Sunday comics.

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Bedtime stories.

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Cramped spaces.

the police are searching the police are searching but my outfit lets me pass through them all and it's ok i'm going to be fine i'm not the guy in the tactical uniform that they're looking for anyway it's going to be ok even though yeah i actually do have some real police equipment on me and that guy over there is really looking at me strangely

are you an officer too i can't tell but i hear the knocking at my door the door to my old pad in brooklyn the space is as cramped as it ever was oh the memory the knocking at my door and you're standing there you're standing there with your long flowing dark hair and the uniform that you're wearing

you come close to me and i want to offer you something as i stand before you in the foyer i could offer you some tea i say and then with a slow doward turn of my head i look at you in the eye and add or i could offer you some really good head



to my surprise it's you who comes closer to me and we're falling together toward the floor legs entwined in that small space it's almost like some shared yoga position that we're knotting our limbs into and somehow as i get harder and harder i discover that my thickening cock is bursting free from the black shorts that i'm wearing and it's poking through that hole in the fabric i'm actually quite surprised to discover it there that way and i'm actually kinda embarassed but you don't seem to be minding at all no not at all and i know that because you're arching your back toward me your head lowering somehow impossibly in that cramped position as we entwine our legs in that cramped space at the foyer of my old place back where i grew up



and your head is bobbing on me now i can feel the fucking wet heat of your mouth engulfing my cock jesus christ it feels so fucking good so fucking good it's been so long since it felt this fucking good and i can feel your widened lips massaging my desperate flesh my turgid muscles please baby you have no idea how deep i feel the need for this please suck my cock just like that and then you're taking me deeper and i'm feeling the width of your wet strong tongue slickly gliding up and down the length of my urethra as you extend your tongue from out out your mouth and i can feel my upper head grazing tightly wetly against the roof of your mouth too and jesus christ your wet mouth is so fucking tight and i like it just like that suck it for fuck's sake suck my cock hard and wet and firm and slick and noisy slurp on it for me baby i love holding your head gently so i can feel it moving bobbing on me your long straight dark hair in gently whispering on my thighs i can feel the pressure in the back of my head and my abs are tightening as i thrust into your mouth and then i wake up

Sunday comics.

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Ami.

"Hello, buddy," she said, talking to my semi-hard cock.

She stretched herself out on the futon, raised her head as I stood beside it, and took me into her mouth. My shower could wait.

Oddly, that moment was somewhat foreshadowed by the flirty dating-site messages we had been exchanging back in March. In them, sometimes I visually 'put her' in the position of being in my bedroom, seeing me with a towel around my waist that would... oopsie... drop to the floor. She was amused, we would chat more, and eventually began to date. Or something.

Ami is a bit of a departure for me. There's much that we simply don't have in common, and frankly I thought our first date was something of a wash-out at the time... until, after a walk through Chinatown, she turned to kiss me.

It was a nice kiss. The kind that awakened my then-largely-unused cock straining hard in my jeans after only a few moments. The kind of kiss that, after dealing with so much angst in the previous months, felt Really Fucking Good.

And it's with a little bit of surprise when I say that things just seemed to gradually happen from there.

Ami is an ever-positive, in-many-ways-innocent, articulate, curvy brunette mid30s grad student with a penchant for bicycles, couch surfing, and sumptuous breakfasts. She is, hands down, one of the gentlest souls I have ever known. It actually surprises me that, given all of her intelligence, straightfoward confidence, and disarming sense of total kindness, that her dating life hasn't been more vibrant.

That's also a nice way of sharing that her sexual experiences have been very limited. Granted, that sometimes means that my own sharings with her may not always be, shall we say, as receptively mindblowing as some other past experiences I've had, it's still totally true that I have a personal thang for corrupting the innocent.

That her vibe and looks often leave me mistaking her for a woman ten years younger than what she is doesn't hurt.

Her slightly Rubenesque form features a very friendly pair of 38Ds, and after partnering with so many tomboys in my life (God love 'em all), Ami has given me a new appreciation for bigger tits. Hers fit perfectly in my grasp, and when I'm clutching them from behind her and gently giving them the massaging squeezes that she adores so much, her flesh only just barely peeks out from between my strong, outstretched fingers. And how she does love to have her breasts squeezed this way, especially if I'm nibbling at the nape of her neck or gently chewing on her ear.

Her tummy paunch is a cute and enjoyable palmful when we're spooning to sleep. She tells me that her massage therapist criticizes her bottom, but I keep saying that's nonsense. And, in a way that makes perfect sense in my brain when I think of her relative innocence, she sports a completely natural, completely carefree garden of coarse, dark fur that feels totally glorious to me when I'm gently rubbing my cheeks against her just before I begin to taste her essence.

And I've been tasting her essence frequently. In fact, I think my giving her head is the most frequent play activity that we've been doing. She is definitely not complaining.

During one of first dates, as we cooked together in my kitchen, random kisses quickly turned into a fun quickie session that eventually had her bent over one of my kitchen barstools. Her strong legs were sumptuously splayed apart as she bent over and across the seat of the stool, her lovely round ass before me. She had no choice but to gaze forward into the sunshine that brightened the deck as I squatted behind her and opened her up like a book.

I've written before about how one of my favourite activities is to discover, learn, study, enjoy the sight of my partner's anus. To me, there's a total intimacy in the sight of how she's crinkled, coloured, shaped there. Like fingerprints, like labia, the shape and contours of my lover's asshole are unique to her, and I enjoy the forbidden pleasure of learning hers.

And when I first gazed upon Ami's and began to give her light caresses there on this occasion in my kitchen, she bent over a stool, I immediately subconsciously knew that she had never been in such a position before. In such a vulnerable position before. And that, when I began to gently rim her, the gentle gasps for breath that I was hearing were very likely being accompanied by widened eyes that I could not see.

I liked that.

And so I slid my fingers inside her drenched, furry pussy and made her cum as I stood behind her and gently stroked my cock with my other hand.



But whether or not things with Ami are "relationship material" has been unclear. What were we doing? What were our parameters? Where did we want this to go? I've certainly enjoyed her company, and continue to, but for quite some time I didn't have my finger on the pulse. (G-spot yes, pulse no.) Our thang lacked clarity. Are we just-dating? Are we FWBs? Is she interested in romance? If I tell her that I lower-case-L love her, is she going to freak out or suddenly get distant? That kind of ambiguity makes me insane.

Ami, who commutes to and from the city frequently, has nurtured a slightly gypsy-ish grad student lifestyle. She housesits for the friend who's currently in Paris. She crashes on another friend's couch because it's close to campus. And recently she started spending enough time at my pad that it became a no-brainer for me to give her a set of keys and empty some drawers so she could move an amount of her stuff in my place and stay whenever she wanted to.

Ain't I cool? God, I frighten myself. cough

But her teaching and study schedule is intense. Despite a hot beginning, we've only rarely been able to spend "quality time" together lately. We'll share the same bed, but time and energy for fucking comes and goes. Eventually, I started to ask myself what it was that I was doing here, what it was that she was looking for, and it started to piss me off. Critical mass was approaching, and with a gentle nudge, I made sure she knew that a Conversation was soon becoming necessary. I needed to know where she stood, where she wanted to stand, and that she knew the same in return.

A relaxed sushi picnic in the park later and I had the clarity I needed. And, thus far, it seems that Ami and I are definitely in the friends-with-benefits camp. I sought clarity, and I certainly got it:

"Basically," she said to me after she listened to my mind, "I decided to get involved with you because I sensed that you'd be good in bed."

blink Oh.

Um. Ok.

I can handle that. Sure.

We finished our homemade miso soup in the park and went back to my place.

Sunday comics.

Beating the heat.

"Wanna join me in the shower?"

She smiled and lifted the blue Tshirt over her head, revealing those small, pert breasts that I like so much. The "muffins". How many times had we laughed over that nickname as we lay awake in the morning, contemplating breakfasts?

Cool water pattered on my head and seethed through my long locks as she stepped in after me. She made cute clowny faces when the spattering water splashed her. I smiled as I enjoyed looking at her trim form, the dimples above her ass, the way she slicked back her short, dark hair to reveal the spikes through her earlobes.

Gently, I drew her close, and my chest swelled when she groaned in approval. My palm spread itself out and across her belly, a finger playfully sliding across her tiny navel, while I pressed her close to me and started chewing on her shoulders and the nape of her neck. She loves it when I do that. The fingertip at her navel slid lower until I could just barely feel the top of her sexily trimmed black stripe. My cock began to swell, and I could feel the pressure build within the length of me, widening me, raising my girth in slow upward waves until the middle of my shaft started to meet her pert cheeks.

She turned to face me and thrust her tongue into my mouth as we kissed. The water continued to pound on us, rivulets skimming through her clavicles and between her pretty wee tits when she reached forward to grasp me in her hand. She lathered her fingers with soap and started to pull and stroke my growing cock. By the time her other hand was gently squeezing my balls, both of my own hands began to play with her as well, cupping her round little ass with one as another teased her mound.

Holding on to her gorgeous ass always makes me hard as stone.

My fingers probed between her thighs, through her drenched folds, and easily found a hardening shaft of her own. The tips of my fore- and middlefingers began to press and circle slowly, gently, at either side of her hood until I felt it begin to swell and become larger. Her button was soon primed, and as she steadied herself before me and continued to heft my girth and squeeze me in her hand, I began to jill her off with consistent circular strokes. I lightened my touch when drawing toward me, pressing more firmly when fingering forward, alternating pressure and speed as she started to gasp and squeeze her dark eyes shut. It doesn't take her long to cum from there, especially if she's getting her little ass squeezed at the same time.

She came suddenly, loudly, pressing her head against my chest as she panted and felts both the waves within her and from the water continuing to rain on her bent back. Her hand never left my cock, and I loved the tightening grip as she held on to me like an anchor to keep her steady.

When she had centered herself again, she squatted down and washed away what lingering soap remained on my shaft and balls. Soon, the cool water was starkly contrasted by her warm, wet mouth when she hefted me from my base with her hand, opened wide, and began to slurp on my silken head. I closed my eyes and enjoyed both the feel of the water through my hair and her soft tongue along the underside of me as she took me deeper in her mouth. When she started bobbing her head, I relished how her soft lips felt as they tugged backwards and forwards across the crown of me. Her tongue swirled under my frenulum while I was in her mouth, and hearing her happy moans just made me harder.

I arched my back and held her head gently. I started to thrust forward, filling her mouth with dick. She held the base of me in her fist and soon added wet strokes with her hand to her gentle slurping. I felt myself widen even more, pressure building inside my pipe with every stroke of her tightening lips over my cockhead.

She stood. It was time to take this to the bed.

The Black Jack Stroker by California Exotic Novelties.

When I was a kid, my father took me to see the 1983 Charles Bronson vigilante/cop film 10 To Midnight. Dad was a big action movie fan, a very typical guy in that regard, and always could be depended on to see the latest gun-toting, car-chasing, machismo-riddled strip of celluloid. Mom was good for occult thrillers and James Bond. Either way, I would happily munch on my Whoppers with the hit men, demonic spawn, spies, and man-eating sharks.

(10 To Midnight also featured a very nekkid Ola Ray who, in addition to being Playboy's June 1980 Playmate of the Month, thrilled me because I was dating a Nigerian at the time. The sight of her mocha self in the requisite shower-scene-as-the-crazed-killer-looms-nearby definitely caught my attention.)

But what stands out in my memory, even more than Bronson's snubnose .38 or Ray's beautiful brown tits, is the toy.

Psychopath Warren Stacy (played by Gene Davis) is a sexual predator. During a raid on his apartment, he's found in his bathroom with a large, bizarre apparatus that (to me) looked like a small fire extinguisher tank with some kind of J-shaped red rubber or plastic tubing attached to one end. The whole thing must have been two feet long. Later, while interrogating him in classic bully-cop fashion, Bronson tosses the thing on the table before Davis with a clatter, shouting, "You know what this is for, Warren? It's for jerking off!"

And then it hit me. My junior-year-high-school brain met my burgeoning, straining libido and stars burst in my head. The tank was for suction. The tubing was for his cock.

"Holy fuck!" I thought to myself, a malted milk ball held in mid-crunch between my teeth and my tongue. "They make machines to suck it??"

I very probably jacked my tender, young dick that night and burst my load into the stratosphere just with the thought of having such a thing. It did remain in my fantasies for years to come. I mean, just think of the fucking convenience.

But, and perhaps only until very recently, sextoys for men has had an element of shameful taboo associated with it. While the adult toy market easily and readily sensualizes the buying experience for women, sometimes relating the ownership of a vibrator or dildo with personal sexual empowerment and independence, most marketing strategies have yet to bridge the ambivalence that many guys might have. Many men still inwardly believe that to purchase or use a sextoy somehow conveys the message that "they have to" because they're "unsuccessful" with women. Owning a sextoy becomes connected with shame and self-effacing embarassment. This, in turn, enables interrogating police officers to hurl these toys at suspects, shouting things like "You know what this is for, Warren? It's for jerking off!" because it will emasculate him into submission out of his own shame for having the thing in the first place.

This, of course, is absolute bullshit. This is also one of the ways how patriarchal culture actually works against men, because this sort of shame robs us of wholly enjoying what would otherwise be a perfectly fun experience. Sure, it's perfectly possible that anyone (man or woman) can and may use a sextoy because a date didn't present him- or herself that Friday night, but that doesn't have to mean that this sort of bodyfun is mutually exclusive to being with a partner. And what's to suggest that someone (man or woman) couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't enjoy using toys while with your partner?

So imagine my personal glee when, after fantasizing about blowjob simulators since my teens, I had the opportunity to review one.



California Exotic Novelties is among the most successful and prolific adult toy manufacturers to be found anywhere, and frequently collaborates with respected sexperts and well-known adult performers to develop and market their wares. A woman-owned company, they contribute to breast cancer research. They very probably made the cheesy (but clever) boardgame you or your spouse got at the bridal shower.

The Black Jack Stroker features "robotic suction action" with "the perfect fit." It consists of four primary separate parts: a rubber manual pump, the battery-powered suction and vibration controller, an interior sleeve, and the plastic casing which includes fist grip and vibrating egg. Made in China, its overall length is 12.5 inches (32cm), the business end being 6.5 inches (17cm), and 2.5 inches (6cm) wide. It weighs 21 ounces (.6kg) and is powered by four C batteries to provide its individually-controlled vibration and pumping functions.

The important feature, as far as your cock is concerned, is the interior sleeve. The dead-black, well-shaped lips could seem a little ominous (unless you're into goths), and they're very, very firm. The sleeve's interior also has dozens of round nodules to enhance sensation, but certainly there's nothing to simulate warmth, moisture (unless you use water-based lube), or the action of a swirling tongue. Made from TPE, it retains some heat and is elastic, but (if your sense of political correctness wants to know this) it was probably fashioned by a nasty chemical corporation like Monsanto or Dupont. But does it feel good on your dick? With lube, not bad.

The suction comes from your manual use of the pump. The pistoning effect really does precious little toward contributing to that apart from the visual stimulation, and the repetitive, mechanical noise this feature makes is not quiet at all. This also means that to really enjoy this toy, both hands are required to operate the pump (and keep a finger handy near the quick-release valve) and hold the entire thing steadily on your cock. Once a rhythm is in place this wouldn't seem so bad, but the sleeve remains attached to the hard plastic casing only by virtue of a 4cm grip curling over the casing opening. Even a moderate amount of lube, plus some vigourous thrusting or stroking, can easily make the sleeve detach from the casing. This can be frustrating to deal with, probably requiring the user to ignore the topmost handgrip to the Stroker and hold it by the base to keep the sleeve in place. Fucking annoying, really. Why is it so difficult for male sextoy manufacturers to come up with a design that doesn't include multiple, separate pieces that each have to be manually (and distractingly) secured?

The plastic casing is made from ABS, a recyclable thermoplastic also used in protective headgear, auto parts, pipes, and tattoo ink. Other parts are made from PVC.

The vibrating egg is affixed to the interior top of the plastic casing, and its effect on the head of your cock can easily make you see stars when properly combined with that good, if labour-intensive, rhythm. That is, if seeing a wire in there doesnt give you heebiejeebies. When all the component sensations (suction, pistoning, the lips' grip, the nodules, and the vibrations to the cockhead)are running smoothly, the Stroker can be pretty sensational when it wants to.

Does it completely simulate a blowjob? Not exactly, no, because it doesn't have a tongue and your lover doesn't have a vibrating egg down her (or his) throat, but it's still a interesting experience that had me shooting the first time I tried it.

But after then, I was quickly reminded that the Stroker is being marketed as a novelty. Hell, it's in the company name. Marketed as a novelty, manufacturers absolve themselves from a lot of quality control (and, in the case of toys made with phthalates, possibly safety).

The truth is that, for me, the best blowjobs eventually become a little vigourous and passionate. I like to thrust. Once the 'novelty' of finally satisfying my teenage oh-my-God-you-mean-they-make-things-that'll-suck-it fantasy had been met and I was moving past the newness of the toy (say by the third time), my body brought me back to wanting to thrust and fuck that little, firm, goth-black, elastomer mouth. I set the phaser piston on stun, the photon vibrator on kill, found my rhythm with the manual pump and held that sleeve in place by the base while giving this sucker a real Mythbusters-level road test.

And I promptly broke the goddamned thing.

klik whirrr wheeez All gone. Bye bye. So sad. On a downstroke, I simply oversuctioned, overpistoned, overjacked the big bad Black Jack Stroker until it too seemed like a crestfallen, whimpering, sniveling suspect on the other end of an interrogator's desk. It was defeated.

Would I recommend it? Actually, yeah. Compared to other strokers I looked at, this one seemed more comprehensive and fun to use, even with the headaches. The Blow Job Stroker seems to be more high-tech, and gadgets like the Solo Slider try to do the job is a handier, simpler fashion. But I wouldn't expect to be too vigourous with the Black Jack, and I wouldn't expect it to replace the fleshy passion of my woman's mouth, tongue, hands, breath, warmth, zeal, hunger, and whimpering.

Especially if she were, you know, Ola Ray.

Let's make a deal.

Jesus. There are times when I'm so fucking bad.

Given the chance, the right amount of caffeine in my system, and how tired I am, my imagination takes my brain on sudden whirlwinds from time to time. I roll my eyes to myself, I smirk, I'll chuckle on the streetcar, and people look at me like I'm crazy.

But it's just so fun.

Lately, I'm trying to sell some antiques that I've acquired over the years, and have been making a lot of postings on CL. Some of the pieces are artifacts from when The Grrl was with me, and so parting with them would be healthy for my psyche. Some are simply things I just don't have the space or dire need for. Other things are echoes, physical noise from my past.

I had a pair of antique window frames that I rescued from a house renovation, for example. I intended on replacing the glass with either stained glass work or mirrors, but the damned things just sat in my storage unit for ever and ever.

A CL posting later, and someone whom I thought was a male with a uniquely Slavic name was heading over to buy them for three times my asking price. kaching! I open the front door, and "Virve the artist" turns out to be this statuesque Nordic blonde who looks as though she's previously won biathalon gold. I must have looked somewhere between cute and ridiculous when my jaw dropped and my eyes fluttered. Leading her into the garage, where I was holding the frames, my cock twitched under my jeans as she stood directly under a crossbeam.

"Oh, ja. Just relax, meinem frau. Raise your arms over your pretty head. No, no, don't be afraid, these ropes won't cut into your wrists, won't hurt a bit, I promise. See? I'm not feeling a thing! Now, how effectively might these scissors remove the tight denim covering your lovely, butch bottom, mm? ...Sehr gut...

I'm selling a wooden dresser. It's worn, but with the right TLC would be a very solid piece for someone. An office worker named Tina responds, and she's haggling over my dirtcheap price right away. I cave. She sends another email now that she's seen a very swish dining table I'm also offering (the very one that Molly sucked my cock beside and squirted her grrlcum under two years ago) and is haggling with me over email for both pieces. I like her spunk (Tina's, not Molly's. ...ok, I like Molly's too...), but she's undercutting me way too low.

"You sure you can't take just $60 for them both, mister?," she asks. "Your price is really fair, like, but it's just that I can't afford to spend that... and it really is a great table..."

She glances over her shoulder and reaches for my crotch gently, leading me into the storage unit. She turns on the timed light and it cliks loudly as she lowers the aluminum door behind us. She bites her lower lip as she kisses me.

"I really like the table..." She drops to her knees and unzips me slowly.

Yeah. I chuckle to myself.

I continue haggling with CL responses when, speak of the devil's mistress, a message from Molly herself appears on my Facebook. Talk about serendipity.

She's interested in some books I'm culling, but making it to the storage unit to pick her choices is a small hassle for her. No crisis.

Now, I know for a fact that Molly, God love the sexy fandom geek she is, isn't exactly swimming in cash. She's been rebuilding her world, and more power to her. Sure, the books'll be cheap... but my brain had already been in the gutter. Shameless, sarcastic me. I caught myself smirking again when, you betcha, part of my naughty, laughing head pondered poor, happily-submitting Molly sucking me for garage sale reading material.

"I just happen to love cock," she told me once, her wet lips slurping around my shaft after dinner. "And yours is attached to a particularly nice guy."

I can just picture it now...

"Oh! Mercedes Lackey! Piers Anthony!" likk Oh! Anne McCaffrey! Douglas Adams! sssuk Oh cool! A Laurel K. Hamilton I haven't read ssstroke Hey! The complete Marion Zimmer Bradley! mmmbub mmmbub Mmmm.. nice.... Oh! A limited edition series of Anne Rice?! mmf mmmf slrrrp! Oh... oh my God! A hardcover, limited, gold-embossed, fucking fiftieth anniversary edition of The Hobbit! mMMmmmm mmmlp mulp mmmf mmmph Mm MmMMMMmmmm...

I wonder. What would she do for some out-of-print Michael Moorcock? Hardbound? With, you know, a thick and sturdy embossed spine?

The ironic and funny thing is, kidding aside, I would be surprised if Molly wouldn't enjoy sucking my cock again, books or no books. She keeps inviting me to the local polyamory social events. Maybe one of these days I won't be too busy to go.

And maybe I'll have some Andre Norton in my pocket. You know, just in case.

Softly breathless.

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War stories.

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Sunday comics.

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