“Is this seat taken?” he asked me, a flash of blue eyes under dark hair. I pretended to fluff a bit of the sidewalk for him and patted it.
He leaned against the wall, looked up at the sky for a second to judge whether the sun would be in his eyes or not, and slid down, his t-shirt pulling out of his jeans against the building. I tried not to stare. He took his cell phone out and looked at the time, then replaced it, took a sip of his bottle of water and looked at me. I did not look at him. He offered me a sip of his bottle and I took it, pressed my lips against the already wet opening, smiled inside, drank and gave it back to him.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Do you often go to concerts alone?” he asked.
I looked around him pointedly. “No, you?”
“No, but I’m an idiot and said I’d wait in line for everyone.”
“Yeah, what were we thinking?” I sat up a little, letting the blood enter my ass before it was immediately pushed out by the concrete again.
“I thought these jeans were stretchy when I put them on,” he continued, “but my balls are,” he adjusted, “sorry that they ever dropped in the first place.” I adjusted any possible cameltoe and smiled a little. “Yes,” he said, and looked to the start of the line after a brief glance at my crotch, “a generation who chose to strap a seam into our privates as harshly as possible.”
“The hip-hop people have got it right,” I said.
“Well,” he said, “might as well make the best of it.” He pulled out a bottle of Jack and a bottle of Coke, took a sip of the Jack and then quickly followed with the Coke and then held them straight-armed out to me, his face cringing. He swallowed. “Go on,” he said, with an upward shake of the head like we were two drowning people with one life preserver. There was no time to argue. I took them and did the same thing he had, finding my face in the same cringe, the bubbles from the Jack-Coke mixture fighting their way around my fillings before trying to escape through my nose. I swallowed hard and felt the rebellion of my throat, the slap of the Jack and the queasy numbing joy behind it. I covered a burp in my palm.
He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Hmm, very sexy.” I laughed, burping again. “Ah. I could smell that one.” He took another drink and swallowed it faster this time, gargling the bubbles out first.
“That was sexy,” I said.
“I have my ways.” A smile crept into his eyes and we looked at each other for a few beats too long. All I could see was the blue. “You know,” he said, pulling his phone out again and replacing it, “we’re going to be here for what, two more hours?” I nodded. “We could have an entire relationship without ever leaving this spot.”
“The whole thing,” I said, “first kiss all the way to fighting over our possessions.”
“What will we break up over?” he said, looking genuinely hurt.
I appraised him, grinned and said, “Irreconcilable differences. We’ll argue constantly.”
“We better find something to fight about in a hurry. What do we disagree on?”
“I’m a city person.”
“Me too. I like dogs more than cats.”
“Sure. I don’t like dessert.”
“Salt for me. Sausage and mushroom on the pizza.”
“Of course! I only watch ‘The Office’ and ‘The Daily Show’ and movies. Otherwise, the television’s off.”
He slid his the fingernail on his thumb between his two front teeth and rocked a little. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything. Um. Video games.”
“Constant. Democrat.”
“Democrat. Bleeding heart really.”
“Afraid so.”
“Okay. Agnostic.”
“Raised Catholic, but agnostic now,” I said, and took the Jack and Coke for another swig and cringe. “Drunk about once a week.”
“Twice. I pay my bills.”
“So do I.”
He squinted at me, shuffled up so that our shoulders were touching and said, “Doggy style.”
“Doggy style. I give an excellent blowjob.”
He said nothing and I thought I might have crossed the line. Instead, he adjusted himself again. “That damn seam,” he said.
His phone rang, some spoken word ring that I didn’t understand. I turned to the side, still blushing about his seam, and tried very hard to appear that I wasn’t listening to his conversation, feeling his shoulder in mine. I took the bottle of water from him and he let me, his hand that was holding it still open over my legs.
“It’s alright…. No I’m just…. I’m talking to this girl here…. Hang on…. What’s your name?”
This was louder, at me. “It’s—“
“You know, it’s none of your business what her name is. Get your ass down here and find out…. Hang on…. Are you cute?”
“I think—“
“You know, that’s none of your business either. She’s mine. We’re going to be broken up by the time you get down here anyway…. She’s beautiful. I hope we don’t start fighting.” He was looking at me as he said this. “Just get down here…. Fuck you. Actually, don’t come down here. I don’t like you anymore…. Bye, hon.”
I was still laughing at all of this. He put his phone back in his pocket without looking away from me and we stared at each other for a while. Blue. That was all I saw, blue. My lips parted from instinct and my arms went limp.
“We never talk anymore,” I said, blinking in a fake angry way. His face, before, all droop and dark seduction, burst out into a scene sucking smile. He looked at my lips, inhaled and reached around my neck. He pulled me to him, to his lips, which parted, all meat and pink-beige mystery and kissed. It was a relatively chaste kiss, his lips just held and vibrating over mine, before he released me and we breathed over each other. My lips tingled. They knew more than I did.
“I do the crosswords,” he said, “five of them a day, including the patternless, and I talk to myself while I do them.”
“I gave them up for sudoku.”
“I won’t do sudoku. I like a good blowjob.”
“I like to give them. I like barbeque, rib tips and just ribs, slow, like all day. Homemade sauce.”
“I had them like that once and craved them forever. Just get them when I’m lucky now. I’m a bit of a pack rat.”
“Possessions are useless unless they’re sentimental. I like to fuck slow.”
“I like to fuck slow, then hard. Builds. I don’t like books about politics. Not because I don’t want to know, but I get too convinced and angry.”
“And you spend your whole time trying to figure out what they’re basing all this propaganda on. I like to get bitten here.” I pointed to where my neck met my shoulders. “Gently, just a tease.”
He leaned over my neck and started just below my earlobe, nibbling down, down, down. When he made contact with the bend I jumped a bit. I told myself I wouldn’t, but I did. What I wanted then, most of all, was to lean back, flat on the concrete, and put him between my legs. Dry humping would be better than this nothing, this distance between his cock and my pussy. The concert, the thing I’d been looking forward to for months, obsessively trying to judge when I’d have to get in line, and would anyone get mad at me for letting my less enthusiastic friends in, erased itself, became a shadow on my chalkboard.
“Where do you live?” I asked.
“I can’t wait that long,” he said.
“I’m not a slut.”
“Be a slut. I don’t care. I’m taking you around this corner,” he pointed without looking, “and I’m going to fuck you, slow, then hard. And if we don’t fight, I’m going to ignore everyone I know and spend time with you, wherever you want to be.”
“Can’t disagree with you there either.”
“We’re going to get along fine,” he said and stood up, holding his hand out for me to take. He pulled me around the corner, pushed me into a small dip between the buildings, and pressed me hard into him. He kissed me like we were about to die, hungry for me, fire, death and fucking. I undid my jeans, the seam finally loosened, the rush of wet pussy released. I took his hand to it so he could see what he did to me. “I like singing Christmas carols all year long,” he said.
“I love them.”
I kicked off my shoes, dropped my jeans and stared at him, right in the blue. I took his chin and kissed him again, feeding on him. I stretched my arms out between the two buildings and waited.
“Geeee Sus,” he said, staring between my hips. He had a condom on, his cock short and thick, potent and fuckable. He took a leg in each arm and moved up. I was lifted. I was held. He leaned over and kissed me tight again. “I look like an asshole, but this… this is new.”
“Go.”
He fucked me hard, then slow, a perversion of his former statement. I was grateful for both. His cock entered and filled me, truly filled me, on a level I hadn’t known. I came in no time, and it was only after that, when he stared down at me with those blues, the ones that had imprinted on me in a nerve-pathway changing way, part of me shifted, some part of me that I didn’t know was there. My legs escaped his arms and swung high against the opposing walls, my legs spread wide for him. He slowed then, his face against mine and I smoothed out, took him like I’d known him forever.
“That’s it,” he said, “that’s fucking it!”
He grabbed me, snatched me off of the wall and cupped me over him, still fucking until he couldn’t stand anymore. He put me down gently and looked at me too long, checking for my decision. I kissed him quick and blushed.
“Take me inside,” he said, and I pulled my jeans up and took his hand.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
My Sudden Responsibility! Updated!
I've been tagged (no Wiki to link, none!), and I guess this means that I have to reveal seven, count 'em, seven random things about myself before I tag someone else. Oh dear. Should I drink first? No. Here you go:
1. I drove an ice cream truck two summers.
2. I'm naturally blonde, so, since you know, I'm sure, what that means, I'm sorry. Really sorry.
3. I have a Legoland in my storage space and it's really the only reason that I would want a house. To have a place to put it.
4. I smoke. A lot.
5. I only watch gay porn these days.
6. Left handed.
7. I stole a very large dildo with a handle at a sex party recently.
And there it is.
The actual tagging portion was overlooked and I hang my head in shame. Sorry! I'll give them lots of returns and exclamation points to try to make up for it.
!!!---->Z<------!!!!!!!!!
Tagged me. I tagged
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!--->Goldslut<--------!!!!!!!!!!!!
What are you still doing here? Go! Get! Go to their sites now!
1. I drove an ice cream truck two summers.
2. I'm naturally blonde, so, since you know, I'm sure, what that means, I'm sorry. Really sorry.
3. I have a Legoland in my storage space and it's really the only reason that I would want a house. To have a place to put it.
4. I smoke. A lot.
5. I only watch gay porn these days.
6. Left handed.
7. I stole a very large dildo with a handle at a sex party recently.
And there it is.
The actual tagging portion was overlooked and I hang my head in shame. Sorry! I'll give them lots of returns and exclamation points to try to make up for it.
!!!---->Z<------!!!!!!!!!
Tagged me. I tagged
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!--->Goldslut<--------!!!!!!!!!!!!
What are you still doing here? Go! Get! Go to their sites now!
Monday, June 25, 2007
Laid
“We’ll get you laid tonight, I guarantee it,” Tommy said, and laughed at something Jake did. “Stop that!” he said.
I looked around the train, almost everyone in pairs, some still just now coming home from work, most dressed to go clubbing, a single guy on a laptop, headphones connected to it. His glasses kept sliding down his nose. I wanted to fuck someone like that, someone kind of bookish and nerdy. Tommy and Jake didn’t know anyone bookish and nerdy. The only reason they knew the Latin names for their body parts was so they could say what they got pierced.
“Okay, I’m just so nervous,” I said. “If I don’t… if I change my mind, can I just not? I mean you guys…. Don’t embarrass me, okay? Don’t just grab someone and throw him on me. I’m delicate.”
Tommy was still laughing at Jake and letting out little bits of “Ouch!” and “Hey!” I doubted he was listening to anything I said. “I’m bringing Lisa, alright?”
“I’m going to hang up on you,” Tommy said. “You are not bringing Lisa.”
“No, I’m not. Just seeing if you were paying attention.”
“Did you take it?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, feeling the pill in my pocket. I opened the bottle of vitamin water between my thighs and pulled the pill out. I looked right at the bookish guy, hoping, for some reason, that he would see me take it. He looked up for a second, but not at me. The train lurched around a corner and his laptop tried to fly away. He caught it, arranged it again, and continued to scroll. I opened my mouth and threw the pill in. It tasted like my sister’s birth control pill that I took when I was a kid, thinking it was candy, all powdery aspirin, but bigger. A swig of the sweeter vitamin water and the deed was done.
I hung up with Tommy, only to get a picture from him a few seconds later, a come shot on his own face.
I was, you see, a gay virgin. Tommy and Jake, friends of my ex-girlfriend’s. And yeah, I wondered all the time what they were telling her.
The train stopped in Boy’s Town and the pill hit me on the way down the stairs. They were suddenly impossible to traverse and I let people pass me so that I could take my time, control my unsure feet. Light came down from miniature suns dressed as lightbulbs. I looked down. Litter was beautiful, colors popped at me from Coke cans and water bottles. The perfect red. The perfect blue. Friends yelled at each other on the way out of taxis and into bars. I couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying, only the timbre of their voices, the vibration I’d never noticed before.
The night was warm and I began to sweat. The breeze took it away just when I needed it to. It felt like God blowing the sting from a wound. Thinking about walking and actually walking seemed irreconcilable, so I ended the struggle and simply waited, musing on one bright light or another, until I found Tommy and Jake’s buzzer, closed one eye and pressed it.
“He can’t get laid,” I heard Jake tell my ex in my head. “He just freezes up. Hasn’t had sex in two years.”
And then her snicker. Not a mean one, just all-knowing.
MEEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. I fumbled with the door, panicked that it wouldn’t open, and threw myself inside. Creaky stairs recently furnished with alarmingly slippery carpet, more sunbulbs, and then Jake grabbing my arm. He took my face and looked into my eyes. I saw what he was looking for when I looked at his, pupils like caverns. You could store your change in them.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“A little sick, but good,” I said, surprised I could talk. “Where are they?”
“Oh, you mean the party, hon?” Tommy asked from somewhere deep in Jake’s pupils. “It’s just arrived. You, Jake, me and your cock.”
“A full house,” said Jake.
“Well, our cocks too,” Tommy said.
“Yes, we can’t forget about those,” Jake said.
“Couldn’t if we tried,” Tommy said.
“No.”
“No.”
“Hey!” I said, negotiating my way around to a less populated part of their designer carpet. I was giggling. Giggling! “What the fuck are you guys talking about?” The X hit the sides of my mouth then and it locked itself in a Batman’s Joker, mom-told-me-so smile.
“I don’t see what’s funny, do you, Jake?” Tommy said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. They fought their drugs. I didn’t know what I was up against.
“No, Tommy. I think it’s all been pretty clear cut.”
“Unambiguous,” Tommy said.
“Straight to the point,” said Jake.
“We don’t even need him, really.”
“Not at all, Tommy, but we’d like to have him.”
“This is his party after all.”
I laughed. I giggled. I covered my mouth and felt my face get red under it.
“He’s adorable like this, don’t you think, Tommy?”
“Oh, you know, Jake, I think he’s adorable all the time, but this is something else.”
“Maybe if he had a drink?”
Tommy’s eyebrows raised. He shrugged his shoulders and looked at me. “No.”
“Whiskey dick.”
“Whiskey dick.”
“Who should go in?”
“Both, I think.”
“Both,” Jake agreed.
My mouth still covered, I watched the two of them, four bare feet spreading and settling and lifting and swinging over to me, closer and closer. And there was breath, and the salt sour of men, hard muscles and rough skin. Men. A hand over mine on my face, shaking, the smell of wax. They’d put candles out. Explains why they were flickering. One arm around my back and another around my front and they were wandering, pulling clothes in every direction, and breath, more breath. Inhale. Tongue on my jawbone. Exhale. Thumb in my belt. Inhale. Cock on my thigh. Exhale. Rough denim on bare skin. Inhale. His bare chest on my back, sticking. Exhale. Cologne, the good kind. Inhale. Sex. Exhale. Sex.
“Tommy,” in my ear, “suck him off. He should know how a man does it.”
Not a nice thing to say about the ex. Maybe they haven’t been telling her anything. Then there were lips, strong ones like a muscle vise twisting the tip of me, and then down, sex filling in the gaps like water spreading on a windshield. Pop, it went, pop.
“That’s beautiful. Not too much, though, Tommy.” There was a cock between my asscheeks, nothing like what I used to play with when she was out, turkey basters and the tiny, cheap vibrator she kept under the bedside table. “This one’s so backed up he might blow your head off. And do it quick.” I got a little scared, worried that they would be too high to know if they were hurting me. Tommy’s lips tickled a low bliss in me, that feeling that you get just before the feeling that you get just before the feeling you’re going to come. It stayed, though. Didn’t progress. Just poltergeisted around my body, bumping into organs. Then it stopped and I stumbled, a little dizzy. I blinked a few times and looked down at Jake. He leaned back on his ankles, his lips swollen.
“Water,” I said. “We should have water.”
“Water!” Jake said. “Of course!”
They took the back of my arms and walked me down their long hallway, green-beige paint and framed pictures that Tommy took when he was just starting out.
“I can’t believe you guys,” I said. The sentence formed itself. I never would have thought that out.
“We never would have let you go out there without any…,” one of them said.
“Training,” said the other.
“Experience.”
“Base of knowledge.”
“Yes.”
The kitchen stretched before us, halogen in brushed steel and then in my eyes. They steered me around it and lifted me onto the sink. Cold. Pointy in parts. I pushed against the backwash and waited.
“This is fun, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Tommy said.
“Better than all those big parties,” Jake said.
Time stopped and Jake leaned into Tommy, seemed to smell his lips for a moment, then turned and kissed him. They went deep. I watched them like a movie in very uncomfortable seats. They went faster, panted, then slowed. Tommy released and whispered something in Jake’s ear, then gave his earlobe a sharp nibble. Jake gushed a little and took Tommy’s hand to his cock. “Mmm,” Jake said.
“The. Business. At. Hand,” said Tommy.
“Yes,” Jake said and gave my knee a slap. “Our duty.”
Tommy turned quickly and grabbed the faucet, which stretched to become a dish sprayer. He held my ass cheeks open and sprayed. Everything about me twitched.
“Too warm?” Jake said.
“Too fucking cold.”
Then it turned icy, and there was a smirk on Jake’s face. Tommy and he exchanged a look and they bit their lips to keep from laughing. I heard dish soap, then felt wandering fingers, slippery, then tight and sticky. Jake whistled, walked to the refrigerator, got a bottle of water and drank most of it in three big gulps. He burped, wiped his face and looked at me. His cock sloped from his stomach, clean and as tan as the rest of him. He watched me watch him. Then he broke into a smile, remembering my shameful innocence. He did a little dance, his cock flipping back and forth, then up and down, going “Huh? Yeah. Huh? Different when it’s not yours, isn’t it?”
“You’d be shocked at how good my imagination has gotten.”
“Ha! Tommy!”
“Yeah,” Tommy said, and took my chin. He put more soap on his fingers and plunged them in my asshole. I whimpered. “Oooooo,” he said, reacting to my reaction.
“He’s been jerking off and pretending it’s someone else’s dick.”
“Who hasn’t.”
“Me.”
“Amateur.”
He held me open and sent the shower right up my ass. I let my eyelids close and felt every drop, on another crest of a wave, my eyes spinning like a cartoon character inside. I exhaled hard, would break a rib if I held it any more.
“Jake, he’s ready now, I think.”
“Bed?”
“Floor?”
“Table?”
“Bed!” I said. “Bed, please!”
“Give the newbie a break?” Tommy asked.
Jake sighed visibly, his shoulders hanging like an incredulous teenager. “Whatever.”
“Lucky,” Tommy said. “First time we fucked it was on a fucking fire escape.”
“Rust in your knees.”
“I remember.”
They shared another moment while Tommy hooked his arm around my back and pulled me down. “Come on!” Jake said and slapped my ass all the way to the bedroom. Even that felt good on X. It tingled and burned like a good scratch on an itch. “Thank you,” I heard myself say. And another slap.
Jake ran up behind me in the bedroom and bent me forcefully over the covers. I felt heat and wet approach my asshole, then a pair of lips. “Oh my God holy Jesus holy fucking Christ, arrrrrrrgh!” flew out of my mouth. “What is… that’s just… oh fuck that’s insane!” The room turned red and dark. The color burned me. It was indescribable. It was madness. Who the fuck knew? His tongue swept out, twisted on me. “Stop! Oh God, stop! That’s too much!” My thighs were losing me. I didn’t own them anymore.
“Okay,” Jake said, just over my asshole and I could feel that too, my whole body a drumhead, being played. Tommy got on the bed and knee walked to me. He pulled my head up and pulled my knees apart. “Good, Jake?”
“Good.” He spanked me. “Relax.”
Tommy’s lips enveloped my cock and I was grateful. So grateful. But there was another sound behind me. Latex crickle and slap. “Relax, newbie,” Jake said again. I tried. Fingers again, lubricated and forceful. “Relax. There you go.” They were in, more, more, more. “Breathe out. Okay.” Tommy sped up, found a good rhythm and began to twist as he went. “Good.”
“Owwwww,” I said. “Owwwww.”
“Shh. You’re doing fine.”
“OW,” I said and tried to relax some more.
“There. Now you’re ready.”
There was something then, something much bigger than his fingers. It pressed in. I tried to move forward, but Tommy, guessing what I was doing, pushed me back. They slid me onto Jake, and I gasped there, impaled, getting sucked better than I ever had. Another wave of the drug swelled in my neck and head and I gave up. I gave myself away.
“That’s the way,” Jake said. “He’s tight, Tommy, but he’s not clean anymore.”
“Mmm,” I felt.
“Go. Fuck me,” I said. “Come on and fuck me hard. Show me.”
I got my wish. In two deep hits, my cock exploded and I grabbed the back of Jake’s neck, holding him tight to me, not sure if it was the X or the fuck. I felt like I would fall over either way. “Thank you,” I said.
“What’s his spunk taste like, Tommy?”
Tommy knelt up, cracked his neck and opened my mouth. He pushed my come in with his tongue. I couldn’t close my mouth long enough to swallow it.
“Bend over again,” Tommy said. I could smell his cock before I could taste it, dirt and man. I didn’t know if I could breathe with a blocked mouth so I just waited there. He jerked himself off, hard and continuous. When he came, come I couldn’t feel at first until it cooled, the two of them leaned over me and kissed. “Go on, baby,” Tommy said.
Jake thrust into me a few more times and then stopped. A small whimper, like a girl about to cry, escaped him, followed by a manly grunt. Then he slid out. My ass curled back slowly.
“Is it okay?” Tommy asked. I thought he was talking to me at first, but felt Jake nod. Tommy kissed me, sweet and simple and gentle. “You’re staying tonight, right, you big man?”
I fell down where I was and felt the skin of two men on either side of me reflect my heat. We twitched next to each other for a while, then thought better of it and fought for the shower.
I looked around the train, almost everyone in pairs, some still just now coming home from work, most dressed to go clubbing, a single guy on a laptop, headphones connected to it. His glasses kept sliding down his nose. I wanted to fuck someone like that, someone kind of bookish and nerdy. Tommy and Jake didn’t know anyone bookish and nerdy. The only reason they knew the Latin names for their body parts was so they could say what they got pierced.
“Okay, I’m just so nervous,” I said. “If I don’t… if I change my mind, can I just not? I mean you guys…. Don’t embarrass me, okay? Don’t just grab someone and throw him on me. I’m delicate.”
Tommy was still laughing at Jake and letting out little bits of “Ouch!” and “Hey!” I doubted he was listening to anything I said. “I’m bringing Lisa, alright?”
“I’m going to hang up on you,” Tommy said. “You are not bringing Lisa.”
“No, I’m not. Just seeing if you were paying attention.”
“Did you take it?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, feeling the pill in my pocket. I opened the bottle of vitamin water between my thighs and pulled the pill out. I looked right at the bookish guy, hoping, for some reason, that he would see me take it. He looked up for a second, but not at me. The train lurched around a corner and his laptop tried to fly away. He caught it, arranged it again, and continued to scroll. I opened my mouth and threw the pill in. It tasted like my sister’s birth control pill that I took when I was a kid, thinking it was candy, all powdery aspirin, but bigger. A swig of the sweeter vitamin water and the deed was done.
I hung up with Tommy, only to get a picture from him a few seconds later, a come shot on his own face.
I was, you see, a gay virgin. Tommy and Jake, friends of my ex-girlfriend’s. And yeah, I wondered all the time what they were telling her.
The train stopped in Boy’s Town and the pill hit me on the way down the stairs. They were suddenly impossible to traverse and I let people pass me so that I could take my time, control my unsure feet. Light came down from miniature suns dressed as lightbulbs. I looked down. Litter was beautiful, colors popped at me from Coke cans and water bottles. The perfect red. The perfect blue. Friends yelled at each other on the way out of taxis and into bars. I couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying, only the timbre of their voices, the vibration I’d never noticed before.
The night was warm and I began to sweat. The breeze took it away just when I needed it to. It felt like God blowing the sting from a wound. Thinking about walking and actually walking seemed irreconcilable, so I ended the struggle and simply waited, musing on one bright light or another, until I found Tommy and Jake’s buzzer, closed one eye and pressed it.
“He can’t get laid,” I heard Jake tell my ex in my head. “He just freezes up. Hasn’t had sex in two years.”
And then her snicker. Not a mean one, just all-knowing.
MEEEEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. I fumbled with the door, panicked that it wouldn’t open, and threw myself inside. Creaky stairs recently furnished with alarmingly slippery carpet, more sunbulbs, and then Jake grabbing my arm. He took my face and looked into my eyes. I saw what he was looking for when I looked at his, pupils like caverns. You could store your change in them.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“A little sick, but good,” I said, surprised I could talk. “Where are they?”
“Oh, you mean the party, hon?” Tommy asked from somewhere deep in Jake’s pupils. “It’s just arrived. You, Jake, me and your cock.”
“A full house,” said Jake.
“Well, our cocks too,” Tommy said.
“Yes, we can’t forget about those,” Jake said.
“Couldn’t if we tried,” Tommy said.
“No.”
“No.”
“Hey!” I said, negotiating my way around to a less populated part of their designer carpet. I was giggling. Giggling! “What the fuck are you guys talking about?” The X hit the sides of my mouth then and it locked itself in a Batman’s Joker, mom-told-me-so smile.
“I don’t see what’s funny, do you, Jake?” Tommy said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. They fought their drugs. I didn’t know what I was up against.
“No, Tommy. I think it’s all been pretty clear cut.”
“Unambiguous,” Tommy said.
“Straight to the point,” said Jake.
“We don’t even need him, really.”
“Not at all, Tommy, but we’d like to have him.”
“This is his party after all.”
I laughed. I giggled. I covered my mouth and felt my face get red under it.
“He’s adorable like this, don’t you think, Tommy?”
“Oh, you know, Jake, I think he’s adorable all the time, but this is something else.”
“Maybe if he had a drink?”
Tommy’s eyebrows raised. He shrugged his shoulders and looked at me. “No.”
“Whiskey dick.”
“Whiskey dick.”
“Who should go in?”
“Both, I think.”
“Both,” Jake agreed.
My mouth still covered, I watched the two of them, four bare feet spreading and settling and lifting and swinging over to me, closer and closer. And there was breath, and the salt sour of men, hard muscles and rough skin. Men. A hand over mine on my face, shaking, the smell of wax. They’d put candles out. Explains why they were flickering. One arm around my back and another around my front and they were wandering, pulling clothes in every direction, and breath, more breath. Inhale. Tongue on my jawbone. Exhale. Thumb in my belt. Inhale. Cock on my thigh. Exhale. Rough denim on bare skin. Inhale. His bare chest on my back, sticking. Exhale. Cologne, the good kind. Inhale. Sex. Exhale. Sex.
“Tommy,” in my ear, “suck him off. He should know how a man does it.”
Not a nice thing to say about the ex. Maybe they haven’t been telling her anything. Then there were lips, strong ones like a muscle vise twisting the tip of me, and then down, sex filling in the gaps like water spreading on a windshield. Pop, it went, pop.
“That’s beautiful. Not too much, though, Tommy.” There was a cock between my asscheeks, nothing like what I used to play with when she was out, turkey basters and the tiny, cheap vibrator she kept under the bedside table. “This one’s so backed up he might blow your head off. And do it quick.” I got a little scared, worried that they would be too high to know if they were hurting me. Tommy’s lips tickled a low bliss in me, that feeling that you get just before the feeling that you get just before the feeling you’re going to come. It stayed, though. Didn’t progress. Just poltergeisted around my body, bumping into organs. Then it stopped and I stumbled, a little dizzy. I blinked a few times and looked down at Jake. He leaned back on his ankles, his lips swollen.
“Water,” I said. “We should have water.”
“Water!” Jake said. “Of course!”
They took the back of my arms and walked me down their long hallway, green-beige paint and framed pictures that Tommy took when he was just starting out.
“I can’t believe you guys,” I said. The sentence formed itself. I never would have thought that out.
“We never would have let you go out there without any…,” one of them said.
“Training,” said the other.
“Experience.”
“Base of knowledge.”
“Yes.”
The kitchen stretched before us, halogen in brushed steel and then in my eyes. They steered me around it and lifted me onto the sink. Cold. Pointy in parts. I pushed against the backwash and waited.
“This is fun, isn’t it, sweetheart?” Tommy said.
“Better than all those big parties,” Jake said.
Time stopped and Jake leaned into Tommy, seemed to smell his lips for a moment, then turned and kissed him. They went deep. I watched them like a movie in very uncomfortable seats. They went faster, panted, then slowed. Tommy released and whispered something in Jake’s ear, then gave his earlobe a sharp nibble. Jake gushed a little and took Tommy’s hand to his cock. “Mmm,” Jake said.
“The. Business. At. Hand,” said Tommy.
“Yes,” Jake said and gave my knee a slap. “Our duty.”
Tommy turned quickly and grabbed the faucet, which stretched to become a dish sprayer. He held my ass cheeks open and sprayed. Everything about me twitched.
“Too warm?” Jake said.
“Too fucking cold.”
Then it turned icy, and there was a smirk on Jake’s face. Tommy and he exchanged a look and they bit their lips to keep from laughing. I heard dish soap, then felt wandering fingers, slippery, then tight and sticky. Jake whistled, walked to the refrigerator, got a bottle of water and drank most of it in three big gulps. He burped, wiped his face and looked at me. His cock sloped from his stomach, clean and as tan as the rest of him. He watched me watch him. Then he broke into a smile, remembering my shameful innocence. He did a little dance, his cock flipping back and forth, then up and down, going “Huh? Yeah. Huh? Different when it’s not yours, isn’t it?”
“You’d be shocked at how good my imagination has gotten.”
“Ha! Tommy!”
“Yeah,” Tommy said, and took my chin. He put more soap on his fingers and plunged them in my asshole. I whimpered. “Oooooo,” he said, reacting to my reaction.
“He’s been jerking off and pretending it’s someone else’s dick.”
“Who hasn’t.”
“Me.”
“Amateur.”
He held me open and sent the shower right up my ass. I let my eyelids close and felt every drop, on another crest of a wave, my eyes spinning like a cartoon character inside. I exhaled hard, would break a rib if I held it any more.
“Jake, he’s ready now, I think.”
“Bed?”
“Floor?”
“Table?”
“Bed!” I said. “Bed, please!”
“Give the newbie a break?” Tommy asked.
Jake sighed visibly, his shoulders hanging like an incredulous teenager. “Whatever.”
“Lucky,” Tommy said. “First time we fucked it was on a fucking fire escape.”
“Rust in your knees.”
“I remember.”
They shared another moment while Tommy hooked his arm around my back and pulled me down. “Come on!” Jake said and slapped my ass all the way to the bedroom. Even that felt good on X. It tingled and burned like a good scratch on an itch. “Thank you,” I heard myself say. And another slap.
Jake ran up behind me in the bedroom and bent me forcefully over the covers. I felt heat and wet approach my asshole, then a pair of lips. “Oh my God holy Jesus holy fucking Christ, arrrrrrrgh!” flew out of my mouth. “What is… that’s just… oh fuck that’s insane!” The room turned red and dark. The color burned me. It was indescribable. It was madness. Who the fuck knew? His tongue swept out, twisted on me. “Stop! Oh God, stop! That’s too much!” My thighs were losing me. I didn’t own them anymore.
“Okay,” Jake said, just over my asshole and I could feel that too, my whole body a drumhead, being played. Tommy got on the bed and knee walked to me. He pulled my head up and pulled my knees apart. “Good, Jake?”
“Good.” He spanked me. “Relax.”
Tommy’s lips enveloped my cock and I was grateful. So grateful. But there was another sound behind me. Latex crickle and slap. “Relax, newbie,” Jake said again. I tried. Fingers again, lubricated and forceful. “Relax. There you go.” They were in, more, more, more. “Breathe out. Okay.” Tommy sped up, found a good rhythm and began to twist as he went. “Good.”
“Owwwww,” I said. “Owwwww.”
“Shh. You’re doing fine.”
“OW,” I said and tried to relax some more.
“There. Now you’re ready.”
There was something then, something much bigger than his fingers. It pressed in. I tried to move forward, but Tommy, guessing what I was doing, pushed me back. They slid me onto Jake, and I gasped there, impaled, getting sucked better than I ever had. Another wave of the drug swelled in my neck and head and I gave up. I gave myself away.
“That’s the way,” Jake said. “He’s tight, Tommy, but he’s not clean anymore.”
“Mmm,” I felt.
“Go. Fuck me,” I said. “Come on and fuck me hard. Show me.”
I got my wish. In two deep hits, my cock exploded and I grabbed the back of Jake’s neck, holding him tight to me, not sure if it was the X or the fuck. I felt like I would fall over either way. “Thank you,” I said.
“What’s his spunk taste like, Tommy?”
Tommy knelt up, cracked his neck and opened my mouth. He pushed my come in with his tongue. I couldn’t close my mouth long enough to swallow it.
“Bend over again,” Tommy said. I could smell his cock before I could taste it, dirt and man. I didn’t know if I could breathe with a blocked mouth so I just waited there. He jerked himself off, hard and continuous. When he came, come I couldn’t feel at first until it cooled, the two of them leaned over me and kissed. “Go on, baby,” Tommy said.
Jake thrust into me a few more times and then stopped. A small whimper, like a girl about to cry, escaped him, followed by a manly grunt. Then he slid out. My ass curled back slowly.
“Is it okay?” Tommy asked. I thought he was talking to me at first, but felt Jake nod. Tommy kissed me, sweet and simple and gentle. “You’re staying tonight, right, you big man?”
I fell down where I was and felt the skin of two men on either side of me reflect my heat. We twitched next to each other for a while, then thought better of it and fought for the shower.
Stuff for You (Yes, you deserve it!)
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Wednesday, June 20, 2007
The Dragonfly
Of course she meant to be alone with him, though the thought never would have made that strut between her ears. And she found herself, once again, getting what she wanted, finding that she had set it up that way, without ever really thinking about it. It had become a little sinister, this quiet agent in her that made things happen. The bad cop of her subconscious. She was with him in the woods, following him down the side of a hill that only looks steep and scary on descent, the uphill climb just dirt and toes. They’d snuck away on a pretense that would fool everyone but a toddler. You had to look for conspiracy to see it.
Their shoes made paper-on-parquet sounds in the leaves, a slip and a catch with a crackle, and though it seemed that going downhill had to be easier, they were panting, with exertion, but with fear too. They listened to each other huff, great big exhales when friction or a twig stopped a near fall, the air booming out of their lungs. He was whining a bit when he exhaled, letting out the guilt with it, she thought. She hadn’t really confirmed that he did feel guilty, but assumed he did. He had to. It was better for her to think so.
And she was looking for a place as much as he was. The leaves here were too slippery, the dip between hills too exposed. Maybe they were just looking for twigs to start a fire. Maybe he just hadn’t seen any he liked yet. The trees weren’t thick enough here. Normally, she would be enjoying the view, the next hill with its near black trees, the kind of plushness of the forest from a distance. You wanted to pet it. But here she had to keep her eyes on her feet. She concentrated on foot over foot, hoping the hypnosis would grease the guilt before it caught on her. The guilt was awful not just because it was, but if she let it in, it might work, and she wouldn’t get to fuck him. Go back to the campsite with a clean conscience and a buzzing clit.
Most of the time she could ignore him, think of him as her best friend’s asshole husband, forget about how he could press her so hard into a wall that she could barely breathe, though it seemed she could scream, could make herself raspy from coming so hard, her fingernails denting the paint, her ass cradled in his hands. She thought only of her friend crying over panties in the car, her face wet and dripping with tears, threatening to put them over his head while he slept and lighting them on fire. But today, the sun giving the sunset to the other side of the hills, there was his ass in his jeans, his sure, strong legs, his forearms like sculpture, the veins visible from here, and the fingers that had been in her pussy, practically holding her up with them.
He picked up a stick and held it up to check it for good stickness, if it passed his test for kindling. His face crinkled at the stick in profile, his mouth drawn in skepticism. A movement on a nearby tree, a tiny lizard freeze-framing its way up, caught his eye. He smiled, looked back at the stick and whipped it in the lizard’s direction. It scampered up and away, presumably to show the bruise to his lizard family. She made note of it, put her hand to the side of her face for a moment and walked on, passing him so she wouldn’t have to watch.
The dragonflies had hatched just a couple of days before, and they, drunk with the shock of their birth and the elation that they had wings, flit like common gnats in the air, unpredictable and stupid. They flew up to her, buzzed her, teased her and went away just as idiotically. There was something in her hair and she reached behind to flick it out. She found his hand instead, and her heart started up, her arms suddenly heavy and dangling. He clenched her hair in his fingers, wrapped an arm around her, under her shirt, under the bra, her nipple standing up, following its own orders, kneaded and pinched. She let out a sound, a kind of uh-hih, and she regretted letting him have that. He didn’t deserve it.
His lips, his teeth, his tongue, the cool trail of breath on inhale on her neck, was cancelled by a bite, a serious one, would leave teeth marks if she let it go on. She reached around her back and pinched him hard in the side, his skin thicker, more resilient than hers. He took the pinch longer than she would have before he pulled her arm away, slid his thumb and forefinger around her wrist and put it on the front of his jeans. Stupid as the dragonflies, she worked him into a hard on while his tongue stroked her neck. He raised her t-shirt over her breasts, pulled them out of the bra and squeezed them, still as clumsy as a fifteen-year-old. He licked his fingers and twisted them around the nipples. Her nipples were more sensitive than most and he knew it, threatened before to make her come just with that. It pissed her off that he knew, that he’d gotten a hold of every fucking weak spot so quickly, some sort of Neanderthal instinct.
He pushed her, face-down, head down on the slope, and worked at the button on her jeans. She tried slapping his hands out of the way to help, but he twisted them away just as quickly, and too hard.
“That hurt, dammit!” she said, and shook her fingers out over the dirt.
“What, you want me to kiss them and make them better?” he said, uncomfortably close to her ear.
“Yeah!” she said.
“Do it yourself,” he said, having finally made headway on her button. She saw herself then, some girl about to get fucked by some asshole, just out of shouting distance of his wife. Convenient. And it wasn’t a girl. It was a slut, some two-faced whore, no better than that. She found her way out from under him and stood up.
“Fuck you,” she said, and bit her fingers. He simply stayed where he was, figuring she’d come back eventually. His pants were down his thighs, his cock hovering under him. “Fuck you,” she said again, quieter. She looked to the ground. There was a stick. She picked it up before she could change her mind and hit his ass with it as hard as she could. He barely reacted. She hit him again. Nothing. She slid the stick under his neck and pulled his head up with it, a knot jabbing into his chin. She spat in his face. He licked it in.
She pushed him on his back, knocked his knees down, dropped her jeans to her ankles, stepped out of them and straddled him, the stick across his face. She picked his cock up, and with disgust, aimed it at her pussy and slid down on it. His hands went around her thighs, tried to control her, tried to make her raise when he raised her, and fall only when he let her do so. She twisted the stick in his wrists, wrenched them away, then took his thumb, turned it and pressed it into her clit. “Manners,” she said. He tried to take it back, but she wouldn’t let it go. He squirmed, grabbed her arm with his other hand, but she ignored it, let him bruise it if he wants. She rode him steady, his cock in, out, all the same, just friction and a digging burn.
He came, his strong neck arched up and his head rounding the dirt, but she wasn’t done yet, fucked him faster now, didn’t care about his whining. She rubbed herself with his thumb and let her lips tremble, her mouth open.
“Stop it,” he said, “that… that fucking hurts now!”
She sat on top of him, a large section of hair across her face, his cock deep inside of her and held his thumb tight until her eyes hit the clouds before they blacked out and she rippled, twisting on top of him, finally falling back on his shaking knees.
She stood up, walked to her jeans and put them on, come sliding down her thighs. It trapped in the folds to get sticky and dry.
“Goddammit, you’re a slut,” he said. She considered another go with the stick, but cradled it instead, walking off to find more. She outright swatted the idiot dragonflies. After all, they were her panties in the back seat of that car.
Their shoes made paper-on-parquet sounds in the leaves, a slip and a catch with a crackle, and though it seemed that going downhill had to be easier, they were panting, with exertion, but with fear too. They listened to each other huff, great big exhales when friction or a twig stopped a near fall, the air booming out of their lungs. He was whining a bit when he exhaled, letting out the guilt with it, she thought. She hadn’t really confirmed that he did feel guilty, but assumed he did. He had to. It was better for her to think so.
And she was looking for a place as much as he was. The leaves here were too slippery, the dip between hills too exposed. Maybe they were just looking for twigs to start a fire. Maybe he just hadn’t seen any he liked yet. The trees weren’t thick enough here. Normally, she would be enjoying the view, the next hill with its near black trees, the kind of plushness of the forest from a distance. You wanted to pet it. But here she had to keep her eyes on her feet. She concentrated on foot over foot, hoping the hypnosis would grease the guilt before it caught on her. The guilt was awful not just because it was, but if she let it in, it might work, and she wouldn’t get to fuck him. Go back to the campsite with a clean conscience and a buzzing clit.
Most of the time she could ignore him, think of him as her best friend’s asshole husband, forget about how he could press her so hard into a wall that she could barely breathe, though it seemed she could scream, could make herself raspy from coming so hard, her fingernails denting the paint, her ass cradled in his hands. She thought only of her friend crying over panties in the car, her face wet and dripping with tears, threatening to put them over his head while he slept and lighting them on fire. But today, the sun giving the sunset to the other side of the hills, there was his ass in his jeans, his sure, strong legs, his forearms like sculpture, the veins visible from here, and the fingers that had been in her pussy, practically holding her up with them.
He picked up a stick and held it up to check it for good stickness, if it passed his test for kindling. His face crinkled at the stick in profile, his mouth drawn in skepticism. A movement on a nearby tree, a tiny lizard freeze-framing its way up, caught his eye. He smiled, looked back at the stick and whipped it in the lizard’s direction. It scampered up and away, presumably to show the bruise to his lizard family. She made note of it, put her hand to the side of her face for a moment and walked on, passing him so she wouldn’t have to watch.
The dragonflies had hatched just a couple of days before, and they, drunk with the shock of their birth and the elation that they had wings, flit like common gnats in the air, unpredictable and stupid. They flew up to her, buzzed her, teased her and went away just as idiotically. There was something in her hair and she reached behind to flick it out. She found his hand instead, and her heart started up, her arms suddenly heavy and dangling. He clenched her hair in his fingers, wrapped an arm around her, under her shirt, under the bra, her nipple standing up, following its own orders, kneaded and pinched. She let out a sound, a kind of uh-hih, and she regretted letting him have that. He didn’t deserve it.
His lips, his teeth, his tongue, the cool trail of breath on inhale on her neck, was cancelled by a bite, a serious one, would leave teeth marks if she let it go on. She reached around her back and pinched him hard in the side, his skin thicker, more resilient than hers. He took the pinch longer than she would have before he pulled her arm away, slid his thumb and forefinger around her wrist and put it on the front of his jeans. Stupid as the dragonflies, she worked him into a hard on while his tongue stroked her neck. He raised her t-shirt over her breasts, pulled them out of the bra and squeezed them, still as clumsy as a fifteen-year-old. He licked his fingers and twisted them around the nipples. Her nipples were more sensitive than most and he knew it, threatened before to make her come just with that. It pissed her off that he knew, that he’d gotten a hold of every fucking weak spot so quickly, some sort of Neanderthal instinct.
He pushed her, face-down, head down on the slope, and worked at the button on her jeans. She tried slapping his hands out of the way to help, but he twisted them away just as quickly, and too hard.
“That hurt, dammit!” she said, and shook her fingers out over the dirt.
“What, you want me to kiss them and make them better?” he said, uncomfortably close to her ear.
“Yeah!” she said.
“Do it yourself,” he said, having finally made headway on her button. She saw herself then, some girl about to get fucked by some asshole, just out of shouting distance of his wife. Convenient. And it wasn’t a girl. It was a slut, some two-faced whore, no better than that. She found her way out from under him and stood up.
“Fuck you,” she said, and bit her fingers. He simply stayed where he was, figuring she’d come back eventually. His pants were down his thighs, his cock hovering under him. “Fuck you,” she said again, quieter. She looked to the ground. There was a stick. She picked it up before she could change her mind and hit his ass with it as hard as she could. He barely reacted. She hit him again. Nothing. She slid the stick under his neck and pulled his head up with it, a knot jabbing into his chin. She spat in his face. He licked it in.
She pushed him on his back, knocked his knees down, dropped her jeans to her ankles, stepped out of them and straddled him, the stick across his face. She picked his cock up, and with disgust, aimed it at her pussy and slid down on it. His hands went around her thighs, tried to control her, tried to make her raise when he raised her, and fall only when he let her do so. She twisted the stick in his wrists, wrenched them away, then took his thumb, turned it and pressed it into her clit. “Manners,” she said. He tried to take it back, but she wouldn’t let it go. He squirmed, grabbed her arm with his other hand, but she ignored it, let him bruise it if he wants. She rode him steady, his cock in, out, all the same, just friction and a digging burn.
He came, his strong neck arched up and his head rounding the dirt, but she wasn’t done yet, fucked him faster now, didn’t care about his whining. She rubbed herself with his thumb and let her lips tremble, her mouth open.
“Stop it,” he said, “that… that fucking hurts now!”
She sat on top of him, a large section of hair across her face, his cock deep inside of her and held his thumb tight until her eyes hit the clouds before they blacked out and she rippled, twisting on top of him, finally falling back on his shaking knees.
She stood up, walked to her jeans and put them on, come sliding down her thighs. It trapped in the folds to get sticky and dry.
“Goddammit, you’re a slut,” he said. She considered another go with the stick, but cradled it instead, walking off to find more. She outright swatted the idiot dragonflies. After all, they were her panties in the back seat of that car.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Stuff for You
The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #85? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks
C’s Little Witch (un-cool.blogspot.com…)
“Tom wrote on his blog I would do anything carnal to please her: oh, yes. Oh, yes.”
How to have a secret affair at work (myhotbox.blogspot.com…)
-Funny video-
Desperate wantonness is not always pretty (smart-girls.blogspot.com…)
“Am I now so desperate for sex that I’m causing random sex toys to spontaneously get off when they’re around me?”
Mr. Sugasm Himself
ActionGirls 2007 (sugarbank.com…)
Editor’s Choice
History of Gay and Lesbian Pride Month (www.taratainton.com…)
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday (Fleshbot.com)
Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
All Righty Then… (aurorablack.blogspot.com…)
Attention to detail (secretlifeofaman.blogspot.com…)
Hot and Bothered:Feminist Pornography (www.sex-kitten.net…)
In Which I Defend Myself, And Likely You Too (silent-porn-star.blogspot.com…)
On Baritones and the State of My Panties (whatmyfriendsdontknowcanthurt.blogspot.com…)
A Random Post About Why Shay Rarely Reads Erotica (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com…)
Thank You, Sir, May I Have Another? (aslipofagirl.blogspot.com…)
BDSM & Fetish
Dress Up (katescuriosita.blogspot.com…)
His need (dirtylittlecockslut.blogspot.com…)
Kink In The Mainstream - Exhibit B: Family Guy Bondage (www.quipsandchains.com…)
Making sense of it all (transformher.blogspot.com…)
Marked (lafillemariee.blogspot.com…)
My choice (my choice)
Wicked Saturday - Part 1 (www.sub-burbs.com…)
You gotta be punished! (lastbreath.wordpress.com…)
NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Half-Nekkid Nipples (sweatshopsissy.wordpress.com…)
Party Tricks (imelda-imelda.blogspot.com…)
Two For One (eroticjournals.blogspot.com…)
Sex Work
Chastity (www.radicalvixen.com…)
Sex News & Reviews
Celebrate Pride Month with Our GLBT Designs! (www.tarasnaughtyshop.com…)
Ohio: no nudes is good nudes… (hard-and-fast.blogspot.com…)
Pearl Pleasure Comfort Grip Stroker Review (stilettodiaries.blogspot.com…)
Punished Brats review (darkside-journey.blogspot.com…)
Erotic Writing and Experiences
Appel téléphonique (blog.coquetterie.net…)
Dress Code (in-your-pants.blogspot.com…)
First date etiquette revised (junohenry.wordpress.com…)
Frustration (ellabeecoquette.blogspot.com…)
A lovely evening (prettywomanjournal.com…)
My Body is Yours (bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com…)
A Night with the Office Meeting Guy (part 2) (fexual-strustration.blogspot.com…)
Orgasm Addict (rubytellsall.com…)
Party Games - Part 1 (drtycplinva.blogspot.com…)
Tonight You Belong To Me (perverselypoly.blogspot.com…)
Unexpected, Part Four (alittleoutoftune.blogspot.com…)
What Comes After “Hello” (sexyandallthat.blogspot.com…)
Sex Humor
Eating Pussy (memoirsofanasshole.blogspot.com…)
Lawnmower Sex (www.mootsex.com…)
Paris Hilton Forced, By Society, To Acknowledge Worthlessness (funnyextreme.com…)
Nipple clamps courtesy of Sweat Shop Sissy.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
You Came In
I was folding sweaters when you came in. I wielded the folding board like a shield around me, wanting to look at you without being seen. It didn’t work. Of course it didn’t work. There I was, all lit up under those hot lights, my thighs against a display table, just under my cock, when you came in.
It had been years, but I remembered. I remembered because we didn’t kiss. I was still straight then, or I thought maybe I could be. But I spent the day with you, ditching class. We went to the movies. We saw Austin Powers. The first one. You kept grabbing my arm every time you laughed. You laughed a lot. I laughed because you were scaring the crap out of me. I was scaring the crap out of me. I was fighting my neck, which wanted to turn and kiss you so bad it was sore.
I was about to find out if you remembered, faster than I wanted to. If I’d had any time at all, I would have borrowed something from the couture department, hiding the price tags in the seams. I would have run to cosmetics and done something about my hair. But you came in unannounced, more gorgeous than ever, and I bit my lip and folded sweaters and waited.
“Ray?”
And there it was.
“Dan.”
“I haven’t—“
“No.”
“How are you?”
“Folding sweaters. You?”
“Data entry.”
“Health insurance,” I said with a nod. You stared at me too long. You used to stare at me too long all the time. Then, when I made eye contact, it would drift to my shoulder. That day, it was just in the eye. You came in and stared at me right in the eye. You looked the same. I was actually dressed better than you, had a pocket square in, an affectation I’d been cultivating. I wanted to ask you what you thought, but I couldn’t. Affectations can’t be noticed by the affectors.
You held up two shirts, both overpriced and nonsensical. You noticed, in a laugh, that you were gay too.
“Yeah,” you said, and your eyes crinkled up on the side. The adorable difference. “Which?”
“God, neither.”
You looked down. Fucking prissy shopboy. That’s what I was.
“Go over there,” I said, on a high to tell you what to do, wondering if you’d just do it, “to the fitting rooms and I’ll bring you what you want.”
You fumbled around with the hangers, like they were crawling with lice and you had to get rid of them. I took them and touched your fingers, rolled them in my own. You didn’t flinch. I love that you’re not afraid.
I picked out two shirts that would show your form, the one that just came in that day, all the same as it was. And you didn’t know it. You never noticed how gorgeous you were.
That day, the day that we ditched class, you stared at me in the eye then too. We went to get a hot dog, some little bullshit place where the tables were as yellow as the mustard, you looked at me then. I thought you had to know. And I told myself I didn’t. I let you eat the hot dog without pushing the drip of mustard, a spike of relish in it, into your mouth.
I’ll bring you what you want.
Is that what it was? I only noticed after I said it that it could be interpreted that way. I meant, in just as much of an ego trip, that I’d bring you shirts you didn’t know you wanted. Shirts. Time is like that. Puts up barriers, imagined DMZs. Borders, once established, forgotten and eroded.
We hugged after the hot dog, and I’d never hugged you before. I didn’t generally hug after hot dogs. At the time, it was all panic and self-loathing. It took me this long to know it was a come on. I didn’t come on. I fucking ran.
I brought you the shirts. I opened the door, after a knock, and found you there, your jeans below the muscle of your abdomen, life below it, a bulge to the left. Did I imagine it? Was it just the way they bent, your jeans?
Actually, my interpretation didn’t matter. You were on me like a donkey at a salt lick. And everything that I wanted to tell you over the years, the story of my life, an “If only you knew” story, was shrugged off. This was the only way to say it, mouth put to better use kissing yours. We just hugged and kissed for ages, it seemed, though it was probably only a few minutes, your flat stomach, tan with dark hair, against my suit jacket, your arms, the hot cold of them, around me. It was the most comforting thing that ever happened to me, settled a lot of that part of my life, illuminated it, found parts where I’d exaggerated the chaos, now shown to be, well, not really that bad.
“Why didn’t you let me?” you asked me.
“I didn’t know.”
“But you’re alright now.”
“Yes.”
“Good,” you said, and you smiled. And I stopped shaking. I kissed you deeper that day, the day you came in, than I’ve ever kissed anyone before. Your hand drifted around my belt, hooked into it in places, finally pulled it hard and twisted the slack in your fist. You pulled me with you against the mirror on the wall. I saw myself kiss you in it. I saw my arms go around your sides and loosen your jeans. I saw you pull my jacket open, the wrists bent, showing the muscles in your forearms. That’s what pure sex had looked like to me for years, each foray into fucking a replacement of you. They all kind of looked like you.
“You were the first,” you said, before I could. “I’ve been looking for you in other men ever since.”
I laughed. I opened up your jeans and turned us sideways, to the middle of the floor. I pulled your jeans down to the middle of your thighs, muscular and hairy, and I saw what I’d imagined so many times in my dorm room, my hand underneath the quilt that I’d grown up with, I saw your cock, a perfect J shape. I touched it with reservation, like it would disappear if I were rough. You wrapped your hand around mine and squeezed, because you were right, I’d never do it myself.
Our lips had been apart during this transaction, our noses in each other’s cheeks. As if we didn’t know what do. We seemed to notice this at the same time and rushed into each other. We were suddenly nothing but lips and saliva and skin over ribs and our chests, at the inhales, fighting each other for room. My shirt went to a hook. My pants dropped to the floor. We were jerking each other off. Dry, but sincere. It hurt. It was too much. We went to saliva, spit at breaks into our hands. It evaporated like rainwater on sidewalks in the summer. It was replaced just as quickly.
“You,” you said, into my mouth. “It’s been you.”
“Yes.”
We stole looks at each other in the mirrors. There you were from behind, from the side, my cock in your hand. It was unbelievable that I didn’t know this would happen when I woke up that morning. All the years that we didn’t know each other drifted into triviality. We’d always been there.
I came first, it rose and fell in a splat on your stomach, on your cock, on your toes. I used it for lube and you changed in my arm, your hard jolts turned to a smooth hum. I turned you around, marched you to the mirror and settled you with two hands against it. My hand came around again and you watched. I licked the skin on your neck and jerked you off faster, watching your face go slack, your eyelids slide down. And then, your fingers curling into your palms on the mirror, the final electric freeze and petrification, followed by three slaps of come on the mirror and dripping down.
My arms came around you and we held each other up. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I said. I took my pocket square out of my jacket on the hook and wiped the mirror, then you.
You came in that day, looking for a shirt, trusting someone to know what you wanted. I knew what you wanted. For the first time, I gave it to you.
It had been years, but I remembered. I remembered because we didn’t kiss. I was still straight then, or I thought maybe I could be. But I spent the day with you, ditching class. We went to the movies. We saw Austin Powers. The first one. You kept grabbing my arm every time you laughed. You laughed a lot. I laughed because you were scaring the crap out of me. I was scaring the crap out of me. I was fighting my neck, which wanted to turn and kiss you so bad it was sore.
I was about to find out if you remembered, faster than I wanted to. If I’d had any time at all, I would have borrowed something from the couture department, hiding the price tags in the seams. I would have run to cosmetics and done something about my hair. But you came in unannounced, more gorgeous than ever, and I bit my lip and folded sweaters and waited.
“Ray?”
And there it was.
“Dan.”
“I haven’t—“
“No.”
“How are you?”
“Folding sweaters. You?”
“Data entry.”
“Health insurance,” I said with a nod. You stared at me too long. You used to stare at me too long all the time. Then, when I made eye contact, it would drift to my shoulder. That day, it was just in the eye. You came in and stared at me right in the eye. You looked the same. I was actually dressed better than you, had a pocket square in, an affectation I’d been cultivating. I wanted to ask you what you thought, but I couldn’t. Affectations can’t be noticed by the affectors.
You held up two shirts, both overpriced and nonsensical. You noticed, in a laugh, that you were gay too.
“Yeah,” you said, and your eyes crinkled up on the side. The adorable difference. “Which?”
“God, neither.”
You looked down. Fucking prissy shopboy. That’s what I was.
“Go over there,” I said, on a high to tell you what to do, wondering if you’d just do it, “to the fitting rooms and I’ll bring you what you want.”
You fumbled around with the hangers, like they were crawling with lice and you had to get rid of them. I took them and touched your fingers, rolled them in my own. You didn’t flinch. I love that you’re not afraid.
I picked out two shirts that would show your form, the one that just came in that day, all the same as it was. And you didn’t know it. You never noticed how gorgeous you were.
That day, the day that we ditched class, you stared at me in the eye then too. We went to get a hot dog, some little bullshit place where the tables were as yellow as the mustard, you looked at me then. I thought you had to know. And I told myself I didn’t. I let you eat the hot dog without pushing the drip of mustard, a spike of relish in it, into your mouth.
I’ll bring you what you want.
Is that what it was? I only noticed after I said it that it could be interpreted that way. I meant, in just as much of an ego trip, that I’d bring you shirts you didn’t know you wanted. Shirts. Time is like that. Puts up barriers, imagined DMZs. Borders, once established, forgotten and eroded.
We hugged after the hot dog, and I’d never hugged you before. I didn’t generally hug after hot dogs. At the time, it was all panic and self-loathing. It took me this long to know it was a come on. I didn’t come on. I fucking ran.
I brought you the shirts. I opened the door, after a knock, and found you there, your jeans below the muscle of your abdomen, life below it, a bulge to the left. Did I imagine it? Was it just the way they bent, your jeans?
Actually, my interpretation didn’t matter. You were on me like a donkey at a salt lick. And everything that I wanted to tell you over the years, the story of my life, an “If only you knew” story, was shrugged off. This was the only way to say it, mouth put to better use kissing yours. We just hugged and kissed for ages, it seemed, though it was probably only a few minutes, your flat stomach, tan with dark hair, against my suit jacket, your arms, the hot cold of them, around me. It was the most comforting thing that ever happened to me, settled a lot of that part of my life, illuminated it, found parts where I’d exaggerated the chaos, now shown to be, well, not really that bad.
“Why didn’t you let me?” you asked me.
“I didn’t know.”
“But you’re alright now.”
“Yes.”
“Good,” you said, and you smiled. And I stopped shaking. I kissed you deeper that day, the day you came in, than I’ve ever kissed anyone before. Your hand drifted around my belt, hooked into it in places, finally pulled it hard and twisted the slack in your fist. You pulled me with you against the mirror on the wall. I saw myself kiss you in it. I saw my arms go around your sides and loosen your jeans. I saw you pull my jacket open, the wrists bent, showing the muscles in your forearms. That’s what pure sex had looked like to me for years, each foray into fucking a replacement of you. They all kind of looked like you.
“You were the first,” you said, before I could. “I’ve been looking for you in other men ever since.”
I laughed. I opened up your jeans and turned us sideways, to the middle of the floor. I pulled your jeans down to the middle of your thighs, muscular and hairy, and I saw what I’d imagined so many times in my dorm room, my hand underneath the quilt that I’d grown up with, I saw your cock, a perfect J shape. I touched it with reservation, like it would disappear if I were rough. You wrapped your hand around mine and squeezed, because you were right, I’d never do it myself.
Our lips had been apart during this transaction, our noses in each other’s cheeks. As if we didn’t know what do. We seemed to notice this at the same time and rushed into each other. We were suddenly nothing but lips and saliva and skin over ribs and our chests, at the inhales, fighting each other for room. My shirt went to a hook. My pants dropped to the floor. We were jerking each other off. Dry, but sincere. It hurt. It was too much. We went to saliva, spit at breaks into our hands. It evaporated like rainwater on sidewalks in the summer. It was replaced just as quickly.
“You,” you said, into my mouth. “It’s been you.”
“Yes.”
We stole looks at each other in the mirrors. There you were from behind, from the side, my cock in your hand. It was unbelievable that I didn’t know this would happen when I woke up that morning. All the years that we didn’t know each other drifted into triviality. We’d always been there.
I came first, it rose and fell in a splat on your stomach, on your cock, on your toes. I used it for lube and you changed in my arm, your hard jolts turned to a smooth hum. I turned you around, marched you to the mirror and settled you with two hands against it. My hand came around again and you watched. I licked the skin on your neck and jerked you off faster, watching your face go slack, your eyelids slide down. And then, your fingers curling into your palms on the mirror, the final electric freeze and petrification, followed by three slaps of come on the mirror and dripping down.
My arms came around you and we held each other up. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I said. I took my pocket square out of my jacket on the hook and wiped the mirror, then you.
You came in that day, looking for a shirt, trusting someone to know what you wanted. I knew what you wanted. For the first time, I gave it to you.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Dress Code
Dear Sir or Madam,
No. No one uses that anymore.
To whom it may concern,
So crappy. The phone rang.
“What are you wearing?”
I turned around in my seat and looked right at her. I stood up and stretched the telephone chord as far as I could to the window.
“Take your jacket off,” she said. She was all the way up to the window. Her door was closed. I took it off and hung it on a hook on my cubicle. She got an office. I got another ten years in the cubicle.
“I’ve gotta write just this one email,” I said.
“Then I’ll talk,” she said.
“I’ll hang up.”
“Don’t,” she said. I risked another look at her. Her legs were spreading, her skirt rising. I could just make out a light patch, her panties.
I turned away from the window.
All,
This email is to notify you of
“Can you see me?”
“I’m not going to talk.”
“Look at me, then.”
This memo is to notify you that we have noticed a few discrepancies in
I heard her moan. I looked. Her panties hung by her ankle, her feet against the pane of glass. Her legs were split very far apart and her skirt was raised to her hips. Above the dark grey sensibleness of her office chair were the twin curves of her asscheeks. Above that, dark pink folds of flesh.
discrepancies in the office dress code. In order to maintain an air of professionalism,
“I’m thinking about that time on your conference room table. When you had me bent over it and I was thinking you were going to fuck me, but you didn’t.”
I looked over at her. There was a break in the clouds, the sun shading her in glare.
we ask that our employees adhere to the rules. They are as follows:
I looked again, just as another cloud glided over. She had her fingers pressed into the sides of her pussy, her soft, red clit exposed. She had a lock on her door. I didn’t have a door.
“No, I felt your tongue on me, and it was like a gunshot. You just worked me, so slow, but hard. I could feel every tastebud.” I heard her gasp. Her finger bent down and she began to rub. Her knees pulsed with the contact.
No visible piercings other than ears or the nose for religious purposes. No t-shirts, gym shoes or white socks. No denim or sweatwear of any kind.
Three corrections in one sentence. “Mmm. And you made me come so hard that I thought I’d break a tooth on the table. I remember I could taste it. That it tasted so chemical and lemony. You took my shoes off then. I remember wondering why. You were so gentle about it. I never thought of my feet as sexual objects before, but you handled them with so much… care. Then you rolled my pantyhose down my thighs. I was wondering if I should move. I was wondering if I could move. Ah. Mmm.”
Men: Shirts must have collars and buttons. No logos of any kind will be acceptable.
I put a large, three-ring binder in my lap and tried to concentrate.
“You teased my clit with your cock. I was shivering still, still coming. I wanted to beg you to stick it in, but I couldn’t. They would hear me.”
The last few words were so broken I could barely make them out. I looked at her again. She had an earpiece on. Both of her other hands were being used. One stroking madly on herself, the other holding the butt end of a water bottle, fucking herself with it slowly. The contents splashed.
I peered over the other cubes and found no one looking. She would have liked nothing more than to shock one of these people. She was fired two months previous. My old boss. Corner office now.
Women: No open-toed shoes or sandals. Skirts must cover knees when standing.
“I’m gonna come,” she said. The three-ring fell to the floor. “When you finally… when you finally started fucking me…. Ummm…. You fucked me so hard… you fucked me….”
Hosiery must be worn at all times.
Use common sense. If you think it might be outside of code, it probably is.
My cock, now trapped under my elbow, throbbed painfully.
“Get over here and fuck me! Aw God!”
I looked over and saw her, knees shut, hand buried in her thighs, her mouth twisted, coming so violently I needed a cigarette. My hands shook over the keyboard. I had to spell out the words in my head.
Thank you for your attention in this matter.
Sincerely,
The Human Resources Department
Send.
I ran out of the office like it was on fire, my socks rolling under my heels.
No. No one uses that anymore.
To whom it may concern,
So crappy. The phone rang.
“What are you wearing?”
I turned around in my seat and looked right at her. I stood up and stretched the telephone chord as far as I could to the window.
“Take your jacket off,” she said. She was all the way up to the window. Her door was closed. I took it off and hung it on a hook on my cubicle. She got an office. I got another ten years in the cubicle.
“I’ve gotta write just this one email,” I said.
“Then I’ll talk,” she said.
“I’ll hang up.”
“Don’t,” she said. I risked another look at her. Her legs were spreading, her skirt rising. I could just make out a light patch, her panties.
I turned away from the window.
All,
This email is to notify you of
“Can you see me?”
“I’m not going to talk.”
“Look at me, then.”
This memo is to notify you that we have noticed a few discrepancies in
I heard her moan. I looked. Her panties hung by her ankle, her feet against the pane of glass. Her legs were split very far apart and her skirt was raised to her hips. Above the dark grey sensibleness of her office chair were the twin curves of her asscheeks. Above that, dark pink folds of flesh.
discrepancies in the office dress code. In order to maintain an air of professionalism,
“I’m thinking about that time on your conference room table. When you had me bent over it and I was thinking you were going to fuck me, but you didn’t.”
I looked over at her. There was a break in the clouds, the sun shading her in glare.
we ask that our employees adhere to the rules. They are as follows:
I looked again, just as another cloud glided over. She had her fingers pressed into the sides of her pussy, her soft, red clit exposed. She had a lock on her door. I didn’t have a door.
“No, I felt your tongue on me, and it was like a gunshot. You just worked me, so slow, but hard. I could feel every tastebud.” I heard her gasp. Her finger bent down and she began to rub. Her knees pulsed with the contact.
No visible piercings other than ears or the nose for religious purposes. No t-shirts, gym shoes or white socks. No denim or sweatwear of any kind.
Three corrections in one sentence. “Mmm. And you made me come so hard that I thought I’d break a tooth on the table. I remember I could taste it. That it tasted so chemical and lemony. You took my shoes off then. I remember wondering why. You were so gentle about it. I never thought of my feet as sexual objects before, but you handled them with so much… care. Then you rolled my pantyhose down my thighs. I was wondering if I should move. I was wondering if I could move. Ah. Mmm.”
Men: Shirts must have collars and buttons. No logos of any kind will be acceptable.
I put a large, three-ring binder in my lap and tried to concentrate.
“You teased my clit with your cock. I was shivering still, still coming. I wanted to beg you to stick it in, but I couldn’t. They would hear me.”
The last few words were so broken I could barely make them out. I looked at her again. She had an earpiece on. Both of her other hands were being used. One stroking madly on herself, the other holding the butt end of a water bottle, fucking herself with it slowly. The contents splashed.
I peered over the other cubes and found no one looking. She would have liked nothing more than to shock one of these people. She was fired two months previous. My old boss. Corner office now.
Women: No open-toed shoes or sandals. Skirts must cover knees when standing.
“I’m gonna come,” she said. The three-ring fell to the floor. “When you finally… when you finally started fucking me…. Ummm…. You fucked me so hard… you fucked me….”
Hosiery must be worn at all times.
Use common sense. If you think it might be outside of code, it probably is.
My cock, now trapped under my elbow, throbbed painfully.
“Get over here and fuck me! Aw God!”
I looked over and saw her, knees shut, hand buried in her thighs, her mouth twisted, coming so violently I needed a cigarette. My hands shook over the keyboard. I had to spell out the words in my head.
Thank you for your attention in this matter.
Sincerely,
The Human Resources Department
Send.
I ran out of the office like it was on fire, my socks rolling under my heels.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Stuff for You
The linkage for this week's Sugasm:
The best of this weeks blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #84? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.
This Week’s Picks
Saying No (lafillemariee.blogspot.com…)
“Would saying no really make it all okay?”
Beyond slutdom (junohenry.wordpress.com…)
“My eclectic slutfest continues, and I continue to love it.”
A guide to my erogenous zones (orangeuglad.blogspot.com…)
“Not that you need it, but i thought i’d share it with you.”
Mr. Sugasm Himself
Pic(k) of the Day (sugarbank.com…)
Editor’s Choice
Small Town (secretlifeofaman.blogspot.com…)
See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday (Fleshbot.com)
(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)
Erotic Writing and Experiences
Back - Pt 1 (sharedcindy.blogspot.com…)
The Diva and the Demon (in-your-pants.blogspot.com…)
Dream (katescuriosita.blogspot.com…)
Feast or Famine…Mr. Hunky Resurfaces….Grrrrrr (classyelegantlady.blogspot.com…)
The Great Outdoors (www.betweensheets.net…)
Halls & Walls (confessions112.blogspot.com…)
In a Velvet Glove (aagblog.com…)
It’s over, baby! (lastbreath.wordpress.com…)
“Lap Dance Lust” (lustylady.blogspot.com…)
Looking For A Shot (part 2) (dirtydetails.blogspot.com…)
Office Masturbation - part 3 (eroticawriter.blogspot.com…)
The Parent Teacher Conference Concludes …. (afterschoolmonologues.blogspot.com…)
Quickie in the Closet (fexual-strustration.blogspot.com…)
The Return of the Mythical Beast of Yore (or 2 Girls, a Guy, and a Sex Drive) (http://fourstate.blogspot.com)
Search Term Erotica II (shayssexcolumn.blogspot.com…)
Sugar Daddy’s Pop (aslipofagirl.blogspot.com…)
Two Cheers For Democracy (joeheather.blogspot.com…)
Sex News, Reviews & Advice
Hitachi Magic Wand Review (stilettodiaries.blogspot.com…)
Review: A Woman Alone At Night (radicalvixen.com…)
Sex Online: The rise of internet porn (blog.babeland.com…)
NSFW Pics, Videos & Audio
Half-Nekkid and All Alone (sweatshopsissy.wordpress.com…)
Half-Nekkid and Getting to Know Each Other (www.tarasnaughtyshop.com…)
HNT: Boudoir (imelda-imelda.blogspot.com…)
Louise Glover - Erotic Model with Beautiful Face and Rount Breasts (seccpics.blogspot.com…)
Phoenix (I Shot Myself) (viviane212.blogspot.com…)
Sexy Wife On Cam (myhotbox.blogspot.com…)
Sultry Sexiness - Pictorial Presentation (eroticjournals.blogspot.com…)
Take in the Movie Trailer for Action Girls’ Latest! (www.taratainton.com…)
Today just hot (http://mypenis.thumblogger.com)
Sex Humor
Top 10 Ways You Know You’re One of the Spanking Models Running The Race For Life (adelehaze.com…)
BDSM & Fetish
A damsel in desperation (blog.atlantabondage.com…)
Delayed seduction (twentyfoursevends.blogspot.com…)
Happy HNT - Corner time for naughty schoolgirl (darkside-journey.blogspot.com…)
Hot-spot (curvaceousdee.blogspot.com…)
I have the urge (gentlygently.blogspot.com…)
Master, how will i tell you if the pain is too much? (www.katiegirl4u.com…)
The Not So Simple Things (puppytale.blogspot.com…)
Obedience (www.kinkerbelle.com…)
The Other Pathway (kinkyfarmwife.blogspot.com…)
Under The Big Top (lolitawolf.blogspot.com…)
Watch me (insidedarkpixie.blogspot.com…)
Without permission… (everythingoze.blogspot.com…)
Sex Advice & Poetry
Beauty Tip # 166 (www.sex-kitten.net…)
Personal History ~ ~ “sexual Poetry” (sexyandallthat.blogspot.com…)
Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Cybersex, Online Sexuality, and Female Empowerment (deliciously-naughty.typepad.com…)
Falsehoods & Misunderstandings on The Dangerous Road To Truth (part 1) (perverselypoly.blogspot.com…)
Good, bad, naughty, what? (kislee.naughtyblog.net…)
Good Impression (bikersballsandteacherstits.blogspot.com…)
I Love You (thenakedrhetoricaltruth.blogspot.com…)
Polyamory Ain’t for Sissies (practicalpolyamory.blogspot.com…)
“Those ‘other Victorians” (un-cool.blogspot.com…)
The Unwelcome Erection (wanklog.blogspot.com…)
Corset pic courtesy of Imelda Imelda.
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