Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Jun 30, 2005
So I’ve been corresponding with a few women about their potential participation in a nude photo shoot. Color me amused thus far. The amateurs are looking a lot more appealing to me than the singer-songwriter-comedienne-actress-models with professional headshots and accolades and all that. (Doesn’t anyone specialize anymore?)
I’m most intrigued by the first woman who contacted me, even though she’s a little younger than I wanted and definitely of the wispy Petter Hegre variety. We’ll see. I’m in no rush.
I’ll certainly keep you all, um, abreast of any developments.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Jun 29, 2005
Durch die Vorhänge sah ich, daß es heller wurde, also die Tageszeit anbrach, zu der ich, wenn ich wach bin, an einer langen Bahn von Bildern, von Erinnerungen bis zu trüben Ahnungen entlanggleite. Dazwischen hörte ich das Krähen eines Hahnes; die einzige Funktion des Federviehs, die ihm Anspruch auf poetische Verarbeitung gibt, dachte ich und merkte, daß, wie so oft in ungewohnten Lagen, meine Gedanken sich selbständig machten. Darauf schlief ich ein. Am späten Nachmittag erwachte ich. Ich sah durch das Loch. Da war das Fest noch voll im Gange, und ich wußte, daß es nun für immer weitergehen würde.
Wolfgang Hildesheimer, “Das Atelierfest”
It’s not that I wanted to attend the Flirt party, exactly; it’s just that the witching hour was fast approaching and I had nowhere else to go. Les and I were at Jimmy’s birthday celebration. The big four-oh: an event which marks a man’s passage from bachelorhood to lechery. Jimmy has a girl now, though, so there may be hope for him yet.
“But I’m not ready for that,” Les was telling me.
“Ready for what? It’s just a party—a few drinks, a little blah blah blah, maybe some T and A. Besides, you’re always ready.”
Others offered similar encouragements. Leslie relented. And so, after a short walk, we found ourselves in Swingerville, pop. 140. As I scanned the crowd of voyeurs and exhibitionists I realized my little pep talk had been more for my own benefit than Leslie’s, that my interests at the moment tended toward the anthropological rather than the sexual. Having taken such a long vacation from debauchery, I wasn’t sure I had the willl to return.
Our group dissolved into the scenery. Les and I toured the space, upstairs and downstairs, not seeing much of interest. Other than a few clumps of males and females grinding together on the dance floor, the crowd appeared remarkably restrained. But then, quel surprise!, I spied Cassius and Simone sitting against a wall and looking a little bored. Simone, just as lovely as ever in her wispy dress, informed me she’s back from France, this time quite possibly for good.
“Funny,” I said, “cause France is looking more and more attractive to me these days.”
It was love at first sight between her and Leslie, as it always is, so after speaking with Cassius for a moment I went off on my own, bumping now and then into someone from Jimmy’s party. In a half-hearted attempt at entertaining myself I made a pass at a woman and went down in flames, deservedly so.
Natalia stopped by for a little while with her tall pretty friends in tow. Her attire included, uncharacteristically, a hat and sneakers, clothes that seemed to say I’m taken, now go away. She looked appetizing nonetheless. “You owe me a new mistress,” I joked, eyeing her friends.
“Ha! I think they’re both a little freaked out by this party.”
“Ah, but it’s so tame.”
And yet when I located my girlfriend again I found her pinned beneath Simone, who was administering a very enthusiastic lap dance. I slumped against the couch, next to the girls, and explored Simone’s robust curvature with winter-toughened palms. My fingers crept under her dress now, delicately traversed the length of the narrowest section of her thong, my wrist brushing against an ass that was remarkably full and warm and round. So perfect, sometimes, to simply touch—to not concern oneself with what comes next. Simone’s smallish breasts popped out and Leslie lapped at them. Peaches and cream was all I could think.
“How’s your girlfriend?” I asked Leslie as we made our way out.
“I have a date with her next week.”
“Are you still mad I made you come out tonight?”
Ignoring my query, she took my hand and we walked to the curb to hail a cab. Behind us, the party was in full swing. I knew now that it would go on forever.
(*)
Posted by Lex Konrad in Opinions | Jun 27, 2005
My email address is buried among the back pages for a reason. Straight-up spam aside, I receive loads of solicitations for link trades, site reviews, affiliate programs and so on. It’s easy to lose track of the genuine reader feedback amidst all the pimpery. I don’t know how Bacchus, et. al. handle it. I figure people who take a moment to find my email addy are at least semi-serious.
I’m less opposed to commercial solicitations now than I was back in the blogspot days but I’m nonetheless protective of my wankers. I have rules, you see. With the sole exception of the textads on the upper right (which I’m tempted to drop altogether), I won’t link any porn site or shop or service I have not personally vetted. There’s a reason I’ve been pimping Climax Corner / Videobox for so long: they gave me a free account when I signed up and I still pop over there about once a week to download a scene or two.* Most sites have fuck-all for fresh affiliate content and thus I cannot, in good conscience, recommend them.
I’m even more leery of dating sites, which is why Naked Loft Party lacks the obligatory AdultFuckFinder link. It seems most of these “adult” dating sites are crammed with bogus ads. And call me a prude, but there’s something weird about seeing shots of people’s lasciviously splayed genitals long before meeting over drinks. Goodness. There’s nothing wrong with a little mystery. Les and I have had luck with Nerve, Craigslist and, you know, actually going out and meeting real live people. Still, we’re planning to try out a few sites this summer if only to report back here with the results.
So if you want me to pimp your product, service or whatever, bear in mind that I like to try shit out first. If you run a porn site, send me a trial login; if you’ve invented the most realistic latex vagina ever, drop one in the mail; if you operate a brothel, send over your most talented whore.
And for you bloggers out there, I’m always looking for quality sites; just be aware that I’m trying to maintain a manageable list-o-links. I’m pretty happy with my current crop of internet girlfriends and brothers in arms. If it takes me a while to link you it’s because I’m trying to link people who are committed to blogging—not the flash-in-the-pan attention-whore who drops out after six months; nor the (yawn) real live sex-worker who holds five doctorates and speaks, like, eight languages, whose only raison de bloguer is to secure a book deal or similar pedestrian mainstream credentials (obviously I’m talking about no one in particular).
Having read the long-winded disclaimer above, you can go ahead and email me.
(*) – If you are a webmaster/webmistress/blogger, you can sign up for Adult Platform’s affiliate program. It’s really the only program I can wholeheartedly recommend at this point.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Jun 23, 2005
Little did I know what dangers awaited me on the west side of town. It was a cool, quiet Sunday evening that brought Leslie and yours truly to the recently-reopened Sip, where we were to meet Emma and friends for a drink or two. Derek was there, as well as Liz, a pretty black woman I’d met earlier this year.
I took Les aside for a moment. “So, um, wasn’t that chick hitting on me last time?”
“Yeah… at least I think she was.”
“See? This is why I have to write everything down.” NLP is less of a writing project than a cybernetic memory, like something out of Ghost in the Shell. Whatever I fail to index is inevitably lost.
In my experience, if women talk among themselves long enough the conversation will eventually turn to the subject of penises. The girls were jabbering away and I could see where this was all headed. I tried to use humor to distract them. “For most people, the epidermis is the largest organ,” I said. “This is simply not true in my case.”
Nyuk nyuk.
Leslie, undaunted by my attempt to derail the conversation, attacked the subject with newfound vigor. Addressing Liz: “Are you a size queen?”
“Oh yes.” The woman had seemed shy, but of course this was a front as it always is. And so she launched into a monologue concerning the varieties and vicissitudes of the ideal member.
“Lex has such a pretty one,” offered Les.
“Yeah,” Emma said, reaching now for my zipper, “you should show her right now.”
I backed up a little. “Jeez,” I protested lamely, “I can’t just whip it out at the bar.” Emma stroked me over my jeans. Blood was draining from my cranium at an alarming rate. Nothing made sense to me anymore. Emma then wriggled her tiny hand through the waist of my jeans and into my underwear, applying a masturbatory kung-fu grip.
I was all brain stem; higher functions had utterly ceased. “Wh-what’s gotten into you tonight?”
“I can’t help myself.” She eyed me as if sizing up an opponent before a knife fight. “The real question is what’s going to get into me tonight?” Feeling a little cool wetness at the tip of my cock, I swallowed hard and looked over at Leslie for rescue, yet my girlfriend had no interest in bailing me out—she just stood there stroking Emma’s dark curls.
Eventually Emma released me and I let out a long, shuddering sigh. “I think I need a cigarette now.” But outside she stood with her backside against me, reaching behind her to run her hand up and down the crotch of my jeans. Up and down. I was about ready to push Emma to her knees right there. “Is this making you uncomfortable?” I asked Liz, to which she answered no, not at all. Of course not. When Leslie and Emma pranced off to the bathroom together I pointed at the bulge. “Look at what she done to me.”
“Oh my,” said Liz.
“Know what I like about sex, Liz? It’s that it just doesn’t make any goddamned sense.”
Liz asked me to walk her to the deli so she could hit the ATM for cab fare. She had a light tan complexion; her hair was done up in complex, overlapping braids. I liked looking at her. As I limped along beside her Liz told me she’d recently separated from her husband. I wished her luck with all that. They ought to have un-weddings for these occasions—not divorces but parties to launch the newly-free into the world again.
Still erect and now insanely hungry, I ordered a Philly cheesesteak, salivated over the aroma of meat and cheese sizzling on the fryer. Took so long that I wanted to leap over the deli counter and make the sandwich myself. When I returned to the bar I unwrapped my prize and tore in. “This is the best fuckin sammich ever,” I said through a mouthful of beef n mayo. “I’m havin a meatgasm here.”
Emma and Leslie were standing together and facing me. “We’re ready to leave,” Les said. I must have frozen in place because Les had to take my hand. “Come on Lex,” she added, kinda sing-song, “we’ve been leading you around by your cock all night. No reason to fight it now.”
I swallowed before choking on my food, took one last swig of my gin and tonic and packed up my happy meal. There were no cabs around so we scooted across the park in one of those black hired cars. When our threesome arrived home I immediately let my aching, throbbing penis pop out of my fly and rushed through what remained of my sandwich. I must have looked ridiculous but I didn’t really care.
I stood before Emma as she sat upright on our couch. “You should taste him,” Les said to her, and the girl obliged. Soon Les undressed Emma, who in turn undressed me, and I was hovering over Emma, pushing her knees to her chest, smacking her little white ass, biting her little white feet. “I am so gonna fuck your brains out,” I whispered. She pushed me against the couch and straddled me, pinning my cock against her thigh. I took her eraser-tip nipples into my mouth one by one. She kissed me, seeming to wrap her tongue around mine. We both stripped Leslie, who insisted we’d all be more comfortable in the bedroom. So much for finishing the wine.
I entered Emma as she mashed lips with Leslie. I was not gentle. When I brought her legs up in order to watch myself disappear into her again and again I caught myself wondering how such a small woman could have enough room inside. She was slick, as if slathered in half a bottle of KY Silk, the result being that I slipped out several times. I flipped her over. While prodding her from behind I smacked her ass again and called her a little slut, ran my thumb along the slippery cleft of her buttocks.
An interlude ensued. Emma brought Leslie to orgasm with her fingers while I kissed and nibbled both girls everywhere. I decided Leslie sounds like a cat. Meow.
“You lick it and I’ll fuck it,” I told Les. Emma was on her back and I lay on my side, hanging over the side of the bed with my hand braced against the floor for leverage. Before I got my rhythm my hip bumped into Leslie’s head a couple times and we both laughed. Relief came, thankfully, before my arm gave out. Leslie withdrew and I pivoted my hip downward slightly, drawing my leg over Emma’s, pushing, pushing until the sweet release of the little death.
Ahhhhhhh.
No rest, however, for the wicked. After a short while my girlfriend’s soft lips coaxed me back to full rigidity and though I ached I couldn’t help myself. I thought of the warnings in those advertisements for hard-on pills: Seek medical attention if erection lasts longer than four hours. Hadn’t I been sporting a piece of pipe for at least that long tonight? No matter. At first I pinned Leslie beneath me and we went at it on the smallest sliver of the bed because Emma lay sprawled, half-asleep, in the middle. Then I stood at the bedside and pushed into Leslie as she bent over Emma’s midsection, our playmate lazily toying with my girlfriend’s breasts and hair. Funny how the second orgasm comes on stronger than the first. F-funny. Lil bigass, I used to call Les. Something soft and round to grab ahold of…
The next morning I puttered around the apartment in the nude, scratching my head. “What kind of Jedi mind trick did you two pull on me last night? My brain literally shut down.”
Leslie just smiled and kissed my cheek.
Posted by Lillykat in Opinions | Jun 20, 2005
A conversation I had the other night made me recall a date I had once with this girl. It was my second date with her, actually, a follow-up to a first date that ended in sex. She ran into an ex-boyfriend whom she still had the hots for and wanted to know if she could drive me home so she could return to the bar and pick him up. Apparently he had a huge dick and gave her the best sex ever. The whole thing was utterly ridiculous. Seeing as our “date” was ruined anyhow, I went along with her plan. Maybe I’d read her wrong to begin with.
So the other night I was told she’s angry about something Lex wrote on NLP. This only pissed me off: I felt she was demanding respect, claiming some place of importance in my life, when she herself had not given me a second thought. I stopped myself here, thought about it a bit, and realized the truth angers people because it shows them something they’re not ready to see about themselves. Although I wouldn’t intentionally do anything to hurt her, I don’t see any reason to tiptoe around her sensitivities.
Lex has a way of reading people. He can tell who’s genuine, but more importantly he doesn’t get bitter, he doesn’t hold grudges and he helps me let go of those negative emotions. It’s much harder for me not to take things personally. This attitude of his, which I greatly respect, is reflected very clearly in his writing. The best part is he never sacrifices the truth. And sometimes, yes, the truth hurts.
I’ve gotten pissed at some things Lex has written: maybe I didn’t shine in my best light, maybe I didn’t shine at all that night, maybe I felt left out somehow—we’re not always the focus of each other’s energy. It’s possible for two people to be in the same place at the same time yet have two very different experiences. This is the nature of perspective. And whether or not I agree with it, I’m always able to appreciate the view through his eyes.
I was surprised to learn my former playdate is still reading NLP after all this time. Ironically, this makes me feel important to her in a way that I clearly wasn’t when we hooked up. Even though I moved on long ago, I can’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, her wounded pride is fair compensation for that faux date of ours.
