Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Oct 31, 2003
Yankees fans are uniquely rabid. We were sitting in a bar watching game six of the Yankees-Red Sox series and waiting for the Dominican. This Yankees fan was giving me shit for rooting for the Sox. He looked ridiculous in his ill-fitting grey jersey, complete with oversized shorts that would look out of place on any baseball field, and even more so on a cold night in New York. The Yanquis, Leslie calls them. Damn Yanquis.
Daniella arrived an hour late. She had a tee shirt on under a pink sweatshirt. The little shirt read I want a quickie. I rummaged through my jacket pocket, fished out the watch she had left behind Saturday night and handed it to her. This was the pretense of our meeting. She ordered a glass of white wine and talked about people’s energy and new-age stuff like that. This is natural talk for a yoga instructor. She rested her leg on mine and touched me here and there. I studied her lips and teeth intently and felt my cock stir a bit. Every few minutes I snuck a glance at the big screen to confirm that the Cubs were, indeed, losing.
“It’s not about being in love, but there has to be a certain energy. A certain connection,” she said.
“Mmmmm,” I responded, nodding my head.
“But I’d still like to find someone.”
“How do you find people to date?” I asked.
“At these parties,” she said. “I go a couple of times a month. Sometimes I participate and sometimes I just watch. I’ve met a few guys, but the timing just hasn’t been right, I guess.”
“You think the timing’s ever going to be right? I mean, those guys go there for a reason.”
“I don’t know.”
We thought about going somewhere else but it was cold and our place was just around the corner. I was keyed up from the game and wanted to get my mind off balls and bats and box scores. I wanted to know if this girl would let us take her. At home, the couch beckoned. I sat back dreamily stroking Daniella’s firm rump as she lay there all curled up with her head in my lap. Leslie busied herself with household chores, as she often does when we have last-minute guests.
“Les! Come sit your ass down,” I said.
“There’s no room, ass!” Leslie protested.
“We’ll make room then, dick-licker.”
“Why don’t we go to the bedroom? Let’s get naked and touch each other,” Daniella said, rising from the couch and casually peeling the clothes from her slight frame. She was already rounding third base. My eyes grew wide at her insouciance. She’s a woman in her thirties. A woman of whims. The choreography was all hers.
“That was quick,” the couch said. I gave it a dirty look.
In the bedroom I stripped Leslie and tucked the two girls under the covers. I went to grab a few candles to soften the light.
“That’s romantic,” Daniella said as I lit them. I just smiled.
I hopped around on one foot, removing jeans, underwear, socks and finally my shirt before climbing into bed next to Daniella. My penis settled comfortably in the soft cleavage between her ass cheeks. Leslie and I made a little sandwich of her. The girl’s smooth skin radiated heat. I told the Dominican Leslie wouldn’t be able to do much. Threesomes revolve around cycles.
“That’s fine. Let’s just relax and feel each other.” The Dominican’s voice was soothing.
I rose to my knees and hovered over the two girls, teasing their bellies and nipples with my lips. Daniella’s auras were tiny next to Leslie’s. I peeled the covers back further and worked my way down to the girls’ thighs, deliberately ignoring Daniella’s bare cunt. She began to squirm a bit and parted her legs, offering herself to me. I pressed my lips into the soft wet flesh and probed it with my tongue. I closed my eyes and slipped into nothingness, dimly aware of her quickening breath. Leslie, meanwhile, positioned herself beneath me and took my cock in her mouth, completing the double play.
I needed to rest my neck and moved over to let Leslie have a go at Daniella. I watched Leslie’s skilled tongue dance over Daniella’s delicate pink folds. These are the memories that will comfort me in my old age. A pretty face buried between slender legs. Lips on lips. Pink on pink. Girl on girl.
“Are you gonna stick that big platano in me?” the Dominican purred, gazing fixedly at that thing between my legs. The word didn’t need any translation. We were sliding into home plate.
The condom. Romances have foundered, armies surrendered, and empires fallen because some fool was wrestling with a silly piece of latex. My batting average with that thing is horrendous, maybe one good, clean roll out of every ten attempts. Leslie and I stopped using them eleven years ago. But with outsiders it’s different. A necessary evil. So I let the girls roll them on now. If they fuck up it hardly matters. There’s nothing quite like having two girls hunched over your cock, fiddling with it and sliding that rubber down. Some are even skilled enough to use their mouths like good whores.
I clambered atop Daniella and inched my platano in. She wanted me to lie on top of her and I obliged, kissing her as I draped myself over her small frame like a human blanket. I ground into her and then propped myself up again to give her some proper thrusting. “Squeak, squeak,” said the bed. “Squick, squick,” said Daniella’s pussy. I glanced back and spied Leslie in the doorway, smoking a cigarette and admiring the view. I wanted to see it all through her eyes, but I settled for watching Daniella’s bare pussy lips part ever so slightly with each thrust, my cock a fleshy sword filling her pink to the hilt. The girl was sopping wet. After a while Daniella rolled over and stuck her tight ass in the air. I filled her pussy from behind, pushing my thumb against her anus. Leslie joined us on the bed and kissed me deeply as she grasped my balls.
Daniella was spent. Like a handful of the other women I have fucked, she is a frustratingly quiet lover. Sometimes they tell me, “Um, Aleks, I came five minutes ago.” This is why long-term lovers are better than one-night-stands. You know each other’s bodies. You know what it takes to get there and back. This is why Leslie and I are so good together. She commands my orgasms. I command hers. Daniella collapsed onto the bed and closed her eyes. Leslie and I looked at each other. Guess she’s sleeping over. After going to wash up I stood at the side of the bed and Leslie squatted before me, giving me an optimal view of her sweet ass and flowing hair. She sucked me off relentlessly and pumped my semen all over her chest. I was dizzy, helpless in her hands. I hyperventilated, closed my eyes, and let everything go.
And then we slept. Six limbs intertwined. It’s a privilege usually reserved for our girlfriends but I couldn’t find it in my heart to kick the sleepy girl out. If you like someone enough to share your body with them, what’s the problem with sharing a bed?
Happy Halloween all.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Oct 27, 2003
Don’t cry for me Argentina. Been busy and then wired on baseball and then sick again. The State of the Union is pending. In the meantime I’ll share something that has nothing to do with my erotic adventures.
I had to get up early on Saturday to mentor some kids and the coordinator set me up with the most hyperactive bugger of the bunch. He just watched the clock until they were ready to unleash the little rapscallions on the gym and load them up with sugar. It’s gonna be a challenge to get this kid to focus on homework; I do finally understand now why so many teachers favor girls. But, hell, I was one of those hyperactive boys once—if anyone can get him to concentrate I can.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Opinions | Oct 15, 2003
Every day, it seems, another writer punches away at his keyboard and produces that saddest excuse for page-filler: the emerging trend piece. In the good old days one at least had to dig up some statistics in support of the trend. Now it’s enough to cull a few anecdotes from your social circle, quote a couple of “experts” and stamp your half-baked ideas with the imprimatur of Truth. Ailing New York magazine ran a David Amsden feature this month on the abuse of internet porn among—gasp—white yuppie males.
[I]n the same manner that looking for flings online went from deviant to de rigueur behavior, the mass consumption of cyberporn has slyly moved from the pathetic stereotypes (fugitive perverts, frustrated husbands) into the potent mainstream (young professionals, perhaps your boyfriend). Thanks to the advent of cable modems and DSL connections, it’s now easier than ever to scan lewd material in the privacy of your own home.
Not only is the article a few years behind the times (hell, broadband porn was percolating through university dorms ten years ago), but Amsden’s contention that internet porn is turning hordes of otherwise “nice” guys into porn-addled freaks is hard to swallow. A more likely explanation is that sexual dysfunction knows no socioeconomic bounds—the socially-retarded upper-middle-class raincoaters who once would have made clandestine visits to strip clubs and video stores now get their fix behind broadband terminals. They are the digital-age equivalent of yesterday’s “fugitive perverts” and “frustrated husbands.” And they certainly aren’t any less pathetic.
The article leans heavily on another dubious trend that’s been in the news of late: the mainstreaming of porn. Carly over at Pornoblography has ably deconstructed the mainstream media’s porn obsession, so I won’t delve into it too deeply here. Porno-chic is the new black, we are told. Even if there’s been a porn-revival of sorts, I doubt that sitting behind a terminal for hours hunched over your pumping fist will ever be considered normal, much less cool.
Amsden resurrects all the tired feminist cliches about the male psyche. He supplies a handful of all-too-convenient quotes from “normal” guys to prove his point that porn is screwing with the way a generation of men view women. And this is my biggest beef with the piece: it doesn’t give men any credit. Not only are we feminized and pussy-whipped, but now we’re the hapless victims of the sex industry—we’re so weak that we can’t help but compulsively click on every pornographic link. In our puny male minds we can no longer tell the difference between a real woman and a porn star.
I think most of us are better than this. Like many males, I’ve looked at my fair share of pornography. The on-screen antics even awakened me to some sexual possibilities. But for me, and for most men, porn is not a crutch. My sexual imagination has more to do with Henry Miller than Jenna Jameson. Unlike the hopeless wankers in Amsden’s piece, I know it’s not real. Amsden’s friends need to get themselves some professional help.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Oct 13, 2003
To die in a pub is my definite plan
with my mouth to the tap, just as close as I can
Then the angels would say, when the singing began
‘Oh lord, please show mercy to this boozy man’
Inscription above the bar at the Lamb & Flag in London
I was late to my own party, of course. Had this low-grade cold I just couldn’t shake. I thought an evening of drunken debauchery would make it all better. Sincerest apologies to anyone I might have offended with my bizarre antics; it was all part of my recovery, you see. But I suspect it’s my unpredictability that keeps you people around. Never know what’s going to happen next.
People streamed in over the course of the night bearing gifts, mostly bottles of stuff as well as a few charming doodads. Lisa, a pretty young black girl, called to tell us she had been mugged on the way over. The thief absconded with all her cash, as well as my birthday present—a prized bottle of Grey Goose. Hope you die of cirrhosis, fucker. We had to meet her outside and pay the cabbie. Lisa was a little weepy at first, but it wasn’t anything a stiff drink couldn’t fix.
Somewhere between a shot of Dewar’s and a shot of Cuervo I lost myself in the festivities. My friend Jimmy brought along his play-date, a lithe fair-skinned Dominican with a perfect set of teeth. Her shirt read fantasyswingers. I plopped down next to her and we discussed the validity of Myers-Briggs test results. Somehow the conversation turned to her shaved pussy. “Pussy makes the world go round,” I told her, using my index finger to execute a little counter-clockwise circle. Soon she was molesting me with her hands. “I’m hitting on you,” she announced, flashing a wicked, sparkling grin. Jimmy was all smiles so I played along. I pawed at the Dominican’s tits and pushed my mouth against her bee-stung lips. She lay across my lap and I caressed her firm little rump. One of my college friends kept glancing over, trying to figure out what was going on. Normally I’d adopt better etiquette around my uninitiated friends but hell, I thought, it’s my big three-oh.
Later on Emma arrived with Derek and Chloe and I stood around chatting with them. I told Chloe she’s a ringer for Chloe from Smallville, but for the black hair. I went outside for a smoke and Lisa cornered me. She’s Jimmy’s ex. “What are you doing?” she said. “That’s Jimmy’s date.” I furrowed my brow. “I don’t even know. The girl’s all over me and I think he’s encouraging her.” I complimented Lisa on her corduroys and gave her ample ass a smack that smarted against my palm.
People started filing out at about 2:30 in the AM. I was saying a few goodbyes when I spied Leslie emerging from the bar with Emma. Leslie led the girl around the corner, pushed her against the wall and started planting kisses on her. “Back in a sec,” I said, and went over to add a few kisses of my own. “So, when are we gonna see you again?” I asked. Emma said something about the Hole on Thursday. I hissed through my teeth at the prospect of returning to the hellgate. Les and I walked back into the bar and realized Jimmy and the Dominican were the only ones left. “Are you gonna take me home?” the girl asked.
A few minutes later the four of us were standing in my living room. I tugged the Dominican’s pants down a bit to reveal her soft assflesh and deftly extricated my cock, running it along the small of her back. “I want to take a shower,” she said, so I led her to the bathroom. She turned on the faucet. Squeak and the water flowed—too cold at first, then too hot, then perfect. “Hiss,” the shower-head said. She stripped bare and sat on the toilet. “Are you peeing?” I asked, unable to hear any tinkling over the steady drone of the shower. She nodded. It was all matter-of-fact, like we had done this before. I helped her step into the bathtub. I stood just outside the curtain, applied some vanilla soap to my hands and lathered her back, working my way down to her pussy via the cleft of her ass. “Just don’t get any soap in there,” she said. She toweled off and I wrapped her in my bathrobe, which looked luxuriously oversized on her.
She lay on my bed in the open bathrobe and the rest of us stood around admiring her body. Small tits with chocolate nipples and a pussy that was, indeed, shaven clean. Her freshly showered skin glowed. She bit her lip and grabbed my protruding cock. “You’re well hung,” she said. She wanted me to go down on her so I propped myself between her legs and lapped at her fresh beaver while Jimmy stuck his cock in her mouth. She heaved gently against my face. Her cunt was almost too clean though; sometimes you want that taste and smell as a reminder that you are, in fact, eating someone’s pussy. I had to go relieve myself and when I returned the Dominican was lying on her stomach, evidently a little sleepy. Jimmy seemed a little frustrated, but he’s always so fucking eager, as if each time is going to be his last. Slow your roll, negro, I wanted to say. If it had just been me and the two girls I would have been happy to curl up next to them and drift off.
Leslie and I sat there lazily toying with the girl’s ass. I spread her cheeks to get a better look at her tight puckered anus. “What a pretty little asshole you have,” I said. She laughed, chiding me for being such a pervert. Leslie licked her ass, coating the girl’s nether regions in saliva, and I prodded her sphincter gently with my finger. “We have to teach you how to take it up your ass,” I said. “Leslie has orgasms from that.” Leslie and I began to fuck aggressively in various positions at the edge of the bed, while the Dominican spurned the awkward advances of Jimmy’s condom-clad penis. The Dominican eventually said she was too tired and needed to go home. While I was relieved to get all these people out of my bed, I was also wondering if I’d become some sort of pussy-eating service.
It was just as well though. I quickly sank into oblivion and awoke the next morning feeling as if someone had split my skull with an axe.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Snaps | Oct 10, 2003
Les
