Monday, October 29, 2007

Twilight in the Morning

The sky is purple, bringing out the green and blue in the trees. I’m talking to my downstairs neighbor’s dog, Percival, who sounds like my first boyfriend. “Judy,” Percival says, leaning dangerously over the hibachi in the gondola, “you don’t understand me.” His voice is intensely like Peter’s. Percival becomes Peter. Peter leans in as if to kiss, but he doesn’t. He leans back and talks to a woman who wasn’t there before. She kicks at the heels of the gondolier and yells, “I don’t speak Urdu! I don’t speak Urdu!” I get up to grab at a passing barge pole and get off of this boat, but the boat is going too quickly, at least forty miles an hour now.

“Aren’t you scared?” Peter asks, right into my ear. An intense feeling comes over me. I can smell him, salty sour and burning sex in my nostrils. I’m frozen now. I feel his beard at my thighs, his nose buried deep in my crevice. “Judy,” he says, “aren’t you scared?” But he can’t be saying that, because my legs have been pushed apart, his tongue sliding along at my clit. Another wave of the smell and electric pleasure falls into me like an interior blanket. I’m ready for him to talk again, but I don’t hear him. I try to move, to test it, but I can’t.

I’m pulled out of the dream like air bubbling through water. When I arrive, grey and still on the bed, the pleasure doesn’t go away. I open my eyes slowly, the tear of the first blink of morning, and bend my head just enough to see the top of a man’s head below. I close my eyes and stay inside.

Two men in hospital scrubs to the waist hold my legs open and watch. A third, bent over the edge of the bed, straps my pussy lips open in long, elastic belts. I’m exposed to him. Still in sleep paralysis, I can easily imagine the men holding my arms down as well. They look me in the face, but with curiosity instead of sympathy, then watch, panting, as the man in the middle begins to lick.

My ankles are lashed down too, my breasts crisscrossed with similar elastic bands, only the nipples out, pointed up at the ceiling, helpless. One of the men in scrubs licks his thumb and twists the pad along one of the nipples, testing it for hardness. My neck bends back, the licks at my pussy getting stronger, harder, wetter. Another man in scrubs appears and pulls his green pants down below his waist. He looks at the other men, who inhale with anticipation. The man turns my head and begins to jerk off over my lips.

The bed quivers as my husband rearranges himself, but I don’t pull myself into reality. I resolve it in a twist of the gurney. The other two men in scrubs have scorching erections, but they can’t touch them, their hands occupied in holding me down. They begin to hump the gurney, slowly, their hands grasping tighter, painfully, onto my arms and thighs. My clit is battered some more, rubbed and slapped and dug into. The forth man, the latecomer, begins to moan just audibly. He gasps. He’s going to come. I need to see it, to feel it, to taste it. The one between my thighs feels me shake before I do and finds a tight structure, a steady, rising tempo. I can’t move to slow it. I can’t hide or twist away or close my legs. The man above my mouth yells out and the other two, the green scrubs so tight on their hips, gasp with him. He shoots all over my mouth, above it, inside it, across my cheek and some in my nose. The smell fills me again.

I lose control, lose sight, lose the men in my head, fall under the spell of a twisting tongue at me, and my back arches, my mouth open, and I wake myself up with the sound of my own cranked growling, something leftover from my dream, as the barge poles are whipping past and Peter asking, “Aren’t you scared?”

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Lizzie and Jenny

Note: Holy cow, this was ridden with typos. I think I got them all. Sorry for the cringe factor.

“You guys just want to stay on the boat?” asks Lisa’s old roommate, her hand on the button of the voiceover microphone.

We look to the left, across the shoulder-level floor that revolves with the boats. There’s no line or anything. “Yeah!”

“Then just stay there,” she says, rotating just out of our neck angle.

The completely tweaked out recorded voice plays again and again as we rotate in the moat, rubber squeaking against rubber. The voice reminds us, “Please keep your hands and feet inside the boat at all times. As you enjoy the ride’s sixty foot drop, keep your belongings close to you. Hold onto children, and enjoy the rest of your day at Marriot’s Great America! Please keep your hands and feet inside the boat….”

Jenny’s soaking wet, sitting in front of me, she takes all the big water and I get only what I can’t easily avoid. The seats are like a lengthwise bench with one divider in the middle. They can hold about six kids or something like that, but we’re four adults, Lisa and her boyfriend Ted, all wrapped up into each other on the front side of the divider, and Jenny and me, our boyfriends off to wait in the three-hour line for The Demon. They’re all excited because they get to go upside down, but the fucking ride only lasts around two minutes. We could stay on the water rides all night, us four, and we do.

It’s a warm night, but wet like this, Jenny and I shiver a little, looking over the side of the long up-ramp on the boat. Across the park, rides flit all over, screaming and the whoosh of rails and hard brakes. Jenny keeps trying to get me to look straight down, but I won’t. I don’t know if I’m still scared like I used to be when I was a kid, but I don’t want to check. She’s having such a good time teasing me anyway.

“I’m looking down, I’m looking down, I’m looking downnnn,” she says, leaning just a little too far over the edge.


I hold her tight to me, but she just laughs and pulls harder. “Oh, look over there! It’s your body! All flat and bloody!”


I call for Ted and Lisa, but they’re occupied. Jenny takes this as a more interesting course of overexcitement and leans back onto me. “Do you think they’re doing it?” she asks. “Do you think they’re doing it right now in front of us?”


“I don’t know where Ted’s right hand is, but his left hand is on her booby.”

“Her booby?”

“Yeah, like the one of yours that I’m squishing right now! Do you think they’d throw us out if we smoked up here?”

The boat reaches the top of the hill, makes a small drop for speed and begins winding around the course.

“I don’t think you’d be able to light it,” I answer.

She frowns and takes my arms in her hands. “Touch my boobies, Ted!” she says, imitating Lisa, but taking both my hands to her tits and holding them there. She forcibly kneads my fingers, “Oh, Ted! That feels so gooooood!”

I would remove them, but she won’t change the subject until she has her way. Her nipples are rock hard through the shirt. “Mmmm, Lizzie!”

“Cut it out, Jenny!” The drop is straight ahead. Ted and Lisa, about to go over, don’t come up for air in their kiss. “God, you’re such a lesbo!”

“So what?” she says, and turns around as the boat goes over. Her lips touch mine and she sucks them in and we’re falling, falling straight down the chute. Just before we hit bottom, she takes my hand up her dress, her legs wide open, the water flies in and she’s soaked. After the boat settles, she faces forward again and says “You tell anyone, and I’ll just deny it.”

“You guys want to just stay there?” Lisa’s old roommate says.

“Yeah!” the four of us say, and as we go up the ramp, Jenny turns to me again, kisses me, takes my hands and puts them where she wants.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Indian Summer

She pulled into the rest area. Our minivan, in barn red, almost enough to camouflage her against the turning trees, but I saw her. I watched her pull into the front parking area and took the back. She didn’t see me. I’d borrowed the car and my face, my body, was a blind spot anyway. Through the scratched glass of the rest stop building, beyond the highway map and the vending machines that charged $1.50 for a can of Pepsi products, she swung open the door at the opposite entrance, her right leg stepping in first. It was a beautiful leg, long and supple like a frog’s on a plate, but it had been a while since I noticed it. Only now, when she was about to lend it out to someone else was when I could see it like someone else would. The other man’s eyes were the only things that could unblur mine, could take me far enough from my own experience and see her again. Pure sex on leave from monogamy.

He walked right past me, retucking his shirt in his jeans, a younger man than me, but just by a little bit, a handsomer man than me, but only in a completely different way. I was big, rough, all forearms and shins. He was slight, but clean-cut, more educated, no doubt. Probably a vegetarian. He had grey hairs at his temples and there only. Other than that, it appeared, as he lifted his glasses over his ears and arranged them, that my wife’s temporary suitor was her idea of Harry Potter in fifteen or twenty years. Down to the twitching grin when he saw her.

She smiled that smile I’d forgotten, and I noticed little wrinkles that were nothing but endearing in the corners of her eyes. She kissed him and stepped back quickly, as if she were a little girl ordered to kiss Santa. He didn’t accept that, however, and leaned into her hungrily, his left hand, slightly toward me, held her upper arm and pulled her into him, their necks bending to get closer. She opened her eyes to look at him before he was finished and let them flutter down again, unsure, then fully there in the moment, feeling him and that and whatever else she allowed herself to feel, alone, in her head, alone and trying to make out this shock of affection for her. His hand, brightly lit in the setting sun behind me, slid around her arm and clutched her breast, pushing it up. She stopped kissing him and watched and blushed.

He whispered something in her ear, and they turned as one my way. I dropped behind the bumper of my borrowed car and froze until they decided which way to go. I circled the car the opposite direction of them and only stood up when they were halfway up the fallow hill behind the rest stop, the dry grass rustling at their ankles. When they hit the crest and dropped slowly over, I followed, the grass tickling me, the wind hissing in it.

They were still standing when I got to the top of the hill. He was undressing her, dropping her sweater over her shoulders, her nipples emerging only to be covered by his lips. Her breasts, in silhouette against the orange-pink sunset, looked unnaturally full, more than I remembered ever dreaming them, but the proof was there, then, as he let her nipples slide out of his lips. He dropped to his knees and lifted her long pencil skirt, the one I’d absently thought frumpy, now suddenly stunningly graceful and stylish, her knees turned into each other under it, coyly preventing his face full entry to her cunt. He looked into her face and stroked her thighs gently until she caved and let them fall apart. She’d shaved. I would never have noticed without this, and I just caught a glint, red in the sunset, of the wet escaping the lips. My hand went under the waistband of my jeans, the swollen desperation I’d forgotten she had the ability to cause.

He admired her for a moment, then, with caution, split her lips in his thumbs and turned his head into her. Her face turned up and her neck, just a few feet above the brown grasses, echoed them, amber and fragile. She trembled for a few minutes under his ministrations, and my forced reaction, the only one possible, was to unzip and unbutton my pants, drop to my knees myself and spit saliva into my hand. My right knee fell on a small, smooth rock. I left it.

The wind swiped the side of the hill, crawled up the back of my shirt and swooped down to them, her hair flying, wild, in it. The whoosh and rattle of it must have sounded the same to her, and it was as if I’d personally passed it on to her, given it to her as a silencing gift. It made an enclosure of us, the three of us, a ceiling over the grass and wildflowers.

Her little girl act ended here, as if she’d remembered me, remembered the clock, remembered the world around her in the wind, she dropped to her knees, pushing his head away and then his shoulders down, and descended his front, the little slut that she was, descended him and took him in her mouth. I inched forward, completely secure that I could not be seen, on my knees and one elbow, to watch her better. His cock ascended her mouth and her hair stuck to the Indian Summer sweat on her cheeks. She worked him hard, her spit shining on him, her arms bulging at the triceps. His eyes closed and he moaned, under this squib bag of come, this spittoon, this worn fleshlight that my wife seemed to be, under her lips and her swinging breasts.

He jumped up and flipped her roughly, something like a smile, or perhaps the smirk of the Park Place owner buying Boardwalk, let him do it. He stood, full on his feet, bent her over so she was touching her toes, her heels flexed and held his cock down for a moment, looking at his prize. My prize, gathering dust on my trophy shelf. Her cunt was bright pink, twisted into itself like a complicated knot. In the orange light of the sunset her skin was brownish, flawless, ready, her cunt like a button that reads “Do Not Press.” He turned his head for a moment and entered her. My knees trembled. I stroked harder. He plunged deep and held her to him by the hips, then began to fuck, deep and twisting and groaning.

A smell came from the north as the wind turned, of burning leaves. The red and yellow and orange of the far-off trees turned to shadow and then black. It shifted again, roaring like an ocean wave to me and her words drifted into it, Shit. Shit. Shit. It matched the air. Shhhh. And then another slight shift and his now, Mmm, take it. Take it. ShhHHHHhhhhhhaawwww.

I didn’t want to fight for the parking lot, would rather retreat than flank, so I sped up my hand, spitting constantly into it, and the pleasure, mixed with the sting prickle of the friction, started its chain reaction in me. I saw, but did not hear, my wife’s groaning orgasm, her mouth an archery bow, her lips stretched tight. I knew for sure that she came when I saw the change in his face. Her cunt muscles were like vises. He still seemed surprised. I’d forgotten, really. And up from my balls and down my cock it came, my come, pumping into the grass and slipping down, falling into translucent islands and returning to the water cycle. I was sure it was her coughing yelp I heard, the one that made me crawl backward from the top of the hill, zip up and walk down to the car. When I blinked, I saw her leg come through the glass door, again and again.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Not Without My Sugasm!

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #102? 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
Animal sex
“As he brings me there, his hands and mouth on me are rougher and rougher.”

Romeo and Juliet: A Different Perspective
“Catherine!” Elizabeth gasped between her thighs. “You are like heaven’s own scent.”

Summer of Content
“Under the cover of my long skirt, my legs are spread for him, and I’m dripping over his fingers.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
How to Hide Your Porn

Editor’s Choice

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

NSFW Pics & Videos
Catalina loves Candles (HNT)
Dave Naz does something indescribable for me
Half-Nekkid Massage
HNT: The Boot Queen
Hot Nude Aria Giovanni
Mischa in Garden Delight
More of Jason
Painted Hills
Schoolgirl, Revisited

Erotic Writing and Experiences
I came for you
I feel like…… cheating
A Night of DP
Sat Night Swing Club
Satisfying Leslie’s craving
Someone else’s wife
Wicked Man

Sex History & Poetry
My Protector
Woodhull’s Sexual Freedom Forum

BDSM & Fetish
If you give a Dom an hour……
A Little Surprise
Marcus and Me – Redux
Mundane Moment #1
Pretty Girls Peeing Outdoors (Urophilia, Pee Fetish)
Slave Sale Night

Sex News & Reviews
Applause for Blogs Begun in October 2007
THE Best Solo Sex Toy for Men
Featured Design: Revealing your love style
Heartbreaker II Vibrator Review
Poly Pride NYC was Fabulous!
Review: Internet Escort Handbook
Truth or fiction?

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Alike, Not Alike, Identical
Analyzing, questions, memories, today
Housewife fantasies and domestic dirtiness
I’m a biter.
Intercourse is icky?

Tuesday, October 16, 2007


Despite what everyone says, those parental amalgams, holding their children tightly against their chests, petting their downy hair in protective hands, it’s quite possible to surf the web without running into any sex at all. When in doubt, I’ve been going to websites specifically for children, smiling at new media for all those memories, the Sesame Street website, Fisher-Price, Nickelodeon. Believe it or not, some of them have got great games, enough to while away hours in wholesome family fun, just me, twenty-six years old, limp in the dick, in bed with my laptop.

The sight of lips, open, a stubbled beard barely holding my come around his mouth.

I’m in terrible pain, you see, and mysterious pain at that. Every day I wake up to a new and different joint wracked with soreness. One day, my right wrist, the next, my left knee. Never two. Never the same as yesterday. But the pain is what I imagine thumbscrews must feel like, or knee screws, or elbow screws, or whatever. The helpless, throbbing, inescapable cry, and I’ve cried on its behalf, begging, first thing in the morning, when I’ve realized that I’ve got to crawl to the bathroom again, begging invisible Conquistadores to stop! Stop! I confess!

I don’t have health insurance, so I let the doctors charge me for as much sickness as I can afford, and take their word for it. Their word, so far, has been a shrug. Take this drug. Take this one, but not that, and when you can’t walk, stay home. They don’t have any idea what’s wrong, and I’m sure at least one of them thinks I’m making it up. Self-diagnosis is all the rage, and if carefully navigated, also sex-free and on the internet. I’ve decided it’s an allergy, so I’ve been giving single things up for a couple of weeks. In the end, all that becomes is spiritual fasting. Soft drinks for fourteen days (caffeine), cigarettes another (crazy chemical additives), cleaning products (use boiling water and baking soda instead), plastic, alcohol, household plants. So far, nothing. My hopeful fasting has turned to atonement, some guilt left behind from my Jewish upbringing. I’ve given up masturbation for two weeks, and sit alone in my bed, the best sex toy I’ve ever had showing me only fart jokes and old, public domain movies.

The feel of my forearm straining against his waistband, the heat inside.

It’s my ankle today, so I’m staying home. No crying on the way to my hands and knees this morning, just a confused dog, nuzzling my face and barking, my toes high in the air. Later, a phone call to work, and much later, a phone call to Clement, the third time I’ve cancelled on him this month.

“I’m just going to go over there,” he says, all argument-proof and about to hang up before I can protest. There are no spaces in between his words now. “I’mcomingoverataroundseventhirtysoputsomepantsonandanswerthedoor.” Click. Pants? How am I going to get pants on?

It takes about five minutes to put pants on, but I time it so I’ll get them on with plenty of time to look normal if it brings on a crying fit, or yet another inappropriate erection, which have descended upon me like beestings during news broadcasts, tooth brushing, hanging a towel on a hook. I calculate the probability of the seam of my pants touching my balls and causing an erection at about sixty-five percent, and these hard ons take mental effort on the level of three of those spoon-bending kids from The Matrix to hose down.

Fingers, just the tips, testing my balls in soft underwear. He pushes them up and they separate, letting the weight of his hand rise to the base of my cock.

Aching. It aches. My entire body is swollen, the center of gravity is my dick, its borders stretching to my hips, my thighs, my shaking knees. I fall back on the bed and touch, just touch, in a moment of weakness. Pfffffffffffff. Noooooo.

I play Bejeweled until it subsides, my head truly empty except in strategy of making astounding, seven-gem matches. Even the ankle seems to take the argument. When the door buzzer rings I’m grey, sexless, subdued, hopping to the button on one leg.

Clement is pure buzz, though, his stout little body, slightly shorter than me, is lean and muscular, potent, though I’ve never really looked before. I think he said he was a diver or something in college. He offers his shoulder to me and hops me back to the couch while he talks.

“It’s the ankle, huh? Well, I brought booze. You’re drinking again, right? Good. Jesus, you were boring. This car outside? This guy? I think it was a guy, I didn’t look. This guy just about tore my nuts off with his bumper. I don’t think he ever saw me. Probably on the phone. I need six tickets to Tokyo. There you go. You’re having a drink now. I’ll make it. What’s with this wallpaper? I thought you swore it off?”

And so on. The contact with his shoulder was a little dicey, my skin found it unbelievable and nearly crawled off to the kitchen with him. He hands me the drink and I put it down, foot out and limp, on the floor. Clement has some trouble deciding where to sit and finally settles, sympathy for the sickie, on the chair right next to me. We both face the dark grey screen of the T.V.

“What are you giving up this week?”

“Television,” I lie.

He looks right into my pupils. I have no idea why he would suspect that I’m lying, but maybe that’s just part of his intensity, that stare, as if he expects me to expound. He turns his chair so he can face me, and I feel exposed.

“That’s fine. You’ve got the internet. How many times have you come today?”

Clement’s mouth, the way his bottom lip pushes out, open and wet, dropping into my lap, the drag of them across the skin of my cock.

I pick up the glass quickly and cover myself with it. The cold helps too. “Um, a bunch.”

He cocks his head, looks back at the blank T.V., back to me and says, “Hang on, you hate T.V.”

He leans in a little more, his glass perspiring, his lips, I don’t think I’d ever noticed them before, did he have a beard or something, just a little closer to me. They part. He says, “What did you really give up?”


“Joel. That’s not healthy.”

“They’re not necessary to sustain life. They don’t send vibrators and fleshlights to impoverished war zones.”

“That’s alright. Your body’s probably doing it anyway.”

“Only one wet dream.”

“Joel, that’s ridiculous. Do it. My God, it’ll smell like mold or something, but do it.”

“I’m trying to work!”

“You’re feeling guilty, aren’t you? You’ve been out for half a decade and you still feel bad, right?”

“On the same level as soda.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it!”

“I know that consciously, but….”

“Did I ever tell you about my first time? It was my swim coach.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“Oh no. It was fantastic.” He stops and waits for me to try to argue. I let him get it out. “I’m nineteen, slower than all the other swimmers, but he doesn’t want me to quit. He’s worked me into this slick new body, all the fat gone, burned away in the pool. Strong shoulders. I can’t believe it.” He shrugs his shoulders forward so I can see what he means. “But he talks about my body like a product, like I’m not in it, so I start to think of it that way. And then he asks me if I’m getting laid, if I’ve got a girlfriend. I tell him I don’t. He says I should get one. Well I don’t say anything, figuring he’s not gonna pursue it, right? But of course he knows why I’m not saying anything. This is his test.” He leans forward a little, as if he has to whisper. The glass covers nothing anymore. “So he starts checking things, takes the robe down over my shoulders and starts to give me a massage as he’s talking to me.” He takes my glass away, gives a piteous look at my self-evident predicament, returns to my eyes.

“Well, by this time I’ve got the biggest hard on of my little life, and I can’t hide it,” he looks briefly at mine and points his chin at my face, “because my arms have got to hang loose while he’s massaging them. I’m kind of waiting for him to see it and throw me off the team, but he’s gotten all the way down to my hands,” Clement takes mine and puts them down on my sides, “and he hasn’t said anything. And it’s not like those little Speedos hide anything. ‘You’re so tense,’ he says. ‘You can’t concentrate.’” My eyes close. It’s my only defense against his lips. “And before you know it, there are his fingers.” Clement’s hands remain on mine. I feel like bucking against the seam of my pants. Anything. “And I kinda just fell into him. The whole world, all this fighting I’d been doing, just went click! It was actually the first time I’d ever really been at peace.”

He pauses longer, so I open my eyes for a moment. “Peace, Joel. That’s sex for me, peace. Before I knew it, he had me on all fours on his desk, teaching me what it feels like to get my asshole licked. That’s how I came the first time. I didn’t even touch. And then I started staying late after every swim practice. That guy taught me everything.” He lets my hands go. “I’d let you give up food before I let you give up coming. Do it now.”

“No, that’s weird.”

He lets his fingers slide slowly across my cock through the pants. I’ve only got time to cringe before I come, my mind lost, my body flooded with liquid joy, its own medicine. My ankle feels fine. When my eyes open, he smiles, kisses the wet spot, and changes the subject to Dancing With the Stars.

Sunday, October 14, 2007

Something silly for your Sunday

input type: verbal command; ts: 21:17; command rank: human Marcie
command content: lick me here; executed: 21:17-21:29; task terminated verbal command: human Marcie; task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 03:21; command rank: human Marcie
command content: lick me here, slow; executed: 03:21-03-23; task terminated verbal command: human Henrik; task report: incomplete

input type: keypad command; ts: 05:49; command rank: human Marcie
command content: meet me in the bathroom in five minutes; executed: 05:54; closed task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 05:54; command rank: human Marcie
command content: lick me here, quickly; executed: 05:54-06:00; task terminated verbal command: human Marcie; task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 16:49; command rank: human Marcie
command content: vaginal intercourse with clitoral stimulation, no vibration; executed: 16:49-17:17; task terminated verbal command: human Henrik; task report: incomplete

input type: manual command; ts: 17:17; command rank: human Henrik; command content: forced shutdown; task report: shutdown complete 17:17

input type: manual command: ts: 01:14; command rank: human Marcie; command content: boot; task report: boot complete 01:16

input type: keypad command; ts: 01:16; command rank: human Marcie: command content: go down to car, get in passenger seat; compound command executed 01:16-01:18; task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 01:25; command rank: human Marcie: command content: find motel room; connect; desired zip code 60610; MasterCard ending in 8120; purchase confirmed 01:25; EFT digital signature accepted; task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 01:36; command rank: human Marcie: command content: go to room 314; executed: 01:36-01:39; task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 01:41; command rank: human Marcie: command content: hold me; excecuted: 01:41-07:22; task terminated verbal command: human Marcie; task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 07:22; command rank: human Marcie; command content not registered; error report: human Marcie under duress, message garbled; task report: forced termination due to error

input type: keypad command; ts: 07:22; command rank: human Marcie; command content: vaginal intercourse, no clitoral stimulation; executed: 07:22-07:31; task terminated verbal command: human Marcie; task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 10:16; command rank: human Henrik; command content not registered; error report: human Henrik under duress, message garbled; task report: forced termination due to error

input type: verbal command; ts: 10:16; command rank: human Henrik; command content: tie Marcie to the bed; executed: 10:16-10:21; closed task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 10:21; command rank; human Henrik; command content: bend over, vaginal vibration on, lubrication on; executed 10:21-10:28; task terminated verbal command: human Henrik; task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 10:29; command rank; human Henrik; command content: say "Henrik, I Iove you"; executed: 10:29; closed task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 10:29; command rank; human Henrik; command content: say "Henrik, I hate you"; executed: 10:29; closed task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 10:29; command rank; human Henrik; command content: say "Henrik, you are the Prime Minister of Gondwanaland"; executed: 10:29; closed task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 10:29; command rank; human Henrik; command content: say "Marcie, I'm not real"; executed: 10:29; closed task report: successful

input type: verbal command; ts: 10:30; command rank; human Marcie; command content: kiss me goodbye; executed: 10:30; closed task report: successful

Saturday, October 13, 2007

For K. This is not a story.

An open letter to the girl who’s been plagiarizing me for the past year, and no I’m not putting in any links, because they’re gone anyway, and I’m not going to take you out any more plainly than you already have been done.

It’s going to be okay.

I know I should be all angry and jealous of the things that people have said about you, but I want you to know that it’s going to be okay. You thought, well this is nice. I’ll put just this one in and no one will know and because I like it so much it’s like I did it, really, and so, it’s really just a very sincere link. A link. And then it was just about your taste. You thought, I’ve got good taste and you can tell by what I’m pretending to have written. It’s taste. I just want to be credited for what I love. That’s natural. Also, “This is harmless, it’s not like I’m getting paid.”

I should be pissed off. I was pissed off. I was downright fucking radioactive. But I’m not stupid. I understand. I can take a compliment. You’re going to be okay. It’s really you that needs the comforting because by now, you’ve convinced yourself that you wrote this. You’re going to be okay, alright? You’ll be alright, just because I said so. Just move on and it’ll be like it never happened.

With genuine love and my flattered soul,


Tuesday, October 9, 2007

I Would Tell You I Loved You and Loved the Sugasm 100 Times, but Blogger Won't Let Me.

But I do, I really do.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #101? 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
Do you want me…?
“The shiver that runs through you tells me everything I need to know.”

Love that ass (his perspective)
“But as long as we are in here, she submits to my command; to my every whim.”

Hubb and Spoeker
“He was good for show and good in bed, but an asshole in the real world.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
125 Magazine, Alternet and Enviromentally Friendly Porn

Editor’s Choice
The very best of Sugasm…. so far

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

(Sugasm participants should re-post all the links above. The following links may be excluded as long as you include all the above links.)

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
Being Stuck Outside
Dominance, Submission, Humiliation, Control
Miscarriage and Feminine Identity
The next colonel sanders or orville redenbacher
No more pen and sex
Sex on the first date???
What Is Mary Hiding?
Why “Sugasm” Matters

Sex Work
Do you like phone sex?
La Petite Mort
Sex Work And Religion: The Sex Crazed Pagan Cult Fantasy

NSFW Pics & Videos
I could watch her do laundry all day!
Just Teen Site Releases All New Nude Videos
Red Rose
Today’s Special Offer: Fresh Hamburgers

Sex News & Reviews
Belated Happy 2nd Blogiversary to My Bottom Smarts!
Fetish Film - How to Use Sounds (Urethral Sounds)
First Purity Balls, Now Integrity Balls
It’s HERE!!!! Miss Francy’s “Spanking the Male Mind”!
Team Up with the 6th Annual Blogger Boobie-Thon

BDSM & Fetish
Back To School
Catalina loves Chat
Dancing with the Devil, a D/s Relationship
The Dungeon: Sex Camp, Night One
Fuck of a Lifetime
I Got Your Number
My Wife is a Skank! pt1
A Nawty Story: Diane Phones Home
Objets d’obsession: neck corsets
Our game
Piss Slut
Who is Elise Sutton and why does it matter?

Erotic Writing and Experiences
100 Sexy
An Affair with the Wind
Corseting Mrs. Russian
Burlesque: Home Coming
I Succumb to Jefferson’s Dastardly Lesbian Plot!
More Than A Breast-Fondle
The Morning Rollover
Party Blowjob - Part 3

Monday, October 8, 2007



Just this. I’d like you to read it, but it’s mostly for me.

I would drive at night, thinking of your breasts, wondering if you’d be up , if either one of us got sleep anymore. I would drive at night, slowly slipping down your alley. If the lamp above your stove was on, your husband would be up, if the light above your television, and only the light above your television, were on, I’d know it was you, and I’d wait, the motor on my car swelling in idle, until the top of your head appeared, and it would turn to look down on me, and I would pray that tonight you would come down. You did. You came down your back stairs, a silhouette of joy, backlit by your security light in your pathetic back yard. I knew it was safe then to dream of you, that I could think about you without wondering whether it was alright to think. As your hair began to take shape on your shoulders, and my eyes could focus, as they would only when I let them. You never entered the car here, but went to the front of your house, and I would drive around to meet you at the end of your block. You didn’t know these neighbors, probably think you were a teenager sneaking out anyway. You’d climb into the car in whatever you were wearing in the house, mostly a t-shirt with no bra and a pair of loose shorts. Your legs would move easily in them, would betray the shape I was so surprised to see every time I saw them, the swinging curve of your ass in them too, so much smaller than the shorts.

We could talk when we wanted to. Your husband was never much for surveillance. We had chats and emails and sometimes even the phone to communicate with. The phone calls were chaste, the only flirtation in smoke signals and innuendo. The emails were deeper, because we only emailed just before masturbation. The chats, during and shortly after if the other party was still working on it, were one-handed, all-small letters and no punctuation.

do you feel me inside you
fuck me
im in you so hard
i know harder
your cunt
your cock
fuck me

It was always a surprise to see you, to know I hadn’t imagined you, that you weren’t just an electronic ghost, but you were beautiful and flawed and graceful and you had a mole, a real one, at the inside of your inner thigh. It was hard to make eye contact with you. You always seemed to avoid it. Your breasts, well I called them breasts for you, your tits were always rolling at turns in stoplights under your shirt. I’d take the corners hard to watch them. We parked down my alley and went to my neighbor’s back yard, a beautiful and hidden one, with acres of not much, all covered in insects and low-branched trees. We lay down on their bench, which read “God brought the sun so that we can recognize good.” It was always dark on that bench, but I saw nothing but good when you lay across the bench, your shorts billowing at one ankle, my job now to slowly lift the shirt.

Your tits were small and fit perfectly in my palms. I obsessively worked at them until they locked in, the nipple in the crevice of my heart line, my fingertips over the skin. That was happiness there, your tits locked into my heart lines on the bench. If you were an object to me, it was only through idolizing you. We didn’t have time to ruin it. I couldn’t believe at the time that I could drive through your alley to get this, that a simple gesture like that in the world could find such results. Tangible ones, if I ever really believed it was happening.

Your knees would lift sometimes when you were ready, but I’d let them cradle me for a while before I unzipped. You were so soft against the bench, but solid. You let me kiss you for a while before I entered you. I felt bad giving you no foreplay all the time, but you never seemed to want it. You never seemed to come either. What this was for you wasn’t quite what it was for me, but I just let myself think that you found something in me, whatever it was that you needed somehow. Maybe all you wanted was the weight of a body pressing into you. When you closed your eyes, I never asked what you were thinking.

And so I would move inside of you, wet anyway and pushing back, and imagine that you were in love with me, or needed me, or whatever I could placate myself with while my body turned slowly to hunger and satiation. The endless story of our lives, we need, we get, we need, we get, we need to need, and we find a new thing to need, and we try hard until we get. Sometimes I needed to look at your face and pushed your hair back over your forehead to look at you. Sometimes I needed to watch your neck until I saw your blood jump in it. Sometimes I just needed to look at your tits as they bounced under me.

I don’t think you needed me, and it’s shameful that it’s only occurred to me now. That basic need you created in me, a need to come and getting it, was, to me simple enough. As I unloaded inside you, pumped into you, it was enough for me. That you’ve decided not to stand up as I drive by, though it is only the light over the television on, means that whatever need you’ve got, you’ve created it over something else. I won’t drive by anymore, and it’s okay. I think all the bruising will heal after I press send.


Wednesday, October 3, 2007

You got your Sug in my Gasm. You got your Gasm in my Sug.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #100? 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
Don’t think..
“As you read this, you reach for your cock and stroke it slowly, in anticipation of our eventual meeting.”

I’ll be out in 2 mins, I’m just brushing my teeth…
“One centimetre at a time, he slid oh so slowly into me and then retreated out again.”

We all have Secrets
“I’ll give you a little reminder - it was when he and his wife were making me cum so hard that I blacked out.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself
Iris Bahr’s Festive World

Editor’s Choice
Letter to a Lover

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

(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
Better than Cocktails
The Birthday Box
Burlesque: Getting Ready
I assigned Kis Lee the word ‘resentment’
In the city lights
A Much Needed Climax

Sexual Poetry
Symplexity Presents: A Wild Ride

BDSM & Fetish
Arrival: Sex Camp, Day One
Boy Toy
Catalina loves Guest Cock
Counting the Days
M is for Manhandled
Movie, tit whipping, and anal sex
No Big Deal… Or Not?

Sex News & Reviews
Happy 2nd Blogiversary to Always Aroused Girl!
Fleshlight Review
A Nawty Mouz’s Sexy Library of Kinky Linkies!
Violet Wands

Thoughts on Sex and Relationships
The 100 Unsexiest Men Of 2007
I think we broke my dick…
Not everything has a pre-emptive strike…
Now what?
Radical Fucking Honesty

Sex Work
Sex Work And Religion: The Pagan And The Jew

NSFW Pics & Videos
Antea & Christina (errotica archives)
Death or an invitation?
Friends, Frenemy’s, Half-Naked Peeps! Lend me your ears!
Half-Nekkid Public Exposure
Monique Alexander Nude
Monika - Chat Noir

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Hubb and Spoeker

"Where do you work, again?" Rita asked on the phone.

"I'm at this dive on Hubb and Spoeker."

"I knew you were around here somewhere. I'm at...." her voice trailed off. A girl appeared on the corner out the window, looking at the street signs. "I'm at Hubb and Spoeker."

"I'm right behind you, hon."

"This place? Oh, there you are!"

Rita's one of those girls who screams when she sees you and runs across the room for a hug. I'd forgotten about this. Luckily, it was dead. Otherwise my clientele would never let me forget it.

"Aaaaaaahhhhhhh! Rose!" Rita wailed and ran the length of the bar to meet me at the end. I'd forgotten her smell, but, of course, it brings you right back. We were immediately seated on the floor of her apartment, watching ER. Making fun of it. A good show, a great show, but Mystery Science Theater did it to us all.

"Come on, I'll get you a drink," I said.

"Oh, I can't believe you work right across the street from me. I'm going to become an alcoholic."

"Good," I said, smiling genuinely. I had really missed her, though I couldn't imagine what we would talk about anymore. "What should I push you down the slippery slope with?"

"Oh, um. Rum and Coke? Rum and diet."

I stared at her.

"Peach Martini?"

I continued to stare. She gave up.

"Whatever you want to give me."

"Ah," I said, and started to put together a Maker's Old Fashioned. She watched me for a while, then when she saw the length of the bourbon pour, raised an eyebrow and changed the subject.

"Have you been here long?"

"Couple of hours."

"No," she said, "have you been working here long?"

"Oh, about three years."

"Seeing anyone?"

"I've got my outlets. You?"

"Just broken up."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Oh, God, don't be. He was good for show and good in bed, but an asshole in the real world."

We both reached for cigarettes at the same time.

"When did you start smoking?" we asked at once.

"About five years ago," I answered.

"Me too."

"And when did you start enjoying sex?" I asked.

She blushed. "I always enjoyed it. I just didn't talk about it."


"No, right! I was just. I felt like if I talked about it, it would ruin it. Like it's better sacred. But that was dumb, huh?"

"No, I see your point." I pushed the drink by the tips of my fingers, as if it were dangerous, to her. "I just love talking about it."

The door opened and that guy came in. I'd been hoping. I straightened my shirt, wiped under my eyes in case there was any spare makeup and walked to him. "Hey, Rose."



His eyes, green in some lights, grey in others, sparkled in a grin. My balance, my state of cool, my mojo, was torn out from me and his eyes played keep away with it. I gave him a Fat Tire Ale and walked back to Rita, who had the same look in her eye.

"He comes in here?" Rita said.

"Yeah, you know him?"

"We used to work together." She leaned over the bar. "We used to flirt like mad, but I was still with Billy."

"That's the asshole, Billy?"

"Yeah. Haven't seen him in like a year...." She looked the guy up and down.

I leaned forward. "What's his name? He told me the first time I met him, and I didn't catch it, but now he comes in every day and I have no idea what it is."


"Why don't you call him over?" I asked, because Robin and I had been flirting too.

"Later," she said, carefully lifting the birdbath glass. "I need this first." She took a sip. "God, talk about talking about sex. That's all we ever did."


"Yeah, I used to call him the Twisted Ass Freak."

I choked on my cigarette. Hearing this from Rita was absolutely the last thing I could take.


"He was just obssessed."

"Taking or giving?"


"Hmm," I said. The contents of my bag rattled in my head.

"Yeah, he was the guy who talked me into it."

"You said you were with asshole Billy."

"I was," she said, taking another cautious sip before balancing her glass back down. "I didn't say I did it with him. He just kept talking about it all the time until I felt like I was some sort of freak for not wanting it. I never even considered it before him."

"He just charmed you into it, then?"

"No, more like bullied me."


"So," she looked at me finally, as if just noticing that I'd known her as a completely different person, smiling in a blush, "Billy had been asking me to, so I thought what the hell. Robin told me what to do."

"Um, bend over."

"No, like what to think and what to try first and how I'm going to react. It took like six months, but I finally got really into it." The contents of my bag screamed. "Now, it's everything."

"Bad girl."

"Well, Billy liked it."

"But you say he took too?"

"Yeah, he had this girl with a strap-on that he saw all the time. I want to say her name was Alice? Doesn't matter. Twisted Ass Freak Robin, bent over his chair at work, showing me the angle. How we weren't fired, I'll never know. Oh wait, he was."

I laughed. "For that?"

"Probably. Never found out why."

Rita sipped her drink and stared intermittently between Robin and me. I waited for her to ask me something, anything, but she didn't. I took the initiative.

"I'm going to show you something in my bag," I said.

She didn't react. An image of Robin and me, alone late in the evening, nothing to talk about, appeared in my head. The perfect icebreaker, this. I unzipped the backpack and showed Rita.

"Oh my God! It wasn't you?"

"No. I told you I didn't even know his name. This guy I'm kind of messing around with, Harold? He gave this to me last night. I haven't been home."

"First time?"


"What'd you think?"

I didn't answer, but raised an eyebrow and inhaled meaningfully.

Rita fell back in her chair and laughed. "Look at us," she said. "Three Twisted Ass Freaks."

"Who knew?" I said, carefully zipping up the strap-on.

"Robin!" Rita yelped. I noticed that she had drained her drink somehow when I wasn't looking.

Robin turned around and squinted at her. "Rita? Wow! I was just thinking about you today!"

Robin, apparently used to Rita's ways, leapt out of his chair and ran to her, thankfully not yelling. They hugged a little bit longer than I was comfortable with, but I held fast.

"I missed you!" Rita said. "And this is my old friend Rose."

"No I know Rose," he said, batting his eyelashes at me. I batted back. "No way you two are friends! Wait, let me get my drink."

He got it and ran back. I picked up his drink mat and placed it next to Rita.

"Yeah, Rose and I used to hang out all the time and then... then what happened?"

"You got a boyfriend."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that."

Robin, Rita and I lit cigarettes at the same time. Marlboro Lights. "We should have a shot," I recommended.

"Maker's," Robin said.

"Maker's for me," I said.

"Sure," Rita said.

Robin smiled disgustingly wide, flirting with both of us. We both smiled back, smitten.

"What a coincidence, huh?" Robin said. "I wasn't even going to come in tonight."

"I just moved in across the street!" Rita said.

"So, it was only a matter of time, then?"

"No, I was never going to come in here!" Rita looked at me and winced apologetically. "It's a little scary on the outside, hon," she nodded at me.

"It is."

"But then some part of me remembered Rose and I looked to see if I still had her number and I did. And she still lives here. So I asked her where she works and here we are."

"And I wasn't even going to come in, but then I saw Rose was working, and I've been trying to get into her pants for ages." Melt. But he turned to Rita. "You still with Asshole?"

"No, finally dropped that bastard."

They shared some silent time for a while, taking this in. I raised my shot glass.


"To what?" Robin asked.

"Timing," I said, forgivingly.

"Coincidence," Robin corrected.

"Okay, coincidence!"

We clinked and drank.

Robin and I drank and dropped the glasses with ease. Rita grasped her throat. "How weird it is to see you!" she said to Robin and not me. "Robin Davids, Twisted Ass Freak."

Robin grinned proudly, owning it. "Wait, your last name is Davids?" I said to him.

"Yeah, why?"

"All three of us have got the same initials. Rose Dawes," I started, fingers on my chest.

"Rita Driehaus," said Rita, doing the same.

"Robin Davids. Hmm."

"Hmm," said Rita and I.

"So, Mr. Davids, you're a Twisted Ass Freak, huh?" I said, and bit my bottom lip.

"Um hum."

"Rose!" Rita said. "You've gotta show him what's in your bag!"

"What? No!"

"Why, what's in your bag?" Robin said, slowly and sweetly, as if asking for my ear to lick.

"Nothing!" I insisted.

"She's got something you wanna see," Rita said. So much for timing.

"Really?" I unzipped the bag slowly, opening it just as Robin said, "What, you got a strap-on in there or something?"

We sat for a moment and took this in.

"You're making this very difficult for me," Robin said finally, exhaling hard and twisting his cigarette out.

"What's difficult?" Rita said.

"Let's have another shot," I said.

Maker's. Maker's. Maker's. Meaningful looks Robin to me, Robin to Rita. Clink. Sunk. Rita clutching her throat, her face in a wince.

"You still corrupted?" Robin asked Rita.

"What? Oh, yeah. Though it's been a while."

"And you?" He looked at me.

"Just at the lip of the slippery slope."

Robin coughed.

"You want another one, hon?" I asked Rita. Robin seemed to have forgotten his entirely.

"Just a Coke, I think," she said. "Diet."

The gun was on the other end of the bar. I let them talk, scooped ice into a glass, shot diet into it. Their conversation stopped. I turned around and brought the diet back, placed it in front of them. They were staring at each other. As I leaned over to empty the ashtray, I saw Robin's hand high on Rita's thigh. The thumb moved. I shouldn't have looked, but I did.

"Look, it's 11:30 and no one's coming in. I'm going to close, okay?"

"That's weird, I was just going to ask you when you close," Rita said.

"I was just going to mention no one's here," Robin said.

"I was just going to kiss you," Rita said, staring at him.

"I was just going to kiss both of you," Robin said. He laughed a little. No one else did. My head went back. I still thought of Rita as squeamish. How could I not?

Rita leaned into Robin and spread his lips slowly with hers. I came around the bar to start putting up chairs. Rita and Robin took my arm at the same time. Somehow, I'd been suddenly sure they would. Rita turned Robin's chin and we met there, the steam and sweet of his lips, unimaginable, in mine. My stomach dropped, the slopes, slippery enough, had been in my head all day. Howard's back under my hips. I'd dreamt of Robin before I came. His face had been in my mind for months now. Strangely too, I realized that I'd been wondering about Rita. Rita turned my chin then and kissed me, something clicking into place, the spokes all into the hub. Hubb and Spoeker. Never knew it. Robin took one of my hands to his jeans. Rita took the other to hers.

"Holy shit," Robin said.

Rita kissed him again, her hand moving mine in the heat between her legs. She stopped and pecked me again. "I missed you two so much."

"This is just weird," we all said. Then they said, "Lock the door," as I said, "I'm going to lock the door."

"I didn't want to say anything," Robin said as their heat radiated away from me in the air between them and the door, "but I'd been thinking about you, Rita, all day. You just kept coming up. And someone smelled like you too."

"Someone smelled like you!" she said, pointing at him.

"And Rose, this was weird, me thinking about Rita, because normally," and we both said together, "I'm thinking about you."

"Guys," Rita said, "I was working up some design for a non-profit today and their logo is a robin carrying a rose. They didn't have a good digital version, so I had to redraw it. It's all I did today."

I wanted to run screaming along the bar, but I simply walked hastily to the two of them, fell into them, and we were suddenly the same limbs, the same steam breath and the same skin. Robin's hands were swift, but we all seemed to know how each other's clothes worked, where the hidden buttons were, which was the easiest way to unhook Rita's bra, on what part of her neck she liked to be kissed. Robin's fingers trailed up and down my spine, nestled in just the right spots. I somehow knew that he needed to be touched just above his hip. He exhaled hard when I did. Rita and I kissed deeply before we moved Robin between us, my fingers finding her pussy around him, freshly shaved and sweet with wet. I admired Robin's back for a few moments, the points of his muscles around his shoulderblades. I kissed them. He gasped, then turned around. His lips sucked mine to him, fit them perfectly, locked them inside each other. Each little bit of friction was another thing that was right. His cock pressed into my stomach. My fingers turned around Rita, flipped and rubbed and teased. I could feel her skin, softer and yet the same as Robin's, at the ends of my arms.

"Get the thing," Robin said. "Go."

My body grinned, but once again cooled as I stepped away from them, strange to feel the wood floor of the bar barefoot. I leaned over and cinched up my bag, catching it on the lip of the bar, but finally releasing it. I turned to see them both standing on the pool table, staring at me.

"We're not in charge, are we?" I said.

"No," they said, and for the first time, no one laughed at the coincidence.

I pulled the gear out of the bag. "I don't know how to-" I started.

"I'll do it," Robin said. Of course.

They leaned over and hoisted me up. Robin strapped me in quickly, a quick once-over to know which kind he was dealing with. All lips were kissed, the lube bottle passed, a few tense moments, our skin vibrating on top of the pool table, and we each went to our knees, the clinking of my harness, the straps pulling and sliding into place under my buttocks. Rita turned and held Robin's head to her chest as I sorted things out. I'd only done this once before. He patiently took it, the dildo, and slid onto it. Rita and I watched it descend inside of him, watched his back make adjustments, and his knees on the felt and slate of the table. He was set and I tried moving a few times, to his quakes, to make sure the angle was right. Then Rita, with a kiss for me and a kiss for him, stood and turned around, dropped her knees to the outsides of Robin's and slid back slowly. I could feel it, could feel the response in Robin's ass to what was happening to his cock. I felt it pull on the dildo, on me. Robin's quakes were bigger, more definite under me.

"Okay?" Rita and I said at once.

"Go," Robin said.

Like a band that had been practicing for years, Rita and I knew how to start and at what rhythm. We see-sawed on and off of Robin, back and forth, back and forth. I thought I'd have trouble, as I did the night before, but this was seamless, perfect, a natural tone in space. My hands went to Robin's thighs, then Rita's, then mine. It was all the same anyway. We were all the same, even if just this moment, the same, a river of each other. Our cheeks bent into necks, our bodies lost our minds and we pumped, manual labor dissolving time and meaning, we pumped into each other.

A single glow grew between us, light and joy in the friction. Rita and I both knew, and she straightened one arm in front of her to lift the other. I found a small space between my thighs. We left us, our separate skin, and joined somewhere between us, only what mattered now, this build of unity in the world.

The three of us came together and melded together, on the pool table and not, and blurred the world of boundaries and difference, cell walls and the bounce of electron to electron. All of it is energy in the end. And when we were done, we knew better than to talk about it, simply fell apart and went back to Rita's apartment to sleep.