You wait for my call. I say one word. "NOW." You run to the shower hose yourself down wash your ass especially well because tonight it is mine. Make sure you lube it up your well before you leave the house. You might even want to toss a couple of fingers in there in the shower to get used to the idea. You will drink a bottle of water while you are getting ready and one en route to my house. I want you to feel full. I want you in an expendable wife-beater or old button up shirt. No fucking bra this time unless you plan on having it cut off of you. In fact, I want you in a plaid schoolgirl skirt. Dog collar. Drive to my house dressed this way. Do not be late but do not speed. I don’t want the police to get their hands on you like last time. Pull your car into the neighborhood and park up the street. Come to my front door. Knock three times. Wait 60 seconds and knock again. Open the front door. I will not answer. Slowly come inside. Call out, “Hello...anyone home? I’m lost...Can I use your phone?” Ask for directions. You got off at the wrong bus stop and don't know where you are. I will grab you from behind and take you then and there as I wish. You will definitely be at my beck and call. While you are still dressed and freshly fucked, you will crawl into the bathroom where I will piss on you in the bathtub and then you on my cock. You will then be led upstairs, punished and fucked heartily. Then I will order you to lick my ass and fuck me slowly with my strap-on, first on my stomach, whispering into my ear what an asshole I was and how you love fucking my ass...then you roll me on my back so I can stare into your eyes and slap your tits while you slide that hard cock in and out of me... Nice start for an evening you think? Perhaps a bit of ESPN or Matlock and a bite to eat instead? Don't fucking push it. You are mine and I am yours.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
WILD AT HEART, INDEED
It’s extremely odd
That in the fastest passing of a month
That one can remember
When all that is really recalled
Is your name
And the ever changing
Glorious look of you across the room
In her arms
Or her arms
In my arms
In your chair
In your element
Surrounded by your things
Your glow
Tarnished light all soft and asking
You being loved
Soft
Hard
Fast
Slowly
All eyes on you, baby
All hands on deck
It being “let’s Please Mary Week”
It being 6 a.m. in the morning
Half-way through
A marathon of six hands playing tootsie
Three hearts playing tag
Across one furry white carpet
An old wobbly cat perched on her back
As she strokes warm, hard meat with one hand
Fingers, again, your wet shivering gash with the other
Open and beckoning her in
The three of us piled neatly
Enveloping the objects of our desires
The shadows of our smiles
The sources of our panting breath
Our slavishly pounding hearts.
Surrounded
Smothered by the love
You can’t utter
But can’t but help to see
Can’t help to feel
Coming at you from all sides
Arms entwined
Palms on breasts
Foreheads
Thighs
Cunts and cock
Asses and bellies and lips and tongues
Dimples all smiles we all are
Sly, ravenous, rapturous smiles akimbo
What next?
What next?
No one dare ask allowed for to break the spell
The flow
The certainty that all rises at its own pace
Its own level of comfort
And comfort
Ease of deliberation
Simplicity of emotive
Synchronous
Drive
The elemental coming together of three
Count ‘em
Three adventurous souls
Passionate care
For each others sweet spots
Soft spots
Smoldering hot spots
Just part of the glimmering dew,
Embrace of the goodness
The sharing
The skin-on-skin
Jealousy breakdown
Jettisoned
Along with the angst and the time
That passes clandestinely behind the curtains
Separating all of this heat
From the dawning of the outside world.
That in the fastest passing of a month
That one can remember
When all that is really recalled
Is your name
And the ever changing
Glorious look of you across the room
In her arms
Or her arms
In my arms
In your chair
In your element
Surrounded by your things
Your glow
Tarnished light all soft and asking
You being loved
Soft
Hard
Fast
Slowly
All eyes on you, baby
All hands on deck
It being “let’s Please Mary Week”
It being 6 a.m. in the morning
Half-way through
A marathon of six hands playing tootsie
Three hearts playing tag
Across one furry white carpet
An old wobbly cat perched on her back
As she strokes warm, hard meat with one hand
Fingers, again, your wet shivering gash with the other
Open and beckoning her in
The three of us piled neatly
Enveloping the objects of our desires
The shadows of our smiles
The sources of our panting breath
Our slavishly pounding hearts.
Surrounded
Smothered by the love
You can’t utter
But can’t but help to see
Can’t help to feel
Coming at you from all sides
Arms entwined
Palms on breasts
Foreheads
Thighs
Cunts and cock
Asses and bellies and lips and tongues
Dimples all smiles we all are
Sly, ravenous, rapturous smiles akimbo
What next?
What next?
No one dare ask allowed for to break the spell
The flow
The certainty that all rises at its own pace
Its own level of comfort
And comfort
Ease of deliberation
Simplicity of emotive
Synchronous
Drive
The elemental coming together of three
Count ‘em
Three adventurous souls
Passionate care
For each others sweet spots
Soft spots
Smoldering hot spots
Just part of the glimmering dew,
Embrace of the goodness
The sharing
The skin-on-skin
Jealousy breakdown
Jettisoned
Along with the angst and the time
That passes clandestinely behind the curtains
Separating all of this heat
From the dawning of the outside world.
JNREAJKGALKJRBDV
I am so fucking exhilarated, frustrated, discombobulated I can’t tell you. I feel like I keep walking into walls that bend when my face hits them and I look at the imprint and the face staring back is yours. I want to touch, kiss, caress, spank, whip, suck, eat, bite, watch, smell, wax, hold, lick, fuck, rim, rape, cum on, piss on, tie up, fondle, surprise, kidnap, pinch, worship, spoil…YOU and be touched, kissed, caressed, spanked, whipped, sucked, eaten, bitten, waxed, held, licked, fucked, rimmed, raped, cum’d upon, pissed on, tied up, fondled, surprised, kidnapped, pinched, worshipped, spoiled…BY YOU. I want to sit across from you naked and not say a word until we both jump out of our skin and into a bucket next to the bed where our genetic slipstream coagulates into something not even I could resist on a tortilla.
It is like having the best Halloween outfit EVER and it pours rain, you have a cold, there’s a crime wave in your neighborhood and you aren’t allowed to trick OR treat or even go outside until next year when your outfit probably won’t fit you anymore.
BUT…I’m being calm…I’m accepting…meditating on my current moment…patient…enjoying the view from here…trying ever so hard not to stare at you, drooling like the dawg-boy I am…but when I do, I see me, but with better tits and much less hair…trying so incredibly hard to keep these enamored fantasies at bay, so close I can taste them but as distant as lightning flashing over the desert 30 miles away...trying to figure that it could be worse…I could be 3000 miles away sitting, cock in hand, wondering and dreaming…but perhaps that’s easier…trying to ignore the clock that ticks louder with each passing moment and thinking…'was life always this fucking ridiculous?'
Anyone ever put a piece of chocolate under your nose, touched it to your lips and then popped it into their mouth with a sly snicker…maybe even gave you a little kiss after slowly swirling that melting, heavenly ooze across their tongue and swallowing it down? And though you smell it, taste it, you want more...you wish you could’ve swallowed it whole when you had the chance.
Not envy, or jealousy of that piece of chocolate or that tongue…no, sheer unadulterated desire. And me, I luxuriate in the idea that each moment and conversation and thought of you is part of the process of discovery…your tongue in my ear, trying to break thru and suck on some succulent piece my mind; my fingers inside you, trying to reach up into your heart and feel its pulse racing in time with my own; our skin damp together trying to find out what makes these so like-minded souls, so fucking connected and unreachable at the same time. Just like our own selves are to us, touchable but just out of reach. We, who think we are closer than most in knowing ourselves, knowing who we really are and then, reflected in each other, we see radiant, sometimes enlightening, sometimes jarring bits, shards, and mirrored reflections of ourselves and want to know more.
You once said, “I think with you and I it would always just be about sex.” If that’s true, then I’ve fallen through some other kind of dream where words are colors and sounds taste blue and in that parallel universe all is explainable and all answers are mine to give. Oops. No deal. And at times I think, "Did I come 3000 miles to know less than I did before? To find freedom and temptation and impatience are all just the saw blade carving pieces out of the same jigsaw puzzle of daily existence or did I come out here just to get kinky or are they both slippery funhouse mirror versions of the same thing? Is the tenuous nature of our every waking moment just that simply defined? And perhaps the crapshoot of life is just that--a pre-destined, random slideshow over which there is no control, no rhyme, reason or rational, experiential explanation and an exceedingly incongruous but teasingly seductive soundtrack. “It ain’t why, why, why…it just is” or is it?
I see you on a high dive on the verge of a back flip into a BIG new pool of life and I see that the pool is indeed deep enough, enticing and warm enough and shimmering enough to seduce your desire for the unknown, for the challenge, for the adventure and I just hope you are a strong swimmer for the pool is an impetuous and tempting dream with a strong current. And as you spring up, soar into the air, suspended momentarily in the space between upward motion and downward plunge I want nothing so much as to be that water that envelopes you, that you pierce with your flailing sense of direction, but perhaps I am only destined to be the hot, bronzed lifeguard, package hanging left with one eye on the life preserver and the other on the edge of the pool just beyond which the wavering image of the arrow of your body flashes by…
Goodnight, my sweet muse.
~for Miss Mary, late night letter, written and sent 3:57am. July 11, 2008
It is like having the best Halloween outfit EVER and it pours rain, you have a cold, there’s a crime wave in your neighborhood and you aren’t allowed to trick OR treat or even go outside until next year when your outfit probably won’t fit you anymore.
BUT…I’m being calm…I’m accepting…meditating on my current moment…patient…enjoying the view from here…trying ever so hard not to stare at you, drooling like the dawg-boy I am…but when I do, I see me, but with better tits and much less hair…trying so incredibly hard to keep these enamored fantasies at bay, so close I can taste them but as distant as lightning flashing over the desert 30 miles away...trying to figure that it could be worse…I could be 3000 miles away sitting, cock in hand, wondering and dreaming…but perhaps that’s easier…trying to ignore the clock that ticks louder with each passing moment and thinking…'was life always this fucking ridiculous?'
Anyone ever put a piece of chocolate under your nose, touched it to your lips and then popped it into their mouth with a sly snicker…maybe even gave you a little kiss after slowly swirling that melting, heavenly ooze across their tongue and swallowing it down? And though you smell it, taste it, you want more...you wish you could’ve swallowed it whole when you had the chance.
Not envy, or jealousy of that piece of chocolate or that tongue…no, sheer unadulterated desire. And me, I luxuriate in the idea that each moment and conversation and thought of you is part of the process of discovery…your tongue in my ear, trying to break thru and suck on some succulent piece my mind; my fingers inside you, trying to reach up into your heart and feel its pulse racing in time with my own; our skin damp together trying to find out what makes these so like-minded souls, so fucking connected and unreachable at the same time. Just like our own selves are to us, touchable but just out of reach. We, who think we are closer than most in knowing ourselves, knowing who we really are and then, reflected in each other, we see radiant, sometimes enlightening, sometimes jarring bits, shards, and mirrored reflections of ourselves and want to know more.
You once said, “I think with you and I it would always just be about sex.” If that’s true, then I’ve fallen through some other kind of dream where words are colors and sounds taste blue and in that parallel universe all is explainable and all answers are mine to give. Oops. No deal. And at times I think, "Did I come 3000 miles to know less than I did before? To find freedom and temptation and impatience are all just the saw blade carving pieces out of the same jigsaw puzzle of daily existence or did I come out here just to get kinky or are they both slippery funhouse mirror versions of the same thing? Is the tenuous nature of our every waking moment just that simply defined? And perhaps the crapshoot of life is just that--a pre-destined, random slideshow over which there is no control, no rhyme, reason or rational, experiential explanation and an exceedingly incongruous but teasingly seductive soundtrack. “It ain’t why, why, why…it just is” or is it?
I see you on a high dive on the verge of a back flip into a BIG new pool of life and I see that the pool is indeed deep enough, enticing and warm enough and shimmering enough to seduce your desire for the unknown, for the challenge, for the adventure and I just hope you are a strong swimmer for the pool is an impetuous and tempting dream with a strong current. And as you spring up, soar into the air, suspended momentarily in the space between upward motion and downward plunge I want nothing so much as to be that water that envelopes you, that you pierce with your flailing sense of direction, but perhaps I am only destined to be the hot, bronzed lifeguard, package hanging left with one eye on the life preserver and the other on the edge of the pool just beyond which the wavering image of the arrow of your body flashes by…
Goodnight, my sweet muse.
~for Miss Mary, late night letter, written and sent 3:57am. July 11, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
DREAM #33470
I’m sitting in a favorite restaurant in Philadelphia waiting for Teena. She is late to work and the staff is worried about her. Suddenly I get a text mail from her. It says, “I have been tied to a tree in the park close by. You only have an hour to find me then they take me away back to Singapore. Help.”
I run out the door without paying for my food. Shannon follows and says, “Are you going to a movie? Can I go?”
“You’re boyfriend will be mad,” I say.
She says, “Teena has a boyfriend too, you know.”
“I know, she finally told me. I have an hour to find her,” and I run off across the street. I am worried because the park is big and there are so many trees. I ask people if they’ve seen a beautiful girl tied to a tree and they just laugh at me. I keep looking at my bracelet to tell time, like a sundial since I have no watch. I worry that I’m in the wrong park. A guy is playing bagpipes and it sounds horrible but I notice he is playing a song by Dave Matthews.
It is starting to rain lightly and I worry that time is going quickly. I think, “I barely got to know her now she will be in Indonesia.” I am very sad but running from tree to tree looking for her. I ask a park ranger who is wearing a tie-dye shirt and top hat and big, clown shoes if he has seen her. He says, “Maybe she’s in line to see the Liberty Bell.”
I scream, “No, you idiot, she’s tied to a tree.”
Suddenly, I hear a little kid say to his mom while the pass by, “Why is she naked, mom?” and I know he’s talking about Teena so I run in the direction they came from. I see yellow ropes in a BIG bowknot like a huge shoestring on a giant tree and when I run around to the other side, there she is. She is naked and I stop for a moment and just stare at her. I’ve never seen anything this sexy in my life. I walk up to her slowly and she has tears coming down her face but is smiling her incredible smile. “I knew you would find me Renaissance man. I knew it.”
“I need a knife to cut these ropes.” I look around but there is nothing and no one around. I look at my watch and there is only fifteen minutes left.
“Wait,” she says. “Now you can kiss me.”
“We don’t have much time,” I am looking under a bush for something sharp to cut the rope.
“But if they take me and we never kiss I will forever regret it,” she says softly.
I walk to the tree and put my hands on her hips. Her skin is so very soft. Leaning in, I whisper in her ear, feeling her sweet-smelling, silky hair against my lips for the first time. “I have waited so long for this…I am so nervous.”
“Kiss me,” she sighs softly and I look in to her eyes and my heart just races. I slowly find my lips moving toward her open mouth and she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. A press my wet lips slowly against hers and she tastes so sweet, deliciously soft, and she leans into me against the ropes as I press my body to hers and suddenly I notice the ropes have fallen to the ground and her arms are over my shoulders as I wrap mine around her.
We are not in the park any more and I am carrying her in my arms up the stairs at her restaurant. She is wrapped in one of my big, soft shirts. There is a hidden room behind a curtain that I somehow know about and I walk through there.
I sit her down in a big bathtub full of warm water and silky bath oils that smell of springtime flowers. Only candles light the room and I feel someone sitting in a dark corner watching us. I slowly wash Teena’s face and arms, back and chest in the candlelight, watching the water slide down her body and shoulders, hearing her breathing quietly as if she is very content. I lean in and softly kiss her neck. She stands and I sponge bubbly warm water all over her. She balances with her hand on my shoulder. “My turn,” she says and I climb into the tub with all of my clothes on and she cracks up. So does Shannon whose laugh I recognize from her seat in the dark corner watching us. Teena begins to unbutton my now soaked shirt and over her shoulder I see Shannon stand and slowly walk towards us and then I wake up!!!”
I run out the door without paying for my food. Shannon follows and says, “Are you going to a movie? Can I go?”
“You’re boyfriend will be mad,” I say.
She says, “Teena has a boyfriend too, you know.”
“I know, she finally told me. I have an hour to find her,” and I run off across the street. I am worried because the park is big and there are so many trees. I ask people if they’ve seen a beautiful girl tied to a tree and they just laugh at me. I keep looking at my bracelet to tell time, like a sundial since I have no watch. I worry that I’m in the wrong park. A guy is playing bagpipes and it sounds horrible but I notice he is playing a song by Dave Matthews.
It is starting to rain lightly and I worry that time is going quickly. I think, “I barely got to know her now she will be in Indonesia.” I am very sad but running from tree to tree looking for her. I ask a park ranger who is wearing a tie-dye shirt and top hat and big, clown shoes if he has seen her. He says, “Maybe she’s in line to see the Liberty Bell.”
I scream, “No, you idiot, she’s tied to a tree.”
Suddenly, I hear a little kid say to his mom while the pass by, “Why is she naked, mom?” and I know he’s talking about Teena so I run in the direction they came from. I see yellow ropes in a BIG bowknot like a huge shoestring on a giant tree and when I run around to the other side, there she is. She is naked and I stop for a moment and just stare at her. I’ve never seen anything this sexy in my life. I walk up to her slowly and she has tears coming down her face but is smiling her incredible smile. “I knew you would find me Renaissance man. I knew it.”
“I need a knife to cut these ropes.” I look around but there is nothing and no one around. I look at my watch and there is only fifteen minutes left.
“Wait,” she says. “Now you can kiss me.”
“We don’t have much time,” I am looking under a bush for something sharp to cut the rope.
“But if they take me and we never kiss I will forever regret it,” she says softly.
I walk to the tree and put my hands on her hips. Her skin is so very soft. Leaning in, I whisper in her ear, feeling her sweet-smelling, silky hair against my lips for the first time. “I have waited so long for this…I am so nervous.”
“Kiss me,” she sighs softly and I look in to her eyes and my heart just races. I slowly find my lips moving toward her open mouth and she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. A press my wet lips slowly against hers and she tastes so sweet, deliciously soft, and she leans into me against the ropes as I press my body to hers and suddenly I notice the ropes have fallen to the ground and her arms are over my shoulders as I wrap mine around her.
We are not in the park any more and I am carrying her in my arms up the stairs at her restaurant. She is wrapped in one of my big, soft shirts. There is a hidden room behind a curtain that I somehow know about and I walk through there.
I sit her down in a big bathtub full of warm water and silky bath oils that smell of springtime flowers. Only candles light the room and I feel someone sitting in a dark corner watching us. I slowly wash Teena’s face and arms, back and chest in the candlelight, watching the water slide down her body and shoulders, hearing her breathing quietly as if she is very content. I lean in and softly kiss her neck. She stands and I sponge bubbly warm water all over her. She balances with her hand on my shoulder. “My turn,” she says and I climb into the tub with all of my clothes on and she cracks up. So does Shannon whose laugh I recognize from her seat in the dark corner watching us. Teena begins to unbutton my now soaked shirt and over her shoulder I see Shannon stand and slowly walk towards us and then I wake up!!!”
Thursday, June 19, 2008
POST-DIVORCE DEBAUCHERY
I was inspired by a member on AdultFriendFinder with her post called "what a year!" to note my new, sexy and fun accomplishments of the past four years since my divorce. Hopefully, this we be a constantly evolving list.
* Became a fully confident, sexually satisfied human being and most importantly learned to not define myself by who I was with and whether or not I was in a relationship. Finally, figured out that it was ME who made ME happy not someone else’s responsibility.
* Found that being polyamorous is not just an excuse to fool around, but also a chance to love and share and respect your partner(s) deeply. That polyamory has nothing to do with being promiscuous or with lack of commitment, love or devotion. In fact, it's all about deep commitment to honesty, sharing, openness and the happiness of your partner.
* Learned how to lose a great deal of my inhibitions
* Realized that yes, I am kinkier than most but still blown away by some of you all out there i.e. there’s always room for new insights ☺
* Became multi-orgasmic. Learned how to injaculate and men, it is worth the effort…way worth the effort.
* Became fully comfortable with my bi-tendencies and fantasies and anxious to find the right man to make them a reality. (I'm way picky, boys so be patient)
* Learned that my previous idea of what was sexually attractive was not only limiting but completely off-base…you are ALL gorgeous.
* Learned to have a lot more self-confidence in bed and in life.
* Started a sex blog that has become incredibly fun after years of secret journaling.
* Discovered that I love ass play and light bondage and discipline and role-playing even more than I ever thought.
* Re-entered a feverish and loving sexual relationship with an ex-lover from 27 years ago (who has been in a long, sexless marriage she is currently freeing herself from) and it’s SO much more passionate and sensual and intense than ever before. She is extremely responsive and open to many of my new sexual explorations and is as romantic and loving as anyone I have ever met. I adore every minute with her.
* Had phone sex for the first time and with my various lovers that shook the rooftops and allowed my verbal tendencies a new outlet.
* Had transcendent sex that totally changed my life spiritually and sexually after working through the initial confusion and misplaced emotional roller coaster that it began.
* Began a sexual tryst, a sort of more well-defined and heady “fuck buddy” regular scene with an “exploratory partner” that opened so many doors and realized so many fantasies and in spite of our early “rules” found us both just falling wonderfully for each other in an incredibly open, giving, sharing and non-clinging way that still reveals a wonderful depth of emotion and trust between us whether or not we are currently trysting.
* Had an orgy with two male old friends and two beautiful working girls that was just a blast.
* Had sexual relations with women 2, 13, 15, 25 and 28 years my junior.
* Admitted my bi-curiousness to a large handful of good friends and got nothing but positive reactions.
What
* Had sex with 2 different women in a 48 hour period.
* Had a woman lick my asshole. Amazing.
* Got fucked in the ass with fingers and toys by two different women. Wow.
* Fucked two different women in the ass a few times. Incredible.
* Stared into the eyes of a woman while she licked pussy for the first time of a woman who had never been with another woman.
* Got experience dominating and being submissive to a woman (with two different women together and three separately on a few occasions) using, whips, restraints, flogging, cuffs, tied one to a saddle, nipple clamps, dirty language, blindfolds, satin, food, candle wax, oils, dildos, vibrators, cock rings, feathers, silk dust and more…needless to say I am a full switch...
* Had my first threesome with two women: one who had minimal experience in group situations and the other who had zero experience with groups and zero experiences with women. I am officially and completely hooked.
* Had my cock sucked on at the same time by two women.
* Being tied and spanked and dominated by two women who took turns showing each other new tricks. Yum.
Where
(Most not actual firsts but fun none-the-less)
* Had sex in my shower in my new apartment (first time there)
* Had sex in my bed there also (first time there)
* Had sex in the hallway in my West Coast home (first time there)
* Have now had sex in every room of my West Coast home except for the basement
* Had sex in a hot tub for the first time
* Got a hand job in the car on Pacific Coast Highway
* Got a blow job in a strip joint (first time ever)
* Got a hand job on a train between NY and Philly (first time ever)
* Had sex in numerous hotel rooms
* Got a hand job in the open on a couch in a dark restaurant (first time)
* Pulled out my cock and rubbed up against my girlfriend in a phone booth in a restaurant (first time ever)
* Got passionate in numerous elevators (no sex yet but give us time)
* Accidentally ripped the headboard off the wall in a swanky Santa Monica hotel during my first new sex with my former/and newly rediscovered lover.
How Many
* my first and second threesomes (two different groups of girls – both FMF)
* my first bi-phone sex three-way. Me and a M friend on one end hovering over the speaker phone with my EXP on the other end of the line.
* More sexual partners in one year than in any previous year
* More different dating partners than I have ever had in a two-year period (actual sexual and non-sexual dates not including strip clubs…)
And this all before signing on to AdultFriendFinder...hmmm
* Became a fully confident, sexually satisfied human being and most importantly learned to not define myself by who I was with and whether or not I was in a relationship. Finally, figured out that it was ME who made ME happy not someone else’s responsibility.
* Found that being polyamorous is not just an excuse to fool around, but also a chance to love and share and respect your partner(s) deeply. That polyamory has nothing to do with being promiscuous or with lack of commitment, love or devotion. In fact, it's all about deep commitment to honesty, sharing, openness and the happiness of your partner.
* Learned how to lose a great deal of my inhibitions
* Realized that yes, I am kinkier than most but still blown away by some of you all out there i.e. there’s always room for new insights ☺
* Became multi-orgasmic. Learned how to injaculate and men, it is worth the effort…way worth the effort.
* Became fully comfortable with my bi-tendencies and fantasies and anxious to find the right man to make them a reality. (I'm way picky, boys so be patient)
* Learned that my previous idea of what was sexually attractive was not only limiting but completely off-base…you are ALL gorgeous.
* Learned to have a lot more self-confidence in bed and in life.
* Started a sex blog that has become incredibly fun after years of secret journaling.
* Discovered that I love ass play and light bondage and discipline and role-playing even more than I ever thought.
* Re-entered a feverish and loving sexual relationship with an ex-lover from 27 years ago (who has been in a long, sexless marriage she is currently freeing herself from) and it’s SO much more passionate and sensual and intense than ever before. She is extremely responsive and open to many of my new sexual explorations and is as romantic and loving as anyone I have ever met. I adore every minute with her.
* Had phone sex for the first time and with my various lovers that shook the rooftops and allowed my verbal tendencies a new outlet.
* Had transcendent sex that totally changed my life spiritually and sexually after working through the initial confusion and misplaced emotional roller coaster that it began.
* Began a sexual tryst, a sort of more well-defined and heady “fuck buddy” regular scene with an “exploratory partner” that opened so many doors and realized so many fantasies and in spite of our early “rules” found us both just falling wonderfully for each other in an incredibly open, giving, sharing and non-clinging way that still reveals a wonderful depth of emotion and trust between us whether or not we are currently trysting.
* Had an orgy with two male old friends and two beautiful working girls that was just a blast.
* Had sexual relations with women 2, 13, 15, 25 and 28 years my junior.
* Admitted my bi-curiousness to a large handful of good friends and got nothing but positive reactions.
What
* Had sex with 2 different women in a 48 hour period.
* Had a woman lick my asshole. Amazing.
* Got fucked in the ass with fingers and toys by two different women. Wow.
* Fucked two different women in the ass a few times. Incredible.
* Stared into the eyes of a woman while she licked pussy for the first time of a woman who had never been with another woman.
* Got experience dominating and being submissive to a woman (with two different women together and three separately on a few occasions) using, whips, restraints, flogging, cuffs, tied one to a saddle, nipple clamps, dirty language, blindfolds, satin, food, candle wax, oils, dildos, vibrators, cock rings, feathers, silk dust and more…needless to say I am a full switch...
* Had my first threesome with two women: one who had minimal experience in group situations and the other who had zero experience with groups and zero experiences with women. I am officially and completely hooked.
* Had my cock sucked on at the same time by two women.
* Being tied and spanked and dominated by two women who took turns showing each other new tricks. Yum.
Where
(Most not actual firsts but fun none-the-less)
* Had sex in my shower in my new apartment (first time there)
* Had sex in my bed there also (first time there)
* Had sex in the hallway in my West Coast home (first time there)
* Have now had sex in every room of my West Coast home except for the basement
* Had sex in a hot tub for the first time
* Got a hand job in the car on Pacific Coast Highway
* Got a blow job in a strip joint (first time ever)
* Got a hand job on a train between NY and Philly (first time ever)
* Had sex in numerous hotel rooms
* Got a hand job in the open on a couch in a dark restaurant (first time)
* Pulled out my cock and rubbed up against my girlfriend in a phone booth in a restaurant (first time ever)
* Got passionate in numerous elevators (no sex yet but give us time)
* Accidentally ripped the headboard off the wall in a swanky Santa Monica hotel during my first new sex with my former/and newly rediscovered lover.
How Many
* my first and second threesomes (two different groups of girls – both FMF)
* my first bi-phone sex three-way. Me and a M friend on one end hovering over the speaker phone with my EXP on the other end of the line.
* More sexual partners in one year than in any previous year
* More different dating partners than I have ever had in a two-year period (actual sexual and non-sexual dates not including strip clubs…)
And this all before signing on to AdultFriendFinder...hmmm
ON THE PARTY BUS PT. I
I’m on the party bus, late night, hour-long ride home from the gig in Annapolis. I put my shirt as a pillow under Shelli’s head for she has fallen asleep in the seat behind me. She is one of the most stunningly beautiful women I have ever encountered. No, seriously. So hot that my friend Paolo recently confessed that he had even followed her around campus on a couple of occasions just to not have to stop looking at her.
Her blouse has fallen open a bit and I can see her entire left nipple in the streetlight that flickers in through the open bus window. Laying my head on the back of my seat, I just stare at her, dreaming of how little rest I'd get if I found myself in bed with her each night, watching her sleep. My hand drops to my lap and in the darkness as everyone is sleeping and passed out, I feel my cock stiffen in my pants and wish I had the balls to pull it out right there.
Suddenly someone slides into the seat next to me. It is another young beauty, the birthday girl Mia who we all sang to earlier in the evening. I'd been eyeing her dancing all night in her tight-fitting, very short batik dress. A sight to behold now plopped down next to me with her bottle of Jim Beam tightly in her grip. She pushes the bottle towards me and as I pull my hand up from my crotch, she glances down and notices the pre-existing condition in my pants. I take what she’s holding and she, in turn, reaches down and gets a firm hold on what was just in my hand. As she persistently rubs my heated lap she says, “Ah ha, so you knew I was coming.”
“Are you?” I say practically out of breath from the excitement.
“In a minute,” she replies with a grin and spreads her legs invitingly. Her blue mini-dress slides up the top of her legs and I transfer the bottle to my left hand before sliding my right up the inside of her soft inner thigh. When I reach her young, panty-less crotch, I feel her slick, shaved quim already wet and awaiting my fingertips' slow caresses.
I lean over and give her a lingering kiss and she makes a soft little moan as my middle finger slips slowly into her body. She fumbles a bit for my zipper and then delicately eases it down and pulls my engorged cock out into the humid night air. All of the windows on the bus are open and there are 2-3 drunken voices reveling near the back, everyone else silent, buzzed, exhausted.
She glances down at my throbbing rod filling her small, strong hand and immediately stands and throws a leg over mine and as her skirt pulls up on its own, she slides down and impales herself on my anxiousness.
Her athletic, 22-year old body--she’s a track star, the only woman on a men’s college team—takes control and I am pinned beneath her, her soaked flesh is as tight as can be around me and she leans over to whisper in my ear, “Fill me up, baby. I can feel your heat inside.” She moves slowly so as to not attract much attention, throws her arms on top of my shoulders and pulls my face into her cleavage. I lick between her pert, young breasts and suddenly I feel a hand slip down my chest, slide directly to my right nipple. It pinches and pulls slowly with increasing pressure until the glorious pain rocks my head. Noticing that Mia’s arms are still over my shoulders, I realize that the playful nipple torturer is Shelli, her arm over the back of my seat joining in on our little party from behind us. I feel her tongue briefly at my ear and she whispers, “Save some for me, boy.”
“Oooooooooooo,” Mia is now cooing above me, her hair hanging on either side of her face. I stare up at her in the flashing freeway light. She is so very young. Flawless skin and ruby lips slightly open and breathing heavily. She grips my cock with her taut cunt and I feel her milking me up and down with her muscles only. She moves only her hips so from anywhere else in the bus all seems still. Shelli leans in and starts to kiss Mia sweetly on the neck and cheek through her hair until Mia turns to her and meets her lips daringly. In a very short time, I feel her begin to spasm and the waves start rolling up from her, her thighs wrapping tighter around me. “Fuck…oh my god…” Shelli giggles at Mia's outburst, ‘Ssssh. Quiet, baby.’
I can smell Shelli’s sweet breath in close proximity to us, as she pulls my nipple, twisting hard and slowly as I begin to feel waves of my own. “Cum, cum, cum inside me, come with me, cu..oh god…oh..” Mia was practically incoherent, squeezing and shuddering all over my cock and as she pushes all the way down onto me, her clit hitting my pubic bone, I turn and look into Shelli’s stunningly gorgeous face as I start to cum…she is smiling so big, so happy, staring into my eyes and I shiver a huge load up into this young girl…Mia grasps hard around my neck and I feel her shoulders shaking and Shelli leans over and kisses me softly on the mouth and I feel her smiling as she kisses me…
“Lucky girl,” Shelli whispers. Mia puts her hands on my shoulders, pushing back away from me and I pull her soaked hair from her face. Tears are rolling down her cheeks and she rolls her eyes saying, “FUCK!” a bit too loudly and the three of us crack up.
We quickly look around and behind us it is pretty quiet. Cute couple Didi and Paul are now making out two seats ahead of us. The kid directly in front of us is snoring through it all and across the aisle from us is a wide-eyed, angelic hippie boy trying to avert his eyes, acting as if wasn’t just witnessing this steamy scene. Mia notices him, climbs off of me and into the seat next to him, plants a big, lingering kiss on his lips and then curls up and falls asleep in his arms. He is completely shocked, the look of a deer caught in the headlights on his face.
Shelli climbs around the seat and in next to me. She bends and takes my semi-hard cock to her lips, licking the remains of Mia and I off of me before rising up to kiss me deep and long. She tucks my hardening cock back into my pants and whispers, “No wonder your girlfriends adore you so much.” I chuckle and am at a loss for words, for she is truly one of the great beauties I have ever seen. “Promise me you won’t let it go too long without having some fun with me,” she says, her lips pressed to my ear. If we weren’t so close to the end of the trip, I’d stand her on the seat on her knees and eat her pussy and ass all the way home.
“You are at the top of my list, gorgeous,” I reply.
Looking me directly in the eye, she smiled slyly, “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
Her blouse has fallen open a bit and I can see her entire left nipple in the streetlight that flickers in through the open bus window. Laying my head on the back of my seat, I just stare at her, dreaming of how little rest I'd get if I found myself in bed with her each night, watching her sleep. My hand drops to my lap and in the darkness as everyone is sleeping and passed out, I feel my cock stiffen in my pants and wish I had the balls to pull it out right there.
Suddenly someone slides into the seat next to me. It is another young beauty, the birthday girl Mia who we all sang to earlier in the evening. I'd been eyeing her dancing all night in her tight-fitting, very short batik dress. A sight to behold now plopped down next to me with her bottle of Jim Beam tightly in her grip. She pushes the bottle towards me and as I pull my hand up from my crotch, she glances down and notices the pre-existing condition in my pants. I take what she’s holding and she, in turn, reaches down and gets a firm hold on what was just in my hand. As she persistently rubs my heated lap she says, “Ah ha, so you knew I was coming.”
“Are you?” I say practically out of breath from the excitement.
“In a minute,” she replies with a grin and spreads her legs invitingly. Her blue mini-dress slides up the top of her legs and I transfer the bottle to my left hand before sliding my right up the inside of her soft inner thigh. When I reach her young, panty-less crotch, I feel her slick, shaved quim already wet and awaiting my fingertips' slow caresses.
I lean over and give her a lingering kiss and she makes a soft little moan as my middle finger slips slowly into her body. She fumbles a bit for my zipper and then delicately eases it down and pulls my engorged cock out into the humid night air. All of the windows on the bus are open and there are 2-3 drunken voices reveling near the back, everyone else silent, buzzed, exhausted.
She glances down at my throbbing rod filling her small, strong hand and immediately stands and throws a leg over mine and as her skirt pulls up on its own, she slides down and impales herself on my anxiousness.
Her athletic, 22-year old body--she’s a track star, the only woman on a men’s college team—takes control and I am pinned beneath her, her soaked flesh is as tight as can be around me and she leans over to whisper in my ear, “Fill me up, baby. I can feel your heat inside.” She moves slowly so as to not attract much attention, throws her arms on top of my shoulders and pulls my face into her cleavage. I lick between her pert, young breasts and suddenly I feel a hand slip down my chest, slide directly to my right nipple. It pinches and pulls slowly with increasing pressure until the glorious pain rocks my head. Noticing that Mia’s arms are still over my shoulders, I realize that the playful nipple torturer is Shelli, her arm over the back of my seat joining in on our little party from behind us. I feel her tongue briefly at my ear and she whispers, “Save some for me, boy.”
“Oooooooooooo,” Mia is now cooing above me, her hair hanging on either side of her face. I stare up at her in the flashing freeway light. She is so very young. Flawless skin and ruby lips slightly open and breathing heavily. She grips my cock with her taut cunt and I feel her milking me up and down with her muscles only. She moves only her hips so from anywhere else in the bus all seems still. Shelli leans in and starts to kiss Mia sweetly on the neck and cheek through her hair until Mia turns to her and meets her lips daringly. In a very short time, I feel her begin to spasm and the waves start rolling up from her, her thighs wrapping tighter around me. “Fuck…oh my god…” Shelli giggles at Mia's outburst, ‘Ssssh. Quiet, baby.’
I can smell Shelli’s sweet breath in close proximity to us, as she pulls my nipple, twisting hard and slowly as I begin to feel waves of my own. “Cum, cum, cum inside me, come with me, cu..oh god…oh..” Mia was practically incoherent, squeezing and shuddering all over my cock and as she pushes all the way down onto me, her clit hitting my pubic bone, I turn and look into Shelli’s stunningly gorgeous face as I start to cum…she is smiling so big, so happy, staring into my eyes and I shiver a huge load up into this young girl…Mia grasps hard around my neck and I feel her shoulders shaking and Shelli leans over and kisses me softly on the mouth and I feel her smiling as she kisses me…
“Lucky girl,” Shelli whispers. Mia puts her hands on my shoulders, pushing back away from me and I pull her soaked hair from her face. Tears are rolling down her cheeks and she rolls her eyes saying, “FUCK!” a bit too loudly and the three of us crack up.
We quickly look around and behind us it is pretty quiet. Cute couple Didi and Paul are now making out two seats ahead of us. The kid directly in front of us is snoring through it all and across the aisle from us is a wide-eyed, angelic hippie boy trying to avert his eyes, acting as if wasn’t just witnessing this steamy scene. Mia notices him, climbs off of me and into the seat next to him, plants a big, lingering kiss on his lips and then curls up and falls asleep in his arms. He is completely shocked, the look of a deer caught in the headlights on his face.
Shelli climbs around the seat and in next to me. She bends and takes my semi-hard cock to her lips, licking the remains of Mia and I off of me before rising up to kiss me deep and long. She tucks my hardening cock back into my pants and whispers, “No wonder your girlfriends adore you so much.” I chuckle and am at a loss for words, for she is truly one of the great beauties I have ever seen. “Promise me you won’t let it go too long without having some fun with me,” she says, her lips pressed to my ear. If we weren’t so close to the end of the trip, I’d stand her on the seat on her knees and eat her pussy and ass all the way home.
“You are at the top of my list, gorgeous,” I reply.
Looking me directly in the eye, she smiled slyly, “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
Friday, May 30, 2008
MY FIRST TIME
During my first two semesters at college I kept seeing this beautiful young lady on campus; at the service counter in the Spartan bookstore and even at some concerts I went to. I was enthralled. She was drop-dead gorgeous. Her face occupied my dreams and fantasies for days to come. I was instantly hot over her the first time I saw her and I'd linger in that part of the store whenever I saw her there. She had long, full dark brown hair down to the top of her ass.
On June 20, 1976, my buddy and I went to see a concert in L.A. I spotted this beauty there walking down the aisle in front of us.
“Bink, see that girl with the long, brown hair? Do you know her?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She’s gorgeous. She works in the book store.”
The next day, I started working at the Creation Dock Seafood Exchange restaurant in the touristy part of town. While cleaning up on my first day (I was hired as groundskeeper/janitor/prep cook), this same radiant woman walked by me and said, “Hi.” Needless to say, I was astonished that she worked there, as fate would have it.
I watched her working at the waitress station, from my peephole in the kitchen. I lingered at my tasks a bit until I had a chance to catch her eye again and I took my shot. Getting ballsy with a beautiful woman for the first time in my life. “How’d you like that concert in L.A. last night?”
“How do you know I went?” she asked, blown away that I’d noticed her.
“I never forget a pretty face.” I was shocked as the words flowed gracefully, if horridly clichéd, from my lips. I found out her name was Jill and I helped her bus some tables when she was busy.
While I was on break, eating lunch in the empty bar, she came up and bought me a beer. When I told her how old I was, she was again, surprised. She thought I was her age (I was 19). She was a beautiful, experienced, seductive 23-year-old. Half-Thai, half-Irish, her family from Oregon.
The next day, she asked if I wanted to get a six-pack and hangout after work. Well, yeah but she'd have to buy because I was only 19. We sat in my car at the marina and got to know each other a bit. I was entranced.
We’d visit over lunch for about a week, getting to know each other pretty quickly. Then one day after work, she came over to my apartment and went swimming for a while. She threw her arms around me at one point and I sprouted a tremendous hard-on. She later told me that from that point on she decided to “scheme on” me. If I would’ve been more cognizant of that fact, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. I was really in awe and intimidated by the insanely beautiful girl.
One evening shortly thereafter, I was half-in-the-bag and playing guitar in my bedroom with my roomie and Jill showed up. She said that she had gotten into a fight with her boyfriend, Rex, who she lived with in the next beach town up the coast about three miles. She asked if she could stay with me. Of course, I was thrilled, she didn’t have to ask twice. She tossed a brown paper sack at me that held a fresh pair of panties and a toothbrush. Traveling light. I loved a girl with a plan but I wasn't quite ready for her directness. I was not used to this at all but I would sure try!
This first night she fell asleep (she was buzzed when she got there) and I slept totally naked with a woman for the first time in my life. Let me rephrase that: I spent the night in bed naked with a naked woman for the first time. I did not sleep. I laid wide awake, staring at her beautiful sleeping face, smelling her hair, looking at her miraculous dark brown nipples and marveled at her soft inner thighs wrapped over my legs. I will never forget those racing hours.
After that we started seeing each other after work everyday. It was a beautiful, sunny, blue day there outside my old Pinto where we'd sit outside in the liquor store parking lot watching the sailboats come into the harbor. By the time we had gone back for four more beers--each time the price changing, by the way, even the clerk was distracted by her smile-—she had told me her life story. She was having problems with Rex. She’d lived with him for over a year and they had been fighting for at least ten months. She was having thoughts of moving away from him. She asked if she could sleep with me when she was lonely and upset. Hell, yeah!
We got along grandly for a month or so, sneaking kisses in the bar or the kitchen at work, going farther in the walk-in fridge, almost making love. We'd swim and go to concerts. She finally moved away from Rex, to a place only two blocks away from me. He’d been treating her like shit, hitting her and she had had enough.
She was a tremendously sexual creature. She thrived on sex and all of its eccentricities. She liked to be extremely open in public. In other words, she would tease all day and make out all night. She used to enjoy being the initiator and the aggressor. Both of which, I was in dire need of and very acceptant of this new development in my life.
Jill would come over and jerk me off in the walk in closet while my friends were out in the front room. We’d roll around for hours, sucking face, rubbing all over each other. In our previous nights together, I’d gone down on her a couple of times and she'd always pull me up (I obviously had no idea what I was doing) but instead of telling me what she wanted, she'd pull me up to her mouth and say she wanted to lick her wetness off of my face. Her delicious pussy was the most incredibly gorgeous I have ever seen (and the first I had tasted). Her sparse black hair was as silky as anything I'd ever experienced. I was mesmerized.
She’d also gone down on me a couple of times before (did I mention the walk-in fridge at work?) but I was always SO nervous. So afraid, that I'd not know what to do that I had trouble staying erect when we'd get close to fucking. I thought that there was some secret that I didn’t know and was very afraid to be thought of as inexperienced (although I certainly was).
I was a nervous wreck. A virgin at 19. By this time, we had been around each other for a couple of months, fairly often, a couple of nights a week at least. But she had this louse of boyfriend and there was lots of confusion on both our parts. I just needed the big push to take the step. At times, we'd make the mistake of drinking way too much alcohol. I remember her saying, “Someday, we’re gonna have to not drink so much. Someday we’re gonna have to just fuck.” Gotcha. But, I was scared to death.
Finally, about the time school started back up in the fall, I got fed up with work and quit the restaurant. No more getting drunk with the boss after hours in the bar; no more free meals and no more Jill everyday. My college rock band was just forming and 4-5 nights a week we rehearsed inland about 20 miles away from the beach. With all the running around, we saw each other less and less.
In August, we attended a Crosby, Stills & Nash concert at the Arena. At one point, after she played with my cock, her hand in my pants up in our seats near the roof of the joint, she threw her arms around my neck and she asked me if I loved her. I didn’t know what to say. I'd never been asked this before. Of course, I thought I knew how I felt, but I was scared. She was still, sort of, with somebody else. I was still heartbroken from my first high school sweetheart. I was young and stupid, afraid of committing myself. I hedged a bit, dumb me.
She said, she found herself falling in love with me. I said that I really didn’t know, I was scared of being hurt again.
The music diffused the conversation and on the way home we were joking around and then I said something that set her off. It had started when she asked me what I was looking at as we drove home and a drunk girl with her tits hanging out walked out into the street and I had to slam on my brakes for her to stumble by.
“I had to stop for the road block,” I joked and she said, "So you wish I had bigger tits?" What? She had issues about her breast size and got pissed if I mentioned tits at all. She was picking a fight, I guess. She gave me the silent treatment all the way home.
She'd taken my comment personally and said she'd heard this shit all the time from Rex and that she was tired of feeling bad about herself. I think she was really pissed that I didn't answer her affirmatively earlier about being in love with her. I tried to explain that I wasn’t being malicious or even directing any tit comment at her, to no avail. She ran into my apartment and cranked the stereo up, started dancing and tuned me out for an hour.
A big wall went up and I got tired of trying to talk and being ignored so I got pissed and went into my room and moped. She eventually came in crying saying, “You don’t understand.”
Yes, I do. “No, you don’t.” and that pissed me off more. I went into the living room, running away from my anger. She followed me in, sat beside me. She finally wiped the tears from her eyes, the pain from her heart and she leaned to me and slid her hand over my crotch. Then she took my hand and lightly led me into the bedroom, an innocent, peaceful look on her face. We headed toward the first, and last, consummation of our love.
We had slept together, fooled around often but we had never yet made love. Though it was not due to the fact that we hadn’t had the opportunity or hadn’t tried.
Too many drinks and too many jokes. But that night, though I couldn't say it, we both discovered somehow that we loved one another and in hindsight it scared us both into defensive strategy.
She trying to justify her love for me with her dissolving relationship with this violent Rex guy. Me, trying to figure out if I was really in love since I was still pining for Joni and still blindly hopeful that Joni and I would work out somehow. Strange night…but then it happened.
Sliding down onto the bed, she enveloped me in her soft, warm legs. Undressing herself above me, her eyes never left mine. As she pulled her top up over her head, I saw her amazing child-like body. Her beautiful tiny breasts tipped by dark nipples, lengthening before my eyes as her long, thick dark brown hair brushed over them like clouds hiding a beautiful moon.
She told me to take off my shirt, as I did her eyes followed down my chest and she unbuckled my pants and pulled them down over my feet. She rubbed her dark, warm cunt over my stomach. Her pubic hair as soft, a rabbit pelt of black silk, thinly covering her wet pink sacred place. My belly soaked, rose and fell as she slid down on top of my engorged rod. Rolling together, I pressed my face up through her thick hair, trying to get eye to eye with her dark almondine crescents there in the cave of mane that fell on my shoulders and surrounded my head. Our lips met, her tongue darting into me in time with my cock between her legs. Our bodies melding into one.
She moaned like a wild cat, we rolled together onto the floor and I slipped underneath again for the pleasure of feeling her waist-length hair caress my shoulders and chest again, while she kissed my forehead and ears. The huge pillow on the floor was soft and spongy beneath us and as I rolled again, I felt her legs tighten and clinch behind my back. She was moving furiously, gasping for air and I thought she’d buck me off... On the edge, I moved faster, her fingers clawing at my ass. I collapsed in her arms and we lay satiated. In a little while she got up, stumbled to the bathroom in the hall and puked up the last three shots of cheap tequila and I half-hoped that wouldn’t be the normal reaction every time I made love in the future!
We woke sometime later, dawn was creeping through the plants in the windowsill. A big jet shook the glass pane as the first morning flight slipped out of town over our heads. I kissed her awake and as she moved against me, I slowly sunk my hips into her and we made slow, passionate morning love our lips never parting until we had both shivered the day awake.
I felt like a million pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders. She was my 1st real sex. Of course, even before that night I was lost and in love with her but still, held a fading torch for Joni back in my hometown.
After that, I never heard from her again. In a week or two, I heard Rex had convinced her to move back in with him. I couldn't call her house. My ex-boss wouldn't allow me in the restaurant since I'd quit on him. So when the fall semester started up I walked into the book store and asked for her. "She's not working this semester but I just saw her heading down the the beer garden."
I looked around but didn't see her so I sat at a table and began writing in my journal. A few minutes later, I heard her voice nearby.
"Pierce," she was sitting directly across the table from me. Looking radiant but sad. "I'm moving up to San Luis after this semester to live with my grandma for awhile. Rex is nuts and I couldn't stay in town with you. He'd find us and make our lives miserable. I'm so sorry."
I didn't know what to say. My mouth felt glued shut. There was a knot in my chest and I felt sick to my stomach. She stood up and kissed me on the lips, put her hand on my cheek and turned away. "Jill...thank you." She turned, smiling sadly and then I watched her walk away for what seemed like hours.
On June 20, 1976, my buddy and I went to see a concert in L.A. I spotted this beauty there walking down the aisle in front of us.
“Bink, see that girl with the long, brown hair? Do you know her?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She’s gorgeous. She works in the book store.”
The next day, I started working at the Creation Dock Seafood Exchange restaurant in the touristy part of town. While cleaning up on my first day (I was hired as groundskeeper/janitor/prep cook), this same radiant woman walked by me and said, “Hi.” Needless to say, I was astonished that she worked there, as fate would have it.
I watched her working at the waitress station, from my peephole in the kitchen. I lingered at my tasks a bit until I had a chance to catch her eye again and I took my shot. Getting ballsy with a beautiful woman for the first time in my life. “How’d you like that concert in L.A. last night?”
“How do you know I went?” she asked, blown away that I’d noticed her.
“I never forget a pretty face.” I was shocked as the words flowed gracefully, if horridly clichéd, from my lips. I found out her name was Jill and I helped her bus some tables when she was busy.
While I was on break, eating lunch in the empty bar, she came up and bought me a beer. When I told her how old I was, she was again, surprised. She thought I was her age (I was 19). She was a beautiful, experienced, seductive 23-year-old. Half-Thai, half-Irish, her family from Oregon.
The next day, she asked if I wanted to get a six-pack and hangout after work. Well, yeah but she'd have to buy because I was only 19. We sat in my car at the marina and got to know each other a bit. I was entranced.
We’d visit over lunch for about a week, getting to know each other pretty quickly. Then one day after work, she came over to my apartment and went swimming for a while. She threw her arms around me at one point and I sprouted a tremendous hard-on. She later told me that from that point on she decided to “scheme on” me. If I would’ve been more cognizant of that fact, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. I was really in awe and intimidated by the insanely beautiful girl.
One evening shortly thereafter, I was half-in-the-bag and playing guitar in my bedroom with my roomie and Jill showed up. She said that she had gotten into a fight with her boyfriend, Rex, who she lived with in the next beach town up the coast about three miles. She asked if she could stay with me. Of course, I was thrilled, she didn’t have to ask twice. She tossed a brown paper sack at me that held a fresh pair of panties and a toothbrush. Traveling light. I loved a girl with a plan but I wasn't quite ready for her directness. I was not used to this at all but I would sure try!
This first night she fell asleep (she was buzzed when she got there) and I slept totally naked with a woman for the first time in my life. Let me rephrase that: I spent the night in bed naked with a naked woman for the first time. I did not sleep. I laid wide awake, staring at her beautiful sleeping face, smelling her hair, looking at her miraculous dark brown nipples and marveled at her soft inner thighs wrapped over my legs. I will never forget those racing hours.
After that we started seeing each other after work everyday. It was a beautiful, sunny, blue day there outside my old Pinto where we'd sit outside in the liquor store parking lot watching the sailboats come into the harbor. By the time we had gone back for four more beers--each time the price changing, by the way, even the clerk was distracted by her smile-—she had told me her life story. She was having problems with Rex. She’d lived with him for over a year and they had been fighting for at least ten months. She was having thoughts of moving away from him. She asked if she could sleep with me when she was lonely and upset. Hell, yeah!
We got along grandly for a month or so, sneaking kisses in the bar or the kitchen at work, going farther in the walk-in fridge, almost making love. We'd swim and go to concerts. She finally moved away from Rex, to a place only two blocks away from me. He’d been treating her like shit, hitting her and she had had enough.
She was a tremendously sexual creature. She thrived on sex and all of its eccentricities. She liked to be extremely open in public. In other words, she would tease all day and make out all night. She used to enjoy being the initiator and the aggressor. Both of which, I was in dire need of and very acceptant of this new development in my life.
Jill would come over and jerk me off in the walk in closet while my friends were out in the front room. We’d roll around for hours, sucking face, rubbing all over each other. In our previous nights together, I’d gone down on her a couple of times and she'd always pull me up (I obviously had no idea what I was doing) but instead of telling me what she wanted, she'd pull me up to her mouth and say she wanted to lick her wetness off of my face. Her delicious pussy was the most incredibly gorgeous I have ever seen (and the first I had tasted). Her sparse black hair was as silky as anything I'd ever experienced. I was mesmerized.
She’d also gone down on me a couple of times before (did I mention the walk-in fridge at work?) but I was always SO nervous. So afraid, that I'd not know what to do that I had trouble staying erect when we'd get close to fucking. I thought that there was some secret that I didn’t know and was very afraid to be thought of as inexperienced (although I certainly was).
I was a nervous wreck. A virgin at 19. By this time, we had been around each other for a couple of months, fairly often, a couple of nights a week at least. But she had this louse of boyfriend and there was lots of confusion on both our parts. I just needed the big push to take the step. At times, we'd make the mistake of drinking way too much alcohol. I remember her saying, “Someday, we’re gonna have to not drink so much. Someday we’re gonna have to just fuck.” Gotcha. But, I was scared to death.
Finally, about the time school started back up in the fall, I got fed up with work and quit the restaurant. No more getting drunk with the boss after hours in the bar; no more free meals and no more Jill everyday. My college rock band was just forming and 4-5 nights a week we rehearsed inland about 20 miles away from the beach. With all the running around, we saw each other less and less.
In August, we attended a Crosby, Stills & Nash concert at the Arena. At one point, after she played with my cock, her hand in my pants up in our seats near the roof of the joint, she threw her arms around my neck and she asked me if I loved her. I didn’t know what to say. I'd never been asked this before. Of course, I thought I knew how I felt, but I was scared. She was still, sort of, with somebody else. I was still heartbroken from my first high school sweetheart. I was young and stupid, afraid of committing myself. I hedged a bit, dumb me.
She said, she found herself falling in love with me. I said that I really didn’t know, I was scared of being hurt again.
The music diffused the conversation and on the way home we were joking around and then I said something that set her off. It had started when she asked me what I was looking at as we drove home and a drunk girl with her tits hanging out walked out into the street and I had to slam on my brakes for her to stumble by.
“I had to stop for the road block,” I joked and she said, "So you wish I had bigger tits?" What? She had issues about her breast size and got pissed if I mentioned tits at all. She was picking a fight, I guess. She gave me the silent treatment all the way home.
She'd taken my comment personally and said she'd heard this shit all the time from Rex and that she was tired of feeling bad about herself. I think she was really pissed that I didn't answer her affirmatively earlier about being in love with her. I tried to explain that I wasn’t being malicious or even directing any tit comment at her, to no avail. She ran into my apartment and cranked the stereo up, started dancing and tuned me out for an hour.
A big wall went up and I got tired of trying to talk and being ignored so I got pissed and went into my room and moped. She eventually came in crying saying, “You don’t understand.”
Yes, I do. “No, you don’t.” and that pissed me off more. I went into the living room, running away from my anger. She followed me in, sat beside me. She finally wiped the tears from her eyes, the pain from her heart and she leaned to me and slid her hand over my crotch. Then she took my hand and lightly led me into the bedroom, an innocent, peaceful look on her face. We headed toward the first, and last, consummation of our love.
We had slept together, fooled around often but we had never yet made love. Though it was not due to the fact that we hadn’t had the opportunity or hadn’t tried.
Too many drinks and too many jokes. But that night, though I couldn't say it, we both discovered somehow that we loved one another and in hindsight it scared us both into defensive strategy.
She trying to justify her love for me with her dissolving relationship with this violent Rex guy. Me, trying to figure out if I was really in love since I was still pining for Joni and still blindly hopeful that Joni and I would work out somehow. Strange night…but then it happened.
Sliding down onto the bed, she enveloped me in her soft, warm legs. Undressing herself above me, her eyes never left mine. As she pulled her top up over her head, I saw her amazing child-like body. Her beautiful tiny breasts tipped by dark nipples, lengthening before my eyes as her long, thick dark brown hair brushed over them like clouds hiding a beautiful moon.
She told me to take off my shirt, as I did her eyes followed down my chest and she unbuckled my pants and pulled them down over my feet. She rubbed her dark, warm cunt over my stomach. Her pubic hair as soft, a rabbit pelt of black silk, thinly covering her wet pink sacred place. My belly soaked, rose and fell as she slid down on top of my engorged rod. Rolling together, I pressed my face up through her thick hair, trying to get eye to eye with her dark almondine crescents there in the cave of mane that fell on my shoulders and surrounded my head. Our lips met, her tongue darting into me in time with my cock between her legs. Our bodies melding into one.
She moaned like a wild cat, we rolled together onto the floor and I slipped underneath again for the pleasure of feeling her waist-length hair caress my shoulders and chest again, while she kissed my forehead and ears. The huge pillow on the floor was soft and spongy beneath us and as I rolled again, I felt her legs tighten and clinch behind my back. She was moving furiously, gasping for air and I thought she’d buck me off... On the edge, I moved faster, her fingers clawing at my ass. I collapsed in her arms and we lay satiated. In a little while she got up, stumbled to the bathroom in the hall and puked up the last three shots of cheap tequila and I half-hoped that wouldn’t be the normal reaction every time I made love in the future!
We woke sometime later, dawn was creeping through the plants in the windowsill. A big jet shook the glass pane as the first morning flight slipped out of town over our heads. I kissed her awake and as she moved against me, I slowly sunk my hips into her and we made slow, passionate morning love our lips never parting until we had both shivered the day awake.
I felt like a million pound weight had been lifted from my shoulders. She was my 1st real sex. Of course, even before that night I was lost and in love with her but still, held a fading torch for Joni back in my hometown.
After that, I never heard from her again. In a week or two, I heard Rex had convinced her to move back in with him. I couldn't call her house. My ex-boss wouldn't allow me in the restaurant since I'd quit on him. So when the fall semester started up I walked into the book store and asked for her. "She's not working this semester but I just saw her heading down the the beer garden."
I looked around but didn't see her so I sat at a table and began writing in my journal. A few minutes later, I heard her voice nearby.
"Pierce," she was sitting directly across the table from me. Looking radiant but sad. "I'm moving up to San Luis after this semester to live with my grandma for awhile. Rex is nuts and I couldn't stay in town with you. He'd find us and make our lives miserable. I'm so sorry."
I didn't know what to say. My mouth felt glued shut. There was a knot in my chest and I felt sick to my stomach. She stood up and kissed me on the lips, put her hand on my cheek and turned away. "Jill...thank you." She turned, smiling sadly and then I watched her walk away for what seemed like hours.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
THE WAITER, PT I
Her curvy wick burns end to end
like life's big questions unanswered
over
and over
again.
Cycles spin
hearts align and misalign
seek some level of comfort
in the blood flood
towards extinction.
And our cells replicate, die out, replicate like our loves
like our doubts
like our victories and defeats
all in the service
of some resilient
resistance to acceptance
distraction
the devil's stepchild.
He wrote this poem with those little word festooned refrigerator magnets the second he got home from his shift. Just another night waiting tables at Cantor's. Turk had seen it all in his 45 years working in this bastion of Hollywood late-night tradition, where the hip meet the square over matzo ball soup, pastrami and cheese Danish. He wasn’t Turkish but in the psychedelic mid 60s wore a fez at the oddest times. Even he sometimes didn’t answer when someone called him by the name his father also carried, Henry.
What has recently been sticking in Turk’s craw is the notion that he has finally passed some seemingly tangible milestone--that these young kids in here now just think of him as an old fuckin’ loser. He knows he looks 20 years older than he is to these kids but the difference between 70 and 90 makes little difference to women under 40. They see him as some crotchety geriatric guy still shuffling through the same no-future job when in reality, the pension plan and retirement fund he set up years ago with his tip money are doing quite well, thank you.
But to some, he's something of an institution in this part of town. A couple generations of Angelenos have never known a time when Turk wasn’t poetically taking his sweet time between tables with hot coffee and a tartly sarcastic joke about someone’s choice of apparel for the evening. He’d started there after he flunked out of UCLA in 1958 due to too much partying (they called it “running ‘round” back then), too much sunning and too many late nights hot-rodding around Santa Monica. Too little reality, they call it now.
He used to hit the smoky jazz clubs in town and at the beach to hear the cats blow cool and the chicks, cooler. Chet Baker, Russ Freeman, Stan Getz. In the 60s, he’d drive his roommate’s Vette up and down Sunset from Ciro’s to the Whiskey and the then swinging Hollywood Playboy Club before it moved to Century City. We won’t go into his roomie’s lucrative own night job business selling hash oil and Thai sticks to the kids on the Strip. Play money.
Sure, they may think that his wobbly gait and less than steady hand carrying the plate of latkes just proves his frailty. But they don't know what a stud he was back in the day; he liked to think he “took advantage of the sexual revolution of the times. I found out why they called it ‘free love’, baby.” They had no clue that he actually has had even more women (and the occasional, irresistible pretty boy) in the most recent 20 years of his life. “The young kids don’t don‘t know what they’re missing,” he often tells himself whole-heartedly, “Older cats know their shit, man.” If they only knew that the reason he moves so poorly is that the hip that has given him all this trouble, was broken when he was in his 40s in a freak accident, at a particularly out of control sex club in the early-80s. The scar on his hip a badge of honor of sorts to him, at least.
The evening had begun innocently enough. He’d been out on his night off, catching L.A. punk scene heavies --Exene and DJ Bonebreak of X, Carlos Guitarlos & Gil T (of Top Jimmy & the Rhythm Pigs who hosted these Blues Mondays here for 3 years), Blasters’ pianist Gene Taylor and on completely out-of-tune harmonica, a historically inebriated Lee Ving from primal L.A. punk legends, Fear--slashing through blues edge in the basement at Cathay de Grande, the former Chinese restaurant and punk mecca at Argyle and Selma in the center of Hollywood. As usual he was the oldest cat in the room but on this night it was early, and dead. There were only a half dozen of the flashy L.A. punks, a smattering of die-hard city blues fans standing always off to the side with the leftover hippies on the fringes. But no frothing crowd on the dance floor as there were many nights here and upstairs when the seminal hardcore, rockabilly, Paisley Underground and garage bands wreaked havoc. This was shortly before Van Halen recorded their homage called, “Top Jimmy”.
So Turk stood, arms crossed, swaying stoically as he has a tendency to do, in the sweet spot—dead center mid-dance floor. It was where all the sound comes together, where he could put himself aurally and visually between the players, a factotum extra member of the band…all ears. Suddenly, he was nudged softly by a couple dancing, up close and personal, winding around him on the empty floor.
“Sorry, buddy.” Turk knew that voice. It was Tom Waits and his then recent new bride, Kathleen Brennan, finding their groove. He looked back to the one little booth directly behind him to see if his roomie, Stereo Steve, a major Waits fan, took notice. What Turk saw was Stereo, engrossed in conversation with a portly but cute and drunk blonde while Stereo’s brother Jason, who years later made a killing in processed meats, was staring intently into the eyes of a rambling redhead who was visibly giving him a hand-job under the table.
Ving, by now, playing in the wrong key, got fed up with himself and lunged onto the dance floor. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and held it unsteadily up towards the emergency sprinklers jutting from the ceiling. He wavering facilitated in the scorching of his thumbs until he gave up and instead, made vertical leaps with his fists punching holes into the acoustic ceiling tiles. Covering himself with white, shredded ceiling dust.
In the midst of all of this subtly lugubrious mayhem, rising like a lurching, drooling bleary-eyed storm from behind the guitar amp backline was Top Jimmy himself. Stumbling over the amps with not a glance from Guitarlos, he fell into the mic stand up front and began bellowing Jim Morrison’s “Roadhouse Blues”.
After an hour or so of this typical Hollywood behavior, Turk got bored when the set break went on too long, the redhead had fallen drunk cutting her head on the cheap beer glass she’d shattered, Jason had come and Stereo Steve had run out of drugs.
He called it a night but not before heading to a clandestine after-hours joint that was just getting started that time of night. He liked getting there just prior to 2am after which it took forever to get any attention. Once the riff-raff got there the sessions with the Mistresses took longer as the patrons got drunker and less manageable. He’d waited patiently in the small room reserved for slackers without appointments but being Monday, the wait wasn’t long. He was only a couple of paragraphs into an article in Rolling Stone on The Eagles latest exploits when he was called into his regular room at the end of the darkly lit hall that smelled of Lysol in spite of the black candles on the walls. Every step down the hall seemed less well-lit, the dark colors of the walls, velvet draped doorways all gave the impression of a slowing down of time even while his pulse rate heightened the closer he got to that door.
The last thing he remembers, he was strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross and had been receiving some major flogging when the goddess applying the whipping, all 300 lbs. of her—he quietly called her Large Marge in his private moments alone when he was feeling naughty--whom all on the premises referred to quite adoringly as ‘Mistress Ann’, keeled over stone dead from a massive coronary. On her way down, she took out the cross and crumbling Turk’s hip like dry kindling. She had just uttered, what at her services a few days later would have truly been the most appropriate epitaph, "Had enough yet, bitch?"
It had taken him about ten years to really recover. By the time, he’d healed enough to get around he was a madman. He’d really enjoyed the Percocets the Doctor had prescribed and wound up taking a few months off work first to heal, and then to deal with kicking the jones he’d developed for the mindless numbing the pills allowed him.
Once back at the restaurant he was truly surprised about how a) little had changed and b) how much all of the little girls seemed to have missed him. Even some of them who he had never seemed to get anywhere with, some he’d never even seen before. They started fawning over him, asking all kinds of sympathetic questions. Some seemed to have been talking amongst themselves about his reputation and some of the slightly older ones even seemed to be worried that they didn’t want to miss their chance to be a notch on his infamous bedpost. Why not try this intelligent, experienced, interesting guy their friends had told them about. So in spite of the pain and the new re-acquaintance with skunky herb to replace the tranquilized blanket he’d been living under, he found himself busier than ever with the girls.
But that was old news; tonight he couldn't get these two women out of his head. They came in late in his shift. Business as usual, but for a brief moment there, he had felt a strange sensation that the petite straw-haired girl with the major rack had been giving him the once over. He’d had a hard time hiding his blossoming hard-on as he circled the table waiting for them to decide what they wanted. He knew what he wanted.
She looked great. Vintage, thrift punk chic. Broad patterned black fishnets, short black leather skirt and calf-high black leather boots with a 6“ heel, 80’s Siouxsie black sleeveless T and silky mid-length sleeve top. He figured this hot little package, might have some deep seeded thing for older guys and in fact wondered if he hadn't run into her in Hollywood years before. Something about her seemed familiar...the shy, sideways glances, the line of her clavicle peeking out of the ripped out neck of the tee...He felt for a flash that she rally wanted to be seen with him in her sights, but then when her friend returned from the head, they just fell all over each other and he got distracted with some drunk Mexican musicians trying to figure out the menu. Maybe she looked familiar or he was just flashing back to the days when he was fucking every other hot chick that ordered a blintz or a chicken salad or a chocolate malt there late at night.
Back in the day, they'd come in high after buying a joint or two or a hit of acid or E in the parking lot. He was always surprised how the stream of good-looking women just never slowed down over the course of his years there. Seems there was some fountain of youth just around the corner somewhere. He never could convince anyone to tell him where it was, though for a long time, just the proximity to these flowers of youth kept him feeling younger than his years.
He thought back to the time when he'd spend his days in Santa Monica or Venice. At the beach, he’d often finding a bit of sexy fun as the sun went down, having just enough time to get back to the deli for his night shift. He wondered if this shy blonde might have been one of those little teenaged girls he’d shuffled through in those hazy days.
Maybe she was one of those three blondes he had convinced to go home with him on the night before Easter one year. He got them to crawl around him naked at 4am looking for imaginary Easter eggs he’d claimed were hidden around his apartment before all crawling into his shower. They wound up on the balcony bending him over the rail and taking turns on him with the strap-on one of them had conveniently pulled from her bag of tricks...hard to piece that one together clearly...
Perhaps, wait, this COULDN’T be the little girl from the alley at the beach that he had met...the young girl of 14 or 15 who he had pulled into an alley and fucked against the wall on that sunny day when he was pushing 40. He had often wondered about her...never could really figure out if he’d been completely fucking with the head (and hot body) of an almost Lilliputian temptress or if she’d been the one tying his head and cock in knots...he had never been able to forget the otherworldly softness of her skin, the tightness of her sex, the willingness of her spirit. Turk so wished he’d have that one moment back just so he’d know, concretize his memory. Should his guilt really be so strong after so long a time...and should his continued excitement at the memory be something that had pushed him on year after year, looking for just one more experience as sudden, as surprising, as unexpected.
like life's big questions unanswered
over
and over
again.
Cycles spin
hearts align and misalign
seek some level of comfort
in the blood flood
towards extinction.
And our cells replicate, die out, replicate like our loves
like our doubts
like our victories and defeats
all in the service
of some resilient
resistance to acceptance
distraction
the devil's stepchild.
He wrote this poem with those little word festooned refrigerator magnets the second he got home from his shift. Just another night waiting tables at Cantor's. Turk had seen it all in his 45 years working in this bastion of Hollywood late-night tradition, where the hip meet the square over matzo ball soup, pastrami and cheese Danish. He wasn’t Turkish but in the psychedelic mid 60s wore a fez at the oddest times. Even he sometimes didn’t answer when someone called him by the name his father also carried, Henry.
What has recently been sticking in Turk’s craw is the notion that he has finally passed some seemingly tangible milestone--that these young kids in here now just think of him as an old fuckin’ loser. He knows he looks 20 years older than he is to these kids but the difference between 70 and 90 makes little difference to women under 40. They see him as some crotchety geriatric guy still shuffling through the same no-future job when in reality, the pension plan and retirement fund he set up years ago with his tip money are doing quite well, thank you.
But to some, he's something of an institution in this part of town. A couple generations of Angelenos have never known a time when Turk wasn’t poetically taking his sweet time between tables with hot coffee and a tartly sarcastic joke about someone’s choice of apparel for the evening. He’d started there after he flunked out of UCLA in 1958 due to too much partying (they called it “running ‘round” back then), too much sunning and too many late nights hot-rodding around Santa Monica. Too little reality, they call it now.
He used to hit the smoky jazz clubs in town and at the beach to hear the cats blow cool and the chicks, cooler. Chet Baker, Russ Freeman, Stan Getz. In the 60s, he’d drive his roommate’s Vette up and down Sunset from Ciro’s to the Whiskey and the then swinging Hollywood Playboy Club before it moved to Century City. We won’t go into his roomie’s lucrative own night job business selling hash oil and Thai sticks to the kids on the Strip. Play money.
Sure, they may think that his wobbly gait and less than steady hand carrying the plate of latkes just proves his frailty. But they don't know what a stud he was back in the day; he liked to think he “took advantage of the sexual revolution of the times. I found out why they called it ‘free love’, baby.” They had no clue that he actually has had even more women (and the occasional, irresistible pretty boy) in the most recent 20 years of his life. “The young kids don’t don‘t know what they’re missing,” he often tells himself whole-heartedly, “Older cats know their shit, man.” If they only knew that the reason he moves so poorly is that the hip that has given him all this trouble, was broken when he was in his 40s in a freak accident, at a particularly out of control sex club in the early-80s. The scar on his hip a badge of honor of sorts to him, at least.
The evening had begun innocently enough. He’d been out on his night off, catching L.A. punk scene heavies --Exene and DJ Bonebreak of X, Carlos Guitarlos & Gil T (of Top Jimmy & the Rhythm Pigs who hosted these Blues Mondays here for 3 years), Blasters’ pianist Gene Taylor and on completely out-of-tune harmonica, a historically inebriated Lee Ving from primal L.A. punk legends, Fear--slashing through blues edge in the basement at Cathay de Grande, the former Chinese restaurant and punk mecca at Argyle and Selma in the center of Hollywood. As usual he was the oldest cat in the room but on this night it was early, and dead. There were only a half dozen of the flashy L.A. punks, a smattering of die-hard city blues fans standing always off to the side with the leftover hippies on the fringes. But no frothing crowd on the dance floor as there were many nights here and upstairs when the seminal hardcore, rockabilly, Paisley Underground and garage bands wreaked havoc. This was shortly before Van Halen recorded their homage called, “Top Jimmy”.
So Turk stood, arms crossed, swaying stoically as he has a tendency to do, in the sweet spot—dead center mid-dance floor. It was where all the sound comes together, where he could put himself aurally and visually between the players, a factotum extra member of the band…all ears. Suddenly, he was nudged softly by a couple dancing, up close and personal, winding around him on the empty floor.
“Sorry, buddy.” Turk knew that voice. It was Tom Waits and his then recent new bride, Kathleen Brennan, finding their groove. He looked back to the one little booth directly behind him to see if his roomie, Stereo Steve, a major Waits fan, took notice. What Turk saw was Stereo, engrossed in conversation with a portly but cute and drunk blonde while Stereo’s brother Jason, who years later made a killing in processed meats, was staring intently into the eyes of a rambling redhead who was visibly giving him a hand-job under the table.
Ving, by now, playing in the wrong key, got fed up with himself and lunged onto the dance floor. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and held it unsteadily up towards the emergency sprinklers jutting from the ceiling. He wavering facilitated in the scorching of his thumbs until he gave up and instead, made vertical leaps with his fists punching holes into the acoustic ceiling tiles. Covering himself with white, shredded ceiling dust.
In the midst of all of this subtly lugubrious mayhem, rising like a lurching, drooling bleary-eyed storm from behind the guitar amp backline was Top Jimmy himself. Stumbling over the amps with not a glance from Guitarlos, he fell into the mic stand up front and began bellowing Jim Morrison’s “Roadhouse Blues”.
After an hour or so of this typical Hollywood behavior, Turk got bored when the set break went on too long, the redhead had fallen drunk cutting her head on the cheap beer glass she’d shattered, Jason had come and Stereo Steve had run out of drugs.
He called it a night but not before heading to a clandestine after-hours joint that was just getting started that time of night. He liked getting there just prior to 2am after which it took forever to get any attention. Once the riff-raff got there the sessions with the Mistresses took longer as the patrons got drunker and less manageable. He’d waited patiently in the small room reserved for slackers without appointments but being Monday, the wait wasn’t long. He was only a couple of paragraphs into an article in Rolling Stone on The Eagles latest exploits when he was called into his regular room at the end of the darkly lit hall that smelled of Lysol in spite of the black candles on the walls. Every step down the hall seemed less well-lit, the dark colors of the walls, velvet draped doorways all gave the impression of a slowing down of time even while his pulse rate heightened the closer he got to that door.
The last thing he remembers, he was strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross and had been receiving some major flogging when the goddess applying the whipping, all 300 lbs. of her—he quietly called her Large Marge in his private moments alone when he was feeling naughty--whom all on the premises referred to quite adoringly as ‘Mistress Ann’, keeled over stone dead from a massive coronary. On her way down, she took out the cross and crumbling Turk’s hip like dry kindling. She had just uttered, what at her services a few days later would have truly been the most appropriate epitaph, "Had enough yet, bitch?"
It had taken him about ten years to really recover. By the time, he’d healed enough to get around he was a madman. He’d really enjoyed the Percocets the Doctor had prescribed and wound up taking a few months off work first to heal, and then to deal with kicking the jones he’d developed for the mindless numbing the pills allowed him.
Once back at the restaurant he was truly surprised about how a) little had changed and b) how much all of the little girls seemed to have missed him. Even some of them who he had never seemed to get anywhere with, some he’d never even seen before. They started fawning over him, asking all kinds of sympathetic questions. Some seemed to have been talking amongst themselves about his reputation and some of the slightly older ones even seemed to be worried that they didn’t want to miss their chance to be a notch on his infamous bedpost. Why not try this intelligent, experienced, interesting guy their friends had told them about. So in spite of the pain and the new re-acquaintance with skunky herb to replace the tranquilized blanket he’d been living under, he found himself busier than ever with the girls.
But that was old news; tonight he couldn't get these two women out of his head. They came in late in his shift. Business as usual, but for a brief moment there, he had felt a strange sensation that the petite straw-haired girl with the major rack had been giving him the once over. He’d had a hard time hiding his blossoming hard-on as he circled the table waiting for them to decide what they wanted. He knew what he wanted.
She looked great. Vintage, thrift punk chic. Broad patterned black fishnets, short black leather skirt and calf-high black leather boots with a 6“ heel, 80’s Siouxsie black sleeveless T and silky mid-length sleeve top. He figured this hot little package, might have some deep seeded thing for older guys and in fact wondered if he hadn't run into her in Hollywood years before. Something about her seemed familiar...the shy, sideways glances, the line of her clavicle peeking out of the ripped out neck of the tee...He felt for a flash that she rally wanted to be seen with him in her sights, but then when her friend returned from the head, they just fell all over each other and he got distracted with some drunk Mexican musicians trying to figure out the menu. Maybe she looked familiar or he was just flashing back to the days when he was fucking every other hot chick that ordered a blintz or a chicken salad or a chocolate malt there late at night.
Back in the day, they'd come in high after buying a joint or two or a hit of acid or E in the parking lot. He was always surprised how the stream of good-looking women just never slowed down over the course of his years there. Seems there was some fountain of youth just around the corner somewhere. He never could convince anyone to tell him where it was, though for a long time, just the proximity to these flowers of youth kept him feeling younger than his years.
He thought back to the time when he'd spend his days in Santa Monica or Venice. At the beach, he’d often finding a bit of sexy fun as the sun went down, having just enough time to get back to the deli for his night shift. He wondered if this shy blonde might have been one of those little teenaged girls he’d shuffled through in those hazy days.
Maybe she was one of those three blondes he had convinced to go home with him on the night before Easter one year. He got them to crawl around him naked at 4am looking for imaginary Easter eggs he’d claimed were hidden around his apartment before all crawling into his shower. They wound up on the balcony bending him over the rail and taking turns on him with the strap-on one of them had conveniently pulled from her bag of tricks...hard to piece that one together clearly...
Perhaps, wait, this COULDN’T be the little girl from the alley at the beach that he had met...the young girl of 14 or 15 who he had pulled into an alley and fucked against the wall on that sunny day when he was pushing 40. He had often wondered about her...never could really figure out if he’d been completely fucking with the head (and hot body) of an almost Lilliputian temptress or if she’d been the one tying his head and cock in knots...he had never been able to forget the otherworldly softness of her skin, the tightness of her sex, the willingness of her spirit. Turk so wished he’d have that one moment back just so he’d know, concretize his memory. Should his guilt really be so strong after so long a time...and should his continued excitement at the memory be something that had pushed him on year after year, looking for just one more experience as sudden, as surprising, as unexpected.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
BISEXUAL DREAMING
My dream is that the first time I see you, you give me a hug, hold me tight against you and whisper in my ear, “Tonight, you’re my bitch,” and then slap me across the face followed by a big old kiss on the lips...just wishful thinking Miss Mary.
I want you to use me anyway you want. Piss on me, slap me around a bit, fuck my yearning ass and take me to the edge and not let me come.
Then the next night, I want to take you forcefully, literally tearing off your clothes and fucking you hard until I cum all over your beautiful face. I’ll lick your face clean and then guide you by the hair into the tub, and force you to your knees and piss all over your stunning breasts.
Then if you’re quiet and behaved, I will stand you up and we will soap each other up and gently clean each other off and perhaps get dressed and go into town and sit at the bowling alley and talk of which hillbillies we’d like to seduce together or even better see if KC is working and when he least expects it we describe in detail what we just did and tell him he is next and when he looks all scared boyish and starts stammering, “Uh-okay...I get off of 6am” we tell him there will be a red power truck outside waiting for him to bring him to us and he is to not speak to the driver and to do as she says.
When he comes out of work, Felicia is standing outside her truck, “You’re late. They’re waiting...” and throws him to the ground. She hogties him with Velcro ankle and wrist straps behind his back and gags him with a pair of your damp panties she found under her bed, tossing him into the bed of the pick-up.
They drive down to your house, and she throws open the door with him over her shoulder. You are completely naked but for a black bra with your tits pulled out, a dog collar and knee high boots and you are on my lap facing the door impaled by my hardness sliding slowly up and all the way down on me. She tosses him to the floor, loosens his legs straps and jerks his pants and boxers down exposing his firm white ass.
You jump off of me and fall to your knees in front of her but she grabs your hair and pushes your face to his asshole, “Get him ready, baby...And you, bitch” pointing at me with my mouth hanging open, eyes bulging, and hard, wet dick in the air, “come here, now.”
I stand up and walk quickly to her. “I want to taste her sweet cunt on your cock,” as she bends over sucking me down her throat until she has sucked all of you off of me and then instantly has had enough, pushing me away. As she drops her camouflage jeans, Felicia takes you by the back of the head and pulls your face into her soaked quim and with the other hand shoves me in the direction of KC’s wet ass.
I push his legs together and fall down to straddle either side of his slim hips, finding my rigid wet cock slides easily up his tight ass. I lean over all of my weight on him. One hand slides up under his t-shirt, across his smooth stomach and chest pulling hard on his left nipple, my right hand slips my fingers, first into his mouth and then I grab the back of his head and push his face down into your white fur carpet. I slow and speed up my pace every third stroke and as I’m ready to come, Felicia says, “Pierce, you little slut, cum on my tits so Mary can watch.”
I leap up and just in time shoot my load all over her tits while you watch from below. She pulls you up by the hair and makes you lick all of my mess off of her and then the three of us kiss each other deeply tasting my sweet cum on your tongue.
After awhile she says, “Someone free the boy and let’s see if we can’t get him off.”
I untie his hands, pick him up by the dog collar she’d put on him and flip him over. You pull his jeans off and we see his mammoth cock. You and I both purr a bit and Felicia cracks up.
It's incredibly thick, deliciously long and extremely hard and the three of us crawl down and take turns licking up and down his beautiful shaft, pulling his balls into our mouths and flicking at his perineum and asshole teasingly, our mouths and tongues finding each other playfully as well.
In short order he shoots a monstrous load across his chest. You and Felicia fall back into each other’s arms, enfolded and rapturous. I roll a leg over his and run my fingers through his cum, lightly running a wet fingertip over his still throbbing hugeness.
He and I kiss for the longest time, slow, passionate until he starts moving against me. I roll over and turn my back to him and we spoon facing you as the two of you watch him slowly ease his thick meat deep inside me from behind his arm underneath me, the other hand wrapped around me, alternating between slow tugs on my cock and light flickering flutters on my taut nipples.
Not three feet away from you, I watch Felicia’s long fingers reach around and get you off as KC slowly pumps my ass. I feel him shudder and fill me with torrents of hit cum as you shiver at Felicia’s touch, staring into my eyes.
We all fall asleep there on the floor, entwined and when we wake, they are gone and you and I are face to face, naked, tied together and we can smell coffee brewing and know that one of them will be back shortly.
I want you to use me anyway you want. Piss on me, slap me around a bit, fuck my yearning ass and take me to the edge and not let me come.
Then the next night, I want to take you forcefully, literally tearing off your clothes and fucking you hard until I cum all over your beautiful face. I’ll lick your face clean and then guide you by the hair into the tub, and force you to your knees and piss all over your stunning breasts.
Then if you’re quiet and behaved, I will stand you up and we will soap each other up and gently clean each other off and perhaps get dressed and go into town and sit at the bowling alley and talk of which hillbillies we’d like to seduce together or even better see if KC is working and when he least expects it we describe in detail what we just did and tell him he is next and when he looks all scared boyish and starts stammering, “Uh-okay...I get off of 6am” we tell him there will be a red power truck outside waiting for him to bring him to us and he is to not speak to the driver and to do as she says.
When he comes out of work, Felicia is standing outside her truck, “You’re late. They’re waiting...” and throws him to the ground. She hogties him with Velcro ankle and wrist straps behind his back and gags him with a pair of your damp panties she found under her bed, tossing him into the bed of the pick-up.
They drive down to your house, and she throws open the door with him over her shoulder. You are completely naked but for a black bra with your tits pulled out, a dog collar and knee high boots and you are on my lap facing the door impaled by my hardness sliding slowly up and all the way down on me. She tosses him to the floor, loosens his legs straps and jerks his pants and boxers down exposing his firm white ass.
You jump off of me and fall to your knees in front of her but she grabs your hair and pushes your face to his asshole, “Get him ready, baby...And you, bitch” pointing at me with my mouth hanging open, eyes bulging, and hard, wet dick in the air, “come here, now.”
I stand up and walk quickly to her. “I want to taste her sweet cunt on your cock,” as she bends over sucking me down her throat until she has sucked all of you off of me and then instantly has had enough, pushing me away. As she drops her camouflage jeans, Felicia takes you by the back of the head and pulls your face into her soaked quim and with the other hand shoves me in the direction of KC’s wet ass.
I push his legs together and fall down to straddle either side of his slim hips, finding my rigid wet cock slides easily up his tight ass. I lean over all of my weight on him. One hand slides up under his t-shirt, across his smooth stomach and chest pulling hard on his left nipple, my right hand slips my fingers, first into his mouth and then I grab the back of his head and push his face down into your white fur carpet. I slow and speed up my pace every third stroke and as I’m ready to come, Felicia says, “Pierce, you little slut, cum on my tits so Mary can watch.”
I leap up and just in time shoot my load all over her tits while you watch from below. She pulls you up by the hair and makes you lick all of my mess off of her and then the three of us kiss each other deeply tasting my sweet cum on your tongue.
After awhile she says, “Someone free the boy and let’s see if we can’t get him off.”
I untie his hands, pick him up by the dog collar she’d put on him and flip him over. You pull his jeans off and we see his mammoth cock. You and I both purr a bit and Felicia cracks up.
It's incredibly thick, deliciously long and extremely hard and the three of us crawl down and take turns licking up and down his beautiful shaft, pulling his balls into our mouths and flicking at his perineum and asshole teasingly, our mouths and tongues finding each other playfully as well.
In short order he shoots a monstrous load across his chest. You and Felicia fall back into each other’s arms, enfolded and rapturous. I roll a leg over his and run my fingers through his cum, lightly running a wet fingertip over his still throbbing hugeness.
He and I kiss for the longest time, slow, passionate until he starts moving against me. I roll over and turn my back to him and we spoon facing you as the two of you watch him slowly ease his thick meat deep inside me from behind his arm underneath me, the other hand wrapped around me, alternating between slow tugs on my cock and light flickering flutters on my taut nipples.
Not three feet away from you, I watch Felicia’s long fingers reach around and get you off as KC slowly pumps my ass. I feel him shudder and fill me with torrents of hit cum as you shiver at Felicia’s touch, staring into my eyes.
We all fall asleep there on the floor, entwined and when we wake, they are gone and you and I are face to face, naked, tied together and we can smell coffee brewing and know that one of them will be back shortly.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
TENNESSEE LAP DANCE
The following was transcribed from an audio recording I dictated to document my road trip in early 2006, West to East coast…
8:00pm – E. Memphis: just drove along the outskirts of Memphis. Saw a gorgeous sunset coming in and as I decided to videotape, the CD player hit on the Grateful Dead’s GOIN’ DOWN THE ROAD FEELIN’ BAD, as appropriate a soundtrack as I have ever stumbled upon. So I filmed during the whole song rolling down the highway with the magnificently resplendent pink, purple and orange sunset in the viewfinder. As I made the loop up and through Memphis, the storm I had been following since breakfast became tangible as it lit up the sky to the East as it bludgeoned its way to Nashville and points beyond.
Wait, just now I saw the Platinum Club’s marquee on my right as I passed an offramp. Shit. I knew it was nearby. I’d stopped here at this well-advertised Gentleman’s Club on my last cross-country drive. Of course, this was my one planned stop for the whole trip this time.
(I take up a few hours later where the tale left off)
I proceed to the next offramp and decide to look for possible hotels. There were tons of them just off the highway so I sat by the road reading the AAA rundowns. I thought if I went to the club for awhile and didn’t get too smashed I’d just drive on East and get as close as I could to Nashville. If, by chance, I had too much fun and didn’t want to drive any farther, at least I’d be just one exit away and would know which hotel and ramp to go to.
So I pulled into a BP station and changed my clothes in the parking lot, putting on slacks and a long-sleeved shirt instead of the old road clothes I had been wearing. Gotta look at least presentable for the ladies at the Club.
I went inside to get a bottle of milk (wanted a frappacino but they didn’t have any in this provincial burg) and asked Lanasha where I could get a good steak. She mentioned the place next door but I’d noticed it was packed.
“How is Tops BBQ, across the street?” I queried.
She loved it, “I eat there almost every day.”
So I crossed the highway and chawed a succulent if simple pulled pork sandwich with a slice of American on a hamburger bun with slaw on the bun and fries. Not on my diet but what the hell. Not bad and cheap. Around $5 with a drink.
Then it was off to try and find the Platinum Club. Took me about 45 minutes of circling around. The exit I’d missed coming East I couldn’t find again in a quite circuitous bundle of turns and reversals. Couldn’t find my way there for the life of me for awhile. Slippery little devil. 30 minutes later, I found it virtually ½ mile from where I started. Ponce de Leon never had such trouble. All I want is a fountain of youth.
At the front desk, I hit the ATM, paid my entrance fee and noticed an 8x10 picture frame on the counter with a beautiful auburn-haired young girl named Dakota featured as “Dancer of the Month”.
I found my night vision once inside the inner sanctum and gauged the right position to get a full view of the stage while having an extra seat close to me for a friendly visitor. Sitting down at a table stage right, I ordered a Heineken (no mixed drinks here) and grokked at the tall blonde woman on stage. Long legs, tattoo’d lower back and right above her g-string in the front. Great, large C, almost D breasts with luscious, large, puffy pink nipples, each with a little barbell thru them. I gave her a couple of dollars.
I soon forgot about her because next up was an incredibly sexy redhead, fair-skinned, petite young lady with a stunning, tight, gymnast’s body (not the veiny weight-trainer type, more naturally toned, i.e. young) with a simply spectacular, small but round ass that I couldn’t take my eyes off of. She had the tiniest little titties and small, perky, hard rosy nipples. Her face was the heart-breaker, very much like a more classically pretty KT, my past young muse from a few years back. Wow.
I walked up while she was still on stage and tipped her towards the end of her 2nd dance and said, “Come see me when you’re done.” I wasn’t about to let this one latch onto another drooling patron before I got a chance to spend some, uh, face time with her.
When the music stopped she came right off of the stage and over to me, forgoing the usual walk to the rear curtain, disappearing backstage to freshen up and have a smoke and a drink before sauntering out to mingle with the money.
“Are you ready for a VIP?” “Sure,” I said, trying not to act insanely eager. Generally, I am not at all inclined to take up with a lady who cuts to the chase and gives no small talk before the VIP pitch. But since I’d made the first move and she knew I was ready, she did just that and I leapt.
Since I’d been here before two years ago I knew the drill. I also know that the girls here make up their own prices for VIP dances.
She took my hand and walked me back to one of the small alcoves off of the main floor. No doors, so a handful of people in the main room outside, if positioned in just the right seats, can watch what goes on in the private rooms as can the bouncers and waitresses who walk by occasionally, so nothing too out of control goes on. But once inside you forget all of that. There are other treats to concentrate on.
We sat down on the couch and the music outside from the stage is loud and pumpin’. This was Dakota. Very sweet and open and sexy. We talk until the next song starts. “What are your rules?” I ask before things progress.
“My only rules are that I insist you touch me continuously and that you can touch me everywhere but here,” and she pats her crotch and pulls out her G string to show me her precious little pussy. As most clubs on the east and west coast don't allow for any touching unless you pay the big "champagne suite" fees, this was tres cool. I told her when I was there before I had noticed that the girls made their own prices. She said basically, it is $40 a song, 3 for $100 and tips if you so desire.
“I finally figured out what Tips means, do you know,” she says playfully. “It means ‘To Insure Priority Service’”. We both giggled at her scripted cuteness. Not something you get everyday in these joints.
We agree to three dances to start. Luckily they are long songs. She is naked except for the tiniest G string. A tattoo of her real name Jennifer under her hair on her neck. A small tattoo on her lower stomach (flat, tight, w/ little jeweled ring). I don’t know what the tattoo was because every time she was pointing it in my direction I was looking at her totally shaved, thin-lipped beautiful pussy that she would expose to me, pulling her g string away for a few brief moments. Sometimes she slid finger and nail softly, slowly over her moist clit. My heart was racing trying to keep up with the pulsing organ a bit further south.
She is ungodly sexy and really responsive to any movement I might make, which is minimal…my hands glide over her and she leans into them, I pinch her nipples softly and she whispers, “That’s right” in my ear.
She turns her ass to me, grinding her warm crotch against my hardness. I rarely get real hard for long in these places, too much strangeness and distraction. For me, it is usually about getting all of the visual and mental playthings and then taking the memory home with me where I can really let the imagination fly for the next few months but this petite dynamo really shook me.
Not that being virtually celibate for two years after the best sex in my life is any reason why I might be excited by this but you do the math.
I kneaded her small, tight fleshy ass with my hands and softly ran my thumb down the edge of her butt crack spreading her cheeks. I throbbed like a lion jumping for an antelope shank…sorry, whew…She turned to me and put her hand on my shoulders, pushing herself up until her nipples we inches from my lips, her amber locks hung down around my face and she moved closer and put her nipple against my open lips. I licked it into my mouth for a quick suck and she slowly pulled away, popping it out of my mouth. She slid down to the floor and bowed her neck at my crotch, rubbing my hard cock and balls with the back of her head through my pants, shifting them from side to side with the movement of her head…I wanted nothing but for her to slide my hardness out of my pants and into her mane of luxurious soft hair and then into her curvy lips…at that moment, I thought of the picture I have of my cock in Erin’s hand against her face and I almost shot right there. That would be a first for me in a club. But, Dakota’s tongue up my stomach to my exposed nipple pulled me back into the present moment.
The dances here are so much more touchy than any other joint I’ve been in. I’m glad I don’t live in Memphis, I’d be in big trouble and incredibly broke. She came up with her lips within an inch of mine, stared me in the eyes and whispered, “I get the impression that you are a booty man.”
How she knows that I haven’t a clue (was I purring whenever she pointed that thing at me?) but I doth protest not. She turns and rides me reverse cowgirl style and with her hands slids mine from her upper thighs to her ass, pointed right at me. In a couple of minutes she slids up with her perfect asshole three inches from my face. I kiss her cheeks and her lips kiss up and down my legs. Eventually, the songs are over…I’m warm, tingling.
She says, “We’re supposed to charge just to sit with you between dances but I don’t if the guys are cool.” Now, I’ve never heard THAT one but it is inventive and smart. Usually the girls either just stay and hang if there has been any chemistry and they think they’ll get more dough out of you. She sat for over 30 minutes. We talked about the other two girls I’d had dances with two years ago: Pearl, the 19-year-old girlfriend of the owner, “She’s not here anymore.” And Lacy (whose name I didn’t know), the older woman who propositioned me drunkenly to take her back to the hotel after her shift for $300 for a shower and blow-job etc. No thanks. She was very scary, drunk, Southern slurring girl. “She was fired last week for the same shit. You can’t do that. I had a guy offer me $500 to go back to his hotel and I told him, I don’t do that and that is solicitation so if you don’t want me to call the cops you’ll desist.”
“It’s not solicitation if you don’t charge him.”
“Ha, I sure didn’t suggest that.”
Funny. She said she is studying to be a meteorologist, wants a weather job in a big city but is majoring in Geology so she can teach high school. I said, “If my high school teachers looked like you I’d have flunked out of everything.”
We danced three more dances even more exciting than the previous and I tipped her $50.
I was hooked. I was contemplating even another round as I watched her take her next turns on the stage. Then, I realized that I couldn’t go to the ATM for more bread because I couldn’t find my Debit card. SHIT. I had no recollection of where I last used it (it would’ve had to have been gas but I get gas 5 times a day on the road and had no idea where I did it last…).
I went outside to search my packed car and nothing. Back inside, she had the DJ grab a flashlight and look around my seat where I’d been before we hit the lap dance room. I really didn’t think that I’d lost it here but I wanted to be sure. Not a good place to lose a credit card.
When I went back in and told her I had to go look at the gas station I was last at, I found a receipt in my wallet for a station in Memphis that I had no recollection of stopping at so I figured it had to have been where I lost it.
She said, “If you don’t find it, come back. You can stay with me tonight. No solicition, no charge.”
“No sex?,” I said.
“I didn’t say that did I,” was her reply accompanied by a little curve of her lips at the corner.
“You don’t know how great that sounds.”
“Yes, I do,” she whispers in my ear.
“Only one problem, the woman back East I told you I was heading to see? I’m saving myself for her.” Obviously, the dumbest decision of my life.
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah, it’s been two years and you tonight is as close as I have ever come to diverging from that path.”
“Wish I had a guy like you.” I was of course, snickering a bit under my breath thinking, “I wish Erin could see it that way.”
Erin had told me long ago that if I was interested in going to strip clubs to get it out of my system before we ever become exclusive. More rules.
Truthfully, I love looking at naked women, love touching them and when this is the only outlet I have for it, it is worth every penny.
When I was going to clubs a lot while I was married, my wife didn’t know how often I went but she knew I went. I’m sure it must’ve bothered her but she knew I wasn’t doing anything dangerous. She had been to the clubs with me and would be more pissed about the money than the women. Granted, we weren’t having much sex much less any flirtation or anything and I was looking for an outlet so as not to bother her all the time. And I never had sex or head or anything in all those visits. A coupl eof drinks, a coupoe of dances and lots of flirting with beautiful, albeit naked women.
So I went back to the Circle K where the gas receipt was from and I did remember that I’d rushed out of there when a homeless woman headed toward me asking for money and I must’ve dropped my card but I didn’t see it. I went inside with one last hope and when I got to the register, the girl had it sitting right there. “Someone turned it in not 10 minutes ago.”
Lucky me. So I got on the road at midnight and drove East on I-40 figuring I’d drive a couple of hours and find a place to stay. Get closer to Nashville so I could get home in time for my big date in NYC with Erin. Of course, I jerked off twice by the light of my radar detector between Memphis and Nashville wishing I'd had the balls to go back and take Dakota up on her offer. But I was in love with Erin and somehow that was all that mattered. Ah, the good life.
8:00pm – E. Memphis: just drove along the outskirts of Memphis. Saw a gorgeous sunset coming in and as I decided to videotape, the CD player hit on the Grateful Dead’s GOIN’ DOWN THE ROAD FEELIN’ BAD, as appropriate a soundtrack as I have ever stumbled upon. So I filmed during the whole song rolling down the highway with the magnificently resplendent pink, purple and orange sunset in the viewfinder. As I made the loop up and through Memphis, the storm I had been following since breakfast became tangible as it lit up the sky to the East as it bludgeoned its way to Nashville and points beyond.
Wait, just now I saw the Platinum Club’s marquee on my right as I passed an offramp. Shit. I knew it was nearby. I’d stopped here at this well-advertised Gentleman’s Club on my last cross-country drive. Of course, this was my one planned stop for the whole trip this time.
(I take up a few hours later where the tale left off)
I proceed to the next offramp and decide to look for possible hotels. There were tons of them just off the highway so I sat by the road reading the AAA rundowns. I thought if I went to the club for awhile and didn’t get too smashed I’d just drive on East and get as close as I could to Nashville. If, by chance, I had too much fun and didn’t want to drive any farther, at least I’d be just one exit away and would know which hotel and ramp to go to.
So I pulled into a BP station and changed my clothes in the parking lot, putting on slacks and a long-sleeved shirt instead of the old road clothes I had been wearing. Gotta look at least presentable for the ladies at the Club.
I went inside to get a bottle of milk (wanted a frappacino but they didn’t have any in this provincial burg) and asked Lanasha where I could get a good steak. She mentioned the place next door but I’d noticed it was packed.
“How is Tops BBQ, across the street?” I queried.
She loved it, “I eat there almost every day.”
So I crossed the highway and chawed a succulent if simple pulled pork sandwich with a slice of American on a hamburger bun with slaw on the bun and fries. Not on my diet but what the hell. Not bad and cheap. Around $5 with a drink.
Then it was off to try and find the Platinum Club. Took me about 45 minutes of circling around. The exit I’d missed coming East I couldn’t find again in a quite circuitous bundle of turns and reversals. Couldn’t find my way there for the life of me for awhile. Slippery little devil. 30 minutes later, I found it virtually ½ mile from where I started. Ponce de Leon never had such trouble. All I want is a fountain of youth.
At the front desk, I hit the ATM, paid my entrance fee and noticed an 8x10 picture frame on the counter with a beautiful auburn-haired young girl named Dakota featured as “Dancer of the Month”.
I found my night vision once inside the inner sanctum and gauged the right position to get a full view of the stage while having an extra seat close to me for a friendly visitor. Sitting down at a table stage right, I ordered a Heineken (no mixed drinks here) and grokked at the tall blonde woman on stage. Long legs, tattoo’d lower back and right above her g-string in the front. Great, large C, almost D breasts with luscious, large, puffy pink nipples, each with a little barbell thru them. I gave her a couple of dollars.
I soon forgot about her because next up was an incredibly sexy redhead, fair-skinned, petite young lady with a stunning, tight, gymnast’s body (not the veiny weight-trainer type, more naturally toned, i.e. young) with a simply spectacular, small but round ass that I couldn’t take my eyes off of. She had the tiniest little titties and small, perky, hard rosy nipples. Her face was the heart-breaker, very much like a more classically pretty KT, my past young muse from a few years back. Wow.
I walked up while she was still on stage and tipped her towards the end of her 2nd dance and said, “Come see me when you’re done.” I wasn’t about to let this one latch onto another drooling patron before I got a chance to spend some, uh, face time with her.
When the music stopped she came right off of the stage and over to me, forgoing the usual walk to the rear curtain, disappearing backstage to freshen up and have a smoke and a drink before sauntering out to mingle with the money.
“Are you ready for a VIP?” “Sure,” I said, trying not to act insanely eager. Generally, I am not at all inclined to take up with a lady who cuts to the chase and gives no small talk before the VIP pitch. But since I’d made the first move and she knew I was ready, she did just that and I leapt.
Since I’d been here before two years ago I knew the drill. I also know that the girls here make up their own prices for VIP dances.
She took my hand and walked me back to one of the small alcoves off of the main floor. No doors, so a handful of people in the main room outside, if positioned in just the right seats, can watch what goes on in the private rooms as can the bouncers and waitresses who walk by occasionally, so nothing too out of control goes on. But once inside you forget all of that. There are other treats to concentrate on.
We sat down on the couch and the music outside from the stage is loud and pumpin’. This was Dakota. Very sweet and open and sexy. We talk until the next song starts. “What are your rules?” I ask before things progress.
“My only rules are that I insist you touch me continuously and that you can touch me everywhere but here,” and she pats her crotch and pulls out her G string to show me her precious little pussy. As most clubs on the east and west coast don't allow for any touching unless you pay the big "champagne suite" fees, this was tres cool. I told her when I was there before I had noticed that the girls made their own prices. She said basically, it is $40 a song, 3 for $100 and tips if you so desire.
“I finally figured out what Tips means, do you know,” she says playfully. “It means ‘To Insure Priority Service’”. We both giggled at her scripted cuteness. Not something you get everyday in these joints.
We agree to three dances to start. Luckily they are long songs. She is naked except for the tiniest G string. A tattoo of her real name Jennifer under her hair on her neck. A small tattoo on her lower stomach (flat, tight, w/ little jeweled ring). I don’t know what the tattoo was because every time she was pointing it in my direction I was looking at her totally shaved, thin-lipped beautiful pussy that she would expose to me, pulling her g string away for a few brief moments. Sometimes she slid finger and nail softly, slowly over her moist clit. My heart was racing trying to keep up with the pulsing organ a bit further south.
She is ungodly sexy and really responsive to any movement I might make, which is minimal…my hands glide over her and she leans into them, I pinch her nipples softly and she whispers, “That’s right” in my ear.
She turns her ass to me, grinding her warm crotch against my hardness. I rarely get real hard for long in these places, too much strangeness and distraction. For me, it is usually about getting all of the visual and mental playthings and then taking the memory home with me where I can really let the imagination fly for the next few months but this petite dynamo really shook me.
Not that being virtually celibate for two years after the best sex in my life is any reason why I might be excited by this but you do the math.
I kneaded her small, tight fleshy ass with my hands and softly ran my thumb down the edge of her butt crack spreading her cheeks. I throbbed like a lion jumping for an antelope shank…sorry, whew…She turned to me and put her hand on my shoulders, pushing herself up until her nipples we inches from my lips, her amber locks hung down around my face and she moved closer and put her nipple against my open lips. I licked it into my mouth for a quick suck and she slowly pulled away, popping it out of my mouth. She slid down to the floor and bowed her neck at my crotch, rubbing my hard cock and balls with the back of her head through my pants, shifting them from side to side with the movement of her head…I wanted nothing but for her to slide my hardness out of my pants and into her mane of luxurious soft hair and then into her curvy lips…at that moment, I thought of the picture I have of my cock in Erin’s hand against her face and I almost shot right there. That would be a first for me in a club. But, Dakota’s tongue up my stomach to my exposed nipple pulled me back into the present moment.
The dances here are so much more touchy than any other joint I’ve been in. I’m glad I don’t live in Memphis, I’d be in big trouble and incredibly broke. She came up with her lips within an inch of mine, stared me in the eyes and whispered, “I get the impression that you are a booty man.”
How she knows that I haven’t a clue (was I purring whenever she pointed that thing at me?) but I doth protest not. She turns and rides me reverse cowgirl style and with her hands slids mine from her upper thighs to her ass, pointed right at me. In a couple of minutes she slids up with her perfect asshole three inches from my face. I kiss her cheeks and her lips kiss up and down my legs. Eventually, the songs are over…I’m warm, tingling.
She says, “We’re supposed to charge just to sit with you between dances but I don’t if the guys are cool.” Now, I’ve never heard THAT one but it is inventive and smart. Usually the girls either just stay and hang if there has been any chemistry and they think they’ll get more dough out of you. She sat for over 30 minutes. We talked about the other two girls I’d had dances with two years ago: Pearl, the 19-year-old girlfriend of the owner, “She’s not here anymore.” And Lacy (whose name I didn’t know), the older woman who propositioned me drunkenly to take her back to the hotel after her shift for $300 for a shower and blow-job etc. No thanks. She was very scary, drunk, Southern slurring girl. “She was fired last week for the same shit. You can’t do that. I had a guy offer me $500 to go back to his hotel and I told him, I don’t do that and that is solicitation so if you don’t want me to call the cops you’ll desist.”
“It’s not solicitation if you don’t charge him.”
“Ha, I sure didn’t suggest that.”
Funny. She said she is studying to be a meteorologist, wants a weather job in a big city but is majoring in Geology so she can teach high school. I said, “If my high school teachers looked like you I’d have flunked out of everything.”
We danced three more dances even more exciting than the previous and I tipped her $50.
I was hooked. I was contemplating even another round as I watched her take her next turns on the stage. Then, I realized that I couldn’t go to the ATM for more bread because I couldn’t find my Debit card. SHIT. I had no recollection of where I last used it (it would’ve had to have been gas but I get gas 5 times a day on the road and had no idea where I did it last…).
I went outside to search my packed car and nothing. Back inside, she had the DJ grab a flashlight and look around my seat where I’d been before we hit the lap dance room. I really didn’t think that I’d lost it here but I wanted to be sure. Not a good place to lose a credit card.
When I went back in and told her I had to go look at the gas station I was last at, I found a receipt in my wallet for a station in Memphis that I had no recollection of stopping at so I figured it had to have been where I lost it.
She said, “If you don’t find it, come back. You can stay with me tonight. No solicition, no charge.”
“No sex?,” I said.
“I didn’t say that did I,” was her reply accompanied by a little curve of her lips at the corner.
“You don’t know how great that sounds.”
“Yes, I do,” she whispers in my ear.
“Only one problem, the woman back East I told you I was heading to see? I’m saving myself for her.” Obviously, the dumbest decision of my life.
“You’re serious?”
“Yeah, it’s been two years and you tonight is as close as I have ever come to diverging from that path.”
“Wish I had a guy like you.” I was of course, snickering a bit under my breath thinking, “I wish Erin could see it that way.”
Erin had told me long ago that if I was interested in going to strip clubs to get it out of my system before we ever become exclusive. More rules.
Truthfully, I love looking at naked women, love touching them and when this is the only outlet I have for it, it is worth every penny.
When I was going to clubs a lot while I was married, my wife didn’t know how often I went but she knew I went. I’m sure it must’ve bothered her but she knew I wasn’t doing anything dangerous. She had been to the clubs with me and would be more pissed about the money than the women. Granted, we weren’t having much sex much less any flirtation or anything and I was looking for an outlet so as not to bother her all the time. And I never had sex or head or anything in all those visits. A coupl eof drinks, a coupoe of dances and lots of flirting with beautiful, albeit naked women.
So I went back to the Circle K where the gas receipt was from and I did remember that I’d rushed out of there when a homeless woman headed toward me asking for money and I must’ve dropped my card but I didn’t see it. I went inside with one last hope and when I got to the register, the girl had it sitting right there. “Someone turned it in not 10 minutes ago.”
Lucky me. So I got on the road at midnight and drove East on I-40 figuring I’d drive a couple of hours and find a place to stay. Get closer to Nashville so I could get home in time for my big date in NYC with Erin. Of course, I jerked off twice by the light of my radar detector between Memphis and Nashville wishing I'd had the balls to go back and take Dakota up on her offer. But I was in love with Erin and somehow that was all that mattered. Ah, the good life.
MISTRESS MARY QUITE CONTRARY
Mistress Mary quite contrary / How does my hard-on grow?
Quite, handily thank you / as your smile does show.
~
And she is indeed, quite contrary. But then again, aren’t we all?
Quite, handily thank you / as your smile does show.
~
And she is indeed, quite contrary. But then again, aren’t we all?
My Sexless 1960s...
Not exactly a love-in, my 1960s. But, being born in 1956, I guess that was acceptable since I was just a fledgling pervert gradually sniffing around the perversion tree. Didn’t know much about anything sexy as a kid. It just wasn’t around in the culture. Too young. Too sheltered.
Remember, we were still ensconced in the days of TV couples in separate beds.
I do recall my Mom, making Dad draw a “dickie” of sorts, no, not a penis, but a turtleneck shirtfront to cover the cleavage of a model pictured on the front of a Dukes of Dixieland or a Firehouse Five +2 LP. I remember seeing it before she made him censor it and being completely enthralled. Probably a good move, Mom.
The model was wearing a straw hat and a striped man’s dress shirt opened to the waist and tight Capris. No nipples showing, only cleavage, but WOW, it was something. I also recall that my Dad, who had been a vice cop, had a stack of four or five LPs in the hall closet that they had confiscated. They were up on a high shelf with the old Deanna Durbin albums of 78s that he didn’t play anymore. They were “Stag Party” records (not only the genre but the label, I believe). Off-color humor that I really didn't get when I snuck them down and listened to them...nothing you don’t hear on the Comedy Channel these days or even on network TV for that matter. Somebody named Bert Henry and I think there was even one by Redd Foxx and this was years before "Sanford & Son".
I remember going with Mom, my grandma, my six-year-old brother, and my two cousins who were my age (nine years old) to see the movie “The Great Race” at the El Rey Theater in Alhambra and there is a scene when Natalie Wood comes out of the water soaking wet in her clingy, white, Victorian bloomers thing and a kid yelled out “A-HA, look at de booozums”. That cracked us up and of course to this day when the four of us are around each other we crack up when someone says this.
Also when I was ten and we went to see “Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid” and my brother created a fuss because he didn’t want to go. “You and Dad just want to see it because it’s dirty.”
What the hell was he talking about? I found out, when Katherine Ross opened her nightgown for Redford, all backlit and whatnot. Though we didn’t really see anything, my, how I wanted to. The funny thing was that after all of his complaining, it was the other picture on the bill was the "dirty" one (ah, remember when ALL movies were double bills?). The first feature was “Marlowe” with James Garner and when the scene with a stripper twirling her pasty tassels came on, my brother high-tailed it up the aisle “to the bathroom”. Mom told me to follow him, which pissed me off so I walked backwards up the aisle to not miss the scene. I’m no fool. And who was at the top of the aisle peeping through the curtains but my seven-year-old little brother. Always a step ahead of the rest of us, even then.
Other titillating childhood memories that pop up are the distinct memory of the first breasts I ever saw…my older cousin Michelle, who I just loved – “My Michelle” I used to call her.
She was babysitting us once and we were all bouncing and wrestling on my folks' bed and I remember she was wearing a yellow, gauzy nightgown. At one point, she bent over to tickle me (oh, how I loved her wild laugh) and I could see down her neckline at her bare breasts. Small handfuls, pink tipped in the soft light filtering through the fabric. I wasn't sure why, but I had to try to catch another fleeting glimpse. I’ll never forget it though I wasn’t even sure why that was interesting to me at the time. It was probably because I didn’t have any myself.
My family didn't run around naked so the one time I remember seeing my mom's boobs stands out. She was taking a bath and my Dad brought me in to say goodnight. Also I remember seeing my Dad's penis just once. He was standing shaving his face and I walked in accidentally. I remember thinking it was huge and I realize now that it was soft and average and looked pretty much like mine does now. At the time, I was completely amazed and jealous. I was ten. I'm sure I took showers with him when I was really little but I don't have any recollection of that.
I also remember walking in Hollywood with my family somewhere near Grauman’s Chinese Theater, the greatest of the Hollywood movie palaces, and I recall seeing a “pretty woman” with what looked like a mustache. Ah, the joys of growing up in Southern California; if it’s not Ricky Nelson and his pregnant wife Chris at Denny’s, it’s cross-dressers on Sunset Blvd.
I’d had big crushes in grade school on Sage N. in 3rd grade, Mrs. Weinholdt’s class – that girl could play a flutophone...until she miraculously developed a foreign accent overnight, which spooked me. She eventually married a good childhood friend of ours.
In the 4th and 5th grade, it was Alise P. who was a doll, thin, sporty and blond and I was way too shy to ever approach her (she eventually married a wild neighbor of mine three years older than us and had about a million kids – whew, dodged that bullet).
Out of my reach at this time was Liz McF who was wild, always had boys after her and a bit too aggressive (i.e. advanced) for me. One of the first “smokers” then “stoners” a few years later, she hung with a wilder crowd earlier than most of us. But, she had dimples. The first in my long line of attraction to dimpled girls. I wonder if that’s what drew me to Charlene, my ex-wife…yes, I've had a long proclivity for dimples. Unrequited dimple fixation that needed to be quenched.
So, these are the pre-pubescent, roots of my teen angst. I was a bit too young for the swingin’ ‘60s. Missed all of that free love and most of that open lifestyle experimentation…okay, so I made up for lost time a bit in the late 70s and in my late 40s but those are two other bags of worms…I sure absorbed the concept and influence of the freedom ethos through the media and culture though…the music and even advertising became more sexy and women and teens had more freedom than ever before…we thought we could actually speak our minds…anyway, I’m sidetracked, back to the sex stuff….
In 7th grade, I remember being on the lawn in the quad at lunch and hearing Franny tell us that a girl's privates were called "Virginia". He later spent some time in prison, coincidence?...I think not. He was immediately corrected by one of the jocks who had older sisters and brother, "No, you idiot, it's "virGIna (sic)." The female mystery organ had come up in a conversation about Lucy H, who it was rumored had been caught in the girls’ bathroom counting her pubic hair. She wasn't in there very long.
I also recall missing classes while I waited for my uncontrollable hard-on to die down as I sat in the library, praying that no one would notice. Oh, the glory days of hourly spontaneous erections. I like to say now that I was constantly infatuated with a breeze. Didn't take much.
We spent a whole lot of time trying to “catch a beaver”, i.e. see girls' panties as they sat with their legs open. Gary P. was such a hawk-eye that he claimed to have x-ray vision and could tell what color panties a girl was wearing before he caught a real glimpse. He even named everyone’s dick a funny nickname. Somehow I don’t remember mine, though I think I was Rod. I recall there was a Mortimer (Lenny R, I think) and Garry C’s was Flip because he has a different turn on the end from his circumcision scar. Now, Gary P's real claim to fame was that he claimed to have seen our hot (or at least fairly young) Social Studies teacher’s beaver. He claimed Miss Garrett sported, “a puffer”. As did Cathy R. For you, with little experience on the beaver trail, this refers to girls with MAJOR hair down there. Remember, these were the days before bikini waxing and landing strips and the like. So to be "a puffer" you had to have some intense forestation going on.
The thing about going to our particular Junior High was that it brought together kids from, not only the three elementary schools in the district, but the Catholic school as well. So there was a huge influx of cute girls who you somehow felt you might have a chance with since they didn’t know you like the girls you’d spent the last six years being ignored by. There were kids whose names you had heard over the years from students who transferred into your school or through their delinquency legends. There were also kids who you had played Little League with or gone to church with. It was a time of budding friendships and suddenly new cliques and alliances were heating up. Somehow, many of the kids who just 3 months before had been your good friends would be off in their own new worlds and just a passing glance for the rest of your days in school.
Then there was the trauma of not only having lots of new and exciting girls to drool over but they were freshly bursting at the seams. Where had all the skinny, flat-chested girls gone? You know, those silly, frivolous, foursquare and jacks playing girls who we'd pick on in class and ignore the rest of the time?
Someone had injected them with curves and height and funny smiles that didn’t mean what they used to. And they dressed better. The light shone through their hair much more enticingly. They seemed to walk in slow motion across the schoolyard with their books pressed against them where you somehow instantly realized that you wanted your hands to be. They giggled incessantly, their heads swirling around to look over their shoulders at…no, not us, but the older 8th grade boys.
These boys were the bane of my existence. All tough and smiling and confident, knowing something we were sure we needed to know. We hadn’t the vaguest idea of what they knew but we were ready to find out. My biggest trauma is that I was completely infatuated with Donna B., one of these girls from outside my particular grade school, i.e. my previous world.
Donna was beautiful, with wavy, long, blond hair and she wore neckbands, and vests (I remember distinctly a navy blue sweater-vest and a long sleeve yellow dress shirt underneath with hip-hugger jeans)...a very cool, stylish not hippie but hip-type thing at the time. She never gave me the time of day. Oh, the occasional smile and a couple of brief fleeting conversations. But I always tried to sit a the lunch table with her friends and sit across from her so I could be just one or two people away from her.
I remember that the day we were having our class photos taken, I was wearing a ludicrous outfit that my good-hearted Mom had put together for me to wear. I was a 7th grader; a nobody and in my yellow shirt, sweater vest, yellow socks and pants, I DID look like a banana. What was my mother thinking? Donna's older brother Dick (appropriately), decided that he'd point that fact out as I stood next to the goddess that was his sister. Nice.
They had dances at school but I never went to one. No reason to. There was no one I deemed approachable and what did I know about dancing? All the girls I was friends with (a couple who would speak to me for more than a sentence or two, had boyfriends). I did go to my first party and drank my first (half of a) beer, which I walked around with all night not wanting to get drunk but wanting to be seen with a beer. It was in a house on Emperor by the school and I walked there with my friend Gus. There was a band set up in the kitchen that played “Aqualung” by Jethro Tull and Allman Brothers tunes.
Thus began a harrowing year that would repeat this same sickening pattern when we arrived as freshman to high school two years later.
But, in between, there was the New World: 8th grade - 1970-71.
Remember, we were still ensconced in the days of TV couples in separate beds.
I do recall my Mom, making Dad draw a “dickie” of sorts, no, not a penis, but a turtleneck shirtfront to cover the cleavage of a model pictured on the front of a Dukes of Dixieland or a Firehouse Five +2 LP. I remember seeing it before she made him censor it and being completely enthralled. Probably a good move, Mom.
The model was wearing a straw hat and a striped man’s dress shirt opened to the waist and tight Capris. No nipples showing, only cleavage, but WOW, it was something. I also recall that my Dad, who had been a vice cop, had a stack of four or five LPs in the hall closet that they had confiscated. They were up on a high shelf with the old Deanna Durbin albums of 78s that he didn’t play anymore. They were “Stag Party” records (not only the genre but the label, I believe). Off-color humor that I really didn't get when I snuck them down and listened to them...nothing you don’t hear on the Comedy Channel these days or even on network TV for that matter. Somebody named Bert Henry and I think there was even one by Redd Foxx and this was years before "Sanford & Son".
I remember going with Mom, my grandma, my six-year-old brother, and my two cousins who were my age (nine years old) to see the movie “The Great Race” at the El Rey Theater in Alhambra and there is a scene when Natalie Wood comes out of the water soaking wet in her clingy, white, Victorian bloomers thing and a kid yelled out “A-HA, look at de booozums”. That cracked us up and of course to this day when the four of us are around each other we crack up when someone says this.
Also when I was ten and we went to see “Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid” and my brother created a fuss because he didn’t want to go. “You and Dad just want to see it because it’s dirty.”
What the hell was he talking about? I found out, when Katherine Ross opened her nightgown for Redford, all backlit and whatnot. Though we didn’t really see anything, my, how I wanted to. The funny thing was that after all of his complaining, it was the other picture on the bill was the "dirty" one (ah, remember when ALL movies were double bills?). The first feature was “Marlowe” with James Garner and when the scene with a stripper twirling her pasty tassels came on, my brother high-tailed it up the aisle “to the bathroom”. Mom told me to follow him, which pissed me off so I walked backwards up the aisle to not miss the scene. I’m no fool. And who was at the top of the aisle peeping through the curtains but my seven-year-old little brother. Always a step ahead of the rest of us, even then.
Other titillating childhood memories that pop up are the distinct memory of the first breasts I ever saw…my older cousin Michelle, who I just loved – “My Michelle” I used to call her.
She was babysitting us once and we were all bouncing and wrestling on my folks' bed and I remember she was wearing a yellow, gauzy nightgown. At one point, she bent over to tickle me (oh, how I loved her wild laugh) and I could see down her neckline at her bare breasts. Small handfuls, pink tipped in the soft light filtering through the fabric. I wasn't sure why, but I had to try to catch another fleeting glimpse. I’ll never forget it though I wasn’t even sure why that was interesting to me at the time. It was probably because I didn’t have any myself.
My family didn't run around naked so the one time I remember seeing my mom's boobs stands out. She was taking a bath and my Dad brought me in to say goodnight. Also I remember seeing my Dad's penis just once. He was standing shaving his face and I walked in accidentally. I remember thinking it was huge and I realize now that it was soft and average and looked pretty much like mine does now. At the time, I was completely amazed and jealous. I was ten. I'm sure I took showers with him when I was really little but I don't have any recollection of that.
I also remember walking in Hollywood with my family somewhere near Grauman’s Chinese Theater, the greatest of the Hollywood movie palaces, and I recall seeing a “pretty woman” with what looked like a mustache. Ah, the joys of growing up in Southern California; if it’s not Ricky Nelson and his pregnant wife Chris at Denny’s, it’s cross-dressers on Sunset Blvd.
I’d had big crushes in grade school on Sage N. in 3rd grade, Mrs. Weinholdt’s class – that girl could play a flutophone...until she miraculously developed a foreign accent overnight, which spooked me. She eventually married a good childhood friend of ours.
In the 4th and 5th grade, it was Alise P. who was a doll, thin, sporty and blond and I was way too shy to ever approach her (she eventually married a wild neighbor of mine three years older than us and had about a million kids – whew, dodged that bullet).
Out of my reach at this time was Liz McF who was wild, always had boys after her and a bit too aggressive (i.e. advanced) for me. One of the first “smokers” then “stoners” a few years later, she hung with a wilder crowd earlier than most of us. But, she had dimples. The first in my long line of attraction to dimpled girls. I wonder if that’s what drew me to Charlene, my ex-wife…yes, I've had a long proclivity for dimples. Unrequited dimple fixation that needed to be quenched.
So, these are the pre-pubescent, roots of my teen angst. I was a bit too young for the swingin’ ‘60s. Missed all of that free love and most of that open lifestyle experimentation…okay, so I made up for lost time a bit in the late 70s and in my late 40s but those are two other bags of worms…I sure absorbed the concept and influence of the freedom ethos through the media and culture though…the music and even advertising became more sexy and women and teens had more freedom than ever before…we thought we could actually speak our minds…anyway, I’m sidetracked, back to the sex stuff….
In 7th grade, I remember being on the lawn in the quad at lunch and hearing Franny tell us that a girl's privates were called "Virginia". He later spent some time in prison, coincidence?...I think not. He was immediately corrected by one of the jocks who had older sisters and brother, "No, you idiot, it's "virGIna (sic)." The female mystery organ had come up in a conversation about Lucy H, who it was rumored had been caught in the girls’ bathroom counting her pubic hair. She wasn't in there very long.
I also recall missing classes while I waited for my uncontrollable hard-on to die down as I sat in the library, praying that no one would notice. Oh, the glory days of hourly spontaneous erections. I like to say now that I was constantly infatuated with a breeze. Didn't take much.
We spent a whole lot of time trying to “catch a beaver”, i.e. see girls' panties as they sat with their legs open. Gary P. was such a hawk-eye that he claimed to have x-ray vision and could tell what color panties a girl was wearing before he caught a real glimpse. He even named everyone’s dick a funny nickname. Somehow I don’t remember mine, though I think I was Rod. I recall there was a Mortimer (Lenny R, I think) and Garry C’s was Flip because he has a different turn on the end from his circumcision scar. Now, Gary P's real claim to fame was that he claimed to have seen our hot (or at least fairly young) Social Studies teacher’s beaver. He claimed Miss Garrett sported, “a puffer”. As did Cathy R. For you, with little experience on the beaver trail, this refers to girls with MAJOR hair down there. Remember, these were the days before bikini waxing and landing strips and the like. So to be "a puffer" you had to have some intense forestation going on.
The thing about going to our particular Junior High was that it brought together kids from, not only the three elementary schools in the district, but the Catholic school as well. So there was a huge influx of cute girls who you somehow felt you might have a chance with since they didn’t know you like the girls you’d spent the last six years being ignored by. There were kids whose names you had heard over the years from students who transferred into your school or through their delinquency legends. There were also kids who you had played Little League with or gone to church with. It was a time of budding friendships and suddenly new cliques and alliances were heating up. Somehow, many of the kids who just 3 months before had been your good friends would be off in their own new worlds and just a passing glance for the rest of your days in school.
Then there was the trauma of not only having lots of new and exciting girls to drool over but they were freshly bursting at the seams. Where had all the skinny, flat-chested girls gone? You know, those silly, frivolous, foursquare and jacks playing girls who we'd pick on in class and ignore the rest of the time?
Someone had injected them with curves and height and funny smiles that didn’t mean what they used to. And they dressed better. The light shone through their hair much more enticingly. They seemed to walk in slow motion across the schoolyard with their books pressed against them where you somehow instantly realized that you wanted your hands to be. They giggled incessantly, their heads swirling around to look over their shoulders at…no, not us, but the older 8th grade boys.
These boys were the bane of my existence. All tough and smiling and confident, knowing something we were sure we needed to know. We hadn’t the vaguest idea of what they knew but we were ready to find out. My biggest trauma is that I was completely infatuated with Donna B., one of these girls from outside my particular grade school, i.e. my previous world.
Donna was beautiful, with wavy, long, blond hair and she wore neckbands, and vests (I remember distinctly a navy blue sweater-vest and a long sleeve yellow dress shirt underneath with hip-hugger jeans)...a very cool, stylish not hippie but hip-type thing at the time. She never gave me the time of day. Oh, the occasional smile and a couple of brief fleeting conversations. But I always tried to sit a the lunch table with her friends and sit across from her so I could be just one or two people away from her.
I remember that the day we were having our class photos taken, I was wearing a ludicrous outfit that my good-hearted Mom had put together for me to wear. I was a 7th grader; a nobody and in my yellow shirt, sweater vest, yellow socks and pants, I DID look like a banana. What was my mother thinking? Donna's older brother Dick (appropriately), decided that he'd point that fact out as I stood next to the goddess that was his sister. Nice.
They had dances at school but I never went to one. No reason to. There was no one I deemed approachable and what did I know about dancing? All the girls I was friends with (a couple who would speak to me for more than a sentence or two, had boyfriends). I did go to my first party and drank my first (half of a) beer, which I walked around with all night not wanting to get drunk but wanting to be seen with a beer. It was in a house on Emperor by the school and I walked there with my friend Gus. There was a band set up in the kitchen that played “Aqualung” by Jethro Tull and Allman Brothers tunes.
Thus began a harrowing year that would repeat this same sickening pattern when we arrived as freshman to high school two years later.
But, in between, there was the New World: 8th grade - 1970-71.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
RUMI, I AIN’T (HERE I AM)
Multiple times
Every day
Since I’ve met you
More so of late
I picture
Imagine
Visualize
Feel my cock
The cock I’ve spent a lifetime running from
Obsessing over
Clinging to
Afraid of
The cock you’ve gripped
Tightly in your small hands
Fitting, like no other
The cock you have stroked and caressed
Smiled at lovingly,
I have pictured it
Up to the hilt
Balls deep
Stopping
Diving into that moment between thrusting movement
Inside you
Your tightness
Enveloping
Blood of your passion
Engorged around my tumescence
As I flex over
And over
Again
Your entire body
Wrapped up
Engaged
Focused
Gripping my towering
Vulnerability
The rooted flesh
Of my manhood
Stopped, as far as I can fathom
Into your body
As your squeeze
Tightly around me
My mind zeroed in on the infinitesimal space
Between our beings
As close as humans get
To being someone else
To truly embracing the us in we
The I in you
The me in be.
Until I do
You must break me
Break me like a wild horse
Whip the fight out of me
Slap the smile from my arrogance
Lick the tears from my fear
Squeeze the pain from my psyche
And I from you
Until the hesitance of our humanity
Shatters
In the bliss
Of our flesh entwined
Our hearts breathing
Timeless
Unfathomable
Floating
Now,
Wrapped
Into
Around
Beginning and ending
Where all begins and ends.
-- S.F. 3/28/08 – for MMMM
Every day
Since I’ve met you
More so of late
I picture
Imagine
Visualize
Feel my cock
The cock I’ve spent a lifetime running from
Obsessing over
Clinging to
Afraid of
The cock you’ve gripped
Tightly in your small hands
Fitting, like no other
The cock you have stroked and caressed
Smiled at lovingly,
I have pictured it
Up to the hilt
Balls deep
Stopping
Diving into that moment between thrusting movement
Inside you
Your tightness
Enveloping
Blood of your passion
Engorged around my tumescence
As I flex over
And over
Again
Your entire body
Wrapped up
Engaged
Focused
Gripping my towering
Vulnerability
The rooted flesh
Of my manhood
Stopped, as far as I can fathom
Into your body
As your squeeze
Tightly around me
My mind zeroed in on the infinitesimal space
Between our beings
As close as humans get
To being someone else
To truly embracing the us in we
The I in you
The me in be.
Until I do
You must break me
Break me like a wild horse
Whip the fight out of me
Slap the smile from my arrogance
Lick the tears from my fear
Squeeze the pain from my psyche
And I from you
Until the hesitance of our humanity
Shatters
In the bliss
Of our flesh entwined
Our hearts breathing
Timeless
Unfathomable
Floating
Now,
Wrapped
Into
Around
Beginning and ending
Where all begins and ends.
-- S.F. 3/28/08 – for MMMM
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