Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Dec 12, 2006
The Sex Box (patent pending)
Suckin’ on my titties like you wanted me
Calling me all the time like Blondie
Check out my chrissy behind
It’s fine all of the time
What else is in the teaches of Peaches?
Like sex on the beaches. Huh? What?
-Peaches, “Fuck the Pain Away”
If I’ve learned anything during my stay at the resort it’s that wet, naked woman doesn’t join you for brunch unless she’s angling for something more than polite conversation.
Les and I were taking an early afternoon swim and Tammy asked me: “Are we allowed to have sex in the pool?”
“I don’t think so,” I responded. Leslie licked her cunt anyway, my little brown babe floating and lapping away while Tammy propped herself against the pool’s edge. And everything was so bright. And no one cared.
Tammy saunters up to us now, naked, beads of pool water rolling down the valley between her breasts, and the insouciant Cali blonde flops into an empty chair. Studying her curvaceous form, I feel the pangs of another kind of hunger.
After a few minutes there’s an awkward pause in the conversation. Here it comes: “Do you want to meet us in our room?” I smile but I don’t say anything. It’s not often that a man is propositioned for sex. I want to savor the moment. It also occurs to me that my fiancée might want to have a say in this.
Leslie giggles. “Sure, why not?”
The women both turn to me. “Like I’m gonna say no!” I intone, trying to contain my excitement a little. “But I would like to shower first.”
Tammy gives us her room number. We are expected in half an hour. When she struts away Les and I both watch her shapely posterior jiggle in the sunlight, then look at each other with raised eyebrows. “What is it about afternoon sex that seems so… indulgent?” I ask, not really expecting an answer.
We’re freshly showered and snappily attired in our birthday suits. The room key is in its proper place around my neck. I’m holding a recent invention I call the Sex Box, which is simply an empty pack of Benson & Hedges stuffed with condoms and packets of lube. There’s only one problem: neither of us remembers the couple’s room number. “Wasn’t it like thirteen-something-or-other?” I’m saying. “Let’s just knock on the door and fuck whoever answers.”
Leslie cackles. “Can you imagine that? But I seriously don’t remember the number. What are we going to do?”
“The girl in reception likes you. Give her a call and see if she can help.” My woman picks up the phone and after a couple minutes of Spanish chatter she has the right sequence of digits. It strikes me that ours is probably not an uncommon request at the front desk.
As Leslie and I stroll arm-in-arm to the other end of the resort, a terrifying feeling overtakes me: I am most definitely going to get a boner. I’ve been so good up to now—so in control—but as we approach our rendezvous Mr. Penis readies himself for the occasion. Leslie, of course, grabs at me, which does nothing at all to relieve the pressure building between my legs. And then… I realize I just don’t give a damn any more: I’m a man on a mission, cocked and loaded. In a world that’s so deathly afraid of hard-ons—yet, paradoxically, so in love with male power—how often does a man get to walk around in public with an erection, proud and yet humbled, powerful and yet vulnerable?
“Oh my!” says Tammy, casting her eyes downward upon greeting us at the door.
“We’re just here to fix your plumbing, ma’am. I think I brought the right tool for the job but you should have a closer look.” I grin, expecting some cheesy porno soundtrack to begin any minute now.
Bright and inviting, the couple’s love nest is a little smaller than ours. I set my stuff down on the counter and send Leslie in James’ direction with a pat on her marvelous rump. The four of us fall upon the bed, grinning at each other stupidly. Then, as if by a director’s cue, everyone reaches for tits and asses and cocks and cunts. “I turned up all the lights just for you,” explains Tammy, having thoughtfully made note of what I told her last night. In a show of appreciation, I sweep her blond locks to the side, grasping the back of her neck and pulling her lips to mine. My tongue travels downward, making extended stops at her nipples and curiously shallow belly button before finally coming to rest between her thighs. I drop to the floor to improve my angle of attack, the concrete hard and cold against my knees. I decide I kind of enjoy the pain, that it keeps me focused on my task. The room reverberates with a symphony of girl noises. After some delirious minutes have gone by I hear Leslie in the final throes of her ecstasy. My partner squirms beneath me but she’s not there yet.
Leslie rises from the bed and kneels behind me, flicking her tongue across my anus. “Is she licking your ass?” cries Tammy. “That’s so hot!” This is the hook that triggers her orgasm. Soon she’s shouting, outrageously, “Oh Lex! Oh. Lex!” Off in the distance, James quips that his wife can make any man feel like a champion in bed.
I feel a certain indescribable thrill when a woman seals her lips around me for the first time. Perhaps it’s just the way her face looks, her jaw slack and her cheeks hollow from the suction. Or else it’s my delight at her doing this very private thing for me, her tongue twisting around me in a selfless act of pleasure. I pull back and make Tammy open her mouth, gently tapping the head of my cock against her lips. She laughs. I lie flat across the bed and she straddles my face, her heavy breasts spilling over my midsection as she lowers her mouth to my helplessly twitching erection. Two lovely asses, hers and Leslie’s, white and brown, fill my field of vision.
Tammy comes again.
“You need to know a couple things about me before we get down to business,” says my blonde sex kitten as she curls up next to me.
“Do you have any extra body parts I need to be aware of?”
“Nothing like that. I just need you to go slow. And shallow. I can’t take you all the way at first but I’ll warm up.”
And so two very different scenes play out upon the same bed. James positions himself atop Leslie, thrusting as she holds her legs open and bites her lower lip. I plant one foot on the floor, push Tammy’s legs back toward her chest and carefully ease into her. “That okay?” I ask, and she nods. I pull out and go down on her, then push into her again, and while this is going on she’s trying to guess my ethnicity. We’re talking so much that Leslie and James begin to make fun of us. I suppose all the idle chatter is distracting, but then again group sex is not an activity I’d recommend to anyone suffering from attention deficit disorder.
To wit, James smiles and waves in the direction of the windows, which have been, I only now realize, wide-fucking-open the entire time. I peer over my left shoulder to see David hovering in front of the door with a giant shit-eating grin planted on his boyish mug. We all wave him in, but he holds up his index finger and scampers off somewhere with vaudevillian flair. Moments later David returns to the door with Karen in tow, but I see my English Rose whisper something in her man’s ear and they quickly move on.
“What was that about?” asks Tammy.
I cock my head and pull the corners of my mouth downward in an exaggerated frown—really, I know all too well what that was about but it hardly seems important at this moment. “We could have made room for them; you don’t seem to have anything in your mouth right now.” Tammy’s laughter sends contractions through her pussy. I like how this feels and try to make her laugh some more.
No sooner do I go back to ignoring the world beyond the windows than I hear the crisp rapping of knuckles upon the door. I look up to see the Mexican dude who stocks the mini-bar standing outside with a blank look on his face. The guy walks away after spending a good minute taking in the view and ignoring our attempts to communicate. I laugh. “This is getting ridiculous! Is your fridge empty?”
“We are out of beer,” goateed James informs me mid-stroke, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Okay I’m going to drag his ass back here. Well, uh, not literally.” I uncouple from an incredulous Tammy and run out to the balcony, waving the mini-bar guy in. I must look like a madman. To my surprise, he returns to the room and begins dutifully restocking the fridge. I hop on top of Tammy again and impale her, neither of us put off by the absurdity of the situation. When the mini-bar guy gets up to leave he tells us to have fun and the room echoes with the sounds of our laughter. I’ve stopped pinching myself; I’ve stopped asking myself whether any of this is really happening. If a 30-piece marching band were to come crashing through the door I’d probably just shrug and get back to business.
I’m behind Tammy now with my feet planted upon the floor and I’m ramming her the way I want, slow and shallow be damned. The birthday girl bucks against me and gasps. I look down to marvel at the sight of her cunt grabbing at me over and over again. Across from us hangs a small mirror. I look into Tammy’s reflected eyes and watch her reflected breasts sway to and fro. She watches me take a swig from a large water bottle. “You can do that and fuck at the same time?” she says, breathless.
“Baby, if you balanced an ashtray and a plate on your back I could probably smoke and eat a sandwich too.”
“That’s so hot!” It takes me a moment to realize she’s totally serious.
James, standing diagonally across from me, pulls out of Leslie, yanking the condom off with a sharp snap and stroking himself over her back (“You better not hit me,” I warn him). When he comes I’m genuinely impressed by his prolific splatter. A true gentleman, he wipes Leslie’s back with a washcloth before disappearing into the bathroom. My fiancée then joins the action still in progress, smacking Tammy’s buttocks before spreading the rosy cheeks apart. Leslie then disappears somewhere beneath me. The heat of her breath against my balls and the tickle of her hair against my thighs send shivers up and down my legs. When she comes up for air I lean back a bit, making space between Tammy’s ass and my hips. “Lick her asshole,” I growl. Les complies, slathering my date’s puckered button in saliva. Suddenly inspired, she wets her index finger and pistons it deep into Tammy’s ass (what a joy it is to be engaged to such a naughty girl!). Doubly impaled by us, our date cries out in what could easily be pleasure or anguish or a bit of both. Her head drops to the mattress as she slips a hand between her legs and furiously massages her cunt.
We’re taunting her now, mocking her pleasure, daring her to give up and come for us. When the poor girl can’t hold out any longer I let myself go too. My orgasm comes on like vivid fragments of a half-remembered dream, rising up from the base of my spine and taking my shuddering body for a ride. “This little bitch is gonna get me off,” I hiss, almost surprised at my dirty talk.
“Oh yeah baby,” Tammy cries, her voice rising an octave. “Let’s all come!”
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Oct 18, 2006
Les and I amble to the disco’s bar with that relaxed gait people only seem to have after getting thoroughly laid. Leslie’s magnificent hips sway even more that usual; with me it’s all ‘howdy pardner’ and imaginary six-shooters. I order a drink and then, pivoting against the bar, I catch an eyeful of the English girl’s backside. Her white dress, designed for either a midget or a toddler, exposes a blinding three-quarter moon. I cannot help but point. “Hey Les,” I stage whisper, “it’s the girl with the ass.”
Leslie pushes past me and moments later the women are locked in each other’s arms. I sidle up to them and take the English girl’s hand, kissing her dainty fingers while maintaining eye contact. “I never caught your name, dear.”
“I’m Karen.” She nods toward the friendly looking young man standing nearby. “And he’s David”
David looks at me and shrugs. It’s the gesture of a man who’s hopelessly in love with a sexually adventurous woman—and it’s a gesture I know all too well. He and I laugh and fall into an easy rapport. I’m surprised to learn he’s two years older than I am.
The two Bermudans, who have been speaking with our new friends, are now standing around with their proverbial dicks in their hands. They soon drift away and I decide it’s just as well: I’ve begun to get the feeling they’re competing with us and I’d just as soon leave that shit back in New York where it belongs. The thumping music is beginning to annoy me. “Shall we blow this joint and have a seat downstairs?”
No one objects. Shortly thereafter the four of us lie ensconced upon the couches directly opposite the sliding glass doors to the lobby. Leslie and Karen lock lips while David holds forth on the varieties and vicissitudes of dogging, the swinging phenomenon that’s swept the UK in recent years. “Ever heard of it?” he asks me.
“Sure. But, um, you just go to a car park and watch other people doing it?”
“Some people take it farther than that. They’ll be doin’ it in their car, yeah? And some bloke’ll come up and stick his cock through the open window.”
“Like this?” I stand up and walk over to Les, whipping my cock out. Leslie laffs and takes me into her yap. Karen watches and purrs.
“Yeah Lex,” says David, “like that.”
I’m hot in my shoes and socks and pants so I tell everyone I’m leaving to “change into something more comfortable.” In the room I remove everything below the waist and pull on my grey thong. I unbutton my white dress shirt but decide to leave it on. It turns out to be a smooth move. When I return the petite blonde is all smiles. “Oh that’s hot Lex!” she says, lightly raking her fingertips over my banana holster.
The Texas couple comes by and sits with us. He’s a ruggedly handsome older gentleman who speaks in a pleasing baritone and looks as if he ought to be out raising money for the Republicans. She’s a tall, striking redhead who has a small chain running from her clitoris to her navel (sadly, her body jewelry is hidden away now beneath a cocktail dress). A former stripper and dominatrix, the redhead radiates a devastating confidence. The six of us shoot the shit for awhile but it’s understood that Les and I will be pairing off with the English couple—in paradise I’ve gained a newfound appreciation for how much can be said without saying anything.
When the Texas twosome bid us good night Leslie and Karen remove their clothes and jump into a torrid soixante-neuf, my fiancée assuming the dominant position. The girls’ contrasting skin tones are lovely in the muted light of the courtyard. The little couch is ill-suited to the task yet somehow this only makes the whole scenario seem naughtier to me. David, who’s more thoughtful than I, proposes a change of venue.
The nymphs disentangle. Karen lights a fag, lifting it to her lips, taking a puff and then exhaling pensively. “I think the men should decide where we go next, right Leslie?”
“Right,” Les responds, nuzzling up to Karen and smiling at me.
“Shall we go to the beach, then?” suggests David.
I nod enthusiastically, taking Karen’s hand. “Sounds good to me. Haven’t done it there yet.”
I stop by the bar and order everyone a round of drinks for the road, then walk by the bed we were on just a couple hours ago, finding a narrow stone path and pressing forward into the darkness toward the palapa beds that line the beachfront. My shirt becomes a sail billowing in the refreshing sea breeze. The sky is messy with stars and even the faintest of the constellations are plainly visible. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more comfortable in my own skin.
There’s enough light here for me to see what I’m doing, but to anyone walking along the beach the four of us are probably just a single writhing mass. The English stripper lies upon the mattress with her legs apart and when I kneel before her my knees sink into the cool sand. Her skin smells of baby powder. When I pitch forward between her thighs I learn the observation I made at the striptease contest was right on: Karen’s pretty, fleshy cunt is indeed made of sunshine and rainbows. “I want to lick you everywhere,” I growl.
“I want to be licked everywhere,” she responds.
I clamber atop the mattress and straddle Karen’s face, the thing between my legs twitching above her smiling mouth. I shudder when she extends her tongue, teasing me a bit before finally engulfing me. I dive between her legs once more; this time, however, I suck at her pink folds and then employ my tongue as a dildo. Her gentle hands caress my ass and balls and I close my eyes, trying to empty my mind. When I finally snap out of my dissociative state I have to tear myself away from Karen’s creamy center, rising from the mattress and popping the question: “Shall I get the condoms?”
David’s cock exits Leslie’s mouth with a wet pop. “Why not?” she says cheerily.
I’m sure no one’s ever run so fast with a hardon. When I get back to the room, breathless, I realize I have no idea where I stowed the rubbers, so I begin to ransack the place in a blind panic. Normal people call upon divine assistance when, for example, their lives are in jeopardy, but not me: the few times I’ve thought it might be lights out for me I’ve faced the possibility of my impending death with equanimity. This, however, is serious business. I’m yelling now as my panic escalates: “Oh. Fuck. OH! FUCK! WHERE ARE THE FUCKING CONDOMS? OH GOD JUST LEMME FIND THE CONDOMS I’LL NEVER ASK YOU FOR ANYTHING EVER AGAIN EXCEPT FOR MAYBE WORLD PEACE I FUCKIN’ PINKIE SWEAR!” Anyone overhearing this must think I’ve gone quite mad.
Just as I’m about to run door-to-door asking for condoms—and I’d do it too, for there is no such thing as shame in the Garden of Eden—I remember to check my trouser pockets. Of course the rubbers are in there, waiting for me (dare I say mocking me?). I grab ‘em and rush back to the beach, laughing at my folly. Little blonde Karen greets me with a hungry look in her eyes. I toss a couple condoms in Leslie and David’s direction while Karen fluffs me, looking into my face and grinning like a good porn star. I absentmindedly brush some hair away from her temple. “Just in case it’s not already obvious,” I whisper, “I’m having a great time with you.”
Karen pushes me to the mattress and forces her tongue into my mouth as I roll the latex over my erection. “I can’t wait to have you inside me,” she says. I rise and stand beside the palapa bed, my toes dug into the sand for leverage, and lay the girl upon her back with her knees up by her shoulders. Her pristine, shaven little cunt is so tight that I have to pull out for a moment and slather her with saliva before sliding into her again. She won’t stop beaming at me. I kiss the soles of her small feet, one by one, and she giggles. I flip Karen over and have a go at her from behind. I stroke her back. I grasp her beautiful ass cheeks. I reach around and cup her breasts. I uncouple now and then to reprise the tongue fucking. “How are you doing?” I ask her.
“How do you think I’m doing?”
“Because I could probably do this all night.”
“You’re not the only one.”
I push deeper into Karen, my left hand pressed against the small of her back, my right smacking her shapely buttocks, leaving behind rosy eruptions where the fingers impact her supple flesh. She blindly reaches for my thighs, pressing my legs against hers, urging me to go deeper, faster, harder. When I steal a glance to my right I notice David propped above Leslie, who’s moaning in her usual cat-like way. I reach out and squeeze my fiancée’s hand.
Karen lies pinned beneath me. She throws her head back over the edge of the mattress and I cup her neck in my palm so she can gaze up at the stars in comfort. The white noise of the surf, the barely spoken oh’s escaping Karen’s mouth, the feel of her porcelain body writhing against mine, the warmth of her insides, the distant sounds of my fiancée’s coupling—these sensations are my universe and for the time being I’ll let myself believe I can be lost in them forever. We change positions when inspiration strikes either one of us, and each time we do so I take a peek at Les and David. An odd question comes to mind: “Do you think I look cool in this shirt?”
Karen looks up at me and laughs as her pussy capitulates to me over and over again. “You’d look cool in anything.”
When I come I’m having her the way I prefer: with her pale ass in the air, bucking against me, her legs quivering and her quim clenching. I call out to my maker (giving thanks for the condoms, perhaps) and rise to my toes, my spine straightening against the inner tide, and only reluctantly do I let out shuddering breaths and settle into the sand again, the last of Karen’s spasms finally pushing me out of her. “Wow,” is all Karen says. Leslie and David, who I now realize finished some minutes ago, have been watching us in silence.
The four of us walk to the water’s edge. Karen holds my waist and asks me whether I know any constellations, so I point toward the night sky and show her the stars that constitute Orion. Down here the dim arc of the hunter’s bow is as clear as a Hubble telescope image.
As I gather my things I notice I’ve lost my spent rubber in the sand. “That’s okay,” Les assures me. “Just leave it for the Mexicans.”
“That was a terrible thing to say,” I respond earnestly, but then the subtext of her joke hits me and I can’t stop laughing.
We bury the night at the courtyard bar, sipping margaritas until the palest light begins to creep in from the East. “I thought you and Leslie were hot,” Karen’s telling me, “but you were always surrounded by people so I just thought—”
“—we had better things to do than talk to you.”
“Right.”
“God, isn’t that funny? After the striptease contest I was thinking the same thing about you.”
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Oct 14, 2006
The first day of the rest of my life
In my dreams I’m jealous all the time
As I wake I’m going out of my mind
-Moby, “Porcelain”
You don’t get much sleep in paradise and when you do sleep you don’t dream—dreams being the opiate of civilian life. At quarter past ten I reach into the fridge and pull out a beer, walking out to the balcony and plopping down, naked, onto a plastic chair. “Guess we’re staying another night then,” I tell Les when she pokes her head out. A couple years ago they stopped manufacturing the classic Beetles down here; I’m not that excited about driving anymore. There are, of course, other good reasons to stick around.
Leslie and I have come up with nicknames for couples, conversational shorthand that emerged from one too many confusing and disjointed exchanges over the preceding days (Me: “Know what Jack told me the other night?” Les: “Jack who?” Me: “Jack from Jack and Jill.” “Les: Huh?” Me: “The slutty couple.” Les: “Ah.”). Now our dialogue is laced with references to the cool couple, the annoying couple, the crazy couple, and so on. Mother is the necessity of invention.
We have brunch with the hot couple, named so for what I hope are rather obvious reasons. Les tells me the husband, Sean, bears a striking resemblance to the young Mel Gibson, that lover of the Jewish peoples. Sean’s wife, Sandy, has a voluptuous figure that might as well have been carved out of fine marble. They live in Hawaii (what is it about the 50th state, I wonder?) but Sandy hails from Panama. The two Latin beauties chatter in Spanish while Sean and I discuss whatever yearnings brought us to this place. The hot couple is softcore, preferring to watch and be watched. We have a few days to corrupt them.
Over our lazy howls of protest, the entertainment coordinators rope Leslie and me into a game of volleyball in the pool. It’s not so bad though—what with the bouncing breasts—and Frank keeps me entertained with his snide commentary. After much splashing about my team loses, one game to two, Leslie scoring the winning point against us. “You’re not getting any sex tonight!” I yell across the net.
“That’s okay. I’ll just get it from someone else!” comes her immediate reply. Anywhere else this might be considered an idle threat, but not here in Swingeritaville.
On the first night Lafonda taught me everything there is to know about jacuzzi mating rituals. For example, when someone takes a seat next to you it’s never an accident. I’m reclining against the tiling, studying my fiancée’s dimples as she reacts to someone’s funny remark, and when I look the other way I notice a young woman with close-cropped blond hair sitting next to me. She’s close, almost shoulder-to-shoulder. I grin at her and she starts a conversation.
“We’re from England,” she says, her accent crisp and solidly middle class. “And you?”
“New York.”
“Oh really?” Her face brightens as she pivots toward me, her small and pleasingly upright breasts just inches away. Yes, I look at them. No, it’s not a big deal in paradise.
Granted, I’m a little slow from the resort’s non-stop sensory overload but it dawns on me that I’m speaking with the winner of the first night’s striptease contest. I don’t let on that I remember. Before she and her beau exit the tub I promise to say hello later on at the disco.
Another beautiful sunset comes and goes. The jacuzzi’s underwater lights provide the rooftop’s only illumination, and their soft glow, filtered through the churning water, dances over people’s faces. I’ve got a mortal case of dishpan hands; I begin to worry that I’m going to sprout fins and gills. It’s Jose and Crystal’s last night here. “I hope you don’t mind that we were watching you the other night,” Jose’s telling me as the two of us lean against bar stools.
“No way man. I mean, that just comes with the territory.”
“Cause I tried to get Crystal to fool around with me—I didn’t wanna be one of those guys—but she didn’t wanna get naked.”
“Have you two ever—”
“I fucked a girl in front of her. The women in Dubai are crazy. You walk up in the club and they’re like ‘I want some of that right now’.”
“Tell me why I live in New York again?”
Jose laughs.
“Don’t get me wrong—we’ve been involved in some crazy shit—but people there have serious issues when it comes to sex. It’s more about appearing liberated and sex-positive than it is about actually being that way. This place has really opened my eyes.”
Leslie and I go to dinner, just the two of us, and between my expanding gut and the lack of activity I find myself struggling to keep my eyes open. Ordinarily I spend my vacations fantasizing about the next meal, but here food is just fuel for the real action so I tend to plow through dinners as quickly as possible. On our way out we bump into Ellen, the MILF to end all MILFs, and her husband Mark, one of those laid-back dudely dudes. I wrap my arm around Ellen’s small waist. “I wanna get out of these clothes,” I tell her.
“I bet you’ll be naked soon enough.” Ellen bites her lower lip and peers into my eyes. God she’s pretty.
In the courtyard I spy Frank and Lana and chat with them for a bit before heading to the bar. Ellen sidles up to me moments later. “So I heard you have a big cock, Lex.”
I raise an eyebrow; she has my undivided attention now. “Didn’t you see it last night in the jacuzzi?”
“I didn’t get a good look; I think you should let me see it again.” Already she’s reaching for my fly but the girl has such a sweet smile I’m helpless to resist.
“Um, I don’t know. Right at the bar?”
“C’mon dear,” Les chimes in, her hand reaching for Mark’s waistband, “let her have a look.”
Mark and I just look at each other, dumbfounded. Ellen reaches into my underwear and frees my trouser snake, squeezing it and cooing like we’re at a petting zoo. “Oh, that’s very nice.” Then she looks at her husband. “Can I lick it honey?”
Mark nods, grinning from ear to ear.
Ellen drops to her knees, opening her mouth wide and cramming my love pump down her throat until her nose flattens against my abdomen. Her oral technique feels good, certainly, but mostly I’m just staring at the top of Ellen’s blond head in wide-eyed amazement: deepthroating is less about getting a guy off than it is about a woman demonstrating her true passion for cock. This woman should be doing seminars around the country. Leslie, squatting before Mark, has joined the deepthroating fun, brown curls spilling over her shoulders as she gets to work. I hear the Swiss girl’s crazy laugh and when I summon the nerve to look up I notice she’s smiling at me, as are several other people, including the bartender. For an awkward moment I wonder whether Mark and I are expected to high-five like one of those crime-fighting duos from Eighties television. Had we put on a show earlier in the evening we might have attracted quite a crowd but most of the resort’s couples are up in the disco now—ironically enough, hoping to catch a glimpse of something like this.
The beds that line the courtyard are similar to the beds up by the jacuzzi, white and pristine and inviting. We choose a hanging model which proves a bit tricky as a mating platform until you get your sea legs. I strip naked, fulfilling Ellen’s prophecy. As she lies supine upon the mattress, her head dangling over the side so as to service Mark, I dip my tongue into her tender folds. And then I service Leslie, then Ellen, then Leslie again, and so on, smiling every time I switch off. Beyond this I’m aware of nothing but the sea breeze and the muffled thumpity-thump of the music from upstairs.
Les and I are fucking now, Ellen’s head cradled in a protected nook between our torsos. Mark is propped above his wife. The bed is swaying. Ellen beams at me. I reach over and grab one of her full, round breasts, gently tweaking the nipple. We’re all laughing. Everything is so easy here. So warm. So playful. I’m coming endlessly and kissing my fiancée and even then I’m still aroused. I’m a horny sixteen-year-old again and I’m on the ultimate summer vacation.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Oct 10, 2006
She has such an innocent face, the Mexican girl does, her doll-like features framed by a smooth mane of jet-black hair. Somehow this innocence is not marred by the presence of my penis in her mouth. Her hungry slobbering takes me by surprise. It might have something to do with my dawning appreciation that Jasmin is, after all, somebody’s mom. Then again, it might also have something to do with our having exchanged all of three words since we’ve met. Leslie sits nearby, her torso rocking back and forth like a metronome as she treats the husband to her oral affections. I wonder what’s going on in her mind.
During life’s surreal moments I sometimes like to play a little game. I pretend I built a time machine ten years ago and used it to jump into my present skin. Then I ask myself a simple question: Would the man I used to be freak the fuck out? I’ve never come up with a satisfying answer.
Going down on a woman is meditation. I’m between Jasmin’s legs now, kissing her thighs, teasing her, tasting her. I listen for changes in her breathing, wait for her to cry out, to squirm beneath my tongue. I like doing this, which is to say I enjoy the act itself apart from any favors I might receive in return. I rise to my feet. Jasmin fixes her dark eyes upon mine. “Con-dom?” she says. Soon the girls clamber atop the bed in a perpendicular formation, their asses in the air. There’s something familiar about Jasmin’s hips, her waist, the furrow between her buttocks, her supple brown skin. She’s the bizarro Leslie.
I flip Jasmin onto her back and instantly regret changing positions—the added pressure of missionary being too much for my already-full bladder. There’s no faking it. I go soft. When I pull out my playmate looks confused. I run to the bathroom, thoughtfully washing off the latex grease when I’m finished. Standing before Jasmin again, I want to say ‘suck it’ but instead I subtly flick my cock toward her face, upon which she fluffs me as I fiddle with a condom wrapper. We may not be able to communicate in the conventional sense but we’re making do.
“Si. Si.” she sez, breathless, as I take her from behind again, and for a moment it strikes me as absurd that people fuck in different languages. I want to laugh but I’m trying to avoid an international incident.
I press my fingers into her waist and thrust harder. “You like that?”
“Si!”
This goes on for a little while and I start thinking about getting down to the business of having an orgasm. Jasmin’s husband, however, is still relentlessly pumping away behind Leslie like he’s trying to drive in a nail. My fiancée looks me in the eye. She wants to say something. I shrug. Finally she says, “I want you to come over here and fuck me.” I’m happy to ditch the con-dom, to mount my girl and peer into her brown eyes, to prop myself above her and luxuriate in the silky confines of her hot little cunt. We don’t last long. She announces her orgasm and her ecstasy triggers mine.
More fucking machine than man, Jasmin’s husband thrusts into his wife, still trying to pound in that nail. I suppose she’s used to it by now. Against my better judgement, I let him talk me into offering my limp dong to his wife’s mouth. I’m still hypersensitive from coming, and I shudder as she sucks me dry, finally pulling away when I cannot bear any more.
I want a margarita on the rocks with a little salt around the rim.
I want to feel the balmy breeze against my balls again.
I want out.
After what seems like an eternity, Jasmin’s husband finishes with a groan. They want us to hang around. Leslie and I want to bounce: pillow talk is for lazy Sunday mornings with our girlfriends. Before we leave I tell Jasmin she’s a MILF and sit there, chuckling, as Leslie translates this concept into Spanish.
“I feel slutty,” I tell Les as we prance naked toward the courtyard bar, “and I think I like it.”
“They want to drive us to lunch tomorrow.”
“Eh. I don’t think so. Dating is for civilians.”
The bartender knows my drink. When he slides it toward me, smiling, he informs me for the millionth time that Leslie is beautiful. I wrap the striped towel I nicked from the jacuzzi around my shoulders and pitch forward, sucking that sweet-n-sour nectar through the straw. Moments later Jasmin and her hubby join us at the bar. As they yammer away in Spanish with my fiancée I engage other people in conversation.
There’s a Swiss couple at the bar—well, they’re presently residents of Hawaii. I’ve seen them at the disco. She looks like Julia Roberts, tall and lanky and facially distinct. Rumor has it she’s a model. She’s excited to hear about my background: “You speak German? That’s so sexy!” She has this crazy laugh that I’d probably be able to hear from half a mile away.
There’s a doughy guy sitting across from me. He’s loud and uncouth and middle-American. The bartender leans toward me and says the gentleman’s on his fifteenth shot of tequila. “I’m trying to get wasted,” the fat guy sez. It looks to me as if he’s already there.
Ordinarily I’d back away slowly but I feel like I don’t yet know this place. I’m curious about what the experience is like for other people. “Trouble in paradise?”
He explains that he and his wife spent the entire day with another couple only to be passed up for the proverbial bigger better deal. “My wife’s in the room crying. She lost weight and everything—she’s a hunnit-thirdy-five now—an’ it was a big step for her to even come here an’ now the trip’s ruined.” Hell hath no fury like a couple scorned. The Swiss couple offers gentle words of encouragement and then they slip away into the night.
I offer my own words of encouragement, well aware that in his current state they probably won’t make any difference. “You can’t take any of this too seriously. If you’re not having fun then dust yourself off and go do somebody else.”
A naked couple sidles up to the bar and sits nearby. In his glasses he looks like a horny insurance claims adjuster. His wife, a fetching brunette, has perky ski-slope breasts accented with equally perky eraser-tip nipples. I can’t help but take in an eyeful. “Do you think my wife’s are real?” asks the bespectacled man.
“Um…”
He backs away from his stool. “Go ahead and touch ‘em.”
She looks at me and smiles, saying nothing. I creep up to her the way one might approach a machine gun nest or an electrified fence, and then press my palms against her tits, squeezing ever so slightly. “Oh these are wonderful—and definitely real.” Out of the corner of my eye I see the guy’s hand slipping downward below his waistline and I’m thinking, Oh sweet Jesus is this guy really touching himself?
“I like to watch,” he intones.
The fat guy sits there watching us in disbelief. He lurches forward in a drunken stupor and orders his sixteenth tequila. I don’t blame him.
Posted by Lex Konrad in Sex | Oct 07, 2006
Cute
It’s surprising to me how fragile men look with their clothes off. Not that I haven’t seen men naked before, but watching them now, shuffling around by the harsh light of day — these hairless primates with their delicate, dangly and fallible sex — I wonder how the male of our species ever amounted to anything. Women — with their flexible bodies, their strategic fat deposits, their neatly stowed reproductive organs — make more sense to me. Clearly, it was a man who first decided to cover up.
By early afternoon my visual cortex has already adapted to the new environment, replacing penises with fig leaves and rendering retirees nearly invisible below the neck. I am thankful for this. Les and I take brunch by the pool, she in a sarong and I in swim trunks (having decided it’s not the best idea to mix hot food with a bare lap). The black couple who witnessed last night’s exploits join us, both of them in swimwear. We bond over Family Guy quotes. The husband, Jose, tells us he works as a contractor in Dubai. This is their first trip to the resort. Jose’s wife, Crystal, is shy about her body. It’s a shame, because she’s beautiful.
Les and I take a catamaran out on the low seas. The wind is decent and the twin-hulled vessel gently slices through the calm ocean, the water rushing by the boat making a pleasant sound like, say, a babbling brook. The resort looks so ordinary from out here — nice enough, sure, but nondescript. Not at all like the fucky-sucky place we’ve come to know. It would be easy — and perhaps disastrous — to mistake Desire for the vanilla resort down the shore.
“Was it something I did?” Les asks me.
“What?”
“Last night. With the guy.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then maybe he wasn’t into me.”
“If anything he was too excited around you. And it probably didn’t help that I was really giving it to his wifey.” I make a few thrusting motions with my hips.
Leslie laughs. “Stop it. You’re turning me on.” We’ve been warned against having sex out here — apparently the sex police patrol the ocean day and night — but I pull down my trunks and we touch each other anyway. “I’m serious though… why don’t you have those problems? You always seem to get what you want out of the women you’re with.”
“Um, hello? How long have we been doing this? Experience helps. I think it’s easier for a man to find some satisfaction with a woman than the other way around… as long as he knows what he’s doing anyway.”
“Because you can just ease her into position and then… ease it in.”
I bite my lower lip at the thought. “Contrary to popular belief, guys are sensitive creatures. I mean, women can use a little lube, y’know, to get going but if our dicks betray us we’re fucked. Or not. And our dicks do betray us… in many ways.” When I turn the boat into the wind the sail goes limp. Cap’n Lex gives the order: “Okay, come about.” We both scramble to the padded seats on the other hull and I let out the sail to catch the wind again. “Anyway, one doesn’t become an international playboy overnight.”
My woman smiles. “Like you?”
“Hey, I wasn’t naming names.”
“So how do I find these guys — the guys with skills? Do I have to fuck the whole resort?”
“Heh. They’d probably erect a statue in your honor.”
Being Latin and speaking the language of the natives, Leslie proves quite popular with the Mexican men who staff the resort. After we return the catamaran, the young studs who handle the boats offer to take her out for a private lesson — without me of course. She politely declines.
Happy hour at the hot tub has already taken on the weight of tradition for us. When the last traces of direct sunlight disappear poolside we migrate to the rooftop, sure we’ll find familiar and friendly faces. There’s talk of a group dinner. Though I promised myself I’d take each moment as it comes, I’m already thinking about what other sorts of group activities we might get ourselves into tonight. “I have a simple philosophy when it comes to this place,” I’m telling Frank. “Just gimme a drink and point me in the direction of something sexy.”
He laffs, teetering back and forth in the whirlpool. “Listen to this guy! Yesterday he was all like ‘I’m just here to relax’ and now he’s ready to throw down.”
A lot changes in a day. For instance, at the poolside buffet I discover that our reputation precedes us. “Oh, we’re just soft swingers. You guys are hardcore.” The words come tumbling from the smiling mouth of a tall, slender woman in an elegant cocktail dress.
“Hardcore? You’re the one with a flogger in your hand,” I respond, eyeing her leather accessory.
Ellen is older than me — by how much I don’t know. A dirty blonde in more ways than one, she’s the MILF to end all MILFs. Halfway through dinner she’s got Leslie bent over a chair, the flogger cracking against my fiancée’s round cheeks. When the hot mom takes her turn over the chair, her tight bethonged ass turning a deeper shade of red with each blow, I’m wondering what precisely she might have meant by soft swingers. The show ends. Spontaneous applause erupts all around us.
Tonight the disco is like a high school dance — and certain swinger meet-n-greets in the city — packed with anxious couples clinging to the walls and staring at each other. Everyone is waiting for something to happen: a room full of voyeurs posing a rather obvious dilemma. I begin to wonder whether last night wasn’t a fluke… and then banish the thought as Leslie takes center stage with a busty Latin girl. The husband, a barrel-chested gentleman in what I would guess to be his late forties, strikes up a conversation with me. “She’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” I say, watching the cocoa-skinned women undulate in each other’s arms. They’re of similar height and build. It’s like watching twins.
The gentleman and I exchange the obligatory pleasantries. When I learn that he and his wife Jasmin are from Guadalajara I raise an eyebrow. I decide to give them bonus points for not being American. He surveys the room, shrugging. “Everyone’s standing around tonight. Where are the swingers?”
“I was just thinking that myself.”
“We’re going to the jacuzzi,” he says, which is swinger lingo for I wanna see your girl naked.
“We’ll join you,” I respond, which is swinger lingo for Likewise.
In the jacuzzi I find out this mother of three from Guadalajara speaks no English. I turn to Leslie, ever the faithful translator. “What did she just say?”
“She wants you to stick your fingers in her.”
Good thing everyone here speaks sex. Jasmin takes my hand and presses it between her thighs. Leslie devours the girl’s breasts as my fingers find their target. The husband plays with Leslie from behind but I cannot be certain of what’s going on back there. Shadowy forms twist beneath the churning waters, the lights occasionally bringing bits of anatomy into focus as bodies rise to the surface. I lose myself in the bubbling cauldron. When I snap to I’m riding Leslie from behind, the top of her rump barely breaking the surface tension. To my right I notice Ellen and her husband huddled together in one of the jacuzzi’s darkened cul-de-sacs. They watch in expressionless silence.
We’re having a smoke on the landing outside the Mexican couple’s room, peeking in now and then to watch Jasmin worship at the altar of her husband’s cock. “You ready?” I ask my fiancée.
“Got the lube?”
“Yup. And a hard cock, apparently.”
