Sunday comics.

Women at the barbecue.

Goooood morning.

You know you're going to be in for an interesting week when, as you walk down your driveway on an early Monday morning, you're greeted by a pair of teeny black panties right in your path.

Where I was.

I'm sharing this only because, in some way, it's bizarrely topical.

I enjoy Toronto. I enjoyed Boston. I enjoyed going to university in New Brunswick, a neat little burg in New Jersey. But in my heart and spirit I am and will always remain a New Yorker.

I have family members who came treacherously close to losing their lives ten years ago today, and it was only by a stroke of luck (or the calling of a Wall Street vendor's hot, salted pretzel) that saved them.

Like my mother did for years after John F. Kennedy was assassinated, many people are reminiscing about where they were at this moment, September 11, 2001, 8:46am. If you're interested, here's my story.

I was still with Heidi, the ex-wife, living in a fine house in bluecollar, rightwing Oshawa, Ontario. I had just recently acquired my Landed Immigration status from the United States, which meant that I finally able to legally work in Canada. While taking steps to finish the last few credits toward my university degree here and pursue some solid work, I sought for and grabbed the first quick piece of steady employment I could get as a short-term cash fix.

I found myself working in nearby Pickering, Ontario, co-managing an adult DVD rental and sextoy sales outlet for a small company called Adult Movie Warehouse. Not exactly the sort of work I would want to make a career out of, but I had experience in the adult field from my youth, working in sextoy outlets in Greenwich Village. And the owner loved me.

I had just opened the store for the day and was piping Howard Stern's radio broadcast. (Yes, yes, I know.) His program had just become syndicated in Toronto, and I was psyched to enjoy his material again after growing up hearing him on WNBC in New York when his career was new.

I was reorganizing adult DVDs in the store aisles when an elderly Asian fellow came in to browse. Stern and his crew had just begun interrupting their usual schtick to bring some news. It was at that very moment that I actually found myself trying to explain to this smiling, elderly Asian man that, very sorry, but no, the kind of porn he was looking for was not only unavailable in our store but was completely illegal in Canada. He grunted his disapproval and walked out as I stood on the floor, blinking a lot over this conversation that never, in all my previous experience in working in sex-positive environments, did I ever expect to actually have to have.

And then my ear tuned closer to Stern's broadcast, and it soon became very clear that this wasn't going to be one of his typically inflammatory shows. In fact, he and his crew actually proved themselves to be outstanding investigative journalists during the next few hours as they scoured the streets and relayed information live on-air.

I spent the rest of that shift mostly alone in that adult DVD store, standing behind the counter with my eyes wide open as I listened to all the details about what was happening Back Home.

Happy birthday, Diva.

It's almost hard to believe.

It's been more than 25 years since the day we met at that renaissance festival, when you mounted me on the wooden floorboards of the rustic cabin I sold art from out of, and more than 15 years since we parted on a winter's afternoon. I can't imagine how many lovers have passed through each of us since then, but I have never forgotten the paths we had tread and the amazing experiences we shared during those ribald, faerie days.

Our Us was, and in many ways remains, a foundation stone for so many things in my life now. So much has grown and developed from things that we shared, explored, initiated with one another.

I still remember when you surprised me, having driven from Boston to New York, just to see me when I was working at the BDSM club. I still remember the incoming tide as we spoke over lit candles and offerings of wine. I still remember feeling so proud, so very proud, as I watched you dance around the silver pole. The waterbed. The painted stones. The blonde boy I shared you with in Maryland. Coupling with you on the snowbank, or beside the lake, as our friends circled 'round a fire.

Often, in retrospect, I think the quality of our sex life was at least one primary thing that kept us together for as long as we were. At the time, I was completely convinced that we'd be together forever... but then, I wasn't even in my 20s when we met, and there was so much yet for me to learn.

Losing you was as much an important part of my growth as a man, a lover, a person, as was discovering you. I have, and always will, love and treasure you.

Butt of course.

I planned on greeting her with barbecued steaks during the previous night, but her ride from eastern Ontario was so grueling for her that they turned into a grilled steak and egg breakfast that morning. We hadn't seen one another for a few months, and Nothing Happened during her last visit, so since she was passing through town again she enjoyed telling me that we had some unfinished business.

Since our breakup some years ago, the Tomboy and I have developed a really nice, relaxed friends-with-benefitship. We relate completely as poly people and kinkster Tops, and she has this way of dragging me to motorcycle rides or deepearth caving events or scuba sessions and other stuff that really is quite the awesome.

And yes: there is the occasional moment when I regret having broken up with her. I like to think that that's pretty good praise.

The previous night, we caught up. She told me all about her new dude, a subbie kinkster who's made quite the name for himself in the academic military history world and who recently returned from a tour in Afganistan. She beamed about the new Harley that I heard her roar into my driveway with. We talked about her presence on this blog and how she enjoyed it. She languished on the futon and read the erotic anthology that I've recently been published in. We slept, spooning. Cats awakening us with the sun. I was up earlier, so I fed the furrybeasts so she could sleep late. Her blearily wandering out of bed in one of my tshirts, her lengthening hair wayward and tussled. The steak and eggs on the deck. Showers.

I'm sipping tea on the parlour futon when she's bent over and rifling through her backpacks and travel bags to fetch some bike event swag that she wants to show me. She's wearing camoflage panties now and I'm enjoying the sight of her strong thighs and round ass in them. I'm smiling.

"So," I find myself spontaneously asking, straightfowardly, casually, the mug to my lips, "wanna fuck?"

She's still bent over, an event patch in her hand, when she looks at me from over her shoulder with a saucy smile.

"Yeah. We can do that."



She takes my hand as we stroll back into the bedroom. She's already straightened the sheets and giggles as she nudges the cats out of our way. She takes off the tshirt, revealing her large breasts for me as I step out of my clothes. She's smiling at me. She loves to be nude. A slow breeze is cascading in the room, the ceiling fan humming quietly. Naked, I slide next to her and she rests her head to my chest as I sit beside her, cradling her lower back in my arm.

Her kisses deepen as I begin caressing her legs, holding her impressive tits in my palm and squeezing them gently. I've relearned a whole new appreciation for enjoying breasts this summer, and I've been totally getting off on how appreciated a sensual, firm session of titmassage can be. The Tomboy isn't an exception.

But as her tongue slowly slides across my lips and her panting deepens in her chest, soon I find my fingers inching under the waistband of those camoflage panties. Half sitting, half languishing beside me, she opens her powerful legs wide when she feels my whole hand firmly cupping, and simply holding, her covered mound. I can feel her growing heat. I can feel her pillowy outer labia. She's reached to me and is slowly stroking, petting, squeezing my hardening cock.

I love it when she does that. I love it that she's unabashed about holding me, wanting to hold me, unintimidated about just going ahead and reaching out and holding me. My cock twitches and stiffens more as I think about her brazenness even as I'm feeling her brazenness. Her moan is stifled in her throat with our making out, and that hardens me even more.

I reach into her panties. I'm slowly circling fingertips around her little pebble. She's wet. She's soft. She's hard. And she's collapsing against my chest as I start to jill her in earnestness, my fingers making a rotating tent out of her underwear as they begin to quickly, but gently, spin around and swirl her flesh. I'm using her labia, her own wetness, to massage her clit, and it isn't long before she's starting to shake and shudder and grip my cock tightly as the waves take control of her.

I love to do this.

I give her a few moments to breathe and I enjoy the weight of her back and shoulder against my chest. I'm gripping her hair and breathing in her scent. She's limp and relaxed and languid when I kneel up and, guiding her with a hand at her thigh, roll her over onto her belly.

My eyes are riveted to her bare back and covered ass, and I move to rest my knees at either side of her legs from the edge of the bed. She raises her behind in the air when I start peeling those panties down, and my cock is twitching again as her seam is revealed to me. I firmly grasp her asscheeks, tug her a little higher in the air, reach for the base of my stiff dick and rub my cockhead against her glistening pussy before pushing myself forward and into her body.

She repositions herself comfortably, her hands next to her head and on the pillows. She lets out a long, slow moan.

"Oh, yeah. That's it," she says. "That feels real nice."

Yes, it does. She does. And as the incoming breeze continues to cool us, the quiet in the room allows me to clearly hear her wetness slickly lubing my cock as I gently thrust in and out of her. It's a sound that I adore, and my eyes are closed as I enjoy how she feels, smells, sounds as we take a slow, languid, relaxed, moist, tender between-friends doggystyle fuck on a sunny morning.

Her face is mostly hidden from my view, but when I do see her, her mouth is silently open, her eyes are tightly closed, and she's panting quietly. I'm keeping my torso still, but my hips are thrusting back and forth, pistoning my dick into her juicy pussy in taunting, steady, moderate strokes. I'm withdrawing completely. I'm tapping her clit with my cockhead before returning. When I'm completely in, I'm gripping her hips and cheeks to grind my pelvis as much as I can, giving her as much of my length as I can and staying lostly still before starting the whole process again.

And then, as I was midstroke, she slowly raised and turned her head over her right shoulder to watch me. Her brow was sweating. She bit her lower lip, blinked her dark eyes pensively, and in a very matter-of-fact, casual tone said the most adorable thing. It could have been "what time is it?" or "nice to meet you" or "would you like another cup of tea?" or something equally simple, flat, unassuming. But it wasn't.

"Would it be possible for you to put a finger in my ass?"

My cock was midstroke, and I was just feeling the base of me meet her round butt again when I stopped and burst out laughing. I'm certain that made my dick twitch like hell inside her.

"Um," I managed to say between laughs, "sure."

Still fucking her, I reach into the bedside table drawer and get the lube. She's looking at me and smiling. I smack her ass, stay still again, and moisten my fingers and her tender, winking anus.


Dark, crinkled, the remnants of the tiniest rich brunette hairs. A strong contrast in colour to the rest of her skin. Tomboy has a gorgeous, very fuckable anus.

My forefinger slips in easily, and she groans softly while resting her head on the pillows. She's ass-up and face-down now, and I keep a steady pace with my cock as my finger probes and swirls around her clutching sphincter. She's gripping me. I'm probing deeeper. I'm pistoning my finger twice as fast as I'm pistoning my dick, and she's writhing happily underneath me.

Soon, it becomes too much for me to retain this much self-control. I switch fingers and slide my wet thumb inside her, raising her with it like a hook as my other hand grips her waist strong enough to make my knuckles white. Now it's time to fuck her hard and deep and steady and fast. And faster. And faster still.

For speed, I have her pressed completely to the bed now, and she's grunting my name as my perspiration starts to slicken her bare back almost as much as her happy pussy is slickening my throbbing cock. I'm pounding hard into her now, totally enjoying the sound and feel of her naked ass against my body. I'm getting ready to explode.

When I do, I withdraw. My eyes are focused on her quivering ass now, and I return my thumb to her tiny hole as I stroke my cock from above and behind her. She's reaching underneath to stroke herself as she watches me burst my cum across her upraised, gorgeous butt. Ropes of me mingle with her juice, our sweat, the lube. I'm seeing stars. She's gasping for breath. I collapse to the bed beside her.

We hold each other, enjoying the slickness of so many fluids on our bodies in the August morning heat as our legs intertwine. Cats snooze nearby. The room falls completely silent but for the cicadas rattling their songs outside, the ceiling fan, breathing.

More showers. More steak. More wistful hugs goodbye. More winks from the lesbians downstairs as they see her dressed in her vest and leather chaps. More deep sighs from me as I watch her mount the bike and roar down the driveway again, perhaps until the next time she's in town.

And now for something completely different.