him up with a guy who knew Daniel was curious and wanted to experiment. Daniel said he was really nervous, and that they sat on his bed for a while while he grew more nervous. (I found the thought of this very exciting). Eventually, the guy took his cock out and started playing with it, to see Daniel's reaction. I thought that was bizarre! Whatever happened to a tentative hand on the upper thigh?

"So then what happened?" I asked. I was really wet.

"Well, he asked me if I wanted to touch it, and I said I did. So I stroked it for a while. Then he asked me if I wanted to kiss it, and I was so relieved that he asked, so happy... I went down on him."

When he told me about this other time he and a girl took turns going down on a guy, and then his friend ended up by blowing him, and the other guy, and swallowing both, I was so turned on I was squirming beneath his fingers. "Would you like to see me go down on another guy?" he asked, slipping his fingers up and down my clit.

"Uh huh," I breathed.

"Maybe we could arrange that," he said.

"That would be hot," I said, and my mind was filled with ideas of us and some anonymous boy, fooling around in my bedroom. God, now I'm all turned on again.

He is seeing four women (!) right now, but he says he thinks he's not going to fool around with his ex anymore, nor go too far with another woman he's been dating. "Well," I said, "I'm glad I made the final cut."

Then I curled up against his chest and he read me the first chapter of Terry Pratchett's latest, Wintersmith. I haven't been read to since I was a kid. My father used to read me the Little House books. Daniel does a pretty fair Scottish accent.