Friday, June 27, 2008

A night out for the toys.

When the stunning blonde brought me my dinner, I laughed to myself as I realized the contrast between my dining venues of late. Continuing on my solo, Pride 2008 quest for my city's sensual and erotic treats, just recently I found myself enjoying an awesome barbecue hosted by the Black Eagle, perhaps this city's most infamous gay leatherbar. It didn't distress me that I was in the Eagle, and yet tonight, I felt just slightly weird (in a perfectly amusing way) that I was actually dining in a Hooters. I mean, Hooters... it's just so fratboy.

Being more of an ass- than a tit-man, I was still pleasantly surprised to see a variety of bodytypes among the servers. Fully expecting to see a room full of Pamela Anderson clones, I was happy to see my expectations dashed. Some lovely bums indeed. I still feel as though there's something vaguely heterosexist about Hooters, but then again... how much more alarming was it really when compared to the average stripclub?

From there, I was off to the famous Northbound Leather fetish wear emporium for their annual Pride Meet & Greet social. A relaxed evening of wine and hors d'oeuvres among a pansexual crowd of the city's fetish elite awaited me, where I enjoyed meeting old and new friends. Also attending was Canadian fetish performer Maxine X, due to appear on the third season of Webdreams, to offer autographs and her latest DVDs when she wasn't dry-humping the stunning Northbound associate Jen.

I enjoyed the open bar as Northbound manager David and I discussed the nature of the erotica business as he helped me select some new gear for myself. To our left, a couple found themselves testing a new flogger as she delectably bent forward to a rack of latex skirts, her partner gently lashing her behind. Behind us, a cluster of guys from various regional gay leather associations were having a blast as one of them, clad in leather boxers and sporting a full-faced leather doberman hood, rough-housed with a pair of very real Jack Russell terriers. The little pups seemed horribly confused.

The evening was more of a party than a playparty, but that didn't stop one talented Top guy from an intense rope bondage scene with his bottom. Kneeling on the concrete floor, the lashed gentleman relaxed silently as his Top, and his Top's friends, took turns supervising his presence among the crowd of minglers and nibblers.

Outside, the Lady Victoria Windsor demonstrated her skill with a bullwhip, removing cigarettes from the lips of the willing and unafraid. One or two of the leatherboys decided that it would be amusing to see how her tools would feel upon themselves, and each walked away with a smarting look in the eye.

I was with The Grrl the last time I did some shopping at Northbound. That's almost a lifetime ago now, but it felt excellent to be among the local scene again. Recently, Lanie, a new friend, has expressed interest in attending a local fetish night together, and while I doubt we'd progress anywhere past being just-friends, I'm looking forward to perhaps sharing some interesting experiences in the coming weeks.




thumbs personal collection, Switch Swingers

Thursday, June 26, 2008

A night out with the boys.

It was the gear and the grill, more than the guys, that brought me to the infamous Black Eagle last night as my Pride 2008 debauch continued. It's all about the vibe, baby. How could I possibly turn down thick burgers with crumbled bleu cheese, cold red beer, and a display of leather paraded by its iconic experts?

Because, let's face it, when it comes to fetish wear at its most unadulterated form and less-is-more elegant best, the gay community has it down. From a fuckfashion point of view, the goth crowd may be more imaginative, more expressionist, but sometimes I find that the simple purity of a good military bootblacking outshines (so to speak) the outrageous. A plain black tee or a buff chest in a harness or vest, boots like mirrors, only the hint of steel, leather pants or chaps over denim, and all topped with a leather offiziers hut makes the foundation for standard Top uniform. You just don't see that kind of bdsm back-to-basics, do-it-right attitude among those for whom fetish play is often more about being hip than power exchange.

My vantage point was not nearly as envious as during my recent playparty excursion to Funhaus, the crowds being overwhelming once the popular Mr. Leather Pride event got started. Still, over many beers and two trips to the barbecue, I enjoyed a long discussion with a new friend about the nature of pansexuality.

I think gay guys are cool. Quite a turn, isn't it? Often, I'd rather hang out as buddies with the gay men because in a sense, they feel far more open-minded, open-hearted, and far less sexually repressed than straight dudes. Anyone from any orientation can be a moron, but this has just been my experience. In that regard, some friends have described me as being queer, though not gay, and I enjoy that.

What's the distinction? For me, queer theory has more to do with an approach toward sexual culture as a whole rather than simply what gets me off. I think cocks are cool, but watching the gay porn on the monitors above the bar really does nothing for me. Go figure.

The leather-clad dudes strutted their stuff. The cluster of giggling women who arrived weren't too intrusive to the vibe. The beer was cold and plentiful. The energy was relaxed and casual. The burgers and steak were awesome.

And then my new friend and I went into the blackroom where I let him suck my cock.



thumb Black Eagle, personal collection

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Burlesque pride.

I enjoy the sensuality of the dance, the spirit of fun, and the sense of new life being breathed into erotic history. Had my grandfather ever see Gypsy Rose Lee perform? I also enjoy the sexual politics in knowing that empowered, joyful women are rekindling a sensual genre from the past. To my eye, it's good, healthy fun... not that I would also resist the chance to savor a luscious bum ensconced in period bloomers.

Last night's debauch brought me to Goodhandy's, the "pansexual playground," for a fun Pride-filled evening of classic burlesque. Shayne and I had seen Skin Tight Outta Sight last New Year's, but tonight's rebel burlesque performance definitely out-did what they offered the hungry public then. With them were The Saucy Tarts, whose can-can performances were a sight to behold.

Even before the show, the sight and vibe in the club reminded of the excellent cabaret scene in Better Than Chocolate. Men were definitely in the minority as the house was full of lesbian couples, their friends, and the occasional stunning t-girl.

The drag king swayed to Duke Ellington. The mohawked Catastrophe demonstrated a ominous ballet reminscent of The Handmaid's Tale. The Victorian lady who dislodged her hoop skirt. The tribute to the feather boa. The Saucy Tarts were exceptional, delivering sets that featured can-cans in the Old West, French revolution, and gypsy rover styles.

And then there was poor, smiling Justin. Our emcee insisted that Justin, a slender twink if there ever was one, come on stage and take a thick black dildo in his ass for everyone's enjoyment. Summoning a local celebrity in the audience, a female erotica writer and broadcaster, to do the sordid deed, Justin casually disrobed on stage, bent over with a wide smile, and the applause abounded as the lad got fucked before us.

Not bad for a Monday night.

Monday, June 23, 2008

But satisfaction brought her back.

In need of "a good hard fuck with lots of hot foreplay," it seems that Curiousgirl's avid curiousity has lured her down the path of Urban Roguery. What ever shall we do?

thumb Fuckfist

Sunday, June 22, 2008

The Three Graces.

I shook the rain from my trenchcoat as I handed it to the girl. The thrum of the tunes, the cold beer bottle in my fist, the flogger and c-clamp in my back pocket, the plain strap of black leather snapped across my left wrist... all these things brought me back to the nights when I bounced the bdsm clubs of New York City. I was in the Funhaus and it was time for another Fetish Masquerade.

The play for the night would largely be confined to the back room, the rear door to which yawned open like a hellmouth, shades of red lighting beckoning the daring and the kinky from the open dance area. The music was better here than what Master Micheal would have played, this place being a danceclub first and catering to a fusion between the goth crowd and a smattering of trendy poseurs.

I was stag tonight. I don't usually enjoy going to fetish nights on my own, since it usually reminds me that single men often make up the vast majority of voyeuristic attendees. Not quite so here, however, with the house full of couples and clusters of friends. Me, I'm much more comfortable being part of a pair, or more, of players out together, especially if I'm with a hot partner. I enjoy being out and playing, doing my thing, more than just being the observer, but tonight I was determined to have some fun. I'm confident that the time will come when my hand will meet flesh under the red lights again; for now, being in the energy was satisfying enough.

The night was still young when the Sultan, a Middle Eastern fellow in elegant Bedouin regalia, began preparing one of the red leather spanking benches for a session. I'd seen him before, and knew that he'd be using that spanking bench all night. His partner was a smiling, curvy, longhaired blond in a rust-coloured PVC top with boyshorts. Blondie relaxed comfortably as she climbed on to the padded bench with a naughty grin, resting her albows on an upper tier while facing the wall. Her round ass was revealed as Sultan tugged her boyshorts down, leaving her clad in a g-string as she was displayed before the growing audience behind her.

It's a treat when a couple is comfortable enough to let the night start early. Sultan, a regular at this event, began with tender smacks and caresses. Gradually, he built up toward a firmer hand, which Blondie readily accepted with gyrating hips. She arched her back slightly, turning her pleasantly generous bum upward and parting her cheeks open ever so more as she did so. By the time Sultan was slowly using his pinwheel along her thigh, she was squirming so much that she couldn't help but reveal her plump seam and darkened anus to the bright red light above her. The poor dear.

In the main room, vintage 70s porn played on the big screen as the now full house thudded with PVC-, leather-, and lingerie-clad dancers. Couples and singles, a crossdresser or two, and bouncers occasionally made their way in and out of the back room. Some lounged on nearby overstuffed couches, others sat or stood to watch the Sultan and Blondie at play.

As I was enjoying the sight of Blondie's reddened ass, something suddenly burst into the back room and trampled under and in front of me. Scampering on the floor at high speed was a young man bearing a small collar, and following him was a bespeckled blonde with a radiant smile and a shining black PVC evening dress. Instead of being an intrusion, their energy was infectious.

"C'mere, boy!" she called out with a wide and friendly smile. Immediately the young man turned on all fours, smiled back, and scampered on hands and knees toward her and right next to me. Tossing a huge, knotted rope, he watched it soar to the other end of the room, then brought it back with it gleefully in his teeth. She laughed and scolded him gently when he refused to release his grip on the rope toy. They did this again and again and were having a great time. It was nice to be reminded that Topping doesn't always have to be ominous and fierce.

I had forgotten how fun it was to see pup play. Sultan and Blondie continued unabated, but now my area of the room was also rich with fun, plain and simple, just because these two were so clearly having it. She saw my wide smile.

"Would you like to pet him?" she asked me, beaming. "His name is Rave."

I immediately went into doggie-voice. "Hello, Raaave... aw, such a good boy, what a good boy you are, yes, yes you are," I said, scratching him behind his ears, petting and gently tapping his back. He scampered away when I stopped. Not long after, I enjoyed watching Rave, his handler, and a lithe woman who was a tender kitten, scampering with Rave and making little hissy paws. They were cute.

Others came into the rear dungeon. Soon, as Sultan and Blondie were joined by another friend, the Businessman had begun setting up the second of the three spanking benches. With him was a sexually vibrant, tall woman with dirty blonde dreadlocks and a fantastic heart-shaped ass. Like Blondie, she found herself on all fours on the second spanking bench, her exquisite bum facing the onlookers. Businessman got right to business once Dreadlocks was in place, placing his hands at either asscheek and wiggling them rapidly. Her mound and crinkled sphincter were revealed even more readily than Blondie's had been, and the kisses he gave her bum between rounds of heavy-handed swats demonstrated that he rightfully adored her delectable butt. Their scene quickly became centre-stage as his passionate smacking, teasing, caressing elicted moans and squirms from Dreadlocks. When he too produced a pinwheel, her cries echoed through the room and blended with the trancelike music.

Not long after, a third couple made use of the wooden horse at another end of the room. The tattooed brunette there stood in her leather boots and bent over as her partner squatted and delivered a more tender, loving type of spanking to her panty-clad tush. His face was within an inch or two of her small, bubbly ass, and as he went into his own headzone his mouth slacked open with quiet pleasure.

My vantage point was front row centre. To my left, Petite Brunette and her small ass received loving open-handed attention at the horse. Blondie's plump ass was as red as the lighting as Sultan casually continued with wooden rods. To my right, Dreadlocks squirmed and yelped, revealing more and more of her beautful, heartshaped ass as she was pinwheeled and spanked. I sipped my beer contentedly as, for me, these delicious women became the Three Graces, each receiving torment and pleasure on their magnificent behinds.

Later, I'd enjoy the sight of Dreadlocks relaxing languidly on one of the couches, her back to Businessman's chest as her jilled her over her g-string, her thigh receiving caresses from a striking, smirking, bald black woman. Sultan administered another spanking to another partner. Near the dance floor, Rave and Kitty Girl would be sparring in their own furry way. Another couple, Overdramatic Goth Boy and Overdramatic Goth Girl, enjoyed a dramatic spanking scene on the dance floor stage amid the shutter snappings of a woefully young paparazzi. I flirted with a bartender and delivered compliments to some of the other Tops whose playwork I had been enjoying.

A fine night out.

And yes, I did think of Shayne, and of the fun I could have shown her there were she with me. We hadn't opportunity to play nearly enough, and there's so much I hadn't had the chance to share with her there. But, checking my email once I got back to my own dungeon, a message waited from a friend who had heard I was attending the playparty. Perhaps I won't be stag next time. One never knows.




thumbs Fetish Masquerade, personal collection, Wikipedia

Friday, June 20, 2008

Be still my heart.

Having just cited and shared a sexy photo released in my local newspaper, I can't resist but share another that crossed my path today, from the pages of NOW, as this city prepares for Pride 2008.

I've never met this gorgeous creature in the flesh, but have encountered her on other internet social sites. I've also seen her model for MissBehav'N, one of Toronto's kitschier sex-positive retail stores.

Personally, I think she is one of the sexiest women in this city.


thumb NOW

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Body language.

Knowing that naturism/nudism has nothing to do with sex, my breath was still taken away by a fun and sensual photo in today's paper. Profiling an Ontario naturist resort, Toronto Star photographer Keith Beaty captured a delightfully sexy image of staffmember Nikki, a busty redhead whose radiant face and laughing eyes stopped me in my tracks.

Also entertaining today was news of the Austrian and German women's soccer teams for Euro 2008, who recently played topless with their respective national colours bodypainted on their chests. What oneup(wo)manship might this bode for beach volleyball? Hrm.

And then there was the blonde stray kitten I spied today who, in tying the laces of her Doc Martens, almost completely revealed her boyish, pale derriere. Yes, I enjoy warm weather.

thumb Toronto Star

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Take a letter.

It pleases me to say that the elegant and ravishing Naughty Secretary finds Urban Roguery worthy of NWS reading. Let's hope for her sake that her boss isn't watching...

thumb Secretary Sin

Saturday, June 14, 2008

In the confessional.

A night full of talking that hurts,
my worst held-back secrets. Everything
has to do with loving and not loving.
This night will pass.
Then we have work to do.

- Rumi

Again, if you're seeking a post to get off on, you may wish to skip this one.

I have HSV.

I think that people who produce sex-positive blogs, like those who enjoy reading them, do so because we each share joy, raciness, and good, hearty Dionysian pleasure from the act. In the erotic retelling of our true stories, rarely are we reminded of some of life's basic realities that are nevertheless a part of human sexuality. Sex is risky, but that doesn't usually come into our psyche when we're watching, receiving, or giving a good blowjob.

I learned for certain that I had herpes after a longterm primary partner came home one day with news that she had been diagnosed with it. It surprised us both, and while it was not the reason that relationship ended, it certainly didn't help.

I began taking Famvir, and then Valtrex, not long after that. Valtrex suppresses the otherwise-contagious symptoms of the disease, although recent experiences have shown me (tragically) that that is still not the same as a (currently nonexistent) cure.

Not a week after it was re-rekindled, my love affair with Shayne came to a crashing, confusing, sudden halt because it turned out that in my less-then-well-informed denial, I had passed the virus on to her. Veronica, of whom I have written very little to date, is getting tested, even though she has not exhibited any symptoms.

In addition to losing Shayne, naturally I've become a pariah among her friends. It is possible, though unlikely, that a recent male playmate of hers, and a female playmate of his, may have been exposed in the last week. Such is the domino effect of STDs. Short of an even worse STD than HSV, I cannot imagine a more horrible turn of events.

And yet, my doctor casually tells me that this is the "common cold" of STDs, and that virtually 80% of the population has one form of herpes or another. A vast majority of the population likely carries a form of the virus, and while many people exhibit symptoms within three weeks of exposure, others can live for years without being aware that they are infected.

Antopia, a writer and sex-positive social activist for people with HSV and its derivatives, writes that "many people living with herpes have been afraid to start dating again, for fear of rejection when giving the talk or simply for fear of passing herpes to their new partner. Fair or not, many people in the dating world work from deal-breakers rather than deal-makers... Herpes doesn't define you, but judgmental people will make judgmental decisions. You don't need to be judged due to something that you can't control."

Maintaining a sex-positive life is still very possible with HSV. It requires more communication and understanding between partners perhaps, as well as monitoring one's symptoms and taking preventative medication, but it's not impossible.

My mistake was not as much that I exposed Shayne to the virus, though that happened, as much as I did not disclose my status clearly enough. I was afraid it would be a dealbreaker for us, so I was vague. Somehow I convinced myself that the matter had been approached... but it hadn't been, not really, and not at the right and proper time, which would have been on the first night we were together. Without realizing it, I had effectively "lied by omission." Yes: I was stupid, and somehow I managed to do the unthinkable, and with the worst possible consequences. This robbed Shayne of her right to make her own choice because she was uninformed about this vitally important detail about this "otherwise respectable man" that she had fallen in love with. In that respect, I betrayed her trust, which is worse to me than having compromised her health.

For me personally, that she may well have accepted the fact and wanted to continue a relationship with me after such disclosure was something that never occured to me, and that awareness makes the loss of things with her sting even more. I won't forget the lesson underneath that.

I am sharing this because I have learned something vitally important, not only about my actions, but about the nature of HSV and the power of acceptance and disclosure. I'm an intelligent, sexually sophisticated person, but this has reminded me that there is always something more to learn. I think that to be more than simply a roster of hot stories and images, to be fully sex-positive, this blog has to be open about all elements of human sexuality. That level of openness is another thing that I'm (re)learning.

It is possible to have a vibrant, ecstatic, hot sexual life while having a manageable STD. Future entries here will likely be a testimony to that, although it could be some time before I start citing stories about as-yet-unmet partners.That, friends, will probably be because that for the time being, it feels weird to me to be casting my eye elsewhere for very long. My desire for Shayne hasn't changed yet. It may not for a while. She herself is weaning herself from me. I understand, and despite myself, support her actions.


I'm so terribly sorry, honey. I love, respect, and admire you. I remain your supportive friend. I was a fucking moron. But please remember that I'm also the same "sexy rogue" you fell in love with... I'm just a sexy rogue who made some colossal mistakes. You'll always be my Pixie.

May your future be rich with vibrant laughter, creative bliss, unabashed joy, and better memories. I do love you.

Friday, June 13, 2008

Under the roses and eucalyptus.

If you're looking for a post that will excite you, get you off, or otherwise entertain you with ribald tales of sexual bliss and joy, you may wish to ignore this post.

These last few weeks have been so tumultous, so drastic, so challenging. It grieves me deeply, even deeper than previously, to say that it seems that Shayne and I are over after all. The playful poll, submitted after she asked to have me back after an earlier break-up, has been removed because, well, to not do so would be in poor taste.

I love Shayne very, very much. To my shock and horror, I have compromised her trust and health and now face the real consequences of a terrible mistake because I was too stupid to know better. To have so hurt my best friend, especially when she stood on the threshold of committing herself even further to our relationship, is something I will never forget and will not forgive myself for.

I do love you, Shayne. I hope things can improve between us in time. I stand here for you. I miss you already.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

Titillated, happy, and afraid. Good.

Shayne: Read your blog. You fiend. ;) And I voted.
Me: How did that post make you feel?
Shayne: Titillated. Happy. Giggling. In love. Starry eyed and fearing for my flesh. ;)
Me: So far, your nibbles are very safe from torture. ;)
Shayne: Ha
Me: Yeah, youre right. I'll likely have my way with em anyway.
Shayne: Oh haha
Me: One reader wants me to be gentle. Several want your ass.
Shayne: Can't decide who I like more...
Me: I have a mind to tug you leashbound to Galleria Domain if public spanking 'wins.' But poker is catching up... I wonder if Annie would be interested... ;)
Shayne: Oy!

Like Shayne, you may enjoy reading the post below. Afterward, certainly respond to the poll at right: you can vote for as many selections as you like. Let's make her pay dearly, shall we?

~ thumb private collection

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Let there be consequences.

You may have very recently read how, during our trip to see each other last week, Shayne and I broke up. The last few days gave us both some time to think, and I smirk playfully to myself when I share with you now that the saucy little tart has asked to have me back. Isn't that sweet?

I love the wench, and of course I took her back. So, we're together again, and that means that you, you shameless blog-reading voyeur you, will likely get to hear more tales of how she sucks my cock, takes me in her darling ass, gets fucked against the wall, and spanked into a reddened, sniffling state.

But let's be fair to one another here, you and I. Shayne's brief departure from my bed threatened our mutual pleasure, did it not? Wouldn't you have missed more sordid tales about this tomboyish slut? I'm sure you would have.

So, ever one to try and turn a setback into an advantage, I'm going to shamelessly invoke some Top privilege here. I think that little miss hussy deserves to experience some personal consequences for her temporary moment of insanity. Don't you agree? Yes, I think some public humiliation of some variety is in order, and rest assured that once it's been delivered (and, mind you, it'll be a little while before we get to see each other again) I'll make it a point to share every detail here with you.

So share your thoughts. Comment. Respond to the new poll. My tongue is in my cheek when I say that we, you and I, have a right to get some satisfaction out of this tawdry, naughty girl. Wouldn't you agree? Further, she deserves to have it displayed for our mutual fun. Should she be severely spanked? Should she be forced to blow me without regard to her knees or her tender throat? Should she wear her schoolgirl uniform and get birched in the woods? Something in public? Something in a dungeon?

What does the saucy, repentant Shayne deserve?

~ thumb private collection

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Shayne's hangover remedy.

After a night of way too much rum, I had just wobbled my way into a Starbucks and was alternating my attention between a book and a barista's lovely little ass when my cellphone chirps. From 500 miles away, Shayne's nimble wee fingers are talking to me.

Shayne: On Sunday, a man on the street told me I had nice legs. I want you to kiss lick and bite these gams until i'm sighing & languid.
Shayne: And i want to kiss and suck your gorgeous strong arms, palms & fingers.
Me: Starbucks. Coffee. Lowfat turkey breakfast sammich. Woozy.
Me: And horny. Checkin out bums. Horny and woozy sucks.
Shayne: Ug... poor baby. Smoking grass always helps my hangovers. So does greasy food & napping. And giving head.
Me: Sucking cock cures hangovers? Hm. Maybe, instead of laundry, I should go to the porn theatre and give it a go...
Shayne: Not really. But i'd love to suck your sweet hard cock today.
Shayne: How many times a day would you ideally have sex?
Me: Youre just trying to kiss 'n make up with me, hussy. Just how easy you think I am? ;)
Shayne: No really tho. How many? And... well... maybe that's part of it... but we didn't get to screw NEARLY enough while together. My very much bad.
Me: Bad girls get spanked. ...I go thru waves: I'll want it twice a day, at least 3-4 a week, then will cool down and not want it much for a week or so. You?
Shayne: It's been so long since I had a regular sex partner that... i'm not sure. But if i could have sex before breakfast and dinner every day or two i'd be one happy pixiegrrl.
Me: Hrm. I wonder if -you- sucking -me- would cure my hangover. I bet it would, and I'm not even greasy. Slightly salty maybe...
Me: Id love to burst in your mouth.
Shayne: Mm. I'd like that too. Sucking your dick is so gratifying. I really love doing it.
Me: Tell me why. Tell me how I feel, what you like about it.
Shayne: I like feeling you grow hard in my mouth. I like sucking your head like a lolly. I like looking up at you from a sub position. I like stroking your balls, feeling them go from soft to wrinkling & taut.
Shayne: I like the clean salty taste of your skin. I like how you instruct me & respond to my learning.
Shayne: I love your gasps, stroking my head while i close my eyes and get wet from the pleasure i'm giving you. I like the messy saliva on my face. I luv tasting ur cum.

~ thumbs Bell Canada, Drunken Teen Orgies.

Sunday, June 1, 2008

The cat from the condo.

In the past, I've mentioned how my job regularly takes me to various areas throughout my city. This morning, I found myself in an upscale area that's popular among yuppies, successful artists, and sailboaters, where the growing expanse of wasteful urban development dominates the shoreline. Rounding a corner, I passed one condo in particular with turquoise glass ensconcing the balconies upon its terraced floors. It stood out in my memory.

In that building, past its bored doorman and a soothing indoor pond, accessible from the towering glass shaft where a charming elevator silently did its work, was where Caylynn and Sabertooth lived.

My separation from Heidi was a few months old, and my world was a mess. I was sharing a lowbrow highrise apartment with some pretentious goths who slept through the day, got stoned, geeked on role-playing games, partied all night, and returned to drop unconscious and repeat the cycle again and again. I was broke, trying to make ends meet by juggling temp positions and reading Tarot while diligently hunting for better opportunities and a way out of there. It wasn't fun, but I persevered.

Caylynn had seen my ad and approached me for a Tarot reading. We met over a casual lunch. I took it seriously when I read professionally, but as we spoke about matters spiritual over our Thai noodles, I had a hard time trying to stay focused when it became apparent that this very attractive client was making eyes toward me. Our lunch ended with a handshake and plans to get together again for her reading. In a short time, we became friends, and it wasn't long before we went back to my heinous apartment (following my pre-emptive apologies) for reasons that honestly had nothing to do with possibly boinking.

My bedroom was my oasis in that chaotic den, and I felt relieved to shut the door behind us so we could enjoy a glass of wine in peace. The bed being the only place two people could sit together and talk, we sat side-by-side and were in mid-conversation when she began to inch closer to me, her eyes watching my mouth as I spoke, her hand resting on my thigh, making pursy lips and puppy eyes. It might have seemed comical had I not been unanswerably horny and she unquestioningly hot. Still, flashing yellow lights started to flare in my head: 'No. No. She approached you for something else. No.'

I tried. I really did.

She brought her face closer to mine. I kept talking, trying to finish whatever irrelevant thought I was in. It didn't work, and soon my oh-so-professional, oh-so-spiritual, oh-so-advising demeanor crumpled like loose pants around a boy's ankles.

"Oh... fuck it," I actually said aloud to myself, and in an instant, my hands were behind her head and holding her shoulder-length blonde hair as I kissed her passionately. She crushed her lips to mine, gasped, sucking on my tongue and stifling a moan in her throat. She had seduced me. When they weren't caressing and squeezing my thighs over my jeans, her hands made their way around my waist. Her lips tasted like wine as we kissed deeply, and my bites upon her neck sent her into spasms. She reached forward to grip my ass when she rested her head on my shoulder. Her tiny back felt strong and feline as I lifted her tight Hello Kitty t-shirt over her head.

She smiled broadly as I beheld the most perfect, most charming A-cup titties I may have ever seen. Two beautiful circles of cushioned flesh were before me, each muffin-top proudly capped with a raspberry nipple that begged to be teased. A wide, fascinating scar shaped like the Italian peninsula drove itself from under her left breast onto her tummy, which itself had the cutest little paunch and a navel piercing just south of Sicily. Black Celtic knotwork with a stylized cat adorned her left upper-arm, behind and under which grew a soft and gently scented tuft of natural hair. My jaw dropped when she would later tell me that she was older than I and in her early 40s, for though she had her mysterious scar and her cute mango paunch, this woman possessed the body of a volleyball athlete. My cock was throbbing and begging for escape from my jeans.

Guiding her onto her back, she rested on my pillows as I bent forward and began feasting on her ribs. Her skin was warm and incredibly soft, her muscles taut as I caressed her. Alternating between gentle nips, kisses, and simply brushing my lips across her skin, I gave worship to her torso before tasting those firm nipples. Thick, dense, and strong, they pressed against my lips insistently as I teased and sucked them. Her breasts filled my hands nicely, and she squirmed and cooed under my touch. I made my way toward the button of her jeans, softly trailing my tongue along that peninsula scar.

Her button-fly popped open. I bit my lower lip and smiled to her as I raised myself up to tug off her jeans. She peeled off her striped red panties as I folded the denim neatly and layed her pants on the floor. She opened her legs.

I licked my lips as I beheld the completely bare peach that she revealed to me. Grasping her thighs, I closed my eyes as I slid closer and parted her open with my tongue. Flicking, licking, swabbing, feasting, I devoured her for as long as she could stand it. Her cries were long and drawn-out, high-pitched howls occasionally mixed with gasps and laughing, gutteral groans.

I stood and stripped off my jeans. She kept her eyes on my cock as it sprung rigidly when freed from the denim. After one glance to my eyes, she raised herself onto her elbows and leaned her head close to my crotch, opened her mouth, and slurped me in. She moaned happily as she felt my girth widen her mouth, and my eyes screwed shut as I looked down to her bobbing head. After a few moments, she reached below my knees to her jeans on the floor and fished in her pocket.

"Fuck me," she whispered up to me. "Fuck me now." She held me and slipped a polyurethane condom down my length, then layed back against my pillows and spread her legs again. Her pussy was deep pink, glistening, and waiting.

Feeling me slide in, her ankles locked behind my back, she held on to my ass as I pumped my dick in her pussy. She was tight and yielding, and I loved the feel of my balls slapping against her ass. It wasn't long before she cried out in a long, winded howl and shook under me, her spasms only barely making her small breasts shake under my chest. I kept thrusting, alternating my strokes and depth.

As much fun as I was having, she could tell that the non-latex condom was interfering with me. Despite my girth, I couldn't help but be concerned about it slipping off, and the distraction kept me from my peak. Nurse Caylynn, not one to be squeamish at all about body issues, immediately had a pleasant solution. After giving herself one or two more solid upward thrusts onto my cock, she pulled herself from under me, tugged me forward, nestled my knees just under her armpits, yanked the condom off my dick, and started to suck the head.

"Jack it for me, baby," she said. "Gimme a pearl necklace."

Breathing heavily, I knelt straight up and started stroking my cock. Caylynn reached under and between my legs with one arm, diddling her tiny clit, while her other hand gently cupped and squeezed my balls as I stroked. Her passion, her amazing little tits, her shuddering as she came again began to send me over the edge as I felt my cum start to flex and fill my tubes. I held back as long as I could, building the pressure, but it was the sight of Caylynn lustfully staring straight to the thickening head of my cock that sent me over the edge.

A heavy stream of my cum burst from me at once, squarely meeting Caylynn on her chin and seething down her neck in a heavy rope. A second and third volley splashed on her neck and across her breasts as she milked my balls, wide-eyed and gasping. As I slowed down, she writhed on the bed and massaged my cum into her breasts as she squeezed them.



Caylynn was married. Tha nature of her relationship to her husband was never entirely clear to me, but I knew that she had her lovers and apparently he had his. My sense was that, rather than being polyamorous, or even swingers, what they had amounted to more of an undiscussed consentual non-monogamy. It seemed pretty weird.

Caylynn and I became good friends for a while, and there was a brief period when she and I were still lovers as my then-new relationship with The Grrl began. Their names being so similar, part of my sarcastic, scandalous brain enjoyed thinking of these two amazing ladies as my 'bookends.' When they met, they flirted with one another playfully, and though there was passive discussion of shared fun, it never happened.

Friendship with Caylynn brought some decadent elegance into my post-separation, money-starved days. We would meet for lunch almost every week for a while, and her talent in haute cuisine left me speechless. I fell in love with her cat, Sabertooth, an orange tabby who followed the sunlight patterns so habitually that one could tell the time simply by seeing where he was snoring. Sometimes I would run into her during my work-days as she sped around the city on her pink Vespa. In the bedroom of her condo, she experienced a man's cock in her beautiful ass for the first time, with me. She loved it.

Over time and circumstances, our friendship faded. She was never terribly vigilant about keeping in touch, and while I occasionally hear from her, it's rare and unusual now. She eventually left her husband. Sabertooth passed on. She would later shack up with an ex-cop, change her name, and move to the 'burbs, where I understand she's happily pursuing a Catholic life. It's somewhat surreal, as I know her as the randy nurse who offered incense to the Egyptian cat goddess, Bast, and was in her bliss over excellent food, good wine, and a solid fuck.

She was good, crazy people, and I hope life has been treating her well. Yeah, I miss her.



~ thumbs Jeffrey Team, Phun.Org, Dacahard, Tiger's Page