Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Jun 27, 2008
I’ll call her Red because she wore red pantyhose and she never did give me her real name. I suppose I could have found out what her name was. I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered. They come up a lot, stage names do. Everyone has a part to play.
“I was hoping you’d come,” she said, smiling at me. “I enjoy your writing.” It’s always a little jarring to hear this. She had my dossier. I had nothing on her.
The broad, multi-hued horizontal stripes on her tight dress were the sort of thing only petite women can get away with. The front of the dress was zipped only half way, revealing a sports-bra that strained to keep its heavy payload in place. Red’s curly hair framed a kind and intelligent face.
I mumbled something about having a smoke. “I’ll come with,” she responded. Leslie, who had been flirting with a shy couple, snapped some pictures of us,
It was only later, as we sat side by side on a couch by the dance floor, that I found out Red was straight. I hadn’t known there were any straight girls left. She lived in Brooklyn, not far away from the party. “So, the after-party is at your place then?”
“That’s awfully presumptuous of you!” She laughed in a way that told me she was now playing the part of the coy ingenue.
“Is it?” I grabbed a handful of her ample ass. “Because I could have sworn you’d planned this.”
When we arrived at her charming apartment on the top floor of a classic brownstone, Red plied us with exotic rum. And smoke. “My friends are going to think I’m such a slut,” she remarked, which I found odd since our mutual friends ran, you know, a sex party.
Red wanted to show us a video of her performing at a reading of erotic stories. She wheeled out a little teevee, and when she bent over to put the tape in I sprang from my seat, unsheathing my hard-on and lifting her dress in a single fluid motion. “Oh,” she said as I rubbed against her ass.
Red’s story was abstractly sexual yet stimulating nonetheless. I sat squinting at the screen, trying to reconcile the Red on stage with the Red sitting next to me. Leslie was delighted by the story, but then she’s a sucker for anything that employs animal imagery. “You’ve never considered starting a sex blog?” I asked Red.
“I don’t think I’d want to be exposed like that.”
When Red slipped away to use the bathroom I stood before Leslie, my beautiful wife immediately taking me into her mouth. I barely noticed when Red appeared behind me. “I was hoping you guys would be doing that.” I could taste mouthwash on her tongue. She settled next to Leslie, admiring her work, and then leaned toward my midsection, her mouth open, peering up at me. “Do you like it when two girls suck your dick?”
They were working either side of the head. I sighed.
Lying next to me now, her legs spread wide, her pantyhose and underwear lying in a pile on the living room floor, Red held her hand over her cunt. “Let’s see it,” I insisted. “Oh, that’s a pretty pussy.” The girl laughed, as did my wife. “We’d probably be more comfortable in the bedroom,” I continued, and moments after tumbling upon the bed I settled between Red’s thighs while my naughty wife licked my balls and ass from behind.
“I want to see if I can take you all the way,” said my new playmate. I made her wait, plunging into my wife instead, and when I took Leslie from behind Red placed one hand on her ass and another on mine. I slipped out, my cock twitching, glistening with Leslie’s wetness, inches from Red’s mouth. Respecting her boundaries, I didn’t ask, but she did it anyway, wrapping her lips around me and then, when I was good and clean, carefully pushing me back into Leslie’s pussy.
I thought about the labels we assign to ourselves. Straight. Bi. Gay. What does it matter where pleasure is concerned? We are all hairless primates. And compared with the rest of the animal kingdom, even the most genetically gifted among us really do look ridiculous naked.
My eyes widened when Red removed her top. “Wow,” I told her, “I’m not usually a breast man but you have magnificent tits!” As the sky brightened I tore into her, the two of us tumbling into an absurd number of positions. Everything but what I really wanted: face in the sheets, ass in the air, affording me an unfettered view of her shapely buttocks, her puckered asshole, her wet cunt. I think she’d been denying herself, because when I finally had her from behind she gasped: “You’re filling me up! You’re filling me up!”
I came hard, kissing my wife deeply while I was balls deep in new pussy. I needed this; I needed to fuck someone I didn’t already know. And I needed Leslie to be there for it.
By the time we left an inch of snow had accumulated. Brooklyn never looked so beautiful. “That one was for me,” I told my wife. “The next one is for you.” She took my hand and I continued, “I think I prefer it when you’re the center of attention.”
Red emailed me a couple of weeks later, telling me she’d been deliriously happy since our encounter, that she could see how much Leslie and I loved each other and had been inspired to find her own love.
We really are doing the Lord’s work.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Jun 25, 2008
My friends say no don’t go for that cotton candy
Son you’re playing with fire
The kid will live and learn
As he watches his bridges burn
From the point of no return
-Steely Dan, “Babylon Sisters”
Molly came home like I said she would. “What’d your little girlfriend say about it?”
“Nothing,” answered Les. “I think she’s still pissed off. By the way, Joy asked me to give you a kiss for her.”
“Wait, am I supposed to be her girlfriend now too? If so I’m gonna need a cute dress.”
I was quietly relieved. Unwilling as I was to entertain Molly’s attention-seeking antics, it’s not as if I was dispassionate about her fate. Nor, frankly, was it ever among my life’s aspirations to be named a “person of interest” in the disappearance of a pretty white girl.
And so, my schedule cleared of any potential Dateline NBC appearances, I let myself relax about the coming weekend.
Well, not entirely. “The little one is great… but stay away from that other garl,” Chris had told me during our wild night out with the two young vixens. “She’s trouble man. I’m tellin’ ya.”
He ought to know; Chris has been working at bars and clubs since the tender age of five. He studies human character as carefully as I study women’s faces for signs they want to fuck me. Chris met the first girl we ever fully seduced, and most of the rest. He’s never been wrong.
And I’ve never listened.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Jun 24, 2008
You couldn’t figure out the “Worlds Theory” for yourself? It’s just common sense. Anybody knows, ya gotta keep your worlds apart.
-George Costanza
Leslie and I joined a volleyball league at the start of last year. During my recent self-imposed exile from the land of hedonism, volleyball was probably the only activity that kept me sane. At the very least it did wonders for my ass and shoulders.
But last year I was trying my hardest to keep worlds from colliding. You see, physical activity releases endorphins. And pheromones. I was surrounded by fit, young and flirtatious single women. I realize this is a bit like complaining about someone getting chocolate in my peanut butter. At the time, however, I wanted to participate in at least one group activity that had nothing to do with sex.
Not that I was blind to the curious mating habits of New York singles. The league was like a junior high dance: no one made the first move. “Guys never ask me out,” lamented a teammate. It didn’t make any sense to me. The league should have been a meat market.
I stayed out of the fray. I stayed focused on the game. Got good. Damned good. And even if I had wanted to go there, I told myself, good girls should be with good boys, not married perverts like me.
On a Friday night a girl named Denise showed up at open play.. She must have been 5’10”, with curly red locks and a small gap between her front teeth that did nothing to diminish her smile. She was, I believe, Lithuanian. She had a killer serve. So much for the worst-laid plans.
I tried to avoid Denise — really — but she kept laughing at my stupid jokes. She sat next to me on the sidelines. She kept touching me, damn it. And so, when it became apparent that no other man would approach the second most beautiful woman in the gymnasium, I invited her out for drinks with me and Les. She readily agreed.
Another guy was sort of hovering around us. It would have felt wrong not to invite him as well — maybe they’d hit it off and I’d remain safely compartmentalized. But as soon as we were seated my hand drifted under the table, onto Denise’s knee, and she said, “You guys are married?” and I said, “I’m sure my wife won’t mind us spending some time together, right hon?” and my wife, stroking the lovely creature’s back, said, “Why not?” and the poor guy’s face said WTF?
A couple weeks later Denise showed up at my birthday party with her beautiful, raven-haired friend. The three of us sat together, Denise’s friend sandwiched in the middle, feeding each other candied hearts printed with suggestive phrases like SPREAD EM and LICK ME. Denise made an offhand remark about vibrators. Our fingers crept together atop her hot friend’s thigh…
And that thunderous crash in the distance? That was the sound of worlds colliding.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Meta | Jun 23, 2008
There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps
Running before time took our dreams away
Leaving the myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground
To a life consumed by slow decay
The grass was greener
The light was brighter
With friends surrounded
The nights of wonder
-Pink Floyd, “High Hopes”
“It’s been a while since you posted anything.”
I get this comment from friends, from acquaintances, even from complete strangers
It’s annoying. But I understand. My archives, however, are a gold mine. Tonight I read this entry and I LOL’ed. And my wife’s blog is brilliant.
I’ve been coding until dawn. I’ve been writing. I’ve been working. All with the brutal focus one can only achieve by neglecting friends, lovers, enemies and blogs. My inbox was overrun with spam, so if I missed some important message I do apologize.
Have you ever committed yourself to something so completely that it becomes your only reality, and everything else becomes, in comparison, a sort of shadow life? Flow requires a certain purity. It is difficult to put into words.
It’s like I went to sleep six months ago and woke up in this science fiction scenario. A black man is on the verge of becoming president of these United States. The world is on the brink of the apocalypse. Sounds like fun. Sorry I missed it.
I’ve been insufferable. A pain to live with. Just ask my wife.
I’ve been monogamous.
I nearly lost my mind.
At 10AM last Friday I was ready to throw out sixteen hours of work. “Fuck it,” I said to my bleary-eyed self, “I’m gonna reboot this motherfucker.”
It all suddenly worked. I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
I slept until 6PM. I showered. I shaved. I put on some nice clothes. I went out.
And I kissed another girl for the first time since December.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Dispatches | Jun 23, 2008
Les: There is no such thing as a sure thing
Lex: But there is such a thing as two horny sluts getting bored because you won’t close the deal
-Lex Konrad, Text Messages to my Wife, Vol. XXVI
It should have been brilliant. We planned to see Joy after the next Bi Girls Club meeting. And Molly if she wasn’t working. And any of the club girls who wanted to join our fourgy. No worries.
Of course it wouldn’t be this simple; it’s the price we pay for our strange double life.
“So Joy just texted me — Molly still hasn’t come home.” I was playing Mario Kart when Leslie said this. My character plunged into a bottomless ravine.
“Does she do this? I mean, has she ever—”
“Not for more than one night. If we’d gone back to their place sooner, or if we’d left with Molly…” Leslie let her voice trail off, “Do you think it was our… responsibility?”
No, I was thinking, not that it calmed a vague feeling of unease rising in my gut. Julia, I reasoned, was our responsibility. We brought that shy, almost-virginal Columbia student into our world. And who hasn’t had to babysit a drunk friend? But Molly? She was no ingenue. Nor was she trashed.
“Well, if anything she would have been my responsibility since she was my date. Would I have hustled us out an hour earlier if I had known it was on? Yes.”
“But you didn’t come outside to talk to me alone.”
“I thought we were — well, I don’t even know what I was thinking — but this really transcends the whole issue of the four of us having sex. It’s kind of perverse to suggest that I have to nail some chick in the ass to save her from an unknown fate. She left for the Wolf Man’s birthday party and said she’d call in an hour. Why would I assume she wouldn’t be safe with someone called the Wolf Man?”
I was relieved to hear my wife giggle. “Anyway,” I continued, “she’s an adult. Remember when that chick left us at the bar and we were worried and it turned out to be a big pile of nothing? Molly will be home tonight, or tomorrow, and in the unlikely event she isn’t then I will consider losing my shit over this. But until then I’m chalking it up to the folly of youth.”
Les sighed. “That’s the problem with young girls: we always have to babysit.”
“This from the woman who told me two weeks ago that she likes ‘em young.”
And so I find myself transformed into a gallant knight, Leslie and I into responsible adults. What a mad, mad world we live in. I lifted the Wii controller. Mario Kart beckoned.
