Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Feb 17, 2009
You can take your BAR and shove it up your ASS. I’m watchin’ TiVO!
-Aston Kutcher
I’ve got five tabs open in Firefox and two desktops going and four GNOME terminals and the IDE of course and the Rhythmbox player and I’m trying to just finish this one Thing before the gin buzz kicks in and I won’t be able to think logically anymore. I’m distracted though so I’ll write a line of code and then I’ll flip over to VideoBox and laugh at the witty comment someone just posted to She Is Half My Age #6, write another line of code and flip over to a post someone wrote about distributed key/value stores, then flip over to one of the apps I’m working on and watch it spit out the expected errors. I know what I have to do now but first I’m gonna scan the tweets of this chick I’m kind of into for signs she’s thinking about me.
There are signs. The funny thing is she’d have no way of knowing I’m KindOfInto her because it’s not as if I display any outward signs of being KindOfInto her because in spite of being somewhat of a savant in the sex department I’m really really atrociously bad with people. So the takeaway from this graf is Lex = Idiot Savant — heavy on the idiot, light on the savant.
When I do what I need to do I reload my app and everything Just Works. I love that shit. I put on some Shostakovich and breathe and then I want a cigarette. A good coding session is like a good fuck.
COPS is on. I never leave the house on a Saturday night without my COPS fix. It’s just bad juju if I don’t see my COPS. A white man on the teevee is talking about a “colored fella.” “ARE WE NOT LIVING IN FUCKING 2009!” I yell at no one in particular. And then AMW comes on and I’m flipping out because the actresses hired to play the perps are way hotter than the actual perps and I wonder whether crime porn fuels a cycle of criminality, y’know, like a snake eating its own tail.
Les and I have a terrible fight on the train. People must think we hate each other, but by the time we reach our destination she’s teary-eyed and we’re cooing and promising each other the world.
I say the most beautiful, romantic thing ever to the coat-check girl, so much so that both she and my wife gasp at the magnificence of it. And the thing is, it’s not contrived at all; I just open my mouth and the most perfect symphony of words emerges. But the other thing is — and this makes me sad — the other thing is I make a play for her at the end of the night because I cannot stand to waste this perfect moment and she’s all like “oh no I’ve got a borefriend.” Which just goes to show that those rare flashes of genius in life never go unpunished.
A friend of mine is there. We always have the same conversation. It goes like this:
Me: If the two of us had sex it would be epic.
She: I know, but I don’t know if my boyfriend could handle it.
Me: One day we’ll work this out.
She handled my cock once. In a bar. She has soft hands. I just need to find a way to put my cock in her. The answers to some urgent questions of mine lie inside her cunt, I am sure of it.
The chick with the Sideshow Bob ‘fro is from Puerto Rico. Leslie was frightened at first because she saw the wild blond ‘fro and thought a dude was trying to molest her, but when my wife spun around she was pleasantly surprised. Sideshow has been slyly checking us out for half an hour so I know an indecent proposal is in the offing. “I wanna watch you guys,” she whispers in my ear.
“She’s a voyeur,” I whisper in my wife’s ear. I try to be accepting of everyone’s kinks — it’s a big tent after all — but something about voyeurs sets me off. For one there’s too gods damn many of them. For two, voyeurism is uncomfortably close to that leering love-the-sin-hate-the-sinner kind of attention people like us get from the Straights.
And sure enough, she’s not into Actual Sex (with me anyway), which is a shame because she’s hot and funny-looking and she has the kind of fat round ass that makes me go all dreamy. So I content myself with slipping my hand down the back of her jeans and grabbing a handful of that fat ass. There is only so much convincing a man can do.
But god, that fat ass. The things I would do. I feel bad for her.
We put on a bit of a show anyway. I lift my wife’s dress and spank her, and, well, have you ever seen the movie Airplane? People line up to swat Leslie’s fine ass and I’m like where the fuck did all these people come from?
I find myself in the arms of a pretty blonde. Dunno where she came from. She most definitely wants to fuck me right now, and I’m not just saying this out of some overinflated sense of self-worth. I just know these things. Idiot savant, remember? But her husband needs to be involved and so on and even though Leslie gamely flirts with him he’s a nervous nellie, so I content myself with sucking on the blonde’s nipples and giving her bare and pretty pussy a thorough inspection. I feel bad again, because I know she’d love me to lay some pipe but the men in these women’s lives always seem to go all floppycock when reality hits.
We’re kind of on our way out when the cute bespectacled bartender latches onto my wife and the three of us have a pleasant, handsy time on the dance floor. My wife, in her silksmooth Spanish, asks the woman to come home with us. “Oh I so would come home with you,” is the sexy little thing’s reply, “but my boyfriend only lets me hook up with girls and I know I’m not going to be good around the two of you.”
Then be bad, I’m thinking, be oh so very bad.
Can’t find my wife now. A grey cat slinks by. I hoist him to my shoulder and the two of us set off in search of Leslie. He lasts a good five minutes before he politely asks to be let down. People say pussies are difficult but this is unfair. Pussies just demand a little patience.
“You are so full of shit,” I tell my wife when we get home.
“Why?”
“Because you talk about how chicks aren’t really into you and I’m the chosen one, but man, if you could only step back and see the way they look at you.”
Morning finds me utterly useless. I am ruined, a dessicated husk. I’ve forgotten how to drink and live to tell the tale of my misdeeds. Leslie pounces on me anyway. “I’m raping you, bitch!” she cries as she thrusts down on my cock. When I summon the energy to flip her over I see that her ass is covered in the black and red and blue evidence of last night’s brutality. There’s even a full handprint, and I’m pretty sure I could make out fingerprints if I bothered to put on my glasses.
As the day wears on I’m still staggeringly horny and I’m mulling over my options. I kind of want to jerk off because it’s been a couple days but then I’d have to clean up after myself. I kind of want to put it in my wife’s ass but that’s such an elaborate production on a hangover day. I’d call someone up but then I’d have to explain why I never call.
The couple’s been texting my wife all afternoon. “Where are they staying again?” I ask.
“The dubya hotel.”
“Christ. I barely have the energy to blink. They’d have to make this so easy for us. And, like, buy everything, because if I’m gonna be a whore I’m gonna be a high class whore.”
It’s not in the cards though, because even though they reallywannaseeus, hubby has to make a point of saying there are no guarantees. Taken at face value, this is a fair statement (and something that ought to be implicitly understood by all practitioners of sex). Experience, however, has taught us that this actually means hubby won’t be able to get it up and they’ll have a big fight in front of us and it’ll be really awkward.
In time my sex madness passes and it dawns on me that what I really want to do right now is curl up with my wife and see what the television has to say.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Nov 19, 2008
The room is crowded. People are on their third or fourth cocktails. We are talking about weaknesses.
“What’s your weakness, Lex?” someone asks.
I bite my lip, trying to formulate an appropriately clever riposte, when DangerGirl interjects: “Blowjobs!” She lets out a hearty laugh and pinches my midsection. Her dark eyes pierce me.
“What can I say? This woman knows me.” There is much rejoicing.
Later on I’m alone on the patio getting some air. The heavy door opens. DangerGirl leans out to say goodbye. I frown at her. “Get your sexy ass over here and give me a hug.”
We kiss. There is something heavy in my jeans and when I place her hand upon it she smiles. I rush to undo my belt and free my cock, which is by now standing at full attention. She lowers herself, gracefully, to her knees.
DangerGirl’s soft, divine tongue belies her sadistic streak. As she works her mouth around me, her tongue seemingly in motion over the entire surface area of my cock, I am not, I realize, the slightest bit tempted to guide her. Lost in the sensation, I take shallow, shuddering breaths.
She may be on her knees but there’s a fierce intensity in her eyes. She knows she’s got my number.
I hear laughter coming from the other side of the door. We’ll have to stop soon but for now I want to enjoy this. I place my hand over hers and sigh, my gratitude radiating out to the cosmos for bestowing upon me the gift of such understanding friends.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Nov 14, 2008
It started with a tentative slap across her backside as she leaned over the counter. Encouraged by her little yelp of delight, I cupped my palm and delivered another blow, and then another, each strike more furious than the last. Leslie joined me, each of us working a side. Our date’s cheeks turned crimson; my hand felt like it had fallen asleep. She gasped when I bit down on the pale, lovely flesh above the crease between buttock and thigh. She purred when I clamped my teeth around her nipple.
I am not certain what prompted the spanking but this pretty newcomer had coaxed something out of hiding. Like Leslie, she was agreeable and giving and just shy enough that her depravity was a delightful shock to me.
Men in relationships often outsource their perversions, or so I have read. This is not for me. My wife has always been my favorite whore. Over the years Leslie and I have done unspeakable things to one another. If I am not as open with our naked guests, it is less a matter of hard limits than of trust.
She is a rather perverted bitch, my wife. She thinks it’s funny, for example, when I try to make her gag while fucking her face. “Gok, gok, gok,” is all I have to say when I want to get a laugh out of her. As our guest looked on I pummeled the back of Leslie’s throat and waited for those lovely sounds: gok gok gok. She furrowed her brow when she disengaged. “Lex!” she protested in her sing-song voice. To our guest, she said, “That gives me the sniffles sometimes.”
The new girl nodded. “It makes my eyes tear up.” Her hair was not quite red and not quite blond. I grabbed what little of it wasn’t already gathered into a tie and pulled her to me, watching as her lips parted and slid down the length of me. Leslie slipped a finger up my ass. Tensing for a moment, I cradled our date’s head in both hands and flattened the tip of her nose against my abdomen. I held her like this, marveling at her ability to open her throat, and thought about what this might look like in x-ray vision. Her eyes were watery by the time she uncoupled from me. “See what I mean?” she said, blinking rapidly.
Leaning over her, I kissed away her tears, certain now that I had to do the thing that had been on my mind all day.
“I don’t know,” she demurred when, eventually, I made my intentions known. “You might be too big for me.” I smiled because I knew this game. It is the game Leslie plays with me: my wife, Our Lady of Perpetual Anal Virginity until I’m deep inside her and she’s begging me to pound her into oblivion.
Our guest uttered a breathy moan when her asshole gave way to the probing of my index finger. Rising from the couch, I let her gobble me up so that she was now impaled at either end. Not satisfied that our date was receiving enough attention, Leslie crouched behind her and lapped at her cunt beneath my pumping digits.
Such exquisite torture. I almost took pity on our new friend.
I still laugh when I think of what Leslie said years ago after I’d convinced her to give assfucking a try. That’s not bad at all! It’s like taking a shit over and over again. She knows how to relax for me now; she knows how to angle herself. I bent her over the easy chair, easing into her, and as I penetrated her ass I watched her round buttocks jiggle. There is something subtle, I think, in the way her smooth muscle wraps around the glans that makes our assfucking feel like love.
An ardent voyeur, our date sat some distance away and studied us as if she expected a quiz on our technique. When her turn came she made me wait, kneeling over her overnight bag and fiddling around with something in there. As she stood, stretching out her taut frame, I saw that she now wore eyeglasses.
I reached out to wrap my arms around her waist. “Oh my god.”
She smiled. “What?”
“How did you know I have a thing for hot lasses wearing glasses?”
She straddled me. My wife grasped my cock and slowly, delicately pushed me into our date’s lubed asshole. The girl closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. “Mmm.” I shuddered when I felt her capitulate and then tense around me. She lowered herself onto my lap, hesitatingly, the way one might step into a very hot bath. I rose inside her.
I had her lie on her back and our negotiations began anew. I ventured a little too far at first, causing her to wince, but soon she drew heavy breaths, her slender body melting into mine as I began to fuck her ass in earnest. I pushed my thumb to her lips and she opened her mouth, biting down on the nail. Leslie crept behind me and again stuck a finger in me, saying, “How do you like that?” The sensation was not unpleasant. I pressed our guest’s legs against her chest so as to get a better view of the in-and-out. “Careful,” she cautioned. “I am not as flexible as your wife.”
I am sure Leslie felt satisfied to hear this.
“Oooh, her toes are curling!” came the cry from my wife. Our date was on all fours now, wrapped tight around me and receiving deep strokes, her head bobbing, her eyes closed. I studied the arc of her spine and the tempting mounds that cushioned my thrusts. Her puppy-like mewling only spurred me on. I felt my wife’s hands on me. When everything went out of focus I told the lovely creature pinned beneath me that her ass was surely about to make me come…
“It always hurts at first,” she was saying as the three of us lay entwined on the couch, “but then it feels great.” I knew what she meant, having been on the receiving end of Leslie’s toys. Pleasure has its price. My dick, for instance, was sore, and yet this did not stop me from having my wife again. In an effort to be a gracious host, I first handed our playmate a vibrator. As she pressed the buzzing chrome bulb between her legs and my wife wrapped her lips around me, I was struck by the decadent absurdity of this scenario.
Our calico kitten has a stripper name. When it was time for good girls to say night night, my anal princess held our kitten to her porcelain bosom. The two of them looked adorable together — innocent even, although neither of them really is innocent.
The contradiction gets me off.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Nov 06, 2008
She started this.
She started this but she is yours now.
Take her on a tour of the apartment. When you reach the walk-in closet, grab her by the loops on the waist of her jeans and press her ass against the aching monstrosity in your pants. Her voice is high and sweet: Oh! This is what you wanted to hear.
Lead her to the front door and prepare her for your wife’s return. Remove her top. Admire the ski slope curves of her breasts. Take one large nipple and then another into your mouth. When your wife opens the door she sees the two of you and she purrs.
Remind yourself that most wives, upon witnessing this scene, would file for divorce.
Let the lovelies frolic. Undress them and watch approvingly as they melt into one another, brown skin pressing against white. When you free yourself your wife latches on and you grab a fistful of her pretty curls and you slip an arm around your guest’s waist. Leslie’s mouth releases you, leaving behind a glistening coat of saliva. Glance downward and then peer into the new girl’s eyes. For emphasis, rest a firm hand upon the back of her neck. She sinks to the floor, easing you into her mouth, and then into her throat, never breaking eye contact. You let out a sigh. Say something romantic now: “You look beautiful with a cock in your mouth.”
She is on all fours, her face nestled between your wife’s thighs. The flash bulb bathes the room in cold light. As you frame the shots you think about how this thing… this thing you do with your wife is an elaborate ritual, one that has, over the years, taken on a kind of spiritual significance. Entire religions, after all, have been founded on the basis of phenomena nearly as improbable as your sex life. It is not that you envy the foot fetishist or the sadist, but life would be easier if your desires involved fewer moving parts.
“I want you to fuck her while she’s eating me,” comes the breathless command from your wife’s lips. Ever the obedient husband, you apply a condom and drop to the floor. The pretty newcomer arches her back for you, and you watch, fascinated, as her plump labia part to make way for your intrusion. The hardwood floor makes hamburger of your volleyball-bruised knees. Oh, does it ever hurt! But you hold on, waiting for your wife to orgasm under your playmate’s tongue and fingers, before leading the women to the couch, where you’ll have each of them properly, one after another. Their cunts make noise, more or less simultaneously, when you change positions. This is what cunts do. Your wife seems embarrassed but your new friend reassures her, saying, adorably, “That just means it’s happy.”
Laughing, you tear into your wife from behind, pinning her midsection beneath your white-knuckled grip. Always attuned to you, she starts to come. Pop the question: Do you want me to come on her tits? The young woman has been on her knees, watching you, and when you spring from the couch she leans back to receive your offering. Relax. Let go. Release. She is a mess and the two of them are kissing and this moment is perfection.
It is 5:30 in the morning. The wife is catching a nap before work. You code better when you’re exhausted and your date’s shift at the strip club doesn’t begin until the evening, so the two of you sit together and talk. “I’m sorry I never responded to your email,” she confesses. It is a probably a blessing that you had not remembered sending a note — you might have held her silence against her. Promise yourself that from now on you will be more like the Buddha.
Don’t be surprised when your cock makes you aware of its presence again. Pull her onto your lap. Let her ride you. You didn’t expect her to be like this, did you? So soft, so slow, whispering into your ear (I’m so wet) while you palm her ass, pressing your middle finger against her anus, your eyes fixed upon the surgical steel between her legs. Pull her closer. Kiss her. Exhaling against her slender frame, you hear yourself saying: “You are delicious.” Lead her to the kitchen and lift her onto the counter, where you will penetrate her under the skylight as dawn breaks, watching that pussy of hers — the one you forced yourself to forget about — surrender to you over and over again. Fuck her harder now, on the leather bench. Her ass is in the air. Her voice goes up an octave.
The two of you rouse your wife by smothering her with kisses. You ought to tell Les to take the day off, but your playmate tells you her pussy is sore anyway, though you are quite sure this would not deter her from another round. Eventually, the two beautiful women will leave you and you will slump in front of your machine, picking up where you left off as if this improbable thing hadn’t ever happened.
Only later on, when you’re cleaning up, do you notice your playmate’s scarf draped over the easy chair. When you fold it you catch a whiff of her perfume. It is cute, actually, when women leave behind little reminders of themselves.
And it is usually a promise of things to come.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Nov 02, 2008
“[W]e are not bad at it, not at all. To be sure, alone neither Brigitta nor I is ever quite so cunning or brave, but together it seems that we strongly reenforce one another’s waywardness, and, as the nights go by, become more and more adroit at charming perfect strangers. Yet no matter how skillfully, how professionally, we come to maneuver as a team, I still go a little weak and dizzy when it appears that we have actually succeeded in finding a willing third…
— Philip Roth, The Professor of Desire
You are a fool.
Trapped in your delusions, you never fail to miss the obvious. You set your sights too low. You never take things far enough. It always comes as a revelation that someone, somewhere might take an interest in you.
You want her number. She wants to fuck you.
You didn’t shave your balls, and when you arrive she doesn’t pay you much mind. She spoke of blood and needles when you first met. Never mind that she was sweet and young and beautiful — you assumed she wanted something you could not offer. So you put her out of your mind. You didn’t think about her tits (how pert!), nor, God forbid, did you let yourself believe you might get a look at her cunt (how pliant and wet!).
It is much easier to impress civilians.
Her hair is different now. She is different now. Bite your lip when she glances in your direction. Smile when she approaches, squatting beside you and placing a pale hand upon your thigh. Ever the thoughtless one, it doesn’t occur to you to slide over until your wife insists upon it.
And yet even at this moment, even as she sits a little too close, even as she strokes your chin, you are still thinking about getting her number. Try to socialize with other people. After all, this is why you let yourself out of your cage tonight. Realize this is utterly pointless; you cannot tear yourself away from her.
Seduction is useless. The pupils, for example, dilate involuntarily. And the skin flushes. And the pulse quickens. None of this can be faked, the survival of the species being too essential to entrust to the machinations of the intellect. Words are unimportant. As the two of you draw closer, tell her about the time your college roommate claimed to have broken his penis during a night of rough sex.
People gather their things. Don’t mask your disappointment when she rises from her seat. “Leaving us already?” you ask. The way she looks at you tells you everything you need to know. “No, I’m just getting a beer,” she says. Accompany her to the counter, and when you get there ask the bartender to give you the worst beer he can find.
This is the Bad Man’s bar and it may as well be enemy territory. Your wife lifts her shirt to reveal her red bikini top. The bartender tells her she cannot do this. “This has to be the lamest bar in New York,” you tell the Bad Man. “What’s the attraction for you?” Your wife interrupts: “Why are you all just sitting there?” The apple of your eye shrugs. The Bad Man shrugs. You shrug.
Leslie takes the girl’s hand and leads her to the space in front of the DJ booth. Observe them in the quiet moments between words. You pretend not to notice when the girl’s hands find your wife’s ass. Something in you stirs.
When the three of you are alone the conversation turns seductive. Don’t be afraid to touch. “Do you like my ass?” she asks, rising from her seat. You and your wife squeeze her firm buttocks, pausing only to hide your pleasure from the angry eyes of the sex gestapo. Only now can you be certain of the young lady’s intentions. Wrap your arms around her. “We should go somewhere more comfortable,” she says in easily decipherable code. Everything is automagic now.
6.3 miles. 22 minutes. As the city scrolls by and your hand slides up the girl’s leg you catch yourself wondering how many times the cabbie has seen this. Drop your wife off at the bodega around the corner. Hand your credit card to your new playmate. The two of you laugh as she fumbles around in the dark trying to find the slot.
All you wanted was her number.
People think you are brilliant with women. You are clueless like everyone else.
