Panties and petroleum.

At the King Street border between the pretentious, yuppie, upstart Liberty Village and the historic, downtrodden, depressed Parkdale 'hoods of Toronto stands a high-walled, gated, ominous compound. It's the city's Road Operations and Transportation Services building, where the heavy machinery and working vehicles that maintain the city's streets are kept. Inside, boiler room dispatch offices respond to emergency calls regarding flooding, fallen trees, and other city problems.

My current work routine takes me past this building several times a day. And every single time, I'm reminded of the Grrl. It isn't just because the West Queen West pad that we shared is only a few blocks away; that happened later. It's because of the dark evening when we were inside that compound together and where I first saw her (mostly) bare body.

Flute was a friend of mine. A sometime handyman and fulltime freespirit, he played a charming First Nations flute when he wasn't helping someone put up drywall. He worked inside this compound at the time, handling dispatch calls to ferry emergency repair vehicles to Toronto homeowners who were freaking out over this thing or another. And he had access to city vehicles.

My situation was different then. I didn't own a car at the time. For reasons that escape me, I was unable to pick the Grrl up from the airport, and Flute was more than happy to offer me a ride with a van that he was using regularly. He and I had a bond about the women in our lives, and he was totally cool with helping me out when it came to Someone Important Coming To Visit.

It was the first time she had come to Canada, the first time we would be together. After our first meeting, we were touch-and-go for a while as she mediated matters with a previous partner. By the time we were planning her visit, she had left that boyfriend and I was excited to pieces about the all-clear signal.

I remember watching her stroll down the walkway at the airport. The roses I gave her. Our first, real kiss. Taking her and her luggage to That Van.

That Van was not exactly a chartered limousine. A bluecollar working vehicle, it was an awful shade of sky blue with countless scuffs and dents and marks and stains. The interior was packed with plumbing and electrical equipment, used rags, safety gear, hardhats. Flute was a smoker, so on the grimy dash was a mayhem of crushed Du Maurier boxes and snubbed filters along with the old Pepsi cans and dozens of torn road maps, fuel receipts, work orders, and the like. Both the seats and flooring were stained and worn. A side mirror was cracked. Rust bordered the double panel doors on the side. And throughout it all, the lingering, dense odor of old oil, gasoline, kerosine. It was a scent that was so deep that it almost had a texture, as if you could feel it entering into the pores on your face if you found yourself around it for too long.

Romantic, no?

I loaded the Grrl's luggage into a reasonably clean spot in the back, she found some acceptable space on the rear benchseat, and the three of us laughed as we pulled away from the airport.

She was hungry. I already planned on taking her to dinner, but as it turned out, traffic had kept Flute away from his duties longer than he had hoped. It became necessary for him to stop by the Road Operations compound for a short while. The Grrl smiled through the minor inconvenience. We decided to do dinner first, after this detour, and go back to my pad later.

It was growing dark. After we pulled into the compound, Flute secured a gate behind us and parked That Van in a small alley before he dashed into an office for almost an hour.

The Grrl and I relaxed, talked, passed the time. We kissed some more. I was feeling the first stirrings of what would become one of the deepest love affairs of my life.

Practical-minded, the Grrl asked me to fetch a few things from her luggage. Since we were doing dinner first, she decided to change clothes. Here and now. Then and there. In a dirty van that was parked in a narrow alley between two foreboding municipal buildings, on a stained and cruddy backbench. I fumbled a little in the twilight, but found and returned with some fresh pants and a very bohemian sweater.

Still seated, she smiled. Both of the van's center doors were wide open as I then watched her slowly remove the black Tshirt she was wearing to reveal a tight sportsbra. We talked, casually. She kept smiling. She removed her Doc Martens to lower the khaki camoflage pants she had on, leaning back into the seat as she reached for her belt buckle. She kept looking into my eyes, smiling as I listened to the clink of metal clasps, the zing of a lowering zipper. I smiled back as she raised her beautiful, broad ass from the dingy seat and started to wiggle the pants down her legs.

Her radiant, slate eyes. Her thighs. Black thong. Her facing me, her legs open as her knees were level to my eyes as she took the pants from my hand.

The mound between her thighs. The bulge and the faint hint of seam, barely made out in the dark.

She put on the pants. Flute would return shortly after.

Changing into dinner clothes on the stained seat of a workhorse van, and all the while beaming with a wide, toothy smile as she watched me watch her. That's the kind of woman she is, and why it became so easy for me to go crazy over her.

Later, I would learn all about that mound, that bulge, that seam. I would learn all about the way the Grrl's outer labia would flush several shades of red when she got excited, hot, wet, and how that labia would swell like two crescent-shaped pillows. I would learn all about the way the flesh of her cunt would resemble a short-stemmed tulip, as if the flower were simply laid upon her body, the petals ensconcing the tender clitoris that I would enslave myself to for the next several years.

I really miss giving her head. And how she would do me too.

The sex we shared that night was extraordinary. We simply kissed and caressed for longer than I could remember. We smoked some dope, listened to soothing yoga music, and entwined for hours upon hours. I relished in her joy to be taken in her ass, and loved how she moaned deeply as she had me, her eyes crushed tight and her teeth biting her lower lip as she felt my calves to her thighs while I slowly and deeply thrust. She would breathe deeply and groan when I would stop to lay still on top of her back. I remember the soothing, complete pleasure I felt to have my bodyweight on her, holding her, my legs snaked around hers, my fingers massaging her scalp through her short, auburn hair as her opened sphincter gripped the very root of me tightly, snugly, warmly when I filled her with my total all.

Between wine and cannabis and sensuality and beauty, we didn't simply "see God." We became God. Kali and Shiva.

And it began with that moment of seeing her bare legs, her thigh, her underwear in that most unsexy of places. That unsexiest of places that, of late, I pass every day, several times a day.

Wow. That was at least seven or eight years ago.

Yeah. I miss her. Still.

Is the Great White North really that frigid?

As this post goes to press, so to speak, I'm boarding a WestJet flight to Edmonton, Alberta, and from there to Yellowknife, Northwest Territories. I will be within erection distance of the Arctic Circle for the rest of the week.

The Northwest Territories. To me, just the sound of that is incredibly exotic. It's not even part of the recently-created Nunavut province; it's still a damned "territory." Ooo.

When I was a kid in Brooklyn, I loved maps. Still do. And I have a faint memory of being bent over my desk, poring over atlases for hours and hours as my imagination ran wild, and I do remember looking upon the Canadian north and wondering how life would be in (what I figured was) barreness.

It's a family trip; Kara flew there last week to visit relatives, and I'm tagging along because I can. Because we'll be in tight lodgings and her urchins are with us (and I write this teasingly and with a smirk), I have my doubts about how much sexplay we'll get to have. I'd love to slip out of her family's place during the perpetual twilight, find a glen near the banks of Great Slave Lake, and take her from behind at the base of a black spruce. Feel her tightness grip me as I watch her claw the bark, hear her pant as she squats, bent-over, with my hands gripping her hips and tugging her backward to me. Mm.

I think the sexual anthropologist in me might be a little frustrated on this trip, though. I love to travel, and part of that pleasure (if I'm in a city) is to learn about and explore the seedy nightlife. It's a sport, probably enhanced by my first eye-opening (and cock-awakening) experiences when I cut class in high school to cruise around Times Square.

Stripclubs, sex shops, BDSM networks, lingering skanky porn theatres that refuse to die in this DVD- and internet-age... they become unspoken additions to my personal to-do lists, simmering underneath my plans to find excellent pubs, museums, historic sites, and galleries. For fun, I'll explore Craigslist postings from escorts in a given area, not because I'm necessarily seeking them out (no, really), but as a visual and voyeuristic taste of the women who'll be around me there. (Shuttup, no, really.) It's a game, and now that I've been doing this sexblog thang for the last few years, sometimes I'll share my results with you. I did this before past trips to Chicago or back home. Some people collect tchotchke shotglasses or refridgerator magnets; I look for pix of gorgeous, interesting local women and post them there. My little hobby.

But Yellowknife, Yellowknife, Yellowknife! You're freaking me out! I'm going to totally love being with my woman. I'm going to totally love meeting her family. A chance to perhaps see bison or bowhead whales in the wild? Sign me up! I'm going to be thrilled to experience your 23-hours of daylight, to meet and hang out with your Dene First Nations folk, to get a beer and a bison burger at the landmark Wildcat Cafe. But I've been looking through the 'net, Yellowknife, and I'm dumbstruck. Flaccid, even.

I did find an obscure inventory record of historic buildings. It includes the "Old Prostitutes Log Cabin" at 3804 Bretzlaf Drive, built by John Stakston in 1938. John lived there until the 1950s, and we might readily assume that he was a local pimp because the house "became a prostitution den when this street was Yellowknife's red light district, known as Glamour Alley." Now that can be good and fun sexual history to discover.

But I am learning that many of the 18,000 or so folks in "the Knife" aren't exactly the sex-positive type. I've found one blog covering queer issues there. One. Jason tweets me to say that "western Canada, in general, is much more prudish than Toronto or Montreal. That's not to say "things" don't happen. It's discrete. Yellowknife is filled with well-traveled, educated, adventurous people. It's very diverse, inclusive and friendly."

Yet a local pro-atheism blog recently detailed an account of discrimination against gays by a religious zealot.

And speaking of religious zealots, it seems that the Catholic school board there refuses to administer HPV vaccines to female students despite statistics apparently showing that young women in Yellowknife become sexually active at earlier ages than in the rest of Canada, and that STD infections are eight times the national average there. Suffer the little children.

Yellowknife. Jason suggests that your discretion is the better part of your valour. I hope so, because I'm wondering: have you no healthy sexual consciousness, no sex-positive venues, no reasonably enticing sensuality for the erotically adventurous, woman- (and queer-) respecting, blog-posting, kink-conscious, I'm-really-not-trying-to-be-such-a tourist? Dammit, Yellowknife, inquiring minds want to know!

Sunday comics.

The canoe and the knotty branch.

All was so still that we could hear the passing of dragonflies.

Gossamer wings aflutter, their tiny electric bodies skimmered over the quiet water as they hunted prey, troubled only with the random, splashy gulp of a fish at the same game. The summer sun gleamed upon the river, mirroring an expanse of bright blue sky. Robust greenery at either shore subtlely hid the wild eyes that quietly observed our antique wooden canoe as we gently ventured forward.

It was our second day at Lake Cashel. Our hosts were a pleasant lumberjack of a bulldyke, her femme partner, and the cat that enjoyed dropping by our cabin for morning treats and to escape the occasional rain. Apart from him, we had almost complete privacy from interaction with another living soul, and we relished in the peacefulness and calm of it all. We would wake in the morning, share yoga, feast, and embark on another day of pleasure together, our blood lubricated with hard cider, constant laughter, and shared passion.

Kara and I guided the canoe past rows of lilypads, birch groves, and the fluttering water surfaces bespeaking trout and crappie just under. Like dispersed toothpicks, old clusters of neatly cut logs lay scattered on the mud floor of the river, coated with moss and serving as testimony to the workers' barges that ran this river decades past. Submerged water plants swayed like dancing limbs.

As Kara steered the canoe upriver, I languished with the cool water against my hand as I paddled us on. It was easy to imagine the native Huron or Ottawa doing this very thing only a few hundred years earlier, before the days of Hudson's Bay, enjoying the sun and the still water.

Or to find a suitable place to tie a canoe and share more than just daylight and river, dragonflies and fish.

We coasted toward the small peninsula from an cozy little inlet that would be out of sight from open river, not that privacy would really be a worry. We had already paddled for about an hour, and were well away from any neighbouring cottages. As I tied the canoe to a birch whose branches reached high over the cold water, we carefully made footing on the slick rocks and climbed the steep, mossy incline to land.

Mosquitoes buzzed around us, and a bird or two called in the distance. As we strode uphill, we noted signs of deer in the undergrowth, and held one another's hand as we made our way over fallen trees and through bramble. The undergrowth was green and turquoise with lichen and oakmoss. The sunlight beamed through swaying branches. The air was crisp and vibrant with spice and growing things.

We stopped to kiss, standing amongst fallen branches and leaves in a shadowy canopy. Her soft lips were coupled by twirls of her curious tongue in that unique, broadstroke way she does when she kisses me. If blindfolded and subjected to the kisses of a dozen women, I would always know which one was Kara.

She reached under me and grasped me from over my hiking shorts, carefully clutching my balls as she squeezed and weighed me in her hand. I grasped the back of her neck, tugging her head into my chest so I might nibble at her nape, and listened toher quietly gasp as I did so. Her squeezes became firmer, and she ran her hand along the growing length of me.

I set her down on a fallen, mossy log. She looked up to me as she sat down, as I started to bring my hands to my zipper and lower it with a smirk. She reached to unbuckle my leather belt and I dropped my clothes to my bare feet, held the growing girth of me in my hands, stroking her new boyfriend's dick, and slowly brought my cockhead to her pouty, willing mouth.



I felt her lips slide over me, wet and curious. I felt her tongue tease my glans, wet and strong. I felt her take me into her mouth, and as I caresed her short, black hair, I looked up through the reaching branchs and enjoyed the scattered glimmer of the sun.

She sucked me gently, slowly. I felt myself thicken and lengthen more and more as her moist lips and tongue teased me. When we first began seeing each other, Kara was almost timid about having me in her mouth, but it wasn't long before she discovered her own centre, her own pleasure in pleasing me. I held her head gently, slowly sliding further past her swabing tongue, fucking her sensual mouth as she held my thighs tightly. I tapped my cockhead on her gorgeous face. I brushed it along her glistening lips. Among this temple of birch trees and stones, Kara rested on the mossy log and sucked my cock as I stood before her. Her bobbing head pleased me, as did the soft sound of her suckling, but soon I thought of a promise that I had made to myself.

Smiling, I stood her up and gently tugged the nape of her neck as I guided her toward the trunk of a tree. She obediently placed her palms against the old bark, her arms outstretched, her feet apart in the undergrowth as I returned to biting the nape of her neck again. Still tasting my cock, she melted as she felt my teeth and tongue, her legs weakening.

As I stood behind her, I reached around her waist and began undoing her pants. Lowering them to her thighs, I smirked as I enjoyed the sight of her heartshaped ass tightly clad in dark boys' underwear. Slowly, I revealed her lovely behind to me when I tugged the undies to her thighs as well. Kara sighed and rested her head against an arm, knowing what would follow.

I moved to stand beside her, my back to the tree, her small waist held in the crook of my arm as I coiled my hand back and around her. Clutching her tight, bent down slightly with her bare ass mere inches from my face, I restricted her movement snugly while she felt the first swats of my open palm. Her fine ass responded properly, faint ripples of her firm skin dancing before my eyes. Soon, my attentions turned to her thighs, and again to her ass, back and forth as my strikes became firmer and more demanding as best pleased me.

Kara enjoyed her spanking with tender groans and gentle swaying of her hips, stopped only when my grip tightened around her and my strikes becoming more and more centered. I focused on her left cheek alone until it burned red, then the right, and soon both with repeated, open-handed strikes. Her beautiful ass thoroughly entertained me.

As I gave her a moment to breathe, I spotted a fallen branch nearby that aroused my curiousity. Hardly firm enough for a proper cane, but it still amused me to deliver a few strokes across both of her reddened cheeks. A pair of knots in the wood were splayed apart at the perfect distance so as to let me fashion thin, white lines along her asscheeks as I held the branch to her bum and scraped it upwards slowly.

Swat. Scrape. Smack. Swat. Scrape. Smack.

I tossed the branch aside. I set my ground right behind her. I stroked my hard cock with my fist as pused her lower back down slightly while she continued to hld the tree. Gripping her left cheek, I parted her open and slowly slid my dick inside her tight, drenched pussy. I held her hips as I fucked her slowly from behind, her head alternately pressed against the tree and looking over her shoulder to watch me take her.

But soon dusk approached, and with it the carnivorous beasties eager to savage two sweaty lovers. Laughing, we dressed again and returned to the canoe, and soon were sipping wine before a wood-burning stove while we cheered the bats on as we watched them in the dusk.

Run.

the pavement solid and firm under my nikes while the sun is in my eyes and the wind is in my hair my roughly cut sweatshirt marbled with salt lines from the heat and my exertion my heart is pounding like a thundering drum

i see you on the next block holy crap is it really you and you're jogging too what are you doing here the last i heard you were racing motorcycles in italy or your business had gone under because of the economy and you and your suv were going on a road trip to ferret out a new location in the world where you would start over i'm gonna jog behind you now and say hi

i remember our road trips and the hot times we had in that van do you remember when you were giving head to jacqueline on the plush rear seat as i raced the van to new hampshire for that playparty where you got spanked in front of that audience

but here you are and you're running and your hair is longer and blonder than ever and you have some new tattoos on your arm and it looks really hot you always were really gorgeous baby

there's a guy beside you he's running too is he your new guy his thighs are strong i remember how you used to love to nuzzle your face into my thighs and breathe deeply the salty scent between them and my heavy balls you groaned with such feral pleasure while you sucked air my scent my salt in through your nose just before you would swab your wet tongue up the length of my shaft jesus christ it was so good you're so great at sucking cock honey

i've sped behind you now and i'm watching you run while i run behind you and i'm checking out your ass in those tight shorts of yours holy christ you look so good i've missed our better days and you're still so fucking hot

he's laughing beside you as you two run where did you meet him was he a marine also or maybe you met him from your landscape work god you were so sexy when you were bent over the plants in those dark round sunglasses you used to wear

i heard you were with liam after we broke up that tall and lanky guy always had the hots for you he was a good man i bet he really liked feeling your sexy mouth too what ever the hell happened to him anyway

the sun is hot and beating down on us and this run is fucking killing me but i really wanna see you run and see what's happening with that muscular dude beside you you really built up your muscles too over the years you look awesome and i'm proud of you my heart is thundering my lungs are vacuums for air i feel sweat down my legs

i bet he liked your mouth but who is this guy are you gonna suck him also nice i'd love to watch you suck him because i've felt your mouth and jesus my heart my pounding now between this hot jog and watching your muscular ass and seeing you sucking on his thick wet twitching salty dick i bet it fills your whole mouth up

it's gonna be really wet and musky after this run baby and i know how you like cock to be thick and wet and musky you always sought out my precum and milked me in your wet fist to ease droplets of seaspray from out of my widening cockhead when you would suck me i remember god

you're jogging to his place aren't you and then you're gonna drop to your knees after he strips off his sweaty shirt and you're gonna groan like you used to when you wrap your hot hand around his girth and then you're gonna tap his big head against your cheekbones and your chin and wipe it smoothly and wetly across your face while smelling the salt and sweat under his balls i know how you like it

suck his cock baby i know you want to and i know you love how it tastes in your mouth lick that dick and suck it deep pump his throbbing shaft between those beautiful lips of yours do you remember how i would hold your head and fuck your mouth while you moaned and went limp with your head on the bed and then i'd fill your mouth with my come you loved to swallow

he'll give you his seed too his thick hot creamy seed and i know you'll love it sometimes i wonder how many cocks you've sucked since we broke up and especially during your trip to europe and the italian men around the bike track i enjoying wondering as much as i enjoy the envious look on your face when you've seen some of the successes in my life too but that doesn't mean i'm bitter about anything anymore because you really are an amazing person and quite the catch and that last guy who dumped you was a fucking idiot because you're right you were the best thing to ever have happened to him

suck his cock suck it wet it taste it lick it have it smell it i know you like it you good fucking cockslut slurp on his thick dick taste his scent groan in ecstacy pump it in your fist and swab your tongue under the head jack it off into your mouth with strong wet hands your spit coating his penis you like penis don't you and when he shoots feel your lips straining because they're being opened so fucking wide while his salt is all over your face you can smell his flesh on your skin as you suck it as you suck it as you suck it and taste his thick pumping load into your mouth you love cum and i always loved feeling you suck me down suck that cum milk it give him give me your fucking slutty mouth

the pavement solid and firm under my nikes while the sun is in my eyes and the wind is in my hair my roughly cut sweatshirt marbled with salt lines from the heat and my exertion my heart is pounding like a thundering drum

With the gypsies in the mountains.

I held her hand as she steered her tiny white Honda Accord, nicknamed "Zippy," through the snow-covered and muddy dirt roads of the central Pennsylvania mountains. We were laughing one minute, kissing the next, totally enjoying one another's company and the unrestricted desire that comes with newfound passion. The love that we would share for several more years was still new, and life was excellent.

It was New Year's Eve 2003, and we were on our way to a party being held at the remote and rustic house of one of her SCAdian friends. Snowy miles would separate us from the nearest neighbour, and experience working at various Renaissance festivals already told me that the people we'd be celebrating with would most likely be as relaxed, deliciously bohemian, and friendly as we were. They were the "Clan of Wolf Gypsies," she was a member, and I was her guest.

After we finally found the house, bleats of joy echoed among the icy birch trees from a cluster of people on a frozen porch. I was in the Grrl's territory now, and after she received hugs and kisses from the dreadlocked and earth-toned and bell-bedecked sirens who greeted us, I smiled as their eyes smirked approvingly. Apparently, word had gotten out about me. I shook hands and hugged these my friends whom I had never met.

Amid the laughter, we entered the dark house, the scents of the roaring fire in the parlour, roasted turkey from the kitchen, sensual oils like patchouli and sandalwood from the bodies close by, swirling around us. Someone was playing a dulcimer. The hearth and a handful of oil lanterns provided all the light that was necessary, casting the parlour in a warm honey-gold glow. I passed the bottles of wine I had brought to our hosts, and for a very long time found myself introduced to one excellent person after another. A dozen conversations resounded among wooden beams and rafters as this reunion of actors, dancers, artists, lovers, poets, craftspeople, and assorted other sybarites and sensualists enjoyed one another. This was familiar ground for me during those days, and I immediately felt at home. It wasn't long before my lover was whisked away, so I succumbed to another passion of mine and found myself in the kitchen, baking sweet potatoes in a Chambord sauce with a lovely trio of buxom, laughing, haughty wenches.

There was no dinner per se. People cooked, came into the kitchen, ate, and returned to their conversations and their drinks. One dish after another would simply arrive on a countertop or a table and gradually vanish amid the popping of uncorked bottles, the passing of leather skins bursting with honey mead, the clackle of beer bottle caps falling to the wood floor. Everyone shared, everyone tidied, everyone laughed.

I shook hands with one of her former partners, a tall, thin man with dangling black locks and sad eyes. He nodded when he learned who I was, who I was to the Grrl, and while it was cordial and friendly, I'll never forget the soft, pained look on his face. Years later, I would understand.

The Grrl and I cuddled as we watched the party behind an upstairs banister. In the dark, her back against my chest, she reached around herself and lowered the zipper of my jeans. She snaked her warm hand into my pants, doing a poor job of suppressing her giggles as her fingers encircled around my relaxed cock. I brought my glass around her shoulder to place its rim at her lips, and she laughed as droplets slipped down her chin while she kept feeling me up. Others came upstairs with drinks or food or to catch up on conversations with either of us, and all along her hand remained at my cock, squeezing and tugging at me gently. Holding her close, I felt the heat from the fireplace below surge upward to my face while I watched and listened, sipping mead, and letting her play languidly with my dick. I bent my head into the nape of her neck and planted soft kisses on her tattoo there, relishing her warmth and the taste of her skin.

A young woman came up the wooden stairs beside us, her velvet medieval gown slightly trailing behind her bare feet. She quietly walked right up the the Grrl, tilted her head, and gave her a slow, sensual kiss. The Grrl's hand stopped for a moment, then gave my shaft a hefty squeeze as I hardened more. She then withdrew her hand, turned to kiss me, and asked to excuse herself. Leaning close and whispering into my ear, she explained that the woman was an old friend whom she hadn't seen in a long while, and would I mind...?

Later, giddy with excitement, she found me again and asked to invoke one of our rules: if one of us wanted to enjoy playtime with another, we would first inform and acquire the others' consent. The rule, like us, was recent, and I smiled and blinked when I realized what was happening. I gave her a kiss, and bade her adieu.

The Grrl was thrilled. I learned later that some of her past male partners had given her a lot of grief about her bisexuality, and I was glad to not be among them. She was gone for a lot longer than I might have expected, which also told me that she was probably really enjoying herself. As I mingled and drank and had an excellent time, some of the others would ask me where the Grrl had gone. When I mentioned the young woman in the velvet dress, I received several knowing smiles and silent nods of understanding. The humour of it took the edge of off waiting.

Midnight was approaching when the Grrl returned. I smiled, handing her a flute of champagne. Accepting it, she kissed me hungrily and grabbed my ass. Her kiss tasted like clean, joyful pussy. My cock hardened as I fed from her mouth and then she whispered in my ear how she had taken the little miss into a walk-in closet, went to her knees, lifted her elegant dress, and gave her sweet head.

Among these lustful, happy gypsies, we toasted 2004 together.

Later, we would join several of her friends in a massive, wooden hot tub. It was a friendly and sensual soak, but completely tame until the Grrl went back to secretly handling my naked cock. The room was in near-total darkness, but a candle or two and the moonlight glowing on snowy windowsills still pleasantly revealed the assortment of bodies around us. The Grrl's impressively round ass when she would stand and turn. A tiny brunette's cute little derriere as she moved near her boyfriend. Breasts, legs, penises, chests of all shapes and sizes. How wonderful it is to enjoy being with others without shame or guilt or pressure and simply take mutual pleasure in the watching of one another being naked and relaxed.

The night drew long, and the food and drinking took its toll upon us. The sun was just beginning to rise when we, and so many others, found ourselves stretched on cushions on the rustic hardwood flooring. Where the house had been filled earlier with laughter, now gentle snoring and the occasional discrete sigh could be heard. We fell asleep instantly, and like so many others, would not wake until very late the next afternoon.

After a lazy "morning," we prepared to go, and many were the hugs that bade us goodbye. Zippy waited for us in the snow, and soon we were chilled and making our way through the Pennsylvania mountain roads again. We were bleary-eyed but blissful, struggling to stay warm in our heavy clothes in that tiny car.

We got lost. After stopping in the middle of a muddy trail and consulting our maps, we found ourselves embracing as the sunlight began dipping in the horizon during what still felt like morning to us. The skyline bled gold and red behind the white birch trees, the waning light casting blue shadows against the snow. It started to rain.

I held her face in my hands as I kissed her. I reached inside her leather jacket and cupped her breast as her tongue darted into my mouth. Once again, I felt her hand at my zipper, only this time she was reaching to withdraw me from my confines rather than tease me with her hand inside my jeans.

She stroked me to hardness as we kissed, feeling the wind gently shake the Accord and hearing the drumbeat patter of cold rain on the metal roof. She lifted my wool coat from before me, and leaning over the stick shift, lowered her lovely head into my lap and wrapped her warm, wet, strong, soft lips around the silky head of my straining cock. Closing my eyes, I moved my seat back and angled my hips upward so she could most easily have access to all of my length. She responded hungrily, repositioning herself for comfort, and began a steady bobbing of her head as she sucked me. Her mouth felt incredible, and her swirling tongue curled itself around my dick in a way that left me in puddles. I thrust upward gently as she took as much of me in her mouth as she could, all the while slurping noisily and squeezing my glans with her amazing lips. I held her head, and soon she was bobbing it faster and faster, gulping, breathing through her nose as I felt the tension build in my loins and burst torrents of warm cum into her sucking mouth. She held the base of my dick steady as I came, moving her lips and tongue over and across my head while I was shooting, making me scream and see bursting stars. She swallowed my cum, continued bobbing slowly as I was left shaken under her, and eventually pulled away.

She looked up at me, her face red with exertion. She was breathing heavily, smiling naughtily, her eyes glazed over and glowing. Smiling, she cleaned her chin with the back of her leather-clad wrist, gunned the engine, licked her lips, and drove the car through the mud and the slush until we were back on the highway in the dark.

The Toybox: Lelo's Iris. Or, Shayne drives a BMW.

We were nude and sipping tea.

I sat on the hardwood floor at the edge of her bed, casually stroking her warm bare legs as we talked in the afterglow. It was another sunny morning in Chicago, and again we began our day with sensual and tender sex. We enjoyed the respite, smiling as we yawned, indecisive about whether or not we we done playing for the moment.

"You know," she whispered coquettishly to me, her head resting on the pillow, "this might be a fine time to explore the Iris..."

I smiled wide and my heart skipped a beat. Bringing the Iris was one of the highlights of my visit, an early holiday present for my naughty lover. She had asked for it specifically once upon a time, and I was happy to oblige her. Earlier during this trip, I enjoyed her as she explored with her Mini Corsair, and during a threesome with one of her former partners in the past, I was privileged to watch her fuck sexy Annie with her G Twist. But this was a treat we both had been eagerly awaiting.

Similar to the Gigi and the Liv, the Iris is among Swedish manufacturer Lelo's finest products. Sculpted like a burgeoning flowerbud, the Iris is made from phthlate-free silicone at its play end, which is specifically designed for G-spot fun. It features a sensually curved and girthy shaft that houses a merry-go-round of varying vibrational tones, timbres, and speeds, allowing for an incredibly versatile experience.

We enjoyed the charming black case that toy came in. Being silcone, the Iris shouldn't be extensively exposed to direct sunlight, so we also appreciated the sleek black sleeve it could be discretely held in as well.

Tempted as I was to join in on Shayne's play, as she brought this treasure to her happybits, it didn't take long before I realized that I was observing sheer carnal beauty. I simply couldn't intervene, and relaxed on my haunches, occasionally caressing her, as I remained riveted to her lovely, contorting face as Shayne entered her own jilling nirvana. The subtle movements of her body revealed to my eyes that she was experiencing waves and currents that I had rarely, if ever, witnessed a lover enjoy before. Clearly, she liked this girltoy.

So, naturally, after she had crested in her ecstacies, I solicited her collaboration in sharing this review with you. "Homework!" she cried out happily. I have no doubt that she enjoyed the necessary study sessions.

"I have gleefully been speaking of "her" as the "Cadillac" or "BMW" of vibrators," Shayne wrote to me later, "and let me tell you why."



"I still can't count how many settings this little puppy has. She goes from quiet-little-butterfly-kisses strength of vibe to something-like-lion-in-a-cage to V8-under-the-hood-roar. I prefer closer to the roar."

Shayne and I both love the fact that, despite its powder-blue and white colour, the Iris is really very green. It's completely rechargable. It also comes with a warranty, which is virtually unheard of for sextoys. Lelo knows what they are doing.

"The first and best thing about the Iris is that she's electric. I go through so many AAA and AA batteries with my other vibrators (and they aren't even as perfect as the Iris) so imagine how often I'd be running to the corner for another pack of batteries if she weren't electric! Huzzah! She recharges really quickly and holds a charge for a long-ass time. I haven't plugged her in in over a week and have used her several times for maybe a total of ninety minutes and she's still purring as smooth as ever. A beautiful thing.

"The Iris is also gorgeous to look at: befitting a queen, she's sleek, classy, and sensual. I'm happy to leave her on the bathroom shelf to dry after a rinse because she's just so pretty to look at.

"One of the settings I like best is an alternating setting. This vibrator has the capacity to vibe either at the base, or at the tip, or both simultaneously. Being the eclectic lady I am, I really like the setting that alternates tip, base, tip base and back. It really adds to the rocking motion that I've come to love on the Iris.

"My favorite method of use: first I use the vibe in the tip over my panties to get me revved up. Then, when I'm wet and hot, I pull the panties off and put the setting to steady (no pulse) in both the base and the tip at max vibe and slide her halfway deep into my cunt. I hold her there and rock my pelvis to simulate thrusting while I flex my kegel muscles and rub my clit in those nice circles you've described. I pretty much stick with that until a first shuddering clitgasm happens, and then I back off, take a breather for a minute, and switch to the alternating vibe. That's when I start thrusting by hand while still rocking my pelvis."

During our play, one of the things we noticed was how both the shape of the Iris and the way it needed to be held was visually similar to a man stroking his cock. We both smirked over the genderfuckery about that.

"Remember that awesome jack off motion? That's where this comes back. I jack myself off then, fucking my cunt and grazing my hard clit. I flex my muscles to really milk the sensation of being fucked. It's pretty amazing and it makes me cum really hard.

"One of the very few drawbacks to the Iris is that it's easy for your hands to slip and change the setting when you're holding it. A lock mechanism of some sort would be great. So would a handle; I declare all vibrators should really have some sort of handle, as that's definitely one thing dildos have going for them."

Later, when Shayne enjoyed a bath, we also learned a second, minor drawback: unlike her Mini Corsair, the Iris is not waterproof and must not be submerged.

"But that aside, this is just one of the beautiful stories of the Iris. I'd fucking marry this thing if I could!"

And there was a time when I thought she might marry me. Ah, well.

The morning news.

The alarms from both of our cell phones went off at 6am, and she reached for them both with a groan and a whimper. We dozed. Later, the clock radio in the kitchen began offering us the morning's National Public Radio broadcast as we continued to snooze.

The night before had been an evening out with some of her friends. The line at Kuma's was ridiculously long, so it was beers and pub fare at Small Bar instead. I was fine with that: this bar had become virtually synonomous with visits to see Shayne, and many were the times I had thought of driving to Chicago on a whim, ordering a pint here, and texting her to invite her with me. In one past visit, she met me there in her pink 50s dress and she giggled as I gave her prezzies. During my last visit here, I nursed a few drinks as I contemplated time without her.

Last night was only slightly similar to that occasion, and everything seemed fitting.

We bade farewell to her friends. We retired to her pad. We filled the pipe and enjoyed Eddie Izzard. She collapsed. We slept.

The nights together have been cleansing, and the mornings have felt like refreshed opportunities for heart-to-hearts and mutual understanding. They've also been playful, and its been good to remember that not every discussion about the nature of what we've been to one another has to be intense.

And the mornings have given us refreshed opportunities for skin-to-skin.

While National Public Radio chattered on and echoed throughout her studio, Shayne nuzzled her bum and back close to me in the bed. She wore a Tshirt, I wore gym pants, and her pleasantly plump butt felt sensual against me as she lay in a fetal posture. Reaching around her, I idly cupped a breast as I held her tight, and she sighed under her breath and pressed closer. I dearly enjoy intimate, relaxed moments like this.

Knowing her breasts would still be sensitive from previous play and her lunations, I began squeezing her gently and tugging her tiny nipple over her Tshirt. She gasped when my nibbles began teasing her earlobe and my hand became more and more demanding in its touch. She stiffened nicely when I teased both nipples at once with my fingers and palm, and arched her bacl slowly when I began twisting one of them in a tight circle. She ground her ass firmer against me, reached behind her back, and began squeezing my cock over my pants in return.

I tugged them down. She smiled when she had free access to my hardening dick, and wrapped her exploring fingers around my thickening girth. I love it when she reaches for me and enjoys the feel and weight of me. I love it when she cups and caresses my full balls, my strong thighs, the base of my back.

Spooning, I caressed and parted her asscheeks open. She ground her head into the pillow and told me how she loved having her ass touched that way by me. I know.

I knelt up, behind and beside her. She pulled her knees closer to her chest and looked at me over her left shoulder, the sunlight just beginning to cast shafts of amber yellow through the blinds and across the bed.

Lubing my cock, I stroked myself with a wet and slick fist as I tugged the duvet down and revealed her ass to me. I squatted back on my ankles, raised my hips, and aimed glistening cockhead to her tight seam. One small adjustment and I was inside her, feeling her tightness envelop my bulb and suck me in deeper. Taking a slow, deep breath into my chest, I held on to her thigh like a railing and started what began as a slow, deep, penetrating fuck.

Stroking my cock inside Shayne's warmth, I clutched her thighs tightly and gently yanked her backward onto me. Her throaty gasps made my heart quicken, and soon I planted my fists at either side of her neck as I bent forward and fucked her harder and faster. I felt my balls slide against her thigh when she stretched her right leg downward, her left knee still high and hard against her chest. This let me tilt her hip slightly, giving me deeper access inside her tunnel, and I took advantage of it and mounted her fully with alternating strokes.

She moved onto her back, grasped my shaft, rested her ankles on my shoulders, and began using my dick as her personal playtoy. I stifled a groan and kept myself from cumming as she began jilling her proud clit with my cockhead, tugging me upward and downward between her flushed outer lips. The golden blonde pubes teased me, and her hard pearl brushed against the happy slit at the tip of my dick. I bent downward again and bit her nipples.

I pulled back and calmed myself. I've been happily helping Shayne move beyond some barricades during this visit, and I wanted to escort her through another satisfying cum of her own. She had the same idea in mind, and asked for a solid fucking with my hands.

I gladly indulged her, this shameless hussy of mine. Donning the last of the purple non-latex gloves I had given her as a clever gift long ago, I lubed my hand as she laughed and fell back onto the mound of pillows, biting her lower lip in a naughty smirk. I knelt on the floor beside the bed. In the growing sunlight, she parted her legs for me, revealing her feral, furry, and glistening mound. Her labia was red and swollen, her coral clit throbbing proudly, her giggle subtle and relaxed.

My left hand caressed her thigh as my right, gloved and eager, slid two fingers inside her depths. Twisting and stroking, I taunted her briefly before resuming the solid fucking she had been getting before with my cock. She reached for her clit, closed her eyes, and began jilling before me as my hand continued to pump and probe her warm pussy. It was all about her now, and she guided me to what strokes her sex was craving.

"That's nice, baby." "That feels do good!" "A little deeper now and a little faster..." "Curl your fingers for me, baby..." "Harder! Just like that!"

Focused on giving her a solid fucking, I held her tight against me as her hand spun circles above my thrusting wrist. I had given her so much attention that my hardness had calmed itself, though my fun continued and I enjoyed the feel of my thick softness against my own thigh.

"Baby, give me your cock to suck..."

I denied her. At this point, my focus was on finishing what I had started. "You'll suck my cock later." I was tempted to add "you slut," but I didn't. That can wait.

And there, I imagine with the thought of being on her naughty knees later in the day, my twitching fullness between her slurping lips and into her tawdry mouth, she overcame her barricades of late again and began shaking in a fluid, sensual cum. Her head pushed back into the pillows and her cloying pussy gripped my thrusting fingers as I wiggled the tips of them against her quivering G-spot. She gasped and cried out, her back arching, her voice echoing with the radio as she came in rushes, and she slowly settled into the waves of it all. My thrusts continued, gently and slowly, with the occasional tease. I smirked as she gasped aloud and giggled as I taunted her sensitivity. Smiling, I knelt back on the floor, stripped the glove from my hand, gave her a kiss, and made us some mugs of Earl Grey as the chatter on National Public Radio continued.

Breaking free.

We were enjoying a casual, sensual afterglow, the morning sun filling the studio as we idly discussed ideas for the day together. She lay nude before me as I relaxed at the foot of the bed, feeling the soft rug beneath my naked ass. The cats were sprawled and purring contentedly as she divulged to me about how challenging it had been for her lately to cum.

I smiled as I asked if she still had some of the gloves I had sent her. She had begun her moon, and I remembered from days (and nights) with Diva how a deep, resounding orgasm often helped her discomfort. Far be it from me to not be GGG enough to help a lover in need.

She smiled as she lay back and parted her legs. Shayne has allowed her feral pubes to return since I was with her last, and I enjoyed seeing her completely natural self again. Her skin glowed softly in the light, and the decadent comfort of the plush, white duvet under her naked ass only enhanced the beauty of her golden hairs weaving throughout and across her pouty mound and full, tawdry lips.

I lubed my gloved hands and began to explore her, teasing, taunting, probing. I looked up and into her eyes as I slowly fucked her with my curling and twisting fingers, enjoying the feel of her folds and her muscles as I did so. The tip of a lubed finger found its way to her winking anus, and she nodded in approval as I slipped it in. Fingers in her pussy, a finger in her womanly ass, and I escorted my sweetheart through her pleasure.

She asked for a vibe from her bathroom shelf, and when I returned with her Mini Corsair, she shuddered when she felt me stroking the walls of her G-spot with its curved tip. A finger made its way to her clit as I fucked her with her toy now and as she guided me through her desires.

At her request, later I slipped the vibe into her willing sphincter, and my fingers returned to her pussy as she enjoyed the double penetration and my kisses against her shuddering thigh.

I kept the tempo and the depth, and soon she was coming in a warm rush and a cry. It warmed my heart to bring her past her boundary of late, and she collapsed into goofy laughter as she enjoyed herself.

The cats, previously distressed by all the commotion, eagerly returned to the bed for their share of snuggles.

Daybreak over Chicago.

The sun was slowly awakening Chicago as our passionate embrace continued. While it was clear and calm outside, we had weathered a storm the day before, but in the morning it seemed to clear enough to welcome the better parts of our closeness.

She had addressed me as "babe" as she slowly awoke, and the sound of it was a salve on my spirit. Not long afterward, we were embracing again, and she relished on the torturous feasting I gave her breasts. Pinching and biting her tender, small nipples, she sighed and gasped into the golden room's air in pleasure and delightful anguish. She begged me to savage her tits, and so I gripped them in strong grasps of my hands as her back arched and her mouth widened silently. My sharp teeth sunk around her broad areolae, and her pale skin slowly reddened as I sated my hunger upon the lovely, innocent-looking pair she possesses.She climbed on top of me.

"Is it ok if I put your cock inside me?" she asked with a smirk and wet kiss.

I smirked back as I felt her grip the base of me and guide my head toward her wet, tight cunt. She loves that word. "Cunt." Shayne loves to have my cock in her cunt.

She eased her weight upon me, and I felt her soft warmth ensconse itself around my shaft. She ground her hips down and I thrust upward for a while before asking her if she would rather have me still. My suspicion was on the money, and she straightened her back upward and looked down to me with hungry eyes as she used my cock for her pleasure. I felt her muscles squeeze me, her cervix stroke itself against the head of me, her labia gripping around the base of me as she rocked backward and forward in her own pleasure. In my mind, I enjoyed how she took me, and fancied myself her conquered prey, her servant, he who will be used for her personal enjoyment. I smiled to myself as I watched her use my cock for her fucking.

She bent down again, pressing her pendulous breasts to my face and teasing me. I returned to squeezing them tightly, pinching and rolling her nipples between fingers and hard knuckles again, and again she winced pleasurably. My hands left her breasts to caress her back, to hold her lovely ass, to grip her hips as I thrust my cock upward and into her cunt.

We slowed the pace and began to kiss deeply again, holding one another. She wanted my cock in her mouth, but she wanted to have me ask for it first.

"Tell me," she smirked in her sassy way, "what it is you want me to do now."

I smiled back. "I want you to suck my cock, baby." She pulled herself off of me and slowly scooted down to the base of the bed. She stroked my dick in her warm fist as she looked up to me and smiled.

It had been so long since she last sucked me, and I had almost forgotten about how talented her sinewy tongue and gripping lips are. She reminded me eagerly, gripping the base of my cock in her fist as she swabbed her tongue across my thick head. Her mouth engulfed me, and as she pumped her wet lips down the length and girth of me, I relaxed and remembered her tenderness from lovemaking sessions past. Her suction gripped my shaft and spongy tip as she began sucking passionately, tapping my cockhead against her cheeks and open lips, coating her face with her salted saliva to mark herself with my seaspray scent.

She withdrew her mouth and jacked my cock slowly, firmly, and dribbled a little of her spit down to her stroking fingers. Well lubed, my cock loudly and slickly was serviced by her knowing fingers, and then she began to cup and cradle my swollen balls in her other hand.

Alternating between sucking and stroking, she brought me close before asking to see her stroke my cock myself. I looked down to my moving fist with wide and appreciative eyes.

"I love watching you do this," she breathlessly said. "Come all over my tits."

I didn't quite make it there, but her face shone appreciatively as she watched me burst and shake into rumbles of deep laughter afterward. We embraced.

Rivulets of cloistered awareness.

I crossed the threshold and set my bags down, the curious cats rubbing against them. She was already awake, having barely slept through the night in her excitement, or so she said.

The first kisses were quick, greeting-like, but as she lay comfortably in her bed, she sighed to my caresses after I had settled my things. It had been many months since we had last kissed deeply, and warm memories of her sensual mouth filled my heart and spirit when our kisses deepened. I was reminded of the soft, slow movement of her lips, the warmth of her tenderness, and of the joy it brought to me to share my own nuances with her as well.

She bade me to join her in her soft bed, and smiled up to me as I removed my shirt and did so. Laying with her again, embracing her strong form, brought me back to better days when the fire between us was bright and consuming. I felt home again, and when my hand cupped her soft breast as her panting and open mouth hungrily kept exploring my own, I remembered.

Her ribs, her tummy welcomed my lips. I smiled in myself as I heard her coo and sigh. Gradually, our clothes came off piece by piece until we were nude and beside one another again after having been apart, in more ways than one, for so long.

She relaxed on her back and rested her head on the soft pillows. I bit my lower lip as I asked if she would enjoy feeling my mouth tasting her again. She laughed and wiggled her hips in joyful reply, and when my hands cupped her powerful thighs at either side of my face, I closed my eyes and pressed myself close to breathe in her essences. Her soft cotton panties teased my cheeks, my nose, my lips as I slowly exhaled warmth through them and roasted her mound. When the panties had been slowly slipped from her, when she lay at one side as I placed tender kisses on her womanly bum, the soft golden tufts of her fur tickled my face as my warm and wet tongue teased her.

I had missed the feel of her proud clit against my tongue. A coral marble, it was hard and pulsing between my lips as I slowly stroked the underside with the tip of it, alternating my licks between there and down into and against her holes. She raised her knees up, giving my access to her anus. I swabbed tender strokes against her furry labia. I filled my lungs with her airs.

She was on her side when I knelt behind her, my cock slowly finding its way into her soft tightness for the first time again in so long. She looked up to me.

"That feels perfect," she said to me in a faint gasp. I held her thigh with both hands as I knelt as close to her as I could, stroking my cock inside her body.

She had moved to her hands and knees to get fucked from behind, and I marveled at the sight of her generous ass pressing firmly against me as my thrusts met her with gently audible smacks.

I was relaxing in the moment, enjoying the feel of her open tightness, the grip of her beautiful pussy along my cock, when the shift occurred. Perhaps it had simply been because it had been some time for her too, perhaps it was a shift in consciousness, perhaps the nuances had revealed heretofore unknown rivulets of cloistered awareness, but it became time to stop for the moment.

And what's followed since has been a cathartic exploration in our minds and hearts, even as we enjoy (and continue to want to enjoy) the lovemaking that we share with one another. There's been a delving into shadows and into intimacies that, depending upon how we approach them, will likely make or break what may or may not happen next.

A rose and a bottle of whisky.

Last summer, I was packing for a camping trip to an island in the St. Lawrence River when I found myself exploring a dating site. I'm really selective about whom I might start contacting through those things, but when I happened upon her profile and saw her picture, I blinked a lot and literally stopped dead as my jaw dropped. It wasn't just her look, but the vibe I got as I read her words. I wanted to see her in a 20s flapper dress. I wanted to watch her bounce and jump on a bed as one of her images showed her doing in a Las Vegas hotel. I wanted to get drunk on her exuded happy energy, her healthy and free playfulness, her sensual and experimental sex.

It was already a very challenging time for me, the closing scenes to a long, slow, tragic opera. People, places, and things in my world were dying, and I was resolutely trying to learn everything I needed to while also defiantly adapting and overcoming to what possibilities could be ahead. Just being on the dating site felt like one tiny step toward a bigger picture of personal revolution.

The truth is, I never expected I'd actually meet her, but over the weeks and months that followed, she became my crack of sunlight.

The email I initially sent was just a word of praise and admiration.

"This is just a note to say hello and to tell you that I think you are dropdead gorgeous," I wrote. "No, I don't make a habit of writing that to women on this site. No, really. Your attitude captures my attention. You strike me as someone who is capable of being both scandalously electric and sensually feline, depending on your whimsy of the moment. You're articulate, have a keen eye with a wit to match, and you very probably have some serious cajones. Damn, but I like that. A lot."

She wrote back. We discussed the benefits and travails of being non-traditional people in a compulsive world, dancing in the rain, rolling down hills, starving to be around trees while also celebrating the decadence of city living. News of my camping trip left her breathless. The way she openly shared her sense of wonder and play melted my bitter cynicism.

"I wanted to be a fighter pilot, an astronaut, a poet," she replied. "I have skinny dipped and I like being nekkid in general. For wine it's cabernet in the winter, gewurtztraminer or pinot grigio in the summer. I'm a beer lover extraordinaire, but whiskey is the beverage of choice. Up close, belly buttons are SO bizarre to me.

"I love to drive fast. I say things like 'poetry is the burlesque of writing.' I love 50s pin-ups. I like to dress up as them and as lumberjacks. I know I really like someone if they'll go off the beaten path with me. I live for close human connections, I have a nice voice, I cook spicy meals, I examine plants, bugs and the sky all the time. I write down my dreams as often as I remember to. 'Licentious' is one of my favorite words and I like you a lot because you're encouraging my inherent narcissism. Oy."

But the big shift in our emails, the moment when our friendly and slow flirtation changed gears into a new and more heart-stopping direction, was when she posted something smarmy and I "threatened" her with a spanking.

"You really must be cautious when you say this sort of thing," I wrote, typing with a smirk. "Do you really want me to put on that particular air, that particular shirt, that particular presence? I mean, hey, I'm perfectly cool with being your equal, your potential new friend, someone with whom you're flirting with... and yet, you wayward lady you, you would elicit something even further, something even more intimate, and playfully sinister?

"I can't possibly believe that by writing something like "please sir, may I have another?", you couldn't possibly imagine the potential result? The nature of consequence? Are you suggesting that you deserve to be splayed across my lap, your hands gripping the legs of a sturdy wooden chair, your bobbysoxed toes barely touching the floor as you vainly attempt to balance yourself across my thighs? That your tender behind should be exposed to the candlelit air as the flannel pajamas, or delicate panties, or stonewashed jeans that you happen to be wearing are slowly peeled from your quivering skin? That you await the attitude adjustment that you so richly deserve? Desire? Is this what you are suggesting?

"You forgot to capitalize that 'S' in "Sir". You deserve something for that alone, hussy."

Ooo. Big moment. I already decided that I Really Liked this woman, and somewhere deep inside me I knew that I had opened a very intimate door. I had shown her just a hint, a whisper, of my Topspace, and had done so without preamble. My logic was simple and from the belly: this was a part of me, and if I wanted to be honest to both myself and any potential new partner, I had to share that sooner or later. That kind of self-awareness and acceptance had become part of a lesson I was grasping during those days in my relationship life, and so the opportunity having shown itself, the risk was taken.

Still, watching my inbox, it knawed at me that maybe I had overstepped a boundary and made her uncomfortable. Was she into this? I prepared myself for disappointent, for the possibility that she would stop emailing me altogether for being such a freak. It was a few unsettling days before she responded.

"I accept.

"Sir, you are too right. I must be more careful with my words. Not because I disliked your response: yes, yes, please, I do want that shirt, that air, that look. Playfully sinister, I'm happy to delve into, but you're right, more initimate indeed, and I should learn my lesson in the possible consequences of my waywardness. The result I didn't give enough thought to: I was naive in my dangling of this fruit. I was enticing something I knew not, something I foolishly thought I could handle. Thank you for smartly calling me to task. You are right, Sir, about my suggestion. Right, spot, on. I never could have predicted you. I never could have suspected what immensely strong desire would waltz unannounced into my life."



We started talking on the phone not long after that, and we would go on for hours. The phonesex was fabulous fun, and she boasted to her friends about it. The afternoon she jilled herself at the public phone in her office building as I listened to her cum remains one of her favourite early memories of our play. Her girlfriend at the time got playfully sick of hearing about me.

I was in a world of bliss when, later on, I enjoyed the site of her city's skyline approaching me as I cruised on the highway. With each passing mile and truckstop, I felt all of the angst that was in my world at the time slip away from me. I was moving forward in more ways than one. I felt free throughout the entire drive, eager to meet her in person.

The sun was shining bright through the trees that stood along her street. I sat in my car for a while, relaxing, breathing deeply as I meditated upon what I was about to do and listening to the birdsong around me. A rose and a bottle of whisky were grasped in my fist as I rung the doorbell, and all the weeks and months of sharing came to a beautiful, deliciously tense moment when I saw her coming down a set of stairs and open the door. I met her slate-blue eyes and her radiant smile for the first time.

What followed from there that day was pure, sweet, liberating gifts from Aphrodite.



Happy anniversary, baby. Love you.

Under the iris.

I had intended on writing much more in the previous post. I had intended on detailing how I took my lover, Shayne, to my bed and kissed her passionately as I prepared to go down on her divine cunt. I had intended on sharing of how I slipped on my favourite non-latex purple gloves and described how I slid my lubricated hands into her as she screamed and panted and groaned my name loud enough for the women upstairs to surely hear.

But I was typing that entry during the following morning, when Shayne slumbered in my bed. She awoke just before I came to those points, and when she wandered her naked self into my study and kissed me as I sat beside my computer, my concentration was redirected for the moment as we made out next to my desk.

I bent her over the dark rosewood, parting her beautiful ass open with my hands and slithering my fingertips across her plushy folds again. Soon, I was teasing her with the soft tip of my hard cock, and not long after that sliding myself into her beautiful pussy as she clawed the wall before my desk. It was a brief, "Good morning" kind of fuck, the sort that doesn't result in a climax but is still nevertheless fun in its own unexpected way. It felt amazing to take her like that, and I love the way her ass feels when she's bent over and her skin is taut and smooth. Gripping on to her solid hips and enjoying the movement of her skin, I'll occasionally part her ass open and enjoy the sight of her winking anus as I slowly pump myself into her.

Later that day, we found ourselves in my bed again as she crawled between my legs to suck my cock. She had already been on top of me, enjoying the feel of my cock as she ground herself. When she moved down to blow me, I languished in her suction and the firm grip of her sexy lips. More often than not, as much as I enjoy blowjobs it's usually rare that I cum from them, but this time I was happy to pump my cock into Shayne's wet mouth enough to burst my blessed seed across her tongue and into her throat.

It pleases me that, during this terribly-too-long-awaited trip to be together again, I was able to enjoy that with my Shayne for other reasons that I'll share as well.

I write this post from Shayne's apartment, enjoying the mewling of her wonderful cats and the energy of her spartan but sensual abode. She had travelled to visit me in my city for a few days, and then I returned with her to her city for a few. I'll be heading back home this afternoon.

For a few reasons, this trip has been considerably less sexually decadent than previous ones. It would seem that Shayne and I are redefining the nature of our relationship.

Play hasn't been entirely absent. Feeling silly, I sent her a pic of my hard cock to her cellphone, prompting a playful "MY MY!!!" text response from her. Giving her a serendipitous spanking against the wall last night, and another one across my lap earlier this morning, was a lot of fun. "Let me feel your palm on my ass," she said to me with half-lidded blue-grey eyes. I enjoyed a personal sense of irony as I lowered her dragonfly-print boxer shorts and reddened her delightful bum.

But that's when the shift in energy became even more readily apparent, something that began to be felt after our initial freshly-reconnected hotness and saddens us both.

Shayne is among the most delightful lovers I've ever known, and I regard her as a best friend. Playfully, she proposed marriage to me once with a cigar wrapper, and she probably never really knew how deeply that fun gesture struck me. It wasn't long after that when I began to seriously try exploring how we might be able to make a longdistance thing work. Perhaps, for the moment, it's enough to say that we gave it the college try.

We may yet remain as lovers, certainly as friends. I may yet post here about some of the joy we shared together. But for those of you who have been reading and enjoying seeing how things between Shayne and I have been unfolding, it weighs on my heart to say that something apparently has shifted.

This journal has been almost exclusively about sex, and often when people write in journals such as this, sex is most often expressed in the most primal terms. I love that, and so do you. But I also think its important to remember that our sexual selves remains part of our most intimate selves, so its with some irony that (after having described her recent, lovely blowjob and fucking her across my desk), I'll close this post from her own computer to share this most intimate detail:


I love you, Shayne.

I love you very much, and I want you to be wonderfully happy in your life. I'll always treasure the memories of what we shared, the thoughts of what we could have shared more, and the desire to have you in my arms (and across my lap) again. Take care of yourself, pixiegrrl. I enjoyed being your man.

You were, and remain, a seed that yielded many blessings unto me.