Like Ethiopian cuisine.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

At the stroke of morning.

I came to bed late, and she was already sound asleep. Snuggling close, I enjoyed caressing her thighs as I settled myself into bed. She moved to one side, and as I drifted in my exhaustion, I thoroughly enjoyed gently exploring and caressing her lovely ass. Her seam was warm and soft, and for a few moments I pondered waking her enough to slide my hardening thickness inside her soft pussy. She's often made it clear to me that she enjoys it when I do that, but this night was one for sleep.

Classical music streamed quietly into our bedroom as the clock went off. I had set it with more than enough time to spare before needing to get ready for work, and while the cats desperately desired that I feed them, my awakening libido was apparently even hungrier than they were. She stirred beside me as Brahams could be faintly heard in the dimness.

"Your touch felt nice last night," she whispered. "I'm sorry that I was too asleep to be woken up..."

Kissing her head gently, I resumed my caresses. Her thighs, her belly, her calves all felt wonderful as I drifted back into consciousness. She sighed and cooed beside me, nuzzling her head into my chest, enjoying my kisses upon her ear and cheek. In time, I found myself caressing her folds, teasing her gently, enjoying the creases and nuances to the soft flesh between her thighs. Her clit was growing, and I could feel it begin to harden under her skin. My hand began its slow, soft circles, and soon she was sighing just ever so more clearly.

Between caresses, my fingers began to jill her in earnest. She continued nuzzling against me, but she also had parted her legs and nestled herself comfortably. She was ready to be stroked, and I was enjoying every morning moment. It wasn't long before she asked for more pressure, and by then my fingertips were actively circling around her lovely clit. She was becoming wetter and wetter, and her gasps had begun to deepen. Soon after, she had her first cum, and I smiled to myself as she shuddered.

She might have expected me to take her then, but I was enjoying this too much. Continuing to jill her, her second cum happened sooner, and deeper, than the first, and her gush was much more audible as she arched her back in ecstacy. She's so much fun.

We were still somewhat sleepy, so her leg matter-of-factly found itself moving as I matter-of-factly positioned myself to slide into her. The casualness of it was endearing, but she still wanted to hold my dick against her clit before she had it deep inside. She does this often when we're together, and I've learned how much fun it is when she uses my shaft to rub herself. My balls quake when she does this, and it feels glorious, especially when she jills herself off to orgasm with my shaft in her hand.

This morning, she only did this briefly though, and then parted her legs wider and guided my thick cockhead to her folds almost immediately. I smiled to myself, eased her thighs beside my ribs, found good position with my knees, and started to slowly stroke in. I wanted to take it slow this morning, to really feel her gushed wetness and velvet. Holding myself with hands above her shoulders on the bed, her legs wrapped around me, I pumped with slow, even, deepening strokes. My cock became thicker and wider the more slowly I fucked her, and it was heavenly. Sliding in as deeply as I could, I groaned as I felt her pussy against my base, her cloying flesh accepting me so comfortably. Pumping with my hips, I had to ease off several times else I cum too soon... she was feeling that good. But when the time came, I noisily slid out of her, and began stroking as I hovered over her belly. I burst upon her, and she wiggled and cooed even more as she felt my cum splash across her navel and tummy. We lay together, embracing, our nectars between us, as we kissed and wished each other a good morning.

As the sun rose over the snowy Chemung River.

The hot tub during the previous night had been wonderfully sensual, especially when the snow began to fall as we languished in the warm water amid the trees. Far down in the valley, the river slowly wandered, and as dark came upon us, our hosts wondered aloud as to whether the bear they had been seeing lately would stop by for a visit.

We enjoyed a long sleep on the flannel sheets the following night. The window of our bedroom yielded a broad vista of the surrounding forest and valley, and we enjoyed the morning light as we mused at how our vacation was drawing to a close soon. We began to embrace, holding one another. Our embraces became longer and more tender, and soon we were enjoying the feel of the sheets and the sun as we stripped ourselves of what little we were already wearing. She looks so sexy in that grey cotton T-shirt, but how I dearly preferred the feel of her warm breasts in my hands and upon my face as I kissed them slowly.

Her belly captivates me. Caressing her tummy, enjoying her navel, I bring my face to her warm centre and caress her calves, her thighs, her ribs, her breasts. Soon her leg has moved over my shoulder, and she's smiling at me as I bury my face in her belly. Gradually, gently, teasingly, my lips find themselves brushing against her sexy curly stripe, and soon I'm brushing those lips against her glistening seam. Parting her, my tongue finds the delightfully hungry nubbin that she so desperately wants me to explore. I love to.

Later that hour, she's holding my head and gasping, and I'm feeling her quake as she shudders in the growing sunlight. We smell the brewing Costa Rican coffee that our friends have begun to prepare downstairs, and the sensual scents of their mountain kitchen fill the room as deliciously as her sex does into my mouth. I love when she tells me how much she's enjoying my tongue. I enjoy curling it for her, swabbing her with it, slowly teasing the fullness of her with broad flat strokes, darts, teasing probes, gentle nibbles. It's fun to make her cum.

She laughed as she offered me her grey T-shirt to dry myself with. Silly grrl. We made our way downstairs for the coffee and fresh bagels. It was a glorious morning.

Room 3.

Our intent to find a rustic cabin in the Poconos for the night wasn't to be. Settling ourselves for a motel, we found listings for a lakefront site that sounded particularly appealing. Ski season still being two weeks away, we were pleased to find that Lake Harmony was quiet yet full of anticipation, and after a pleasurable dinner at Shenanigan's, we found ourselves laughing with the somewhat drunken keeper to the Harmony Lake Shore Inn. We checked in, then off we were for drinks and dessert at Nick's Lake House before settling back to our room.

There are times when the ambience of a motel just hits the spot. Provided the place is clean, there's something pleasurable about an old, or even seedy, atmosphere that adds to the sexual tension much the same way a forbidden kiss does. Maybe its the sense of availability, or the instant gratification it seems to offer, or the undercurrent of tawdriness. Motels can be slutty, whorish, flagrantly sexual places. One can't enter a small room with its uniform sheets and wonder how many sexual escapades have taken place, how many involved money, how many involved young lovers hot for one another, how many involved inebriated adults who decided to toss the better angels of their nature aside for a night of sheer, naked fun.

Our kisses began lovingly, the softness of our caresses contrasting with our urgency. We stripped one another slowly as we warmed ourselves under the sheets. We held one another, squeezed one another, our hands upon our asses as we lay side by side in our embrace.

"How would you feel about... spanking me?" she asked, the grin clear in her voice.

And that's how a possible night of tender vanilla lovemaking radically shifted into one of the most vigourous spankings she's received from me yet. My arm coiled itself around her as she half-lay beside me, and I slowly pulled her closer until she was upon my lap as I sat on the bed. She gripped the sheet and arched her naked bottom for me. With my right arm cradling her hips, I couldn't see her head, but knew for a fact that as she stared at the headboard before her, she was silently preparing herself for a resounding spanking.

We had the entire motel to ourselves. No other guests had any other room. I had no need to worry about noise. Not that I would have anyway.

Her bottom was delightfully warm, and as the faint light cast shadows upon her seam, I marvelled at how well sculpted she looked at the angle of having her over my lap. I caressed her bottom, teasing the seam, darting a fingertip across her rosebud from time to time as I started to slap. My hand, cupped to grasp her as I landed my smacks, squeezed her lovely ass gently as each stroke was finished. I could have easily gone on like this for hours, but the knowledge that no one could possibly hear her at all encouraged me to be all the more delightfully savage.

And that's when my hand began to rain down upon her wanton flesh, upon her lovely ass, this ass to this woman who had so endearingly requested this treatment with that hint of seductive playfulness to her voice. My Grrl is such a slut when it suits her, and when it does it always suits me as well.

Soon, her delicious ass was red and tender, so much so that even the slightest touch sent her shivering. I alternated my strikes with teasings at her wet clit, and it wasn't long before her first orgasm overtook her. I marveled at how her flesh took my strokes, how her bottom cheeks moved in tight waves with each smack, and how her cloying heat burned my fingertips. In a moment of readjusting ourselves, her hands found their way to my cock and balls.

"I love how hard you get when you spank me," she said. At that, I turned her face toward me so as to kiss her, my hand gripping the short hairs at the back of her head, but she moved further to take my cock deeply into her slutty mouth. Bobbing her head, she sucked me expertly, her lips tight and wet around my girth. Soon she was stroking me with her fist as she suckled and bobbed, and I could feel myself thicken even more. I love having my cock sucked, but I was impatient to fully have my way with this wanton wench of mine.

Grasping her hair again, I savagely spun her around until her feet were upon the floor and she remained bent over the bed. A few more smacks upon her tender ass, a second grip of her hair, a guiding hand at her pelvis to tilt her just so, and soon I was parting her drenched folds with my angry cock. She felt so good, and she gasped even better as she felt me decidedly take her, use her, own her. I yanked her head backward and bit at her ear. I fucked her harder, and soon I pushed both of my fists over her shoulders and into the bed as I focused on driving my cock as deeply into her as I could. By the time my hands were holding her hips and tugging her ass against me in quick smacking successions, she was telling me that she wanted my cum inside her. I gave her what she wished as my grip returned to her head of hair and my chest pressed against her back.

We gasped together as she took me. I kept thrusting as the waves overcame me, feeling myself widen and explode with release. I love how she moans when she feels my scalding cum.

We held each other and enjoyed the night.

An epitaph for Heidi.

The Fates have an interesting way of interweaving places, experiences, and time. Lately, I've found myself driving in various areas of the Annex where, seven years ago, my life and world were very different. This, plus recent unrelated discussions with some of my friends, have been reminding me of Heidi.

While not my first long-term real-relationship partner, Heidi did become my first and yet-only wife, if only for a few years. There was a time when she meant the world to me.

I met her when I was first visiting Canada to conduct some workshops and lectures. She came to me, starry-eyed, to show me some related projects she was working on and asking for my perspective. She would later tell me that throughout my lecture, she was constantly checking out the outline of my cock and balls as she sat on the floor of the crowded room. She was involved with another man at the time, but soon she told me that that had ended, and soon after that, we were exchanging hot and tawdry emails and long, latenight sessions of phonesex. I would read erotic fiction to her. Soon, she visited me in New York.

At the time, Heidi could be best described as having a classical bodytype. She was tall with broad shoulders. Once a contender for the Canadian Olympic swimming team, she retained her strong thighs and legs that permitted her larger bottom to stay rounded and firm. Her body was almost squarish, and when she was at her peak physical shape, she easily reminded me of a Roman statue of Juno, or of Gérôme's Galatea.

After picking her up at the airport, the sexual tension in my car was deliciously palpable as we drove along the Belt Parkway. Our first time together was at a swanky New York hotel near the Metropolitan Opera House. The room was ridiculously small, but we laughed about it as we greeted each other, nude for the first time together, in the shower.

I should have heeded the Fates' warning when, in the hotel lobby, I clumsily dropped and shattered the bottle of the wine I had saved for the occasion. I also remember that the sex wasn't quite was I had hoped it would be, although I have a nice memory of her casually sucking my cock as I reclined in the overstuffed chair next to the bed.

The sex seemed to get better after I started to visit her in Toronto, and one afternoon of having her bent over the dining table remains a nice memory. The table shook uncontrollably as I took her from behind, grasping her strong hips and pounding myself into her as she clutched, scratched, and screamed over the table. Evenings on the livingroom futon in that tight, narrow house with its unfinished wooden flooring were also fun. Eventually I took the plunge and moved north. This is how I came to Canada.

I was the first, and perhaps to date the only, man to take her ass. A lot of patience, gentility, and attention was given her over several weeks, and since she was already enjoying stimulation at her rosebud, I rightly suspected that she harbored fantasies of being fucked in her swimmer's ass anyway. I still remember how and when she was overcome with the change in sensation, when her sense of cautious acceptance at feeling cock in her tunnel shifted into a sudden wave of wanton craving for it. She was gasping at the time, clenching her fists, when at once particular slow-but-firm thrust she went over the edge of discomfort into ecstacy. She howled about how incredible it felt for her at that moment, her voice full of surprise. For days after, she was sexual putty in my hands, eager to re-experience my thick cock taking her that way. She was like a puppy who wanted more of a new toy. It was fun.

We moved from Toronto to a suburb. Bigger house, chance for a better life, lovely things like jacuzzi and inground pool. We got married: my first and her third. Yet another warning from the Fates that I foolishly left unheeded. Things degenerated from there.

It had been years since I had good opportunity to engage in bdsm play with a partner, and Heidi had expressed enough desire in it that I felt I hit the jackpot with her. After long discussions about desires and limits and experiences, I quickly learned that our interests weren't terribly compatible in this spectrum of our sexuality. She enjoyed spankings, and we did this often enough, but most other activities simply brought up enough other alarm bells inside her that I simply couldn't see myself pursuing more advanced play of any kind. I accepted this, tried to be good, giving and game, and as a result I shelved my bdsm self for a long, long time.

We experimented with polyamory; I was the one with more experience in it, and she expressed eager interest. On two, otherwise tender and enjoyable occasions, we did some limited group play with two other couples who were friends of ours. With both Phoenix and her husband, and Kelly and her partner, we enjoyed evenings of sensual games and oral. I regret to say it, but neither Phoenix nor Kelly seemed expecially talented, although I remember having a great time with these evenings overall. Sometimes just the pleasure of being in a sensual, shared space can be enough for me to have some fun.

Soon, however, it became apparent to me that for Heidi, polyamory was just a means to legitmizing an end that she already had designs for. As our relationship degenerated over a year or two, the sexuality became dangerously pathetic. I kept my patience because I was committed to making the marriage work... it was, after all, my first and after many years of me telling myself that I would never likely marry until I felt absolutely ready for it. But I was using a squirtgun on a burning house.

Events and experiences made it clear to me that, as a lover, as a sexual being, Heidi's primary fetish was illicitness. Not content with 'mere' fantasy play, I eventually learned that Heidi's sexuality fundamentally depended on her consciously pursuing activities that, in some way, could only be best described as inappropriate while in a healthy relationship, regardless of how open or adventurous.

Like most couples, we had certain fundamental rules to our "polyamory", such as it was. Most of them were reasonable conditions that she herself insisted upon, such as not taking a secondary lover into our bed, effective communication with each other when we were potentially interested in someone else, and not doing anything with anyone else while our own relationship might be having trouble.

And then I learned that she had not once, but twice, brought a mutual male friend of ours into our bed, without any prior discussion with me, during periods when we were having problems. I learned that Heidi made sexual boundaries to restrict and control her primary partners, not to maintain healthy dynamics in a relationship.

Not long after, I learned how she had always done this sort of thing in every relationship she had had. I learned that her relationship with the man she was with before me was not over when she and I met, and that this poor man had discovered our tawdry emails on her computer and was crushed by them, that when she visited me in New York she had lied to him to say she was visiting a female friend. I learned that she had done virtually the same thing with the man she was with before this man, and on and on throughout her sexual history.

I learned that she was sexually pursuing a man while we were allegedly working on our marriage, and not the one she had already taken to our bed. This person was, and remains, in a federal prison, convicted of murder and drug trafficking, and supposedly was part of a support program we both were involved with at the time. Prior to our divorce, she acquired conjugal-visitation privileges, and on several occasions had trailer visits with him.


They say that conjugal trailer sex with a convict is not unheard of as a sexual fantasy for some women, and that supposedly the sex can be pretty intense, given the character and living conditions of the man. I'm confident that she had a blissful time, if only because I've experienced her passion when she was knowingly lying to one man and enjoying her illicitness fetish with another. I suppose, had it not been myself who had been played the fool of by my then-wife, I'd think it was pretty goddamn hot. Especially when, later, I heard stories at how he had passed her around among his buddies. Yeah, it an entirely different context, I'd agree that it's hot. But, hey.

After our separation, that her sexuality was founded on illicitness was further demonstrated to me during a phone conversation were were having. She was missing me, she told me, and that if I wanted, I could come over and fuck her... if I had fifty dollars.

I didn't go.

This post isn't about the failed love that was there, or at least that I seem to have thought was there. This is simply about the sex because this journal is about sex. As a lover, Heidi was passionate and zealous and experimental, but only so long as she felt she was maintaining a level of deceptive control and consciously lying to her partner at the time. Heidi is the ideal lover for a man who doesn't care about anyone, including himself, and I'm certain that many men in the world would leap at the chance to be with someone like her. As a sexual partner, as a sexually ethical being, Heidi is a complete failure, and in any context other than illicitness, her sexual prowess is limited at best. Fun to be with for an evening maybe, fun to objectify as a fantasy persona if one were so inclined, but completely toxic and damaging to any self-respecting safe, sane, and consensual person. I'm confident that she has personality disorder.

Sometimes I think about her, and I wonder how she'll manage when what sexual prowess she has finally eludes her entirely. The better angels of my nature want to hope the best for her, but the deeper truth is that I'm so much happier without her now and sex is so much better these days.

Her goodnight kisses.

I had had an absolutely brutal, 16-hour day at work. She greets me as I come in, and immediately I feel the tension start to drift as her arm coils around me. Her kisses are lovely, and soon I'm relaxed enough to attempt some sleep. I tell her that should she come with me and bring her nude self with her, I wouldn't mind it at all.

She undresses before me, nonchalantly, as I pet the cat. We slither under the covers together. Embracing me, she's twisted herself so that my hand is happily upon her delightful bottom and she's facing me, kissing me more. She's caressing my ass and strong thighs, and I groan into her when her fingertips teasingly dart near my own rosebud. Her breasts are against my ribs, and it isn't long before she's caressing me along my legs and chest. Our kisses become more passionate, and soon she's making that soft noise she makes when she's hungering to have her breasts in my hands. She moves to her back.


We're moving slowly, sensually, and I'm throughly enjoying how she feels in my hand. She shakes a little as I gently pass my fingers across her nipple, cupping her, and brushing the nipple again. Her hand has moved from my chest to my balls, and she's groaning quietly as she cups me. My cock is straining against the sheets as she lays me back. She wraps her warm hand around my girth, her kiss becomes firmer as she feels me, and she begins to stroke my gently.

"I love to hold your cock," she whispers in the dark.

Cupping my balls again, she's sliding a firm finger between each nugget, enjoying how full I feel. Her hand is warm, and I'm completely enjoying how intimate this is, how sensual it is, to have my full sac encapsulated with her palm and fingers. She starts alternating between my balls and my shaft, and soon she's stroking me in earnest. Her hand is firm and smooth, and I'm enjoying the tease... what I'm wanting now is to have her lower her head and slurp me into her wanton mouth, but she's intent on doing this. As her strokes liven up, she's whispering into my ear about how good my cock feels in her hand.

When she cups my balls again, I reach downward and grasp the head of my cock myself. She's squirming against me now, telling me that she enjoys knowing and feeling me do this in tandem with her. Knowing that she's enjoying this turns me on all the more. That, with the primal urge to feel her mouth still ringing in the back of my head, with her rapid strokes as she jacks me openly now, is just about enough for me to feel the broiling in my abdomen. I'm tensing, arching my back, and she's moaning quietly into my ear as she rests her head on my shoulder. She knows that she's going to make me cum, and when I do, when the thick ropes of me burst from my widening head, she's gasping. Her fingers get drenched, and her strokes are even better with her hand completely wet with me. I burst some more, and she's running her thumb across the head to feel each one.

She slows her strokes as I lay, spent, my body throbbing. She tastes me. I hear her tongue on her fingers, her swallowing me. She tells me how she enjoys my cum and we hold one another in the dark.

Half-hitches down her arms.

Our lives become so busy, sometimes it feels like forever between moments of walking on the street together, arms entwined around our backs. It felt good to be together.

We had already shopped for lingerie for her, where she teased me with views of her breasts while comparing various elegant tops. A sumptuous a la carte dinner of oysters, sliced pork in brandied white sauce with sangria, and completed with banana crepes with chocolate and ice cream followed. At home, small glasses of Frangelico awaited us, along with my collection of rope.

She changed when we got home, and reappeared in her lovely striped black teddy with gloves, fishnets, and her high, hard leather boots featuring an endless ladder of silver hooks. I mused how perfect her ensemble was for when we visit the New York clubs during our coming vacation. I mused how perfect her delightful ass looked as the teddy draped her skin.

We began playfully, me smirking as I experimented with various ways to bind her wrists. The white ropes looked striking against her gloves, and it wasn't long before I knew her leather boots would looked even more so after her ankles would be bound. Bringing a wooden chair into our playspace, she mewled her disapproval for placing her virtually bare bottom against the hard, cold wood. I was unconcerned, and knew that discomfort would soon be greatly overshadowed for her.

After securing her ankles with coils finished with square knots, I brought her arms downward and against the frame of the chair, her palms inward and almost under its seat. Half-hitches down the lengths of her arms secured her in place as she spoke of how much fun she was having. The knots looked delicious against her skin. I blindfolded her.

She gasped tenderly as she felt my kisses on her shoulders, the nape of her neck, her face. My tiny bites and soft whispers had her shaking. Her legs had parted and I learned that no panties could be found under her teddy, and saw the clear and moist evidence testifying to how much fun she was having. Her inner thighs were wet, either sides of her legs connected by spiderwebs of glistening juice. She shot her head backward and sucked a lungful of air when my fingers began to softly explore her tender, reddening pussy.

Repeated knots in the center of another length of silky rope made for a perfectly enjoyable gag, but when I first moistened the center knot with her juice and slipped the knot into her mouth, it was just that much more fun. In this condition, bound in the chair and tasting her own arousal while being deprived of sight, her hearing assailed by the strains of the Berlin Philharmonic, she was now my toy.


She received my caresses, my kisses, still. She received my nails gently scratching across the top of her chest, and downward as I cupped and stroked and pinched her breasts. Bites on her earlobes. The occasional dribble of Frangelico on the knot in her mouth, or slowly dribbling on her skin. My hands grasping and smacking her thighs. Her teddy being tugged from her bottom as she sat in the chair, the material set aside and draped into the chair frame in such a way that I could enjoy teasing the soft seam of her ass with my fingers. A fourth length of rope coiled around her breasts, held in place with her own teeth. The wooden clamps at the edges of her breasts. The tiniest, cute marks they left when removed. Her squirmings. Her yielding. Her shaken spasms when I deigned to flick a gentle fingertip across her engorged clit. How puffy her labia had become for me.

My leather slapper, loud and insistent when meeting naked flesh, teased her drenched inner thighs into opening ever wider. Her leather boots creaked against the ropes securing them. Her folds opened like an orchid, and they widened even more after experiencing the slapper's kisses upon them. Her juices drenched the black leather, and I smirked as I dried my tool by brushing it against her face. She had been brought to the edge and pushed away from it several times by now, and was desperate to have a release.

You need permission, she was told. Her impertinence, normally a natural and endearing trait in her, lasted very, very briefly as she tried to remain silent. But her orgasm was at stake, and she knew it, although she hasn't yet discovered the full extent of my wrath when pushed by too much impertinence.

Slowly, she began to ask for permission to cum, but forgot something most necessary. Repeating her words back to her, she received a sound smack on her thigh from the slapper with each word that came from my mouth.

"May. I. Please. Cum," I repeated to her, adding with a final and firmer smack, "What?" Her breathed deeply, embracing another important step in her submission. She finished the request properly.

"Sir," she whimpered. "May I please cum, Sir?"

Rewarded with a kiss, I then pressed the slapper against her folds, swirling it slowly, alternating with gentle and rapid smacks, until she quickly began straining against her bonds and shaking uncontrollably. I held her head to my chest as I stood beside her, feeling her gasps against my skin, continuing to use the slapper on her flesh until she was spent.

A repast. I remove the gag, and bring the crystalware to her lips and give her a generous mouthful of Frangelico. She swallows gratefully. I increase the volume for the Philharmonic, adjust her bonds so that she kneels on the chair now, and toss the teddy's material over her spine to reveal her ass in its sensual completeness. For my own entertainment, I proceed to spank her firmly, patting and caressing her between rounds of echoing slaps. She's moaning now, and her juices have soaked her legs. Her rosebud is crinkling as she yelps.


The slapper against her ass echoes even louder, and her skin is reddening. By the time I move to the small wooden paddle, she's about as tender as she's experienced yet, and even the slightest smack has her quivering. My toy is ready for me to finish our little game.

By now, her boots must be straining her ankles, so they're removed as are their bonds. I replace the ropes with a handsomely thick set of leather restraints that will snugly and comfortably keeps her ankles close together. I untie her arms from the chair, and reaching for the decorative chain around her neck, set her on her knees on the pillow on the floor. The blindfold is still on. She knows the pillow rests right before my seat. I am certain that her instinct has clued in her in to what will be coming next.

Grasping the chain, I sit down and relax, tugging her gently and silently downward. My tip of my hard cock brushes against her face, and I'm reaching for my own crystalware and sipping liqueur as her licking moves on to hungry, sloppy, wet sucking. Her mouth engulfs me, and she whimpers as I urge her on with softspoken commands to service me. Her gloved hand is holding my sac and pumping me as she fills her mouth with my thickness and swabs me with her saliva. Her enthusiasm shows me how much fun she's had thus far, and how deeply her need to submit rests in her otherwise sarcastic soul. I'm feeling the back of her throat as she bobs her head, her lips tightening around me, her tongue coiling around the head as she sucks. I enjoy my drink, the strains of the contralto and bass as the opera proceeds, and I enjoy the wet, naughty slurping that my lover is making between my legs. I'm caressing her head, spiraling strands of her short hair between my fingers as I feel my abdomen tighten, and she knows that I'm about to cum. When I do, I hear the metal clasps to her ankle restraints, her muffled moans, her suckling, and feel her accepting my essence with passion.

She continues nursing on me for a while, and soon her head is in my lap. We caress. I tell her how I love her. She tells me how she loves me, and how she enjoys how I taste. The Berlin Philharmonic concludes the allegro.

She jills with me.

The Grrl's body is warm beside me as we languish under the heavy blankets. She sighs to herself as my hand softly caresses her belly, my fingertips darting upon her navel, as she rests her head against my shoulder. Between kisses, her short hair is soft against my face, and I know that she's enjoying the feel of my hardening cock sliding against her thigh. My hand moves upward, softly cupping her tender breast, and I brush the nipple with my thumb. It's growing nicely, and strains against my skin and the black sheets.

Continuing to fluidly caress her, my hand moves to her belly again and then her thigh. I enjoy it when she coos to herself when I'm touching her there, knowing how close I am to her soft folds, feeling her flesh ensconsed in my grip. I smack her inner thigh gently and she giggles. Her kisses become more passionate when I feel her legs parting more. My fingertips brush against her blossoming flesh, and I can feel the heat that's rising between her thighs. She's slick.

Some fingertips begin stroking above her cleft in tight, rolling circles, and I'm keeping her folds moving as I gently tug her flesh up with the upstroke. I enjoying masturbating her, feeling her head against me as she gasps and shakes and groans. I enjoy how her nub feels under my fingers as I roll her skin across and upon it, teasing it into alertness. Soon, surprisingly soon, she's shaking more and beginning to grit her teeth. Her jaw is tightest just before her release, and as my fingers continue to roll across her delightful cleft, I can hear the gush that's happening deep inside her. She's cumming hard, and I'm certain that the sheets under her are wet.

She tells me that she wants my cock deep inside her now. I kiss her head, her mouth, her breast, her belly, and I raise myself on my knees above her. She swings a leg over my shoulder and opens herself before me. I'm holding her thighs, readying my thick cock when she cups my length in her hands and stops for a moment. She asks me if I would mind...

I know what she wants, and I love it when she does it. Perhaps she feels selfish and that is why she asks me, always asks me, if I mind. Does she suppose it does little for me? Something that gives her so much pleasure, and something that she's taking from me, could only leave me lusting more for her. It wouldn't bring me to orgasm, but it's very, very fun.

She wants to press my glans and my upper shaft against her clit and jill herself off with my cock as her toy. Lying on her back, she reaches between her warm thighs and holds me. She knows what she wants and there's no dance about it: she simply takes my shaft in hand and quickly presses my mushroom head firmly against her nub. I can feel myself getting burrowed between her wanton petals, her juices slickening my silky skin, and we languish in the wetness and noise of it. She's moving my cockhead from side to side, feeling her button meld into the notch of my glans, reveling in the feel of my dick against her. Her palm is holding me down, her fingertips firm against the length of my shaft like splints. She arching her back now, gyrating her hips, pushing her glorious pussy upward to change the angle of her approach. She's grunting again, gritting her teeth again, gasping for air as she masturbates herself with me.

When she's cum, harder than before, she aims my drenched phallus toward her and her pussy sucks me in. I grasp against her thighs and tug her closer, and her calves are against my shoulders as I thrust deeply. She biting the pillow as the fullness of me spreads her, my heavy sac slapping against her ass, my fists above her shoulders as I pin her down and take her.

"Badlands"

As usual, it was goddamned hot. If he were in Canada, where he heard that people still lived in igloos, they would have said it was forty degrees. He'd give anything for it to be forty degrees. Eighty, even.

As usual, it was also quiet. No one had been around for days, save for the snakes and the armadillos. The sun beat down silently on the currogated aluminum roof, where he and his grandfather had knelt together in old clothes, sharing cans of bright red paint so long ago. The roof was dusty, battered, and a shade of pale pink now, faded like most of his other childhood memories. Sitting in the shade under the awning, he reached for the crushed box rolled up in his sleeve. He lit another Marlboro and rested his boots on the stack of tires. He dozed. A gentle breeze blew by.

Only the snakes and armadillos noticed the growing cloud of dust in the distance, and at least the snakes were wise enough to seek shelter. He didn't notice a thing until the faint grumble coaxed him away from the pair of soft arms and hard kisses he had been enjoying in his slumber. His cigarette had joined the pile of broken butts in the sand, smoldering.

Bikers, he realized. Probably the Angels, or if trouble was coming, from the Outlaws or Bandidos out to scope something out. They'll want beer, he knew.

"Fuck," he thought to himself. He only had four left, and planned on enjoying those out back when it got dark and he could roast his dinner over the fire. Looks like he'd have to drive all the way into town after all. Bikers.

He heard the engine roar behind him as he stood up and opened the glass door on the old Coke machine. No Coke salesman had been around for months, which was just as well, since the cans would never fit in this thing anyway. Reaching inside, his fingers grasped around two ice-cold bottles as he listened behind him. He popped the caps.

No V-twin engine there, he realized, and knew immediately that he shouldn't have opened the bottles. That's a riceburner, and only one. Not an Angel, that's for sure. He could have kept his beers after all. Closing the cooler, he looked over his shoulder. Yup. One fucking guy on a Honda. No colors. Dammit. Too late.

No point in being inhospitable though.

"Hey," he said, walking toward the bike. The guy was removing his helmet, his short blonde hair getting tugged by the foam. A dripping bottle in each hand, he strolled behind the rider and stepped over the kickstand as he past the guy.

"Dos Equii?" he asked, extending the bottle forward. "Too damn hot, huh? Bad day to be out."

He blinked.


"Bad day to be drinking this while riding too," she replied as she raised the bottle to her lips. Another long pull and the bottle was half drained. "But I'll manage. Thanks."

He had barely swallowed his own small mouthful when he realized that he was standing there with his jaw open. She noticed, and grinned.

"Fill it, willya?" She jabbed the cap with her key and unscrewed it open. "I'll be back."

"Uh, yeah, sure," he stammered. He forced himself to focus as she lifted her leg away from the saddle, obviously straining to stand for a moment before walking inside.

Swallowing down another sip, he rested the bottle in the sand as he reached for the gas nozzle, watching her walk. He couldn't help but notice how well she fit into her chaps, and how the dusty black leather harnessed her strong behind. The denim was faded there, accentuating each line and countour of muscle. Looking upward, he saw the patches of sweat on her back and under her arms, where the faint darkness he could see through the material revealed that this was no woman prone to worrying about what her underarms looked like. In the shadow beside her as she walked away, her breasts swayed freely with a gentle firmness. He needed another sip.

He slipped the nozzle into the canister and squeezed. As the gas poured, echoing in the near-empty tank, he watched her stroll around in the store. She still held the bottle in her hand as she peeked along the magazine rack, and he realized that she was watching him too. Was that a smile?

Capping the tank, he forget all about his bottle in the sand as he walked toward the store, toward her. She leaned against the door jamb with a welcoming grin, and motioned her head toward his arm, requesting.

He smiled and unrolled the pack from his shoulder. Lighting a cigarette, he handed it to her. Her eyes met his as she leaned foward a little and took it in her fingers.

Her persperation smelled sweet and heady, mixed with some exotic oil that made his pulse quicken. Her breasts bounced very slightly as she leaned and returned her shoulder to the door jamb. He tried not to stare. She sized him up through the haze of smoke. He thought she was looking at his boots, but if she was, her grin seemed misplaced.

"That'll be, uh..."

"Got a sink here? I wanna splash my face."

He swallowed. "Uh, sure, over there, near the car stuff." He gestured.

Following his gaze, she made her way down an aisle toward a large utility sink. And old hose lay coiled on the stained wooden floor, and their boots clacked and echoed in the small store. At one point, she stopped suddenly to reach for a can of something on the shelf, resulting in having him stumble slightly. He had bumped into her, making contact with her waist. He thought he head her giggle as she moved on.

He felt himself begin to get thicker, knowing that she had just pressed herself against him. He stopped mid-aisle, awestruck. He knew for absolute certain that there wasn't another soul, save for snakes and armadillos, for miles, but that didn't stop him from looking around.

She had bent herself into the large porcelain sink and was pouring water over her head. She cupped handfuls and pressed them onto her face and along her arms. She sighed and cooed, and hissed as the coldness slithered along her neckline and down her back. He saw the faint outline of a tattoo. She turned around.

Soaked now, shivering slightly in the contrasting temperature, he could easily and plainly see how exquisite she was. Her nipples extended beautifully from her Tshirt, and he could clearly each nuance of her build. She short hair was slicked back now, revealing a marvelously sculpted face with piercing blue eyes and a seditious smile. She leaned against the edge of the sink, resting her thumbs into the belt on her chaps, a boot kicked back. She tilted her head in invitation.

He swallowed, approached her, and slowly snaked an arm around her waist. His kiss was tentative, unsure, amazed, but her passionate response gave him all the confidence he needed and uncertainty found itself cast aside. He pressed her against his chest and held her waist firmly. She reached for his shirt and stripped it off him, soon leaving him standing before her clad in jeans and boots. A palm found itself pressed against his crotch, shamelessly exploring him, gripping him, fingers coiling around the girth and length of him, sizing him up yet again. He twitched under her touch, and her kisses pressed all the harder. A second had caressed his chest, slithered across his ribs, and clutched his ass firmly, gripping, pulling him closer.

She began to pull him downward, setting him to his knees. He looked up and saw her smile as she began to unbuckle the belt of her chaps, then the buttons on her jeans. Still dressed, she turned around and bent over the sink. He held her thighs is disbelief, only to find his hands being reached for as placed to the hems of both chaps and denim, as if he were being told to finish the job of pulling them downward. He obeyed.

She began to fill her hands with water again, splashing her face as she felt herself become exposed to his touch, his kisses, his mouth. She cooled herself casually, parting her legs as far as bundled leather and denim around her boots would allow, and thrust herself backwards to give him easier access. She felt the faint stubble on his cheek against her own, and soon the soft, hungry, darting, probing warmth to follow.

Outside, only the snakes and armadillos outside caught notice of her cries that afternoon.


© 2005

Pamela.

The strains of a harpsichord fill this room as I enjoy a sedate 2003 private reserve cabernet sauvignon bottled from a friend's family winery.

During my work day today, I couldn't help but observe a number of gorgeous black women. I particularly remember one woman whose short, spiky hair immediately caught my attention (such is one of my greatest vices), until I drank enough of her in to have my breath caught from me upon seeing her small, round, firm behind ensconced in a pair of tight faded jeans. I had to stop what I was doing, as I sensed that she possessed the kind of attitude that virtually always captures me.

She reminded me of Pamela.

Ten or so years ago, I was working at a godawful call center while putting myself through university in New Jersey. The office featured three or four rooms where computer terminals had been affixed to temporary tables, and on this particular day, it was a warm summer Saturday afternoon. My attire was rugged, with tight jeans, and a black shirt under a sleeveless denim jacket. My long, wavy hair was down as I wore the headset required to do the job. I was in one of the rooms alone, having stolen myself away from the noise and clatter of the main boiler room, and enjoying the solitude that otherwise came with working on a Saturday.

Pamela was a fairly new hire, or at least I had never seen her before. For whatever reason, when she arrived for work she located herself in the same room as I, and we sat reasonably close to one another. I was focused on doing the job, and it wasn't for a while before I realized that she had deliberately moved from one computer to another, available one next to me. We did the "Hi, how are ya," thing. We worked beside each other and discussed work when we weren't taking calls. As I worked and afternoon turned to evening, I started to notice her checking me out.

Pamela was dropdead yummy. She was black, with a rich chocolate skin tone that glowed. Her hair was extremely short, which is practically a fetish for me. She was dressed casually, with tight jeans and boots. She was trim and taut, maybe a size 8. When I was certain that she checking me out, my throat started to dry. When we exchanged names, I knew immediately that I'd remember her uniqueness, being a black woman with a Scottish surname.

Over time, she began shifting herself closer and closer to me, and soon she was twirling her fingers through the rich ringlets of my long hair. We removed our headsets, alone in that ugly, paneled room as our co-workers stressed in another room down the hall. "I love your hair," she told me, placing her warm hand on my thigh. "I can imagine how it would feel moving across my breasts."

I had to take a breath. As much as I love to flirt, it's being flirted to that stops me in my tracks faster than most anything else. For me, attitude from a woman often transcends any other factor to attract me, and here was an incredible, equally rugged, sensual creature who was making her interest straightfoward and clear, direct and honest. I was hard instantly.

There was a dark, Teutonic bar not far from the dreadful office, and there we went once our shift was over. The basement there was full of wide booths with high wooden backings, and it wasn't long after we started sipping our Guinnesses that we were embracing. Her kisses were passionate, hungry, as direct as her personality. She bit, and she darted her tongue across my lips and into my mouth as though it were a garter snake. When I held her waist, I swooned at how muscular her hips and stomach felt. Her hands held my head, her fingers knotting themselves in my hair, and soon were caressing my shoulders and chest. In time, we didn't really care who else was in nearby booths, though I was glad for the relative privacy we had between the darkness and the arrangement.

She had reached around me, and was holding my ass as we continued to kiss. Soon, she was gripping my stiff cock over my jeans, rubbing her thumb over the straining head of my pulsing shaft as she lifted her shirt enough for me to caress her stomach, hinting my fingertips along the undersides of her small breasts. She was biting my neck, chewing on my ear, gasping, and it wasn't much longer before I had my hand in the front of her jeans.

We arranged ourselves so that I could explore her, and she leaned back against the wall, looking at me squarely in the eye as she lowered the zipper. My hand slid inside the denim, found its way past a pair of panties, over what clearly felt like a tight stripe of wiry curls, and soon my fingertips discovered her folds and the tiny, coral nub inside them. I stroked her. I wiggled my fingers as she held me close. In the dark, in the rich wooden booth of the bar, she came in my hand as I teased and flicked my fingers across her clit.

After she had cum, we calmed ourselves a little and finished our beers. I was still utterly stunned that this gorgeous, tomboyish creature had come on to me and that we had shared this moment. I tried to regroup and regain some amount of composure, and soon we were just talking. Soon after that, well after it getting dark outside, we got ready to leave.

There was a construction site nearby that Pamela had asked us to walk through, being a shortcut to her place. Amidst the silent bulldozers and cranes, we walked through an alley. She pointed out her apartment building and sighed to herself because, she said, she wanted to take me home... but that her housemate would be there and awake. I made an effort to politely show grace, and suggested we see each other again another time.

That's when sexy-black-Pamela-with-the-Scottish-surname bit her lower lip, looked at me in the eyes, and pulled me to a corner alcove in the alleyway where the streetlights couldn't brighten. Pushing me against a raw brick wall, she looked from side to side before dropping to her knees, tugging at my jeans. The air was crisp, and the sound of traffic was close by. Tugging the button and zipper, she looked up at me as she reached inside for my cock. When she had blissfully freed it, all I could do was lean my head against the rough brick behind me, steady myself, breathe deeply, and listen to the honking car horns as I felt her tongue begin to swab my widening cockhead. Her hand was wrapped around the shaft, and she playfully tapped my dick against her face between licks. Her quiet moans of pleasure made me harden all the more, and soon I was feeling the warm wetness and increasing suction as her mouth began to engulf me.

Her hungry slurping drove me wild. Her hands held on to each of my thighs as she knelt in the gravel and blew me. Her head alternated between slow, taunting motions and becoming a blur of noisy movement. I grasped her head, my fingers caressing the sides of her face, feeling her cheeks cave inward as she suckled and slurped me. I started to fuck her wanton mouth, and soon I knew she was feeling my balls gently slapping against her chin.

She stopped. She was reaching into her pocket. She asked me to help her stand. She started kissing me hungrily. She was looking around again. She began to unbuckle her belt and drop her jeans. She stood next to me, pulling me beside her as she uncapped a tube. Lathering her fingers, she brought her hand behind her to her bottom... she was lubing herself.

"Fuck me," she urged. "Fuck my ass."

She pressed her forearms against the brick wall, still wearing her shift and jacket, her jeans down and tangled around her ankles, and her delicious, almost boyish, chocolate ass jutting backward as she bent herself slightly. As much as I craved to fuck Pamela, there was something I needed to do first. Dropping now to my knees, I caressed her beautful bottom in the dimness, enjoying how the light played against the texture of her brown skin. Her ass was smooth and firm like a swimmer's, and I parted her sexy cheeks to open her. Nibbling on her thighs, I drunk her clean scent deeply in, and soon was taunting her with my tongue as I flicked across her tight, dark core. Finding her nub, I sucked it into my mouth between darts from my tongue inside her. She was drenched. Soon after, I got into position.

Her hips were warm and I could coil my grip around her torso. Stroking my cock, I tapped the head on her cheeks. Reaching under her, I gently stroked her clit again, although now I could easily feel her hot and dripping folds. She looked at me over her shoulder. I slipped on a condom.

"Fuck me in the ass," she repeated.

There's something special, incredible about the sensation of pressing one's cockhead against a lubed, willing rosebud. As I pressed more firmly, it was easy to feel her smoothly open up. The sense of being committed to this act, knowing without question that This Was Going To Happen, came when my cockhead had slithered deeply enough that the glans of my cock had finally, softly, wetly popped past her tight anus. Now it was just a matter of sliding in deeper. And I did.

There, in an alleyway of a New Jersey urban construction site, late at night and barely feet away from being illuminated by streetlights, the hum and honk of traffic nearby, black-Pamela-of-the-Scottish-surname bent herself against a brick wall and got a solid ass fucking. Soon I was inside her as deeply as I could go, and held on to her hips as my thrusts quickened and became more demanding. Pamela gasped and clawed at the brickface, and I could feel her anus tighten as she tightened her eyes in ecstasy. When she came, she muffled herself by forcing her face against her shoulder, and when I came, I was pulling her delicious little ass harder and harder against my pelvis. I pumped my come while deeply inside her, feeling her cloying heat and grip.

When it was over, and when we each had composed ourselves, I walked her to her door. We exchanged numbers. I tried to stay in touch, but life must have happened on her end. It was months before I ever saw her again.

When I did, I definitely sensed that she regretted not staying in touch. By then however, she was clearly with another man, and was proudly showing me the ultrasound images of the child she had conceived by him. We talked and hung out like old friends as she invited me into her new apartment, and I got to meet the guy she found herself with. I smiled to myself when I noticed that, like me, he was white. I guess it's her preference.

I moved from the state not long after that second meeting with Pamela. Part of me wonders what life could have been like had we stayed in better contact. Sometimes I think about how she's coming along, how her baby is, what life has been doing for her. I have hopes that she's well, especially since I'm confident that I'll never see her again in my life.

Watching the wildlife.

I sipped my tea slowly, and was already enjoying the delicious view of her curvaceous, pear-shaped bottom in the drab khakis she wore as part of her uniform. Her back was to me. She dropped a spoon. She squatted rather than bent herself downward, and as she did so, I had to hold my breath while two or so inches of her bottom's seam presented themselves exclusively for my view.

I love those rare opportunities (not as rare as they used to be, given current fashions) when Fate presents a quick glimpse of inviting crack to view. There's something so subtle, but also adrenalin-rushing, about viewing the seam of an excellent ass. Full nudity doesn't quite have the same appeal as this... it's like a wink, or a blown kiss, or that unexplainable sparkle that one feels when the right flirt happens at the right time with someone you pass on the street... but more clandestine than any of these things.

In the warm glow of refracted light, it was easy to see that her skin had a very slight brownish tone, as though she was suntanned not too long ago. The texture of her skin looked enticing enough that it took know effort to know how her warm flesh would feel were I caressing her. There was a fullness to her cheeks, easily revealing that were she nude and lying on her belly, her ass would be high in the air, and as round and warm as a loaf of bread fresh from the oven. Her brunette hair told me that her rosebud would likely be crinkled and dark, presenting an intoxicating contrast to her skin.

This was Steph, who was my server at the superb breakfast restaurant on Bloor Street that I just came from. Steph is adorably cute, perhaps in her early 20s, possessed with a winning smile and an achingly delightful young-womanly shape that desperately deserves to be straddled across my lap for a long, sensual session of spanking and handling.

I work in an environment that has me outdoors for most of my day, and affords me hundreds of opportunities to enjoy observing the comings and goings of women. Even when I was a boy, women have intrigued and fascinated me, and throughout life, almost all of my best friends have been women. Perhaps this is also why I enjoy the company of lesbians and bisexual women so much, and why among all women I'm most comfortable in their company; it's not so much the fantasy of women-loving-women that captures me (although, yes, it's lovingly enticing, and I've been there), but the fact that I adore women so much that to be cordial with women who also adore women is like being close to a living Rodin sculpture while mutually admiring an oil by Van Gogh.

As I type this in one of Toronto's multiple internet cafes, I sigh deeply with memory of the various delicious women I've enjoyed seeing today. There's been a scrumptious visual feast of fine bottoms today. I've also been torturing myself with memories of Bree, of whom I'll eventually write more, and the one night of mutual body massage we shared that led to some very intimate caresses on her exquisite, toned Spanish behind.

And I'm craving companionship. Tragically, the Grrl is away to the States to visit some friends, and unless another option presented itself, I'm on my own with my hunger.

I think, when the Grrl gets home, I'll duly administer some warranted punishment on her wayward flesh for having been away.

This first post about my first time.

Before the bondage, before the orgies, and before my real coming-of-age, there was Jackie.

We were alone in the apartment, still dressed, and she had straddled me on the couch for a long session of deep kissing. Her kisses were passionate, and she darted her tongue in my mouth as I gently held her soft, warm face. Her dark Asian eyes misted over as our hands roamed over each other, and I loved the way her thick thighs felt inside her tight, fashionably 80s designer jeans. Her large, soft breasts pressed firmly on my chest, and she reached down between her legs to grasp at my thickening and anxious cock as it strained against my left thigh. Over the denim, she wrapped her fingers around my girth and squeezed while we kissed noisily.

The denim covering her mound couldn't hide her heat or wetness, and I loved how my hand seemed engulfed by her seething moisture, like a rainforest, as I pressed her firmly and moved my palm in circles. I wanted to get her jeans off, but when she started to kiss and bite my earlobe I collapsed in the sensation and could only hold her and gasp. Her tongue darted in and around my ear, and I knew immediately that I would never forget how it felt.

That's what I most vividly remember about sex with her: those moments before we moved to my bedroom and got naked. Odd, isn't it? One would think that more details about one's First Time would be ingrained on the memory.

Jackie loved to fuck. Missionary was her position of choice, and I enjoy remembering how her thighs pressed against my ribs when I mounted her. Matching the rest of her short, thick body, her labia was delightfully pronounced enough that it was easy to feel engulfing my shaft as I pumped hard and deeply into her. She would get drenched, and when she came she would do her best to stifle a scream.

As a couple, we lasted only a few months, which is probably what should be expected for a pair of teens. I ended it because I had dreams and intentions of getting out of the old neighborhood, and I sensed early that had she and I stayed together, I'd find myself slowly locked into the ways and means of people that I latently wanted to be away from. I was growing then, and as much loyalty I had in my roots at the time, I knew I had to be elsewhere.

And, despite the enjoyable memory of her tongue playing with my earlobe and how she enjoyed a good shag, I actually remember little about my First Time. To my surprise, I was actually somewhat disappointed: not because Jackie did anything wrong in any way, but because I saw it coming so early in our "relationship" that she would be the first to fuck me that it kind of took the surprise out of it. Most boys, I'd expect, would be ready to blast their load at the thought of that First Time. Me, I remember approaching it casually, as if I was simply accepting it. It was still fun, but I think I learned then that the best sexual moments are the serendipitous ones, even before I knew what "serendipity" meant.

It was a late start and an anticlimactic beginning to a skyrocketing world of lust and passion.