To the anonymous person who commented on my most recent story -
If you had criticized my writing, I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t have been thrilled. I mean, this isn’t Yelp. But I might have considered what you had to say. Your comment, though, had nothing to do with the writing. You criticized the sexual fantasy itself.
If you’re a reader of mine, I think you’ve missed one of my core beliefs. I wasn’t sure what to say at first, but I’m glad to be able to speak to this. It’s something I’ve said before and it bears repeating.
I don’t judge anyone’s sexual fantasy. I don’t accept judgement of sexual fantasies. There are so many personal queer history lessons about the bad road that can lead you down.
I hope no one has ever done that to you.
Here’s the thing. And this is so important. It’s damaging to shame someone’s sexual fantasy. It’s damaging and confining. Not just to them but to you as well. I hope you never do that to a lover. I certainly hope you never do that to yourself.
She wanted to fuck a woman. He wanted to watch. Her boyfriend, maybe he was her husband, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter to me, right? It’s an old story anyway. I’d never gone in for that. But somehow, this time, it sounded good. I caught myself thinking about it. A lot.
I was at a friend’s wedding when I met her. Them. Met them. I was there alone. They were both a little drunk. Smiling. Flushed cheeks from the booze and the dancing. They looked beautiful together. In love. Good dancers. We talked a little. Not too much. We danced near each other on the dance floor. All of us. Laughing. I didn’t think we were flirting. Maybe we were. She would turn to me and lift her hair. I watched her hips. I smiled, maybe a little too long. I left late. We walked out of the place together and I got in a cab watching her wave goodbye over his shoulder as he held her tight. I saw her kiss his ear. That was it.
I ran into them again over the next few months. Once, at the bagel place, I came in and they waved me to their table. I couldn’t remember who they were at first. I’m terrible with faces. We laughed and chatted a bit, but I left them alone and sat by myself at the counter by the window. They’re straight. I’m not. I liked them, but I don’t really have straight friends. They waved goodbye through the window when they left.
The next time I saw them, we were at another party. More drinking. Laughing. Dancing. I talked about sex. I always talk about sex. I saw it happen. The looks back and forth. The laughter changed to something slower, more telling. We hugged goodbye that night, exchanging numbers. At home, I took their phone number out of my pocket and put it on the dresser in front of me. “This isn’t a friendship,” I thought, staring at her handwriting, “I know what this is.”
I looked down at my fingers, letting them crawl over each button one at a time. I slid my hand under my shirt, dragging my open palm hard over my chest and feeling my nipples burn. I stood there at my dresser, unbuckling my belt. I felt my clit press against my underwear. I stared down at myself. My boy’s briefs. My pants hanging open. I could feel how wet I was getting thinking about her. Has she done this before? I looked at the number on the jagged white slip of paper and jerked myself off while I stood there, one hand gripping my open sock drawer. I came quickly. Too fast. I kept jerking off through the whole night of restless sleep from the party, the drinking, the energy. I woke up cranky and annoyed with myself. Feeling the day lost after such a sleepless night.
Several weeks had gone by since I had put her number in my phone. Their number. I stared at the phone when it rang. It was her on the line. Her voice shook.
This is awkward… Was I interested… She had always thought about it… He had always wanted to…
I let her talk. I didn’t fill in her silences. She needed to ask for this. I needed to hear her say it. Her words. Her suggestion. Her desire. I let her explain. I listened. I waited for her to stop and then I said, “I’ve been thinking about it, too. I want to fuck you.” I could hear her breathing. I could feel my heart pounding. This was hot. Hotter than I expected it to feel. Such an old story, but there’s a reason it’s still told. He wanted to watch. Of course. I wanted him to watch. It’s only half the story without that, really. I needed him to watch. She needed that. It made all the difference.
We met at a bar near their house. A few drinks. I asked him to kiss her. I watched. I dipped a finger into my glass of whiskey and slid the tip between her lips.
We left. He drove slowly. We were all in the car. I would pick my bike up later. I’d walk, I told them. I would want to walk, I thought.
We didn’t talk in the car. I rode in the back, sitting in the middle with my knees wide. Looking at her in the rearview mirror. Watching her stare at him, smiling. We were all a little buzzed with excitement. Everything glowed with the street lamps. The night air was cool and damp and wet. It muffled the thud of my boots on their wooden front steps. They led me into a bedroom. It looked like a guest room, a bit empty and sterile.
I didn’t want him to say anything. “I don’t want you to talk,” I said, leading him to a chair in the corner that seemed to be there for this. Just for him. He sat down, looking up at me, his mouth stiff. “Do you want a drink?” I asked. He shook his head no. “You can jerk off,” I said. He nodded. He had pretty eyes. He was a beautiful man, really. He sat there so still. “We’re all in this,” I thought.
She stood by the bed, looking fantastic. I don’t think I’d really noticed before. Maybe this was the moment I needed, to see it. Her hair was pulled back. She wore a low cut, wrap dress with boots. She had small tits and I could see her nipples under the fabric. I like that. I moved behind her and slid both hands under her dress. A breast in each hand, her nipples under my thumbs. I held her body towards him. I saw his hands resting on his thighs.
I licked her neck with my tongue just barely poking out beyond my lips, letting her feel my mouth right there, my breath. My hips pushed against her ass and I felt her body move, softening, her weight shifted against me. I squeezed her tits, rubbing my hands roughly under her dress. I moved a little to one side, half of her still leaning against my chest, and grabbed the back of her neck. I brought my other hand up to her face. My thumb under her chin. “I want him to see your mouth,” I said to her, loudly enough for him to hear me, “I want him to watch how you suck his dick. Let him see it.”
She turned around, her eyes searching my face for a second and dropped to her knees with her hands on my belt buckle. “No,” I laughed, pulling her back up and turning her around to face him, “I don’t have a cock.” I held my thumb against her lips until she opened for me. “This,” I said, “Show him.” Her tongue stiffened against my thumb. She tilted her head back, opening her throat for me. I pushed inside her. “You’re so wet inside, so soft,” I told her, “Let me feel your tongue. Show me.”
I saw his hand shift. He gripped his cock, now stiff in his pants. I watched him hold the stiff bulge between his thumb and forefinger, stroking himself. My cunt was so hot and tight. I felt it throb and hang heavy between my legs. I wanted to flip her over and fuck her hard. I felt myself held back. I needed this slow. I needed this to build. I wanted her so hot, burning, gripping my fingers tight as soon as I entered her. I pulled my thumb out of her mouth and pushed two fingers in instead. My wet thumb stroking her cheek with every thrust. “So soft inside,” I said, “So good.”
I let her suck my fingers for a long time. Long enough to get lost in a trance, staring at her mouth. My leg had shifted between her thighs and she rubbed herself slowly against me. I pulled my fingers out of her mouth and moved them, wet, to her nipples. I grabbed the back of her head, my fingers tight in her hair. “You want him to see this,” I said roughly, jerking her dress off each shoulder, “That’s right, isn’t it?” I pulled her dress down, exposing her tits, and went back to rolling each nipple between my thumb and finger, one at a time. I looked back at him. He stared at her tits. He was rubbing his dick through his pants with a hard, flat palm.
I imagined my own stiff, throbbing cock jamming into my thigh and swallowed hard. “Do you feel a little guilty about this?” I asked and moved to face her. I gripped her hair more tightly and gave her a quick slap across the cheek. “Do you feel bad?” I taunted, “Do you feel dirty?” I slapped her again twice, each harder than the last. Her eyes were wide now. Staring at me. Waiting. She nodded. “I understand,” I said and took her hand in mine, leading it to my belt. “Would you like to feel this?” I whispered into her neck, “It’s so thick and heavy.” She didn’t say anything. “I wore it just for you,” I said and gripped her fingers, running them along the edge of the leather, “Is this what you want?” She nodded. “What?” I whispered. “Yes,” she said, softly.
I pulled my face away from her and turned to look at him. He was watching her fingers. We put our hands on our belt buckles at the same time. I mirrored his movements as he slowly unbuckled his belt. I slid mine out of the belt loops as he struggled with the buttons of his fly. His hard on pushing against his pants. “Bend over,” I told her. Her hands were wide on the edge of the bed. I looped the belt in my hand and buckled it before running it across her low back. I pet her ass while I ran the edge of the thick leather slowly up the backs of her legs. Petting her sweetly. Whispering to her. “I know you’re good,” I called to her as I lifted her dress.
She wore peach colored panties. Cotton briefs so simple and sweet, the sight took my breath away. Unexpected. My hands trembled and I felt sweat on my palms. “I like these,” I said, letting the belt fall against her ass. I took the belt in both hands, pulling the loop tight, and ran the rough edge of leather just below her panties on the back of her thighs. This belt smacks with a loud, crisp sound. Harder than it feels. I raised my arm and swung. She shifted her legs. I hit her ass with the belt, only her ass, several times, slowly drawing back my arm before a quick swing and a smack. A dozen times or more before I stopped and pet her with my hand. I ran my fingers through her hair and felt the sweat on her scalp and the back of her neck. The room felt hot now. Muggy.
"Pull your panties down for me," I said. I stared at her rounded, red cheeks as the cotton slid down. I stopped her hands mid-thigh. "Good enough," I told her, moving onto my knees for a moment. I dropped the belt and reached my hand between her legs when I kissed her. This first kiss with a finger curved between the wet lips of her pussy and my tongue reaching deep inside her mouth. I wanted her to struggle for breath. "I like this," I said with my mouth against hers, "Spreading your lips like this with my finger." And dragged my finger deeper, feeling her hole open up for me. "So wet inside," I said, "So good," and kissed her hard again, gripping her jaw. "I want you wetter," I said, pulling my mouth off hers and grabbing the belt again.
On all fours, I moved behind her, licking my way up her leg until I stood crouched with my tongue just above her knee where her panties were drawn tight between her thighs. I ran my teeth against the elastic edge. I licked at the cotton. “I don’t even have to stick my face in your pussy to taste you,” I said, “Your panties are so wet.” I sucked loudly on the cotton and heard him groan behind me. Back on my feet, I pulled the belt across her bare ass. She sucked in her breath and I took that as my cue to quickly pull back my arm and swing. The effect is beautiful. The leather. The swing. The bright red striped flesh. But it’s the sound I love best. A sharp smack. I was soon done spanking her. I wanted too much to fuck her.
I didn’t want to lie on the bed. I didn’t want to get on top of her. I didn’t want to pump her with a cock. I sat on the edge of that bed and pulled her onto my lap, her back against my chest. I adjusted her dress to keep her tits pulled out and her pussy exposed. My hands squeezed her hips and then dragged slowly up the sides of her ribcage, jerking here and there on the fabric of her dress. “Put your hands behind my head,” I told her. Her arms reached high and long behind her. Her head rested against my shoulder. I was breathing in her ear. I rubbed her body. I clawed my fingers on her thighs. I held her tight, sometimes nibbling at her ear. I pushed my hips against her and pulled her down hard into my lap. “I want you to feel me,” I said.
I looked across the room. His cock was out in his hand. He rubbed his palm in a circle around and around the tip, sometimes pulling at it. He sat so still. His face was calm. I watched the curving movement of his forearm and slid my hand to her pussy. I stroked her slowly with my the tip of my finger from her hole up to her clit, hovered just above her clit for a moment, and started over. I rocked my hips, rocking her with me, as I repeated this again and again. I held her to me with my hand on her chest.
"This is how I’d fuck you if I had a cock," I told her. "I’d rub it against your pussy like this. I’d rub it so softly between your lips. I’d come on your belly and your thighs," I slid my wet hand under her dress, rubbing her belly, feeling the soft strip of hair that ran below her belly button. "Like this," I said. Her arms gripped my head. I moved two fingers between her lips now, stroking her clit in circles. "I like how wet you got for me," I said and licked her neck. I rubbed harder now and held her with my arm wrapped tightly around her, just under her tits. I spread my legs a little wider, moving hers open with me. I felt myself get so hot. My body tensed and I felt myself humping against her ass, pulling her to me. "I want you to come," I said and she exploded against my hand. Her arms squeezed me hard and then went limp. She drew one hand down between her legs and held mine hard against her throbbing clit.
"There’s more," I told her and she laughed. We fucked more that night. I wanted her on her back with her knees up. I wanted to lean into the backs of her thighs with my fingers inside her and watch her jerk herself off. I pushed my hips against her with my fingers slamming into her hole. She was naked at that point. I was fully dressed. My pants were wet from her pussy.
I don’t know if he came or not up to that point. I had stopped paying attention to him. I didn’t want to look at him when she sucked me off. I kneeled on the bed while she undid my shirt. Ran her hands over me. I unbuttoned my pants for her. Unzipped my fly. I took my pants off and told her to suck on my clit through my briefs. Her fingers were splayed wide on my inner thighs and her face was buried between my legs.
She teased her fingers under the edge of my underwear and looked up at me when she reached my wet cunt. So fucking wet. I nodded at her and pulled my underwear down, spreading my legs wide. “Suck me off,” I told her, “I want your mouth right here.” I pulled her head towards me and lifted my hips. She sucked hard with her teeth against me. I felt myself pushing into her mouth. So turned on. I didn’t want to know why. Why was this so hot to me? I squeezed my eyes shut. Trying not to think of him watching. Trying not to imagine a cock, my cock, in her mouth. Shutting away this or that image that came into my head. Finally I stopped thinking and opened my eyes, looking down at her. I squeezed her head in my hands, “I want to come in your mouth,” I said. She nodded and slid her arms around me, holding my ass in her hands, looking up at me. I came. So hard. Bucking against her with such force it hurt. When I pulled her face off of me, her chin looked rubbed raw.
I kissed her. A kind of closure. I got dressed pretty quickly and let myself out. I’m not sure how I’d imagined it ending, but this seemed right in the moment. Let me disappear. Leave my ghost in the room. Something unreal, ethereal. Let this slip away for now.
I walked to my bike, thankful it was still chained up outside the bar. I walked it home, not wanting to ride. Needing to wind my way home at a slow pace in the night air. I felt good. I didn’t question it.
This is a picture. #veryshortstories
So many thoughts. They get lost in my head. Turn up at awkward moments when I’m not prepared. In the middle of a conversation, I suddenly remember my plan to tie her wrists to the chair back and make her hold herself off the seat while I press my hand against her pussy and slowly drag my palm back and forth.
Notes. Scribbles on wadded up bits of paper I find in my pockets. Stuffed into jars on the kitchen counter. Tucked away in books. They’re everywhere, these thoughts. Waiting for their moment.
A butch striptease. Fingers slow on buttons. Straddle her knees as my jeans ease down my thighs. She kisses the bulge of my cock. Lipstick rubs off on my white briefs.
Blindfold her while I jerk off on her bed.
Surprise her at home mid-day and bend her over the kitchen sink for a quick fuck with my fingers.
Tie her down and lick her with my tongue held hard and stiff. Her neck. Behind her ears. High on her chest. Shoulders. Armpits. Inner thighs. All over. Soft places and hard bone. Hover over her pussy. Breathe on her clit.
Fuck her in a crowded bar. My hand under her skirt while she sits on a barstool. I stand close beside her.
Grab her in the alley near her apartment.
Pull the straps of her slip and bra down, pinning her shoulders, exposing her tits. Shove her up against the wall. Tie her wrists together, held low at her waist. Go slow.
Take my shirt off. Undo my belt and hand it to her. Turn to face the wall.
Let me tell you something true (everything is true). There was a long time in my life when all I had were thoughts. When everything had to be written because it was the only way for it to pulse and be raw and alive. All that has changed.
Know what you want. You can’t find anything until you know what you want.
Now I walk down the street and I’m alive. She catches me staring. She sees it in me. She sees me thinking all the time. She touches me and sees me blush fast and hot. I have a constant desire that burns under my skin and surfaces so quick and with such a thick demand.
We reek of it. The sharing of this. Knowing what it is we want for ourselves. Knowing how to ask for it and get it.
“Baby,” I whisper and press myself up against her ass while we wait for a table. She squeezes my hand in hers. I bring her fingers to the thick leather of my belt. I’m thinking. I want her to feel it on her ass later. Bend her over my knee and pet her through the soft cotton of her skirt. Tap her with my belt. Lift her skirt and drag the strap across her silky little exposed panties. Tell her to pull them down. Make her show me her ass. Loop my belt and thwack. I’m picturing the red mark. The shaking flesh. I’m feeling her muscles clench across my thighs. I’m imaging what I’ll say to her. All of it.
"I think you’re dirty. I know you are. I know how you used to hide up in your bedroom and think about boys. Their stiff cocks in your grubby little fingers. Did you picture them shoving their cocks in your mouth? Could you taste it? Did you stick your own fingers in your mouth and slide them in and out to see what it might feel like?"
I’ll hold her neck. Petting her ass now. Soothing her. Dropping the belt to the floor. Leaving her bent over me, I’ll slip my fingers into her mouth. “Like this?” I ask. My words still pouring out, “Do I taste salty like those first cocks? Stale and sour? Dirty. You’re so dirty. Did you want to be held down? Did you want them to tell their friends? Want everyone to know? Did you imagine walking down the halls and seeing heads turn? Would they whisper about you? Did they?”
My hand on her ass. I know how wet she’ll be when I slide my fingers between her legs. I’ll tell her.
This. All of this in my head. All before we get our table for dinner.
I’m like a teenage boy tonight. If she touches it, I’ll explode. Come all over her fingers. In my pants. I can’t keep still. My thighs shifting. Opening. Lifting my ass off this folding chair and sitting back down, adjusted.
Keep an eye on her fingers. Let her see you blush. Let her catch you looking. Looking at her. Her mouth. Her neck. Her tits. The hem of her skirt. Her boots. Your thighs. The buttons of your shirt. Your belt. Your own crawling, clawing fingers.
"Baby," I want to say, but she’s not my baby. "Hey," I say, thinking that maybe I can keep her talking a minute or two longer. Maybe there’s something more to say. Something more she wants to hear. Something that will make her smile a little and look down. Make her think about it.
My ass is sore from sitting on this metal chair. People were yawning and nodding off all around us. I was nervous. Picking at the stitching on my jeans. Scratching the back of my head. Craning my neck a little lower just to see how her shirt pulled between the buttons across her tits. “Jesus,” I thought, this woman looks so fucking good. She caught me staring at her all night. I saw her smile and blush. I felt the energy of it jump around inside me. Boost my swagger.
"Hey," I said, "Come on, let’s get out of here." She looked over her shoulder like there was someone who needed to give permission, then turned around with a smile that looked good on her and said, "Sure." We nodded at each other, scraping our chairs loudly against the linoleum as we stood up.
Outside, I smoked a cigarette and she wrinkled up her nose at the drifting smoke. Not what I expected. The night was cool. She talked about Mexico. Wanted to know if I’d been. I hadn’t. Wanted to tell me about it. Why she loves it. We talked about all the people who go but never see Mexico. People who go and stay at some fancy spa with salt water pools and breezy drapes and generically fancy meals. “Why the fuck do I want to travel all that way to stay in some nondescript hotel?” I shook my head. “People are stupid,” she said. “Fucking idiots,” I agreed.
We didn’t have much to say after Mexico. My fingers were fumbling for a place to land. In and out of my pockets. Touching my lighter. Feeling the wadded up bits of paper and change. We looked in every window that we passed, indiscriminately. The cleaners. The eyeglass place. An empty shell of what was a decent bar once. The coffee shop was still open. Two americanos. She sat with me outside on a bench, leaning a little against my shoulder as we watched people walk by. It felt okay. Quiet and peaceful. Like we knew each other better than we did.
I slid my arm over her shoulder and she gave me a funny look. “I don’t know,” I said, smiling shrugging, like I was trying to figure something out, “I like you.” She smiled at me, “Yeah,” she said, “Me too.” I kissed her then. I kissed her soft. I rested my fingers lightly on her knee, letting them slip just between her legs a little. She touched my cheek. She ran her fingers from my neck up the back of my head, through my hair, and gripped my head. Electric. The fuzzed out thick cords of energy shot through my arms and legs. I needed her hand on me.
I grabbed her wrist and pulled her off the bench. “We gotta go,” I said and led the way to my little apartment a few blocks away. I had to battle with my bike inside the door - shoving it halfway into my closet to give us room to move. “Damn,” I said and squeezed her knuckles. I kissed her up against the bathroom door and tugged at her hand. “I want it so bad,” I whispered.
We weren’t drunk. Not even tipsy. Buzzed a little, I guess, from meeting someone new, the night air, the coffee. But it’s not as easy like this. It’s not sloppy like when your drunk and just slip into it, wondering later who started something. This was clear. I started it. And she was right there with me.
She tensed against my grabbing hands. Her arm jerking upwards as I tried to push her hand between my legs, my eyes pleading with her. She smiled with a playful look, her tongue on her teeth, as she jerked her hand out of my grip. I circled her waist with a quick grip and slapped her forearm, seeing the sting of it in her scowl for a split second. We struggled for a minute. She slapped my hands away several times before I had her wrist tight in my fingers again. She laughed from deep in her throat. “I want it,” I said, and felt my muscles strain to shove her hand between my legs. I had to hold it there, rubbing her closed fist against me. I felt myself twitch and throb.
I had to hold on tight. She bucked. I felt my neck get hot and wet with sweat. My chest, my back, my thighs burning with a stiff tension. I held her tight around her middle and flipped the both of us around so her back was up against the door. Now I could lean into her. Get the heels of my boots up off the ground and drive myself hard against her. I held onto the closed doorknob to keep from being pushed away. I felt her heart pound. I smashed my mouth against hers and let go long enough to move my hands around to her ass, pulling her harder against me. “Come on,” I groaned, my spit hitting her lips.
I pulled us harder against each other. I gripped her thigh between mine and dragged myself up and down. “Feel me,” I said, “I want you to touch it.” My voice shook. I gave myself away. She touched me, lightly, on the small of my back. “I like this,” she said and grabbed my hips, “Come on.” She pulled me harder up and down against her thigh. She moaned and coo’d her encouragement. I tensed up, sweating through my clothes, breathing hot and hard. “Damn it,” I said, jerking my head and slapped the palms of my hands against the door. The boom shook us. I grabbed her face and pulled her over to the bed. I sat down and patted the mattress beside me, “Sit.”
Leaning back on my arms, I let my knees fall wide and looked at her. I looked at her hands. Looked at my jeans. “I want you to touch it,” I said, shifting my hips.
She leaned against me and started slow with her hand just above my knee. She pet me, squeezed my leg, rubbed her hand harder and harder up and down my thigh. She stroked me with her fingers, just inside my thighs, until I thought I was going to pass out. “Please,” I whimpered and her fingers traced the seam of my jeans right up and over my clit. The ripples shot through me as her nails dragged between my legs, catching on the thick denim. She teased me like this until I felt dizzy and closed my eyes, breathing deep.
She slid my belt buckle open and pulled my belt off slowly, making the leather hiss through the loops. Her hand slid under my jeans after she took her time unbuttoning my fly. Her fingers rested for a moment on my soaked briefs before pushing them aside and running her fingers on either side of my stiffening cock. Wet and hard. I felt it grow between her knuckles. She tugged and pulled. “You’re getting so big,” she whispered and stroked me in a slow, lazy fashion.
I sat leaning back on my arms and watched her wrist bend with each pull. I stared as the base of her thumb circled and slid in and out of my pants. Up and down. Teasing me bigger. So swollen. So hot.
She heard my breath change. She heard where I was and put her head against my chest. “I want you to come in my hand like this,” she said, “Let me see it.” Her head bent further down, resting against my stomach. “Come right here,” she said, “Come in my face like this,” and moved herself between my legs, letting me see her cheek, the hair falling over her eyes, her parted lips. My hips jerked up again and again. She pulled so hard on my clit. I lifted my ass for a second to pull my pants down to my thighs and crashed back down, jerking hard into her hand. Watching her stroke me. Feeling that rush.
I came so hard. I came in slow, lengthy, shuddering waves. Coming and coming in a way I didn’t recognize. She kept stroking me and it felt so damn good. I held her hand against me until I stilled. She kissed my wet inner thigh. We flopped back on the bed and I tried to roll over on top of her but she hushed me with a “There there now, sweet boy.” “Save it for next time,” she said and kissed my neck with her fingers on my shirt buttons. I lay there feeling her scratch at my chest, taking her in.
“Hey,” I said, “We should go to Mexico.” She looked up at me. She laughed and bit my rib, “What?” “Yeah, I don’t know,” I said, “It sounds like fun though.”
Anonymous said: Thank you for writing again. Your thoughts are alive and mingle in my imagination and every drop of it is perfect. My partner and I are just starting on the kink learning curve and it feels so good to have your stories to come back to when in real life I get flustered and frustrated.
Thank you for writing to me. I love that my stories feel good to you.
We all get flustered and frustrated, right? I like to write about those moments because I think it’s hot to push yourself to that point where you get all knotted up and have to work it out. Recalibrate. Sometimes it’s hard to put what’s in your head out there in the real world. That’s true for me anyway.
I’m writing a new small story today although I have plans to go out and don’t think there’s time to finish. But I’ll post it soon and I hope you’ll enjoy it.
She likes to see what comes over me. How it hits me. I can do anything. “I can do whatever I want to you,” I say. She nods.
This isn’t my thought. It’s hers. She tells me all the time. She whispers it when I grab her hips, “You can do whatever you want to me, you know.” She says it when she grabs my thighs and lowers herself between my knees to the floor, her fingers moving to my belt. “What do you want me to do?” she asks, “I’ll do whatever you want.”
I’m silent. Mostly silent. I stare at her. My mouth hangs open. I caress her face, running my fingers along her jaw. I pull her towards me.
I loop the rope around her wrists. I want her arms above her head. I want her on her back with her knees bent. I want her to watch me. I straddle her chest and unbutton my pants. My belt hangs open next to her cheek. She watches my hand. I start to sweat. My cunt tightens and relaxes. I’m thinking about her. I’m thinking how wet she’s getting. Thinking about what her pussy will feel like when I reach back between her legs and rub her panties. I feel my fingers on my own swollen clit. One hand reaches behind me between her legs. I ride her, leaned back against her thighs, and get myself off, listening to her whimper and moan underneath me.
I like her in my hands. Under my fingers. When I jack off on top of her, I like to feel her tits smashed underneath my chest. I like to feel her belly, soft and slick with sweat. I reach my arm up to her hands. My fingers scratch at the rope around her wrists. “Stay put,” I whisper, “I like it when you stay put.” I pull my pants down lower and lift her skirt. I push my thighs between hers and smile at how slippery we are. Wet with sweat. I slide inside her open hips and let her feel the back of my hand between her legs. “Baby,” I whisper. I can’t come again. I know it’s useless. But I ride her hard. Trying. Desperate.
When I give up, eventually, I sit up and stare at her. One hand feeling around the edges of her panties. One hand crawling over her chin. I push my fingers inside her. Fingers everywhere I can fit them. Fingers in her mouth. Fingers under the elastic that circles her hip. I’m inside her pussy. Wet. Dragging the wetness between her lips. Finding her clit. Feeling it swell. Watching her belly quiver as she sucks in her breath. Pulling spit covered fingers out of her mouth and across her neck.
My lips touch her knee. My teeth pull against her skin. I can do anything and I choose this, my fingers, everywhere.
Anonymous said: I was hoping BD stood for Beautiful Dandy...
I try to be many things. There’s only this one shot at life. Why limit ourselves?
I love to play the dandy. And the daddy. I’m desired and disdained. Drunk and dirty.
Mostly, I know what I want.
Real life. Come and get it.
Anonymous said: What does BD stand for?
Someone’s singing. Somewhere in the background there is singing. Do you hear it? Sometimes I hear it. Like now.
I’m walking down the sidewalk. Stepped off the bus maybe ten minutes ago. Walking hard. My heels ache. My boots feel tight. My jeans grip my ass just right. My thighs feel hard and clenched. I beat my fist on my hip bone as I walk. I feel my joints, my bones. I cut through these city streets, hard and sharp.
Earlier, in my apartment, I opened all the windows. My hands shook. There are nights when you are so fucking close to losing everything. When you know it. You see how you nearly blew it. There are nights when you look back and know that you were lost. Nights when you thank god she’s been through enough to tell you the truth.
Shaking, I splashed cold water on my face.
Shaking, I poured myself a drink.
Shaking, I stood at the window and felt the breeze on my skin.
Where does this story begin?
I mouth the words to a song playing in the background. I run my fingers over my chest. I touch the wiry hairs on my upper lip. I slide my fingers over my mouth and turn around to open my dresser.
I feel broken. I feel so wrong.
What I need is to walk.
I get dressed. Slowly. Articulating each infinitessimal moment and breaking it apart. The tight waistband on my underwear biting into my soft belly. The lift and sag of my jeans on my hips. Here’s the tight, ribbed tank top that rubs my nipples when I shift to look over my shoulder. Here’s the soft cotton shirt.
Run my fingers through my hair. Walk to the bus. Anonymous. Shoot through the veins of the city. Put my hand against the cold window. See my reflection scratched with graffiti. Listen to the whispers, the laughter, the drunken mumbling.
I spread my knees wide in the curved plastic seat. I look down at the bulge in my pants. The balled up pair of socks I shoved into place. Like old times. I’m standing in my childhood bedroom in front of the mirror staring at myself, rubbing my cock. I rest my hand loosely against the bulge between my legs. I crook my index finger and press against it. I feel the blood rush into my face and down my neck. My red cheeks betray me. Where am I? When will I get to her?
Out on the sidewalk, walking to her place, my mind is blank. This is what I need. Energy. A rush of lust. Get me inside the door, inside her shirt, behind her teeth. I use my key. I back her up against the wall. My tongue in her mouth. My hand on her neck. I search her body with my fingers. I bend my knees and press my thighs into her. I find her ass and pull her to me. We’ve already fucked. When it feels like this - it’s over before it starts. We’ve fucked and I need more. Always more.
Tie me to the kitchen chair and still I’ll fuck you. I’ll fuck you with my hands tied behind my back. I’ll fuck you with my hips thrust high and my tongue reaching deep inside you. Draw me out.
This is my hymn. I hear it softly in the background. Muddled words with the clearest meaning. This is what I need. This is what I walk towards. What I desire. What I will break down for. This is where I’m stripped bare.
I have her pressed against the mirror on the back of her bathroom door. I pull her dress down over her shoulders. I pull her bra down, exposing her tits. I am angry. Full of spit. “This is how you like me best,” I say and grab her face to nod her head for her, “This is how I like me, too.” I pull her hand down my chest, down to the bulge in my pants, “Here,” I say, “Feel me.”
I pull her to me. Smashing my body against her. “Do you need proof?” I asked, biting into her ear, “Do I?”
I push the palms of my hands against her shoulders and drag them, burning, to her tits. “I need to hurt you, maybe,” I whisper, starting to cry a little. I feel her hair brush against my forehead as she nods her head. The room spins. Gravity shifts for me, as if pressing her against this door is really pressing her flat against the floor. I slide one leg out a few inches behind me and press my knee between her legs. I spread the fingers of my left hand wide and shove her face to the side. I slap her tits. Hard.
"Is someone singing?" I hear myself ask. She doesn’t answer. I hear the sweet voice reverberating in the room around us. Big. Grand. Shaking the furniture. I clench my teeth against it. Sweating. Still swinging my arm and hitting her. Red welts. Wondering how black her tits will be later and for how long. I feel her lips under my hand. Drool on my wrist. I need her down. Down on the ground.
We fall on our knees to the cool, tiled floor. Ripping her tights. Lifting her skirt. Pushing her face into the damp towel that fell off the hook. “Feel this,” I say and climb on top of her, rubbing the sock in my pants. My cock. Rubbing. Humping her like a runaway. Dirty with sweat and tears. Clean with anger. Balled up and combustible. “Fuck,” I hear myself say. My voice echoes off the porcelain tub. I hold her down. One hand still covering her face, one above her elbow. I need to come like this. Hard and desperate. Rubbing against her.
I’m shaking when I feel her free hand wrap around my head, her fingers digging into my scalp. I feel her lips against my ear. “You know what I like, baby,” she says, pulling everything out of me, “You know I like it dirty like this.”
"Yes," I say. "Yes," I repeat. Again and again. "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes."
Someone’s singing it. Somewhere. Someone’s praying - however they do it. Someone’s lost. Someone’s taking the bus. That ride. Walking that walk. Someone’s figuring it all out. Seeing everything so clearly. Feeling like they know what to do now. Where to go. Who they are.
Shove your hand into your pants, boy. Pull on that cock. Smell what happens to you. Dig your nose into the soured sheets. Open your mouth. Squeeze your eyes tight before you come and then open them new. It’s cold and it’s broken. It’s yours. It’s right here.