The Wolf Biter

Unsolicited Sex Toy Review: Doc Johnson Lucid Dream #14 Multi-Speed Waterproof G-Spot Vibrator

2011-10-17T20:04:00.005-04:00

Hello, baby.

I'm not much for sex toy reviews. I think they're a lazy source for blog content.

But.

I was watching some PornHub (as one does) one afternoon and while trawling through the squirt category (as one does) I found a clip of a cute blonde girl who gushed copiously thanks to a grape jelly-colored toy. (Sidebar? Unless you really loved the soundtrack to Dazed and Confused, watch that video on mute. End sidebar.) I immediately opened a new tab and searched Amazon for "purple vibrator."

After flipping through a few pages, I found my new pal, the Doc Johnson Lucid Dream #14 Multi-Speed Waterproof G-Spot Vibrator, and at $15 with shipping, I couldn't pass on it.

The packaging, adorned with flowers and swirly lettering, has a fun, psychedelic, Haight-Ashbury circa 1969 look. The toy takes two AA batteries (not included). That white part at the bottom screws off and the batteries pop in. There's a silicone o-ring inside the battery case that's supposed to make the toy waterproof, but I've not tried taking it into the shower yet. It's supposedly made of pthalate-free vinyl, though even with several washings and airing out it retains a chemical smell--you should probably use a condom on it.

Once I put batteries in the toy and turned the knob at the bottom, I was shocked and impressed: It was practically silent. Even at the highest setting (which packs a punch) it emitted only a quiet thrum. As long as you masturbate quietly, nobody in the next room will ever be the wiser.

However, it will be hard to masturbate quietly with this thing, because oh my God. The thick nubbin at the head (where the buzzy part is) feels incredible against your clit. It feels even better when you slide it just inside your pussy, because the curve at the head snuggles up against your g-spot. It feels fantastic jammed deeply inside you, where the vibrations shake through your entire core.

The Lucid Dream #14 is cheap, cute, and quiet. There's a whole range of Doc Johnson Lucid Dream toys, so if a Doc Johnson PR person sees this post: I like your product. Please send me some more.

Paging Dr. Jung redux

2011-08-28T12:15:00.000-04:00

I had a dream about Doug last night. I was parking my car on a tree-lined street in an expensive neighborhood, and while I was feeding the meter, I saw him and my co-worker having a fight in a car across the street. They were screaming at each other, and then he grabbed her, plopped her on his lap, and started violently fucking her. Her face was blank, like she was thinking, "just let it happen, just let him finish. It'll all be over soon."

In the dream, I felt a pang of jealousy -- the sex with Doug was always a lot of fun, but I never knew him to have a violent streak. Quite to the contrary; if I had asked him to choke or slap me while we fucked I'm sure he would have been alarmed.

I turned back to my parking meter and smashed it with my elbow. Shiny quarters spilled out onto the ground and I filled my pockets with them.

August II

2011-04-19T12:15:00.000-04:00

We don't mind suckin' on toes
Good luck finding a boyfriend who sucks toes
- Tenacious D, Double Team.

Friday night, we'd had giant steins of beer at the Hofbrauhaus Pittsburgh with our friends. Doug had his hand on my knee under the table and his fingers sent a shiver up my back. When we got back to our hotel room, we hugged in the doorway (I loved hugging Doug) and he surprised me by lifting me up off the floor. I squealed and we fell into bed and fooled around for hours.

Before the Pirates game the next afternoon, I kissed my way down his chest and sucked him off until he came in my mouth. I curled up with my arms around his calf like I had before, but this time Doug pulled my leg onto his chest. My foot was in his face. It was now or never. I wiggled my toes and waited.

First I felt him kiss the pad of my big toe. His touch was tentative and sweet. I sighed. I felt his tongue on the pad of my big toe, then his teeth, and eventually he was sucking on my toes. He was clutching my ankle and caressing my calf with the other. I was in heaven. I told him that. I was so turned on I snaked my hand between my legs and played with my clit until I came, curling my toes in his mouth.

When I finally came down, I crawled up to his face and kissed him all over, thanking him with every one.

August I

2011-04-11T21:45:00.000-04:00

"Let's go check out the pool."

Doug and I changed into our bathing suits and headed up to the top floor of the Westin Reston to take a dip. We thought we'd have the place to ourselves (I had visions of Showgirls-style fucking in the pool) but a teenage lifeguard cramped our style. We splashed around for a while until we got completely pruney and headed back downstairs to our suite.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and I turned on the baseball game of the week while Doug got a shower. I was standing in the living room of the suite watching Cliff Lee pitch when Doug came up behind me and kissed my shoulder and neck. I groaned classlessly. We made out a little, then I pulled away to rinse off the chlorine from the pool.

I emerged from the bathroom to find Doug in bed watching baseball. Good man. I jumped into bed next to him, he peeled my fluffy hotel bathrobe off, and we got down to business. I wrapped myself around him and we kissed like crazy. He ran his fingers down over my hips and down behind my knees to hold me open while he licked and sucked my nipples. It drove me crazy; I clutched his hair and whispered for him not to stop. Finally, finally, he slid his fingers into me and I groaned with pleasure. He fucked me with his fingers and marveled at how wet I was. After a few minutes of thrashing around with his fingers in my cunt and my fist in my mouth to keep me from screaming, I came all over his hand. He offered his fingers to me to suck clean.

We changed positions and I got between his knees to go down on him. I cupped his balls while I took him into my throat the way he liked and it didn't take long for him to push me off and onto my back to fuck me. He threw my ankles over his shoulders and drove himself into me until he shuddered and came all over my pussy. He collapsed on top of me and I kissed his sweaty forehead. We wrapped our arms and legs around each other and clung together.

After we cleaned up and went out for dinner, we went back to the suite to fool around some more. We wrestled back and forth on the 500-thread count sheets and I ended up on all fours above him. I stopped suddenly and positioned myself perpendicular to him. He got the hint.

I felt him slide his hand up the backs of my calves and thighs and pause for a moment before he brought his hand down on the fleshiest part of my ass.

"Unnngh." He hit me again. "Unnnnnnngh." Again. "Unnnnngh!" Harder this time. "UNGH!" Harder again. "More!" Still harder. "Yaaaaagh! MORE!" Between slaps he'd slip his fingers into my slit and tease my clit.

He whispered, "You dirty, dirty girl."

I was frantic. "UnnnnghyesIamdon'tstop!"

He spanked me until my ass felt red hot and finally he shoved his fingers into my cunt again and fucked me hard and fast. The deeper he fingered me the more I arched my back until I felt like I had bent myself backward and came again all over his thick fingers. I curled up next to him in the fetal position while my breathing evened out. We faced each other and kissed sweetly.

I got on all fours above him and slid my drenched pussy up and down against his dick. He instantly got hard and growled at me to get on my back. I flipped over, spread my legs wide and he slid in. We knotted ourselves together and fucked hard. I held onto his shoulders and chest, and his eyes rolled back in his head when I'd run my thumbs over his nipples and he'd fuck me even harder. I loved it. I threw my head back and let him pound me into the padded headboard, egging him on with a stream of dirty blather. We came together, my fingers on my clit, his fingers clutching my legs.

The next morning, I smiled when I found five little bruises on the top of each thigh.

July

2011-01-26T21:00:00.000-05:00

Prologue

It was a Thursday night, and I had just come home from the bar. We had been trading text messages all night, and he asked:

Do you want to share a room in Chicago?

Sure. One bed or two?

One.

OK.

===

July, Chicago

We met at the end of Navy Pier during an Old 97's concert. The sun set over Lake Michigan and sparkled on the water, giving the Gold Coast its namesake glow. It had been a broiling hot day; I had trudged from Michigan Avenue to the end of Navy Pier in 95 degree heat and the sweat had poured off me. I told him I was going to get a shower. Secretly, I hoped he would get in with me.

After my shower, I put on a pair of clean pajamas, brushed my teeth, shut out the lights, and climbed into the 400 thread count sheets. I don't remember what I was expecting him to do, but Doug rolled to face me and we kissed feverishly. He pulled my top off and I made a mental note to 86 the pajamas for the next night. Our tongues slid together and we rolled back and forth under the puffy down comforter. He knew how much I liked his fingers inside me, and after he helped me pull off my bottoms, he pinioned one leg between his and spread me open. He breathed in my ear.

"God! You're so wet! How do you get so wet?" He slid his fingers up and down my slit, which an angry Russian woman had waxed bare a day before.

"I want you. Put your fingers inside me. Please."

I wrapped my arm around his shoulders while he teased me with his thick fingers, first one, then another. We kissed while I stroked my clit and came with his fingers all the way inside me. Two or three times I came like this, on his fingers, wrapped in his arms. Eventually he pulled his fingers from my cunt and offered them to me to suck clean.

"Thank you," I breathed.

We switched positions and I knelt next to him on all fours. I worked my way down his body, nuzzling his neck, tasting his nipples, nibbling him here and there, stroking his cock all the while. My fingertips played over the head, spreading his precome up and down the tip and making him gasp and buck beneath me. I ended up in a modified sixty-nine with his dick in my mouth. His hands were free to touch and play with my bottom half, but I wasn't sitting on his face (which is a mental hurdle I don't think I'll ever be able to clear).

I took him deep into my throat and held him there, letting the muscles of my throat flex around him. I have to thank the men I'd been with before Doug for their massive cocks, because they've made deep throating a more mortal size dick a breeze. "Gaaaaahhhhhhhhhh," he gasped, "You're soooooooo gooooooood." He played with my dripping pussy and spanked my ass while I gave him a wet, messy blow job. I massaged his balls and slowly stroked his shaft with all the excess spit.

I had already come but I still wanted to fuck; I didn't feel the night would be complete until we did. "Please don't come yet?" I asked. "Please fuck me?"

He set me back at the head of the bed. He spread me apart again and knelt between my legs. I scooched my butt up toward his pelvis and he entered me, finally. He spread my knees even wider and pushed my thighs back to my chest and placed my ankles on his shoulders. I arched my back again and fucked back onto him, the position of being so open and exposed turning me on even more. We varied the positions of my legs--wrapped around his hips, my knees over his shoulders, or grabbing onto his knees and thighs as we fucked. We sensed the other was near the end: I reached between my legs to play with my clit, and he held my thighs to get leverage and fuck me deeper and harder.

I braced my arms behind me on the padded headboard and begged, "Ohhhhhhh, fuck me, yes, fuck me fuck me fuck me, please, fuck me!" He sped up and I came again, twitching and arching my back onto his cock. My orgasm brought his on; He thrust a few more times, spasming and collapsing on top of me with a groan of release. I held his head to my breast and his thick hair was soaked with sweat. His cowlicks were standing up every which way. I found this endearing.

The next afternoon, after a brutally hot noon game at Wrigley, everyone in our group retired to their respective hotels to shower and nap. I made him come in that all fours position again. This time he finished in my mouth, and I swallowed it all.

I stretched out next to him, kissing my way down his leg to his ankle and curling myself around his calf like a teddy bear. He let me rest like this with my head at the foot of the bed for a few minutes before he sat up and changed his position. He kissed my ankle and the arch of my foot and began to work his way up and between my legs. "Ooooooh," I breathed.

"Open." I spread my legs.

He stroked my slit and settled himself between my legs to eat. The thing I liked even more than his tongue lapping at my clit was when he'd pull back for a breath, then nuzzle his stubbly face deeper between my legs. The feel of his stubble against my bare pussy lips was electrifying; he could have made me come just by pressing his unshaven chin deeper into my cunt.

The cheeky interior designer who chose the furnishings for the room had placed an antiqued wall-size mirror at the foot of the bed. As Doug worked on me, I arched my back and caught the outrageous sight: Tits in the air, nipples erect, knees hitched up and spread wide, the top of Doug's head between my legs, his hands wrapped around my thighs, his ankles crossed casually against the headboard. It was as close as I'll ever get to watching my own sex tape. It was HOT.

"Oh my God," I moaned, "Put your fingers inside me, please!" He complied; I almost watched myself orgasm in the mirror, but I closed my eyes for the finish and let it wash over me.

You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll come again and again.

2010-08-20T02:41:00.002-04:00

Please enjoy the most heartwarming porno ever made.

Not Myself Tonight

2010-07-13T00:55:00.000-04:00

In the morning
When I wake up
I'll go back to the girl I used to be
But baby not tonight - Christina Aguilera, Not Myself Tonight.

===

My friend Doug and I are big fans of the singer-songwriter Rhett Miller. If you're not familiar with Rhett Miller, he's the lead singer of the Old 97's, but his solo records are great too. His songs are full of heartbreak and longing, and he's very sexy. He is wonderful in concert; I've lost track of how many times I've been to see him and the 97's.

Doug emailed me to ask if I wanted to go see Rhett Miller with him in Annapolis. He had an extra ticket and since we've been to see the Old 97's with him before he thought I might like to go with him. I was already planning to visit friends in Northern Virginia that weekend, so I said I'd be happy to go with him.

===

Doug and I had been to see the Old 97's a couple of years before in Lancaster; that weekend he got us a room at a crappy roadside motel. We got a double room and we laughed about the disgusting carpet and polyester blankets. But when I woke up the next morning, he was staring me while I slept. The Phillies had lost the night before; when the talking heads on Sportscenter recapped the game, he patted the sheet next to him and said, "Are you sad about the Phillies? Do you need a cuddle?" I chuckled and rolled over. But I laid awake, wondering what he meant by that.

===

The text read, "This room is WAY nicer than the Knights Inn."

I met Doug at the hotel in Annapolis and dropped off my bag. He was right; the room was gorgeous, with fabulous linens and a chic bathroom.

"Let's drink!" And we were off.

We walked down the quaint main street and headed to the bar where Rhett was going to play. We sat down at the bar and ordered a round, and then another. When we went to dinner, Rhett walked through the dining room and I gasped and pointed -- he's so foxy.

===

During Rhett's set Doug and I leaned in toward each other to talk and our knees touched under the table. I felt tension crackle between us.

After Rhett played, we walked down to the harbor to a bar I remembered from when I sailed to Annapolis years before. An outstanding three piece band played party hits and we danced and drunk texted our friends and drank lagers and shots of double espresso vodka, which he hated. So I drank his.

We drank and drank and drank and when last call came we staggered out to hail a cab and headed back to the hotel. We got back to the room and got ready for bed; we shared the sink to brush our teeth and I bent over to take a sip from the faucet to rinse my mouth out. I looked over my shoulder at him, up on tiptoes, ass in the air. He stared, his mouth hanging open. I smiled and walked out.

I didn't feel comfortable getting undressed in front of him so I pulled my pajama pants up under my skirt and shimmied my skirt down over my pants. He came out of the bathroom and watched me fish my tank top down into my polo.

I started to say, "In high school, I used to get changed for crew practice this way," but he strode over to me and kissed me, hard. I groaned into his mouth and he pushed me back onto the bed.

He yanked my shirt off and kissed my neck. I arched my back and folded my arms behind me to take off my bra. So much for modesty.

"I've wanted this for so long, WB," he whispered into my ear.

"I had no idea." He bit my earlobe.

"Yes you did."

"Well. I kinda thought so."

We kissed some more. I raked my fingers through his thick hair and he worked me over with his meaty hands.

I have a type: Tall and skinny and hipstery and tattooed (you know, like Red). Doug is a big guy, a former college lineman. He's thick and solid and sweaty and very, very butch. Until he kissed me I had never thought of him That Way, but once we rolled back and forth on those 600 thread count sheets, I just melted. I would do whatever he wanted.

I did the lift and let him pull off my panties and throw them on the floor. I tugged his boxer briefs off and he kicked those to the floor too. He laid next to me and breathed in my ear.

"We can't tell anybody."

"I know."

"It's our dirty little secret."

"Yeah. Very dirty."

Then he said those magic words: "Are you a dirty girl?"

I felt my pussy get even wetter.

"Unghhhhhh yesssssssss!"

I got on all fours above him and kissed him. He wrapped his big hands around my waist while I worked on his neck and ears. I reached down between his legs and felt his cock, hard and hot and slick with precome. I stroked his dick. He gazed at me, eyes glassy with lust.

"Tell me what you want," I murmured.

"Head," he croaked. "Gimme head."

I stopped at all the usual stations on the way to his dick; shoulders, chest, belly, the fold between his torso and his hip. I nudged his knees apart and settled myself between his legs. The tip of his dick was shiny with precome and I tasted him with the tip of my tongue; he sucked in his breath. I took him in my mouth and he groaned with pleasure.

I worked on him for a while, and I guess he had a touch of whiskey dick, because he pulled me up next to him and slipped his hand between my legs. He circled my wet clit with two fingers and sucked on my nipples. "Ohhhhh, fuuuuuuuuck," I groaned, and opened my legs. He pressed one thick finger into me and I slipped my fingers down to play. He added another finger and worked them slowly in and out. I hadn't been fucked in months; I was so tight around his fingers, and being stretched felt so delicious. I felt the orgasm roll over me and I came on his hand; he pulled his fingers out and shoved them in my mouth. I sucked them clean, tasting the dark, salty wetness of my cunt on his hand.

Next I got on all fours. He took the hint and got up behind me, holding onto my hips. His dick grazed my pussy and slipped back and forth over my ass, which felt good, but wasn't what I had in mind. I peeked over my shoulder: "Are you trying to fuck my ass, Doug?" I laughed. I would have let him. But it wasn't working from behind, and he plopped down next to me. We laid there, catching our breath. He laced his fingers through mine.

===

I woke up naked the next morning, my head throbbing. I groaned. "Holy shit." Doug staggered to the bathroom, and I slithered to the floor to find the pajamas I had so hastily removed the night before. I got dressed and slipped into to the cool sheets of the second bed. When he emerged, Doug crawled into bed with me, curling up behind me and resting his big hand on my hip. He just left it there for a few minutes. He started making circles with his palm and ran his hand into the curve of my waist.

I sighed and scootched back to him and let him put his arm around my waist. I laced my fingers through his. He brushed my hair forward and kissed the back of my neck and my shoulders and I shivered with pleasure. I rolled over to face him and we wrapped ourselves around each other and kissed, slow and deep. I didn't realize until then what a terrific kisser he was, detailed, observant and patient.

He slid my shirt up to my neck and sucked my nipples again. I arched my back to meet his mouth and he ran his hand down my stomach between my legs. I was so wet again and I shimmied out of my pants. "Open," he said, and I spread my legs. He got up on his knees with his dick by my head and started fingering me again. I turned toward him and took his dick in my mouth. I sucked him for a while and he played with my hair and my tits. Occasionally he'd swat my tits or my face. (Just writing about those little slaps is getting me wet.)

"Open," he commanded. He leaned down and put his face in my pussy. I moaned into his cock while he licked my clit and fingered me. It felt good, but I knew I wouldn't come again, so I focused on him. I took him all the way in, arched my back, and played with his balls. I felt the heat radiating off of him.

"Are you gonna come for me?" I murmured.

"Oh God, yes."

I sucked him some more, arching my back to slide him in and out of my mouth. His breaths got shorter and faster and finally he pulled back and jerked himself off to finish. He finally came in my mouth, hot and white. I swallowed it all.

La Tour Eiffel

2010-05-11T02:27:00.005-04:00

Last night, on a whim [cough cough] while I was drunk [cough], I posted what I think is one of the best, funniest pieces I've ever written to Casual Encounters. Here's what I wrote:

Have you ever been to Paris?

Then you've seen the Eiffel Tower.

Before I turn 30, I want to live out one of my fantasies: I want two hot, smart, preppy, straight/straightish guys to fuck me at the same time.

My fantasy is that we meet at a swank bar downtown. We get tipsy and two of you whisper nasty things into my ears and get me so worked up you take me back to your bachelor pad and fuck me together.

You and your pal are: 25-35, fit, hung, college educated (or are pursuing your degree), and secretly freaky. For example: You wear a coat and tie to work, but you liven up boring meetings by sending girls pictures of your rock-hard cock from your Blackberry.

I am: 29, brunette, big tits, big ass, smart as a whip, and preppy with a wild streak. I might wear a polo shirt and a madras skirt to our date, but don't be surprised when I tell you to slap me while we fuck.

Use the word "Topsiders" in your email so I know you're for real.

I received a couple of promising responses! Now I just need to get drunk again so I can respond.

Kitchen nightmares

2010-01-28T10:40:00.001-05:00

A recurring dream I have took an interesting turn this week.

I used to fool around with a guy named [redacted]. We met, as so many people do these days, in Casual Encounters, and we settled into a routine: I'd go over to his house on Wednesday nights, we'd watch South Park, drink a few beers, fool around, and I'd leave. Physically and personality-wise, he wasn't really my type, but it was a fun little way to kill a few hours. There were no strings attached. It was great.

---

The first time we met, we made idle chit chat as I sipped a vodka and iced tea. I was getting impatient. I didn't drive 45 minutes to talk about the weather. I finished my drink, placed my glass on the coffee table, and straddled him on his couch in one smooth motion.

"Mmmm, you're eager," he mumbled into my mouth.

He slid his hands up my back and tossed my shirt to the floor. I ground my hips against his and nibbled his ears.

THWACK. He whacked my ass with an open palm.

"Stay away from my ears."

Well. This is an interesting little game he wants to play. I'd said I liked to be spanked. So did he really think I'd obey? I went back to his ears with my tongue.

THWACK! The other cheek. Now each of us knew where the other stood.

---

I liked when I'd sit next to him on his couch and he'd slowly slide his hand up the inside of my leg. It'd take him the entire show to work his way up to my crotch. Once he'd get to my panties, he'd gently start stroking the outside of my panties, occasionally slipping a finger inside the elastic of my undies. The tease was the best part of the whole enterprise. Eventually, I'd crack and I'd shove him down onto the couch and sit on his face, or I'd grab his hand and drag him upstairs, ripping off my clothes on the way up the steps. Sometimes he'd follow me upstairs and grab my hips and start eating me from behind right on the steps. That was fun.

I also have him to thank for introducing me to the fun of clothespins. One night, after I had come about five times, he spread my legs and started massaging my labia. I felt a pinch. Then another. Then another.

"Ooh, what are you doing?"

"Have you ever played with clothespins before?"

"No!"

"Well, let's see how much you like it."

I laid back and let him work and eventually he said, "I don't have any more."

I reached between my legs and started counting -- 13!

One night, [redacted] and I had been trading dirty texts while I was at a Phillies game and instead of going home after the game, I went to his house. I drove all the way to [redacted] from South Philadelphia with one hand on the wheel and the other in my panties. Once I got to his house, he let me in and slammed the door closed behind me, pulling my hair, kissing me roughly and unbuttoning my pants with the other hand. He threw me onto the steps in his entry and fucked me from behind right then, while I stroked my clit with my face grinding into the carpeted steps. It was ridiculously hot. He pulled out and came all over my ass.

---

So. The dream. It starts out in reality -- the night that I went to his house after the Phillies game and we fucked on the steps in his entry. After we caught our breath on the steps, we went into his kitchen to have a drink. I remember neither of us were wearing pants, but we both still had t-shirts on. Mine was pink.

We sipped our drinks and chatted about our day. Then [redacted] put his drink down and kissed my neck and reached between my legs, his hand damp and cold from the glass. He slid his fingers up and down my slit and around my clit in circles. "Unnnnngh," I groaned, eyes closed. I braced myself on the counter behind me as he pushed one thick finger, then another, inside me. My head fell back in ecstasy. He fingered me, hard, while I played with my clit and braced myself against the counter behind me.

I came, standing on tippy toes, legs shaking, gushing all over his hand and onto his kitchen floor.

The most recent time I had this dream, though, it took a kinky new turn: When I came all over his hand, I dropped to the floor and lapped up the puddle of my come like a kitten.

Red light, blinking in the twilight

2010-01-12T23:17:00.002-05:00

He ate my heart, and then he ate my brain

2010-01-05T22:25:00.005-05:00

I did a stupid thing today. I looked up Red on Facebook. He was "in a relationship," and I freaked the hell out.

I sat at my desk (at my awesome new job) and cried, and I listened to The Smiths. After my little crying jag, I wiped my eyes and was actually moderately productive for the rest of the day.

The thing that makes this all so hard is that I can look at it all rationally: I was a rebound, we lived a hundred miles apart, it happened two years ago, normal people don't feel this way about one-night stands! I can tell you ten reasons why it would never have worked. But I can't deny the knife in my heart when I think about him and how happy I could have made him.

After work, I went to the liquor store to buy a bottle of wine to drink with dinner tonight, and after reading labels and Wine Spectator recommendations and food pairings, this is the one that looked the best.

In case you can't read that, I picked a wine called "The Big Red Monster."

*facepalm*

Sometimes I think my subconscious hates me.

Attention to detail

2009-09-28T23:33:00.007-04:00

Like so many other people, I love the show Mad Men. I love the clothes, the art direction, the tightly wound writing, and as someone who used to make a living by paying attention to details, the impeccable attention to detail. Everything from the underwear to the cigarette lighters to the tax stamps on bottles of liquor, no detail is left unattended.

The men on the show are written with such precision and depth, but I sometimes have a hard time identifying with some of the female characters. Joan is sexy and rules her domain--I am neither. Betty is frosty and long-suffering, but has moments of willfulness--getting closer.

But Peggy Olson. I get Peggy. I understand Peggy. I am Peggy.

Peggy is plain and silent and chooses all the wrong moments to stand up for herself. She's brittle and hard on the outside, a facade that protects the thoughts and desires roiling around inside of her. And she's silently screaming inside for someone, anyone, to notice her, to pay attention to her. When Duck tells her that "all the times I walked past you and never noticed you," you can practically see Peggy's heart melt. Duck knew exactly where her vulnerable spots were: Peggy wants to be notable in her work and to be noticed by men, and I understand that so much.

Plus, since Duck is a teetotaler, it's really sexy and intimate when he tells her that he loves the taste of liquor on her breath. See? Attention to detail.

Good Ol' Fashioned Nightmare

2009-07-24T01:49:00.002-04:00

Indeed, that's what my life is right now.

Girl, I know how you feel

2009-07-07T16:16:00.004-04:00

Drowning Girl, by Roy Lichtenstein (American, 1923-1997).

Although it bears mentioning that I called my old therapist today and asked her if she'd start seeing me again.

Summertime blues

2009-07-06T22:27:00.005-04:00

It's the height of summer. I spent the weekend at the shore in a bathing suit, the Phillies are in first place...and yet I feel even lower and lonelier than usual. I haven't had sex since April and I haven't been on a date since May.

(That said, I'm going on a blind date on Thursday. The fellow is coming to Philadelphia from Ohio and taking me out to an extremely expensive dinner, which makes me feel like I owe him something. Katerade already knows I've been in knots over it for weeks.)

I've been watching a lot of Mad Men lately, trying to get caught up on the last two seasons before the new season starts in August. Since I can't find a clip of the scene in question, watch this. Start at 7:45. I want to say this to a man someday and mean it.

Coulda woulda shoulda

2009-06-26T21:10:00.003-04:00

I could have had sex tonight. I could've met my favorite go-to fuck buddy and gotten righteously pounded until my shoulders, back, pussy, and jaw ached.

But no. I had to come down with my annual summer cold/sinus infection this week. Instead of screaming at the top of my lungs, I'm moaning in agony with a warm compress over my eyes because my face hurts so much. Instead of choking on a meaty cock, I'm lying on the couch listening to the Phillies choke against the Jays.

Tomorrow I have to go to a bridal shower. Kill me now.

The nice Jewish boy

2009-06-15T23:13:00.004-04:00

I emailed him because the picture of his cock was so nice. A meaty fistful, arching gently upward. The picture looked so good I wanted to lick it.

We traded emails for weeks before we finally went out for the first time. I brought him home and he freaked out because he could hear my roommate yapping in the next room. He still came hard in my mouth, on my bed, spilling a hot load down my throat for me to swallow greedily.

You want to know how he fucks me, huh?

It always goes the same way. We have a couple of beers and go upstairs. He peels my dress off and plays with my tits while we kiss. I undress him (he has to do his belt, I always struggle with it) and he pushes me to my knees to take his cock. I like the cognitive dissonance between his polite Jewish boy-ness and his big, gorgeous dick. I suck him while he plays with my hair and then he pushes me to the bed.

We always fuck with me on all fours--he likes to fuck me like he doesn't like me. I know he doesn't like me. But I like how he fucks me. He teases me with his cock first before he gives it to me. I always whine, "What are you dooooooing, don't you wanna fuuuuuuck me?" And he always says "I'm teasing you. Now play with your clit for me." So I do. Eventually he slides his cock into me and fills me up all the way on the very first thrust. He spanks me and pulls my hair when I ask, and fucks me until I come over and over and over. "Did you come?" he always asks. "Can't you tell?" I always say. Then he grabs my hips and pumps until he finishes inside me.

One time he came to my house before he went to work and he was so hot for me he lasted all of 45 seconds. That was flattering and disappointing at the same time; flattering because he was so turned on he couldn't hold off, disappointing because his cock feels so good I really wanted him to make me come.

He'd make a fine boyfriend--gainfully employed, owns his own house, wears nice shoes, has a fabulous dick--if he didn't live so far away. And he didn't dislike me so much.

The Kid

2009-06-08T09:58:00.005-04:00

In the fallout from the Red situation, I created a profile on everybody's favorite fuck site, Adult Friend Finder. I figured if one guy wanted to fuck me, maybe others wanted to too. Maybe I could fuck Red out of my system.

The Kid's profile photo was a shot from his shoulders to his knees. His torso was ripped, and he was wearing blue boxer briefs. I was impressed that he hadn't used a cock shot like so many guys on AFF do, and his profile was thoughtfully written. He seemed remarkably mature for a 22-year-old college student.

After trading a few messages, I gave him my IM handle and he IMed me at around 10 one night.

The Kid: What are you doing right now?
Me: Watching the Phillies game.
The Kid: Want to come over?
Me: What, now?
The Kid: Yeah, why not?
Me: ...OK.

I changed into a raspberry-colored cashmere sweater and jeans and drove over to The Kid's house. He lived in a middle-class cul-de-sac and as I was parking, I thought, "This is an odd neighborhood for a college student to live."

I saw a head poke out of a front door and I knew I had found his house. He let me into the house after I parked my car, admonishing me, "You have to be quiet, my roommates are sleeping upstairs." Well, hello to you too.

He led me to a well-appointed living room--Oriental-style rug on the floor, brass and glass coffee table in front of the couch, an Olan Mills portrait on the wall--and I realized, "He doesn't have roommates, he has parents." I was going to fuck a kid while his parents slept upstairs. I was horrified...and wet.

We sat on the poofy white leather couch and he watched The Daily Show for a few minutes before he turned to me and asked, "Can we make out a little?" We kissed for a few moments and he shoved his hand into the neck of my sweater to grope my breast.

As we kissed, I thought, "I want to get this over with as soon as possible." So I turned on the charm, straddling him on the couch and sinking my teeth into his neck. "You're really into this, aren't you?" he asked.

I didn't answer, just unbuttoned his jeans and worked them down to his knees.

He knelt and pushed the coffee table out of the way to make room for us on the floor. I got on my knees and pulled his underwear down, and I found myself face to face with the biggest cock I had ever seen in my life. Long, thick and gently curved, it was like a Pringles can. I didn't even try to suck it--I would have gotten maybe a third of it into my mouth--just licked it all over.

My attention to his cock got The Kid incredibly hard, and he dove to the floor, pushing me down on my back. He grabbed my sweater and pulled it over my head, and pulled my bra up, popping my tits out for him to suck on. He was terribly enthusiastic, so I let him work on me for a few moments, then I pushed him off so I could retrieve a condom from my coat pocket. I kept them handy there for exactly this reason--he was so ready to fuck he couldn't find the rubber he stashed in his pants. Cooler, more experienced heads will always prevail.

He rolled on the condom and entered me. Whoa. He filled me up completely on the very first thrust. Jesus. It was like fucking a baseball bat. He pushed my knees to my chest and fucked me like this for a little bit, before he gasped, "You're so hot, I don't want to come yet."

"So do something else."

He pulled out and went down on me. Ah, now this I enjoyed. He worked two fingers inside me as he flicked and sucked at my clit, and just as I thought I would come, he pulled his fingers out and started fucking me again. I wriggled my hand down between us and stroked my clit while he fucked me, and I shoved my free hand into my mouth so I'd be quiet when I came.

And come I did, with a wet, squishy spasm and my teeth sunk into my fist. I was so wet I thought I'd left a puddle on his mother's nice rug. He thrust a few more times and finished inside me.

"Did you come?" he gasped. I hate being asked that question. It speaks to a selfishness and a lack of concern for and observational ability of one's partner of which I don't approve. I was terse: "Of course I did." I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.

I pulled my pants back up and rearranged my tits in my bra. "Could I have a glass of water?" I asked. He brought me my drink and I chugged it as fast as I could. I handed him back the glass, and told him, "That was fun. Take care."

I was out of there before Your Moment of Zen.

I had another one

2009-05-28T15:05:00.006-04:00

I had another weird sex dream the other night (or morning, I should say; I always wake up from them in the morning) and I can't even blame it on dirty IMs before bed.

I was in my old college dorm room in Tower C. The room was dark except for the light in my closet, and I thought I was alone but I felt another presence there with me, which was strange, because I'm not someone who "senses things." I believe in omens (example: If you find a good parking spot at the mall or the grocery store, you'll have a productive shopping trip) but not in, like, spirits or the undead. It was also strange because my cube at work is larger than my old dorm room, and how could someone have hidden in there?

Anyway, I tried to shake off the feeling, but as I peered into my mirror, I felt the shock of a hot hand gripping the back of my neck and shoving my face roughly into the mirror. I could see the look of shock on my face, my mouth an O, the color draining from my cheeks.

The hand held me there, my forehead against the glass, and my assailant's face swam into focus behind me. It was the pretty Irish actor Cillian Murphy, who hissed into my ear with his lovely baritone burr for me to shut up because he's going to fuck me and I'm going to like it.

OK!

So he did; His hand still at the back of my neck, he yanked my skirt up and my panties down, and spat into his free hand to get his cock slick. No need; I was already wet like that and arching my back for him. He fucked me roughly from behind for what seemed like forever, his hand around my throat or yanking my hair back. I played with my clit and whined for him to fuck my ass.

Wait, what?

Fuck my ass?

OK!

I've been known to talk in my sleep, so it's a good thing I had the house to myself; I can only imagine myself whining "Fuck my ass, come on, fuck me harder!" in my sleep. I woke up with my face smooshed into my pillow and proceeded to get myself off four times with my Magic Wand before work that morning.

I know I have "make friends with anal" on my life list. I'm not so big into it in real life but apparently my preconscious is dying for it. I just bought myself a new butt-specific toy this weekend, so maybe I'll be able to tick that item off my list sooner rather than later.

Yes, please!

Cause and effect

2009-05-22T10:05:00.003-04:00

Cause: Torrid sex IMs with an old pal before bed.

Effect: Vivid sex dreams all night.

I had a tremendously strange one the other night; I was hired to perform in a porno. I don't remember with whom, and I don't remember what I did. Then after we finished shooting my scene, the cast and crew went out together for karaoke. That I remember; I sang "Tears Dry On Their Own."

The next day, I read my reviews, and Fleshbot was more surprised by my karaoke performance than by my sexual prowess. The review boiled down to "We knew she could fuck, but we had no idea she had a voice like that!"

I don't usually remember my dreams, and the ones I do remember are always the anxiety ones. What does it mean?

Red, conclusion

2009-05-14T09:00:00.000-04:00

A few hours later, I opened my eyes and the room was dim. A cold, gray light filtered through the window shade, and I could hear the wind whistle down the street. Red's arms were still around me, and his face was resting against my shoulder. I realized I had fallen asleep in his arms.

SIDEBAR: I do not spoon. I cannot spoon. I hate to do it; I'm certain the other person is disgusted by me, doesn't want to touch me, would rather be anywhere else than with me. My mind races the whole time and I can't relax. I lie there awake all night, hating myself.

Huh. How about that.

This meant something to me. That I felt relaxed enough with this man to fall asleep in his arms. To become vulnerable. I was warm and comfortable under his blankets with his arms around me. I never wanted to leave.

I had to get out of there.

He felt me stir. "Hi," he said.

"What time is it?" I was wearing a watch, I could have answered this question myself.

"Seven. I think."

"I should go."

"Do you really have to?"

I was incredulous. I thought for sure he'd see what he was lying next to and want me out of there as soon as possible. "Well, no...you want me to stay?"

"Yeah."

"OK, I will."

So that was that. I would stay.

We rearranged ourselves so that I was now the big spoon, my arm draped over his waist. I stretched out and kissed the nape of his neck and nuzzled my face into the space between his shoulders. Our feet tangled together.

I dozed off again.

---

When I woke up later, my head was throbbing and I desperately needed to pee. I wrapped myself in one of the blankets we had kicked off the bed the night before. It had Sandra Boynton illustrations all over it. I chuckled.

I tiptoed through his anteroom and cracked the door open to peek if the coast was clear. I would be so embarrassed if his roommates caught me. I ducked into the bathroom and returned to Red's room without anyone spotting me.

When I got back to his bedroom, Red was stretched out his stomach, his giant feet poking out from under the blanket and hanging over the edge of the bed. I noticed a flash of blue and red on his right calf, and I flipped the blanket back to reveal an enormous, abstract tattoo swirling up his calf from his ankle to his knee.

"Huh!"

"What?" he said, sleep thick in his voice.

"I didn't notice your tattoos."

"Yeah...I have three."

"Really? Huh. I don't have any." I slipped back under the covers and scooted next to him.

"I noticed."

"Oh, you did, did you?" I felt objectified, in an extremely good way. He had looked at me. He had taken me in and liked what he saw, flaws and all. I smiled broadly.

"Yes." He smiled back and kissed me.

He stretched his arm out under my neck and pulled me to him. I curled up into his side and kissed him under his ear. I nibbled his ear and he sucked in his breath. "Oh, that's really good," he murmured. He did the same to me and I giggled and sighed. "I couldn't resist," he said. "It looked too good not to."

Red laid on his back and I curled up next to him, his fingertips resting on my side. The curve of my waist and the small of my back are incredibly sensitive--touch me gently there and I will laugh because it tickles, and get wet because, well, I don't know why. Fingertips up and down my back just drive me crazy. I kick and squirm and giggle and twitch and act like a spaz. Very sexy.

When he started making little circles on my side I shivered. I gasped when he dipped his fingers into the small of my back and ran them up the valley of my spine between my shoulders. Up and down, up and down, over into my waist, I gasped every time. He kept going, and I got wet again. I threw my arm and leg across him and rubbed myself against his hip.

He palmed my ass. "You do that, you better be willing to give me a spanking." There was a smile in my voice--I didn't think he had it in him, because he was kind of passive--but if he had bent me over his knee and spanked me until my ass and his palm were bright red, I would have died of ecstatic surprise right then.

Red had gotten me off again and again, and now I knew it was my turn to return the favor. I wanted him to come as hard for me as I had for him the night before. I got on all fours above him and bowed my head to kiss him, sucking on his ears again and kissing his neck. I crawled backward and worked my way from his neck to his chest, and scrubbed my face back and forth in the thick thatch of blond fuzz on his chest.

He gasped and arched against me and breathed, "Ohhhh...you found my spot" when I licked his nipples. He gently put his hand against the back of my head to hold me there and I reached down to feel his cock. I stroked my thumb over the head and felt the precome there.

I was getting this gorgeous boy off. I could not have been prouder of myself.

Kissing and licking and nipping at his sides, I slipped out from under his hand and worked my way down his stomach. I nuzzled my face into his groin and the fold between his leg and his torso, and nudged his knees apart like he did to me.

I settled down between his legs, nipped the insides of his thighs, and gave the underside of his dick a long, slow lick. I thought of College Callgirl's outstanding post on how to give an exemplary blow job. I wanted this to be a barnburner. I wanted the cliche about how fat girls give good head to be true. I wanted him never to forget me.

I got to work, spitting crudely on him (ooh, very nasty) and stroking him a few times to get him really nice and hard. He fit perfectly in my mouth; I could smoothly take him all the way in without gagging. I'd take him all the way in and breathe through my nose into his groin, and as I slipped him out of my mouth, I'd slide my tongue from side to side on the underside of his dick. I wrapped one arm around his thigh, and I played with his balls with the other.

"Your...mouth...is...magic..." he gasped. Best compliment ever.

I propped myself up on all fours and looked him in the eye. "I want you to come on my tits."

He looked a little surprised, but he was right there with me. "OK!"

While I sucked him he began leaking a lot of precome, and he tasted delicious--remarkably sweet. I played with his balls and stroked his taint, and he jerked against me and warned me that he was close; I pulled back and jerked him off until he came all over me with a deep groan.

And come all over me he did: It was an enormous, hot, watery load that ran down my neck and over my chest, and I could swear he hadn't released in weeks--the volume was just that great. "Ohhh, wow! That was amazing!" That was me, saying that!

I gave him a few moments to catch his breath before I asked, "Um, could I have a towel or something?" Instead of a few puny squares of Kleenex, he got up and gave me a giant fluffy bath towel, and as I wiped myself off, I thought about the lady at the laundry who'd have to wash his come-stained towels.

I had worked up a sweat, and I smoothed my hand over my sweaty hair to get it off my face. I used the wrong hand to brush my hair back, though, and ran a handful of come through my hair for my trouble. I cringed when I realized what I did.

Red curled up next to me, sated and content. I don't understand how in, oh, six hours, I went from "stop touching me" to "I can't get enough of you touching me." Something in our mutual chemistry, maybe. He propped himself up on an elbow to look at me and did something very dear: He ran his finger down the bridge of my nose and over my lips. He did it again and I arched my neck up to take the tip of his finger in my mouth.

---

We laid in bed talking about graduate school, his childhood in the South, his flannel sheets (he sheepishly said that he had nicer sheets but he hadn't been expecting anyone to see them), and the NFC East (I'm an Eagles fan, he roots for the Cowboys...blech), his hand on my breast almost absentmindedly. We began to kiss again, and when he was on top of me, I wrapped my legs around him, trying to get his warm skin against mine. I craved the feeling of him between my legs, inside me. I rocked my hips against him, hoping he would take the hint.

He pulled back and looked at me. "What do you want?" he breathed.

"I want you. To fuck me."

He got an inscrutable look on his face, and reached across me to retrieve a condom from his nightstand. I guess we had tried the previous night--when I first woke up that morning there was an empty condom wrapper on the pillow by my head--but then I realized his fervent attention to my pussy with his mouth and hands must have concealed the fact that he had suffered a touch of whiskey dick.

No matter, he was hard and ready for me now. Finally.

I opened my legs wide and Red entered me shallowly. I was so wet that he slipped right out again, and he thoughtfully grabbed my ankles and placed them over his shoulders and he entered me. I liked that he was willing to try different things. We found a rhythm, briefly, but broke it again. We rolled over slightly on our sides. This was good. He was deeper inside me, and he found a good pace. With one arm around his shoulders, I grabbed the back of his knee to hold myself in place. I sucked in a deep breath, and whispered, "Yes, yes, just like that, oh, fuck yes."

He rolled me back so I was lying flat again and as we changed positions I yanked the pillow from behind my head and shoved it under my hips. Maybe that would help. It did. He fucked me harder and faster again, wrapping his long arms around me as I clung to him, cheek to cheek, legs around his waist, arms around his neck.

We fucked like this for a while, kissing sometimes, me breathing slutty encouragement in his ear. "Ugh, yes, oh fuck, that's really good. Don't stop."

Eventually Red buried his face in my shoulder. His skin was hot and damp, dewy with sweat. The room smelled of sex. I raked my fingernails up his back and tightened my grip in his coppery hair. This must have done the trick: After a few more hard, deep thrusts, he came inside me with a few heaving gasps.

He laid on top of me, spent, and I felt comforted by his weight holding me down.

---

Red and I would take our leave of each other after we showered (he checked to see that his roommates were gone so that I wouldn't have to meet them wearing only a blanket) and ate breakfast--lunch, actually, since we didn't get out of bed until after noon!--at a little diner around the corner from his apartment. Over pancakes, he shyly asked me with a lopsided grin, "So, uh, can I have your number?"

I asked him to walk me to the subway, but he did me one better: He drove me into the city and dropped me off at the train station in his zippy little VW. Now, every time I see a white Golf with the turbo package, my heart skips a beat. We held hands and kissed goodbye, and as I got out of the car, he shouted after me with a smile, "Call me when you get home so I know you got home OK!"

We kept in touch for a few months, and I would see him one more time. I'd never hear from him again after that.

---

Katni asked me if writing this was therapeutic, and I told her I didn't know. There are things I do know: The time I spent with Red was hot, dirty, and--forgive the cheese--a little romantic. It was everything good sex should be. At Red's side, I felt pretty and smart and funny and like I had sex appeal.

But Red is not walking through that door. I will never see or speak to Red again unless he contacts me--I'm too proud and stubborn to chase him. I should content myself with those brief moments of happiness, this beautiful little flame that burned too hot to last. I know three men who like me, want to date me, tell me things like how smart I am and how beautiful they think I am, and yet I know I do them a disservice because all I can think of them is you're not Red. And I hate myself for that.

Sometimes I wonder about how Red would have handled the things that happened in my life last year. Would he have helped me move after I got thrown out of the house I was renting? Would he have taken care of me after I had my tonsils out? Would he have danced with me at my college roommate's wedding? Would he have rejoiced with me on October 29? And I just don't know.

I don't want to be alone. I want to be happy. I have to find a way to be happy without Red in my life. But if Red called me or emailed me tomorrow and asked me to come to him, I would go, wherever he was. After getting a bikini wax first.

Red, part II

2009-05-03T18:52:00.013-04:00

A brief note: Hello, all you lovely people from Fleshbot! You might want to read part I of this story before you read this piece. Thank you for reading, and do leave comments if you like. I crave your acceptance, people! xo, WB

---

I made out in the back of the cab until the driver cleared his throat so that Red could direct him to his apartment building. I scooched across the seat to get close to him and laced my fingers through his and sighed. I had him in the palm of my hand. Maybe he had me in his. I didn't care. For once, I wanted something, and I got it.

We finally stopped in front of his building, a five-floor walkup. As I had promised, I paid for the cab, and he opened the door of his apartment building for me and ushered me in. "All the way up," he said, as he followed me up the stairs. I got an idea.

About three floors up, I stopped suddenly and turned around to face him. We were face to face. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and kissed him. I pulled back and kissed his neck and whispered into his ear, "I wanted to do this the minute I sat down next to you." He slipped his arms into my coat and wrapped them around my waist while we kissed on the stairs, his tongue darting to meet mine.

"Come on." We held hands as we climbed the last few flights. He let me into his apartment, and he held a finger to his lips. "Don't wake up my roommates."

"Oh, guess what! I have a hostess gift for you!" I giggled as I pulled out the bottle of wine I had swiped from the bar.

"Shhh!" Now he was laughing too. "Go through there. And then the door on the left."

He had two rooms to himself off the kitchen that overlooked the street. The first room was like a den with a couch and coffee table, a moderately-sized TV and an assortment of late-20s guy toys--a Wii, a set of golf clubs, a bike, computer equipment.

Red followed me into his bedroom and I took off my coat and dropped it and my bag on the floor in the corner. There was nowhere else for me to put them--the room was barely big enough for his bed and a pair of nightstands. The streetlights were filtered by a curtain in the window in the corner, and the soft light cast a pretty halo around Red.

He wanted to undress me fast. I wanted to undress him slow.

I was wearing cowboy boots; they were the most difficult thing to take off, so I did those myself. He unbuttoned my cardigan and threw it on top of my coat. I peeled his coat off and threw it on the floor behind me. He yanked my tank top off. I pulled him down to me by the collar of his hoodie and kissed him while I slowly, slowly unzipped it and pulled it off. He unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off me. The cool air of his bedroom hit between my legs and I gasped--my panties were soaked through, and had been since we first kissed in the taxi. I fumbled with his belt buckle--not since the threesome had I undressed a man--and he grunted, "Ugh, let me."

I put my hand on his stomach and slid it up his chest under his shirt to pull it over his head; I was pleasantly surprised to discover that his chest was quite fuzzy.

We were down to our undies. When I had dressed that morning, for some reason I had decided to put on coordinating underwear--a hot pink lace bra and hot pink panties. Usually, I eschew that kind of thing--what's the point? Nobody's going to see them--but clearly, my gut feeling had served me well. "You can't tell in this light," I said, "but I'm wearing really. Slutty. Underwear."

He grinned and slipped his arm around my back to unhook my bra. Onto the pile it went. He pushed me down across his bed and laid on top of me to kiss me. We made out like this for a while, rolling from side to side, the lead constantly changing.

You know "the lift?" The way a girl parts her legs and lifts her hips up so a boy can slide her panties off?

I did the lift.

He slipped his hands down over my ass and slid my panties off. I craned my foot up and caught my toes in the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down to his knees. He kicked them off.

Now we were both naked, arms and legs twisted together, and I sighed with pleasure. We kissed some more, nibbling each other's ears and necks and shoulders. I sucked his lower lip between mine and licked it, and he did the same to me. I was unbelievably wet.

He knelt above me and positioned me so my head was on the pillow. He nudged my knees apart and trailed his fingers between my breasts and down my stomach. I gasped when he touched me.

"Relax," he told me.

He opened my legs wider and settled himself between them. While he kissed my knees and thighs, he stroked my pussy tenderly. I gasped again.

While I was happy to kiss him, I didn't like how pointy his tongue was in my mouth. Too probing, too darting. That liability turned into an asset when his face was between my thighs.

Oh my God, he gave good head. His tongue probed my slit, flicked against my clit, and turned me into a wet, moaning pile of goo. I folded my arms over my face--I couldn't even watch him go down on me, it was too intense.

It got even more intense when he slipped a finger into me. He made that "c'mere" motion inside me, and I couldn't help but thrust my hips to meet him. I wanted more.

"Put another finger in me."

He added a second long, dextrous finger and I squealed. His fingers swam deep inside me, his mouth and tongue worked on my clit, and his free hand stroked the insides of my thighs and played with my breasts. I was in heaven. I have no idea how long he was at it.

"Oh God, oh yes, oh God, don't stop, oh my God, yes...aaaaaaaagh!" I came like an opera singer hitting a high A above middle C, a sustained high vibrating note. My legs shook as the orgasm washed over me, and he slipped his fingers out of me and rubbed my clit gently a little more as I twitched with the aftershocks. He knelt above me to look at me, and I grabbed his hand, wet and shiny with my come. I looked him in the eye and took his fingers in my mouth, contentedly sucking them clean.

"Wow," he said. I smiled with his fingers still in my mouth.

"Mmm," I said. "Again?"

So he did. Again, he knelt between my legs and lapped and sucked at my cunt until I came again and again and again, that same sustained high note, and eventually I had reach between my legs to pull his fingers out of my pussy, begging him, "Please, you have to give me a break...I can't come anymore!" I was wet halfway down my thighs.

I sucked his fingers clean again and he collapsed at my side, his face buried in my shoulder and his arm across my stomach.

He asked me if I was cold, and I said "No, you're so warm." It was true; lying next to him was like lying next to a furnace. He pulled a blanket over us anyway, and I tipped my head to the side and whispered something tremendously corny but heartfelt: "You make me feel like I'm pretty." He wrapped his long arms and legs around me tight and held me closely.

I closed my eyes.

Red, part I

2009-04-23T22:37:00.011-04:00

I have been dreading writing this post. Everything that comes after Red happened because of him.

And if this story sounds familiar, yes, that was me then too.

---

I met Red at a party last winter when we were seated next to each other at a college basketball game. When we shook hands and introduced ourselves, his long fingers curled around my hand. He had soulful green eyes and a winsome smile, but the thing that really caught my eye was his hair. He had a shock of bright, coppery red hair parted on the side and combed neatly into a polite, conservative wedge haircut that stood in counterpoint to his gauged ears.

This was my thought process when I saw him:

I will die if I don't make out with you tonight.
You're so handsome that I don't have a chance with you.
There is nothing I can say or do that will possibly impress you enough for you to make out with me.
I guess I'll just be myself.

So I was myself. My fat, plain, crude, foul mouthed, beer drinking, junk food eating self. I took a bite of a zeppole and got powdered sugar all over myself. I joked, "Look! I'm a cokehead!" He laughed. I died a little.

Red got up to buy a beer and I took in just how tremendously tall he was. Six-five at least, with mile-long legs.

He asked, "Want me to bring you one too?" "Yes, please! Thank you!" He took off before I could give him money for my beer, and when he came back, he waved me off. "My treat." Huh. How nice. Men as handsome as Red are never so nice to me. Weird.

Since neither of us had any rooting interest in either team (he went to an SEC school, I follow the Big East) we spent more time talking than paying attention to the game. The conversation was, to my shock, effortless. We talked about art, theater, going to private school, and how we knew everyone at the party. He just seemed like your quintessential arty hipster, except that he was ALSO gainfully employed, not a trust fund baby (although he did reveal that his family was rich) AND he enjoyed professional sports. My heart skipped a beat.

He paused at one point and asked me something really obscure, and he revealed that we had interacted before--we had commented on each other's posts on a blog we both read. When we realized who the other person was, I felt a crackle of tension between us.

The game ended and the group took the train into the city to go drink some more. On the escalator out of the train station, I stood on the step above Red's, and smiled. "Now I'm as tall as you are." He chuckled. "You wish."

---

The night went on and we drank a lot at the postgame bar. A LOT.

At one point, when Red was elsewhere, I turned to my friend Liz and drawled, "Liz...I think Red is sooooo cute. I wanna make out with him sooooooo bad." She wasn't impressed. "So? Just do it."

Everyone at the party was warm and friendly and got along incredibly well, and I was having so much fun that I didn't want to go home. But I didn't have a place to spend the night. I got a brilliant, devious idea: I turned to the group and shouted, "HEY!" Everyone turned to look at me. I looked right at Red and said, "I'm having too much fun to go home! Will someone let me sleep on their couch?" Everyone offered a couch, a futon, a floor, a sleeping bag.

Including Red.

"Sure. But I live in Brooklyn, is that OK?"

"Yeah, it's just fine. I'll pay for the cab." My casual response belied the fact that inside, I was ecstatic.

(Sidebar: My dear, obtuse friend Phil observed this exchange and said, "Are you sure, WB? I live in Midtown. It's closer than Brooklyn." I said through gritted teeth, "IT'S FINE, PHIL.")

---

The party went on. There was a pinball machine in the bar; When I ran through all my quarters, Red gave me his. After three or four pints, I spied a full bottle of Cabernet behind the bar. I turned to him and said, "Watch this," reached behind the bar and put the wine in my bag. He howled with laughter.

We got hungry and went across the street to a pizza place. We got slices and ate them standing at the counter, smiling moonily at each other.

"What?" he asked.

What are you supposed to say when a cute boy with whom you've had a lot of fun that you desperately want inside you asks, "What"? You're the prettiest boy who's ever been nice to me? Even though our mouths taste like processed meats, I'd like you to go to town on me right here at this pizza counter? I'm already picking out our china pattern?

I shook my head and said, "Nothing." I'm such a pussy.

---

Eventually, we got to talking to a drunk Englishman. After he bought us shots of Wild Turkey and showed us cell phone pictures of him with James Blunt, Red and I exchanged a look.

"Uh, I'm ready to go whenever you are."

"Oh, thank goodness."

We said our goodbyes to our friends and took our leave. I still wonder what they were thinking when we left together. Were they impressed? Were they wondering, "What the hell is he doing going home with her?"

I can do that thing where you jam your fingers in your mouth and whistle really loud, so I stepped out to the curb and whistled for a taxi. Red seemed impressed when a cab screeched to a halt in front of us right away, and we dove into the back. He gave his address to the driver and as we drove through New York, I knew, this was it.

I knew he wouldn't make a move (for all the things I liked about him, he seemed slightly passive, which was a bit of a turnoff) and if I didn't try to kiss him, I'd regret it forever. I knew how things would end; I'd lie fully dressed on his couch all night, staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to be a reasonable enough hour to leave, and hating myself for not at least trying. If he pulled away or was grossed out, I could blame it on the alcohol. But I had to try.

I looked at him and he asked me "What?" again.

I leaned in and kissed him.

He breathed in sharply and paused for a moment, surprised by my boldness, I guess, before opening his mouth to kiss me back.

I sighed and we kissed all the way to Greenpoint.

No I in threesome

2009-04-16T14:10:00.000-04:00

Life went on as usual after I stomped out of lemon drop ~~Steve's~~ Dave's (I'm a dunderhead and can't read my own Little Black Spreadsheet) apartment. I laughed bitterly about my rotten luck to my friends, I finished school and graduated that spring, I moved home, and I forgot about dating.

After I graduated I had no job prospects. For almost two years, my only work was a shitty placeholder on my resume "managing" my aunt's flower shop. (Real talk? I'm dismissive of it, but I will always be grateful to my aunt for giving me a place to go every day while I looked for permanent work.) Because I had a menial, low-paying job, I couldn't afford to live anywhere else, so I moved home after I graduated and my social and sex lives took a major hit as a result.

My parents are tremendously overbearing, and every time I'd say I was going out I'd get the third degree. Even now, they treat me like I'm still in high school, which I find ironic, because I was the polar opposite of a hellraiser in high school. "Who are you going out with?" "Where are you going?" "How do you know him/her?" "When will you be home?"

Fortunately, a number of my best friends from college moved to Philadelphia after they graduated, so I usually had people to spend time with when I needed to escape from my house. And I always needed to escape my house. We drank copiously, we played Quizzo week in and week out, we went to obnoxious indie rock concerts in church basements, and we generally acted like the fools that underemployed 20-somethings are.

A couple of years after I graduated, Marie, one of my college girlfriends, called me one July night and told me to meet her at her apartment to celebrate our mutual friend Emily's birthday. Emily and Marie had been the best of friends since elementary school, and I was lucky enough to become friends with them when we all worked together at the college newspaper. Emily and I lived together when Marie did a semester abroad; My then roommate went insane and I appealed to the housing board to be reassigned to a new dorm in the middle of the year. Marie's room opened up and I gratefully moved in.

Emily was one of the first sluts I was ever friends with. Perhaps slut is not the right word to describe her, but at the time I didn't know anyone who enjoys sex as much and as openly as she. She fucked her way through the masthead of the newspaper; before we moved in together she dated the editor in chief, she made out with boys and girls alike at office parties (I was one of her victims), and while we were living together she had a brief, torrid dalliance with the news editor (the guy who slut-shamed me to our co-workers the night I blacked out, actually).

Emily's facial features are big; big curly hair, big eyes, big nose, big toothy smile. Her body is rather dainty by comparison; elegant shoulders and neck, champagne-saucer breasts, and an utterly heartbreaking ass. The curve from her waist into her hips is quite breathtaking. She is a lovely girl.

(I feel slightly odd describing one of my friends so...erotically.)

So. Emily's birthday. I told Marie I'd pick up treats to pregame with before we went out for Emily's birthday. I brought champagne and raspberries to Marie's apartment and we got down to drinking. After we killed the first bottle, Emily confided that she had gotten a bikini wax earlier that day and that the waxer gave her a very strange 'do.

"I told her to leave a patch in the front, but take it off the sides and...y'know...the lips. And that's not what I ended up with."

I don't know what possessed me to say this, but I said, "Let us see."

Emily considered this for a moment.

"OK. When I go to the bathroom before we leave, I'll show you."

We kept passing around the bottle of champagne and nibbling berries until Marie told us the shuttle bus would be arriving soon and we had to get ready to go. We each took our turn in the bathroom, and when Emily finished, she shouted, "GET IN HERE AND LOOK AT THIS!"

Marie and I ran to the bathroom where Emily had dropped her pants to reveal her waxer's handiwork. Her hair was groomed into a strip on the top, and then flared out to a point below. The only way I can describe it is to say that her pubes looked like an arrow pointing to her pussy. We howled with laughter as Emily pulled her pants up.

"All right, all right, you had your laugh. Now let's go get fucked up."

We headed downtown to Fado, the corny chain of fake Irish pubs. Our friend Dan met us at the bar and we proceeded to order drinks two at a time while we danced to terrible pop music.

While the three of us were dancing, even though we had idiot Dan with us throwing off our game, we got to talking to a couple of guys. One was shorter and European looking, one was taller and had an all-American look. The tall one's name was Steve, and he was the one I gravitated towards. I'm hopelessly attracted to WASPy white boys because I repudiate my cultural heritage--Italian-American, Catholic--whenever I can.

Thoroughly wasted and sweaty from dancing for hours, the bartenders announced it was last call and Steve and the European (who were roommates) told us that they lived in the high-rise across the street from the bar. "Do you want to come up? We have a pool table. And beer."

"Sure, why not."

The six of us traipsed across the street and went up to Steve and the European's apartment. Their apartment was in an old building and oddly laid out. Their kitchen was the size of a closet and there was nothing in the fridge except beer, a half-full Brita, and ketchup. There was indeed a pool table in the space where the dining table should have been.

Steve said to me, "Wanna play?"

"Sure."

He brought me a beer and we started playing pool. I am only good at games like pool, darts, or beer pong after I'm drunk. And I was very drunk.

I absolutely schooled him. After I won, I gave him a big shit-eating grin and chirped, "I kicked your ass."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

He put his hand in the small of my back and pulled me to him. I tipped my head to the side a little and looked up at him from under my eyelashes. We kissed, briefly, and he bent me backwards over the table. I felt my pussy grow damp--the backwards bend slays me. And then I broke the moment by saying:

"I have to use the bathroom. Where is it?"

"It's through my bedroom. Down the hall and to the right."

I don't remember him following me. I went through his dark, cool bedroom to pee, and when I came out I found him and Emily making out on his bed. I had completely forgotten about her while we were playing pool. Her shirt was off and his hand was at her waist.

The light from his clock radio cast a sexy blue glow on their bodies, and I watched them while they twisted together. Ordinarily, I would have gotten out of there as fast as possible, deeply ashamed that I intruded on their moment. I would have sat in the living room and watched TV waiting alone and sullenly for them to finish.

Instead I thought, "That looks good. I think I'll join in."

I knelt down next to Emily and put my hand on the center of her chest to turn her toward me. I bent my head down and we kissed, our tongues sliding together and turning our faces to the side to make room for both of our prodigious noses. I heard Steve gasp quietly next to us.

I heard another gasp. I looked up, and Dan was watching the three of us go at it. I still had my clothes on, so I said "I'll take care of him." I got up and grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to the hall. "Go home, Dan." I pulled him down to me, kissed him roughly and shoved him out the door and into the hall.

I went back to Emily and Steve and closed the door behind me. Emily and I began kissing again and before I knew it, I had worked Emily out of her bra and I was sliding her jeans and panties off. I kissed and licked and nipped all the places I like to kiss and be kissed--earlobes, neck, shoulders, collarbone. I knelt astride her hips and slipped her nipple into my mouth, sucking it gently. She moaned quietly above my head and I looked up at her, arching her head back.

I suppose you could describe my method of making love to a girl the same way I go about buying a gift: When I buy a gift, I buy the person what I'd want for myself. I kissed her and touched her the same way I liked to be touched. It worked.

She ruffled my hair as I stroked my fingertips up and down her sides and I worked my mouth down her body. Emily has the loveliest stomach--it's toned and smooth, but still feminine, completely different from my own jiggly torso. I spent a lot of time on her stomach, worshipping it. I dipped the tip of my tongue into her navel, and she squirmed beneath my mouth.

I don't remember what Steve was doing while I worked on Emily. He and Emily might have been kissing, he might have been playing with my hair or stroking my back or playing with Emily's breasts. She might have been sucking his cock. It doesn't matter. I was solely focused on her, enraptured with her, and I was very pleased with myself that I was giving this beautiful woman, my beautiful friend, so much pleasure.

Eventually, I was on all fours between her parted legs. I bowed my head.

"Wait." She put her hand on my shoulder.

I looked up at her, and there was apprehension on her face.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Emily. I dooooooon't caaaaaaaare."

I bowed my head again and slid my hands up the insides of her pale thighs. I slipped my tongue into her pussy and lapped at her clit. She arched her back again and gasped. I sucked at her clit, buried my face in her pussy and wrapped my arms around her hips, stroked her with my thumbs while I kissed her belly and the insides of her thighs. I thought, "Yes. Let go. Come for me."

She sat up as suddenly as if she had been poked with a pin. "I have to go."

"Emily, wait--"

She dressed quickly and left. I sat up on my elbows and Steve regarded me with wonder. "Do you guys usually..."

"No, I don't usually go down on my girlfriends." I paused and thought for a moment. "Tonight's her birthday."

"That was really hot to watch."

"It was really fun to do!" I smiled. I really did have fun. I would have liked to have made her come, but I guess her conscience kicked in. Oh well.

I turned to face Steve and said, "I'm still here, you know."

He put his hand on my cheek and rolled on top of me. We kissed roughly. He unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off me by the ankles with a swooshy flourish. My panties came off too and I reached down and pulled off his boxers. I was incredibly wet.

I felt soothed by the length of his body on top of me. I loved his weight holding me down. His erection twitched against my thigh and I asked him if he had a condom.

He knelt above me and dug around in his nightstand. He rolled the condom on and spread my legs. I slipped my hand down my body and rubbed my clit gently. I was soaking. He slid his dick up and down my slit and I writhed under him. I grabbed his shoulders and pressed my forehead into his shoulder as he entered me. I wrapped my legs around his back and we fucked like this for a while. He grabbed my ankles and moved my legs this way and that to vary the feeling of his dick inside me; my knees to my chest, my ankles over his shoulders, one leg over his shoulder and the other heel in the back of his knee. Our hips snapped together and he fucked me harder and harder until he came with a final deep thrust.

He rolled off me and we laid next to each other, catching our breath. After he threw away the condom in his bathroom, he came back and we laid together for a while and talked about Emily--how I knew her, how we became friends. He was fascinated by us.

We were lying on our sides facing each other, and I craned my face forward and kissed him gently. We began to make out again with more intensity, and I rolled atop him this time and kissed my way down his chest, flicking my tongue against his nipples and stroking his dick, which was growing stiff again.

"Get another condom."

I slid against his dick while I was on top of him. He was much more solidly built than Dave, so I felt a bit more confident about riding him. I couldn't find a rhythm, though, and in one smooth motion he grabbed my hip and pushed me over onto all fours. A huge smile broke onto my face.

Oh. My. God. He was going to fuck me doggy style.

I positioned myself on my hands and knees and he pulled my hips into the right place. He slid his cock into my pussy and I sighed with pleasure. Something clicked inside me. Oh God, I loved it. He could fuck me deeper and harder on all fours. I felt primal and animalistic being fucked this way, like a cavewoman being taken by a caveman.

I still reminisce about the way he confidently turned me over and put me into position.

He fucked me hard on all fours, balls slapping against my clit in a way I had never felt before. But I loved it instantly.

Until that moment I was relatively quiet while we fucked, but getting it from behind jarred something loose. I opened up and a litany of dirty talk poured out of my mouth. Oh fuck yes, give it to me, fuck me hard, oh God, that feels so fucking good, fuck yes, don't stop.

He grabbed my ass and hips and the wet, sticky sound of of my pussy squishing as he fucked me turned me on even more. I put my head down in the pillow and concentrated. I wanted to come. I was aching to come. Literally: When I got up to pee between rounds, I could feel the beginning of the burn in my groin that meant I'd be walking like a gunslinger for the next two weeks. I shut my eyes and rocked my ass back into him, our hips meeting over and over again. My hand snaked between my legs and I stroked my clit in time with his thrusts, climbing closer to the peak of my orgasm.

A high-pitched squeak escaped me and I arched my back like a cat, crumpling on the bed as the orgasm washed over me. I collapsed onto the bed and Steve pumped a few more times before he came too.

I laid on my stomach, catching my breath. "Oh, wow. That was fucking great."

We laid in silence for a few minutes, listening to the drone of the air conditioner blowing over us. I leaned over and nibbled his shoulder. He giggled.

I got up and started gathering my clothes.

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah, I have to go. My friends are probably wondering what happened to me."

We chatted a little while I dressed. I crawled over him as he laid on his bed and kissed him deeply one more time. I got up to leave and with my hand on the doorknob, I turned back and said, "This was fun. Take care of yourself."

I swanned out of his bedroom, swinging my hips like a zaftig Naomi Campbell. I took the elevator down to the street and I swear the doorman winked at me as I left.

EPILOGUE

I woke up the next morning in bed with Marie--I was far too drunk to drive home, so I told the cab driver to take me Marie's apartment. We rehashed the previous night, and she asked me what happened with Emily. I gave her the Cliffs Notes version, which did not surprise her.

But Marie had a surprise for me: It turned out that Marie was busy as well. While Emily and I were going at each other, Marie was fooling around with the European. They found that they both spoke German, and they started flirting auf Deutsch. They ended up fucking on the couch in the living room! Attagirl, Marie.

Happy birthday to me

2009-04-14T11:11:00.002-04:00

I just received this birthday wish from my pal Katerade:

How germane!

Right back atcha, gorgeous.

If you say what your wish is, it won't come true

2009-04-13T11:43:00.005-04:00

I hadn't planned to post anything today, but I was inspired by this comic from The Nietzsche Family Circus.

I was supposed to go on a blind date tonight, but the fella canceled. He seems to have inherited some property from his foreign uncle, and has to work through the paperwork with his attorney. I'm disappointed, but not that disappointed.

I hate dating. For me, dating is particularly onerous because I live at home with my nosy, overbearing parents who give me the third degree every time I go out. But if you don't date, how will you get a boyfriend? I'd really like a handsome, pleasant, gainfully employed boyfriend with a really big dick who likes baseball, hot dogs, and doing it doggy style to fall from the sky. Perhaps that's what I'll wish for when I blow out the candles tomorrow.

Yes, tomorrow's my birthday. I'll be 28. Instead of being excited about presents and cake, I find I have achieved the age where I want to forget about my birthday--it just reminds me of how little I've done with my life.

A year ago today, I went to New York for the day. Under the guise of keeping me company while I visited the city for my birthday I convinced a boy I knew who I liked very, very much to spend the day with me. We met on the corner of 53rd and 5th, where he hugged me as if he hadn't seen me in years. My cold, black heart melted like butter on a baked potato.

We spent a few hours at MoMA exploring the galleries. At one point we were contemplating a Donald Judd sculpture, and I stepped back and bumped into his elbow. He didn't pull away; I felt a frisson of tension between us.

After the museum, we went up to the Upper East Side and bought fancy chocolates at Vosges. We crossed town to Riverside Park and I watched him play rec league football with his friends, who were all lovely, welcoming people. During the game, he switched between quarterback and wide receiver. I was on a date with the quarterback. [sigh]

As all good rec leagues are wont to do, the group traipsed to a bar after the game and proceeded to get drunk. We played beer pong with his teammates and the two of us won eight games in a row. People were lining up to play us. I never wanted to leave. But all good things must end, and when it was time for me to go home, he took the subway downtown to Penn Station with me, laced his fingers through mine, and made out with me on the New Jersey Transit platform.

As ridiculous as it sounds, I felt like a better version of myself with him at my side--smarter, funnier, prettier.

I will never in my life go on a better date than that.

Because all my best decisions are the ones that are made out of spite

2009-04-12T16:07:00.005-04:00

After a heated discussion about the relative uselessness of Twitter at Easter brunch this morning, I decided to open a Twitter account. Follow me, wouldja? Ta.

And since it's Easter, I thought I'd share my absolute favorite quote about the holiday:

“It’s a great honour to win the greatest tournament in the world, and especially on Easter Sunday, the day my Lord was resurrected.” --German golfer Bernhard Langer, after he won the Masters in 1993.

Jameson and Coke

2009-04-08T10:18:00.006-04:00

I would see lemon drop ~~Steve~~ Dave one more time. About a week after we hooked up, I actually did call him while I was on spring break.

"Uh, hi, is this ~~Steve~~ Dave? This is Wolf Biter. We met at True." I weighed my words carefully. "I gave you a ride back to Shadyside. Do you, uh, remember me?"

"Of course I remember you."

We made plans to go out a few days later, on St. Patrick's day.

March 17 came and I was in a tizzy all day. I waxed, tweezed, shaved, trimmed, moisturized, exfoliated, bought new underwear, moisturized, perfumed, painted, and glossed myself as much as I possibly could. I thought I looked nice. I probably did. I would find out that it didn't really matter.

We had decided that we'd go on a bar crawl around Shadyside, and when we met at the first bar, he had a drunk African exchange student with him. "Hi! Is it OK if I bring Nfongo with us?"

"Uh. OK."

Somehow, he managed to acquire two Swedish (!!!) exchange students as well, two impossibly blonde Amazons with Windex-blue eyes and names like Kerti and Greta. The living Bennetton ad of which I was a part trooped off to another bar, and then another, me sullenly sucking down Jameson and Cokes all the while. After three bars' worth of liquid courage, I said to ~~Steve~~ Dave, "I thought it was just going to be you and me."

"Aw, Nfongo's my neighbor, I didn't want to leave him alone." I thought this was bullshit, but I was a big dummy and didn't speak up. I just went back to my drink. Finally, I told ~~Steve~~ Dave I wanted to leave.

"OK, we can go." Oh, I have your permission to leave? Why thank you. My mood had turned sour.

We left Nfongo and the Swedes behind at the bar. Walking down Centre Avenue, I suddenly stopped and kissed ~~Steve~~ Dave. We made out ostentatiously in the middle of the sidewalk, and I said, "Let's go to your place."

As it turned out, his apartment was literally around the corner from my house. He lived mere steps from where I did--how had I never seen him around town before? We entered his apartment, and he led me to his bedroom...

...which was an absolute STY. Damp towels hanging from doorknobs, clothes a foot high on the floor, CD cases stacked shoulder high on the desk. The only light in the room came from the LED display on his gigantic stereo. He put on some music, some generic, thunderous techno that did not serve as mood music at all.

Nevertheless, I stripped down to my undies, and we got to making out on his twin bed, rolling back and forth, me being pinned between him and the far wall of his bedroom. I don't remember going down on him, and I certainly don't remember him going down on me, either.

Finally, he was hard and reached for a condom. I wiggled out of my underwear and he spread my legs. I remember how disappointed I was that he didn't slide his dick up and down against me how I liked before. He just entered me and started thrusting slowly.

"Faster," I told him. He picked up the pace. This felt better. I was really enjoying it, in fact, so much so that I thought I would come. He picked up the pace again and I really got into it, holding onto his shoulders, wrapping my legs around his back to get him deeper into me, arching my back.

I was getting closer and closer to coming when he suddenly stopped and pulled out. "This isn't working for me." He paused and thought for a moment. "I'll walk you home." He sat up on his heels and looked down at his dick, and said wonderingly, "Oh, would you look at that, the condom's broken."

To say I was furious would be an understatement of epic proportions.

"That won't be necessary," I said icily. I gathered up my clothes and dressed as fast as I could. "Don't worry, I won't call you again." I slammed his bedroom door behind me, and slammed his apartment door as I left.

The walk back to my apartment was brief, and when I got home, my roommates were sitting in the living room doing schoolwork and watching TV. "You're home early! What happened? How did it go?" They were so excited for me, I almost hated to spoil it for them. I told them how my night went--Nfongo and the Swedes, being told mid-coitus "this isn't working for me." My roommate Lynn held my hand and laughed. What else could you do, when told a story like that? My roommate Fuckface's suggestion was to masturbate, which I would have done, had I not been so angry at the time.

Five years later, I'm still wondering what "This isn't working for me" meant. Does it mean "Jesus Christ, I'm fucking a wildebeest!" Does it mean "I'm so drunk I can't stay hard"? Does it mean, "Yep, I'm definitely gay"?

Lemon drops, part the second

2009-04-02T20:46:00.005-04:00

So where were we? Ah yes. I had just picked up a boy at a gay bar and gotten into a car accident.

I would deal with the fallout from the fender-bender later. Right now, though, I had a boy to fuck.

We drove back to my house and made out in my car for a while, his hand up my shirt, my hand down his pants. He bit my neck and I moaned. "Do you want to come inside?" I asked.

"Uh huh."

I grabbed his hand and pulled him onto my porch, where he turned me around and pushed me against the front door. The back of my head banged into the front door while we kissed, but I barely felt it. I unlocked the door and we tripped into the house.

Is there no better feeling in the world than that dropping feeling in the pit of your stomach as you climb the stairs to your bedroom, knowing that you're about to get laid? That feeling of anticipation, the nervous energy. Maybe getting your hair washed at the hair dresser could eclipse that feeling. But not by much.

I closed my bedroom door behind us and slipped my hands under his shirt and into the waistband of his jeans. We kissed some more and I sat on the edge of my bed. Well, it was actually my friend's bed. When he pushed me down and laid on top of me, pulling my shirt off in the process, I noted with some amusement that when I first moved into that room, the girl I subletted the room from had been dating a guy I didn't like, and I flipped the mattress over. Here I was doing the same thing to her. I smiled.

We worked our way out of our clothes. I peeled his shirt off and fumbled with his belt buckle. "Unh, let me," he grunted. He knelt above me and unbuckled his pants while I wriggled out of my jeans. We rolled back and forth on top of my comforter, trading positions, him between my legs, me between his legs.

From there, it went the way it has from time immemorial; I rolled over and found a condom in my nightstand, he rolled it on and slid his dick up and down my pussy, trying to find the right spot. That felt fantastic. To this day, I love that slick, slippery feeling. I squirmed in anticipation and buried my face in the crease between his shoulder and his neck.

He found it. He entered me with a groan.

Some girls say losing their virginity was a formative experience. Some say it hurt or that they bled. I felt none of these things. After the adrenaline rush of pulling an ostensibly straight guy at a gay bar and getting in a car accident, it was kind of a "Huh. So. That's what that's all about" moment. It was more of a shrug than an aria.

He fucked me missionary for a while, and I knew I wouldn't come because he wasn't hitting my clit, which is what I need to get over the edge. And this is quite uncharitable of me, but he also didn't have a particularly big dick, so in that moment I realized that I am a size queen.

He stopped suddenly and said encouragingly, "Get on top." Really?

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah!"

"I've never been on top before," which was...not untrue.

He rolled over and I straddled him. I nudged his cock into the right place and he slid into me again. I rocked my hips back and forth a few times. My center of balance was all messed up. The bed didn't have a headboard, so I didn't know what to do with my hands, or how to get any leverage. He was quite slight, so I was afraid I would squish him to death. I felt heinously ugly and totally exposed, tits and stomach jiggling in the cool air of my bedroom, bed squeaking angrily beneath me.

I hated being on top.

I gave it the college try, and I slumped down next to him. "I can't do this. You get on top, OK?"

We switched places and he started fucking me again, this time with my ankles over his shoulders. Ooh. Now this I could get behind. He was deeper inside me this time and was fucking me with a new vigor. Our foreheads met and we broke out in a sweat as we exerted ourselves. We gritted our teeth and he fucked me harder and harder, finally coming inside me with a jerk and a grunt and a final thrust.

He slumped against my shoulder for a moment to catch his breath, then he got up. "Where are you going?" "To throw this away." He gestured toward his shrinking dick. A wave of panic washed over me. I didn't share my bathroom, but I worried that either of my roommates would find a strange, naked boy emerging from my bedroom. He opened the door and poked his head into the hall. "Nobody here," he said to me.

I shoved my blue chenille bathrobe at him, "Well at least put something on!"

No dice. Out he went. I heard the toilet flush and he came back a minute later. Then it was my turn to go pee. I sat on the edge of my bed and watched him get dressed.

"So...can I get your number?" he said.

"Are you gonna call it?" I asked skeptically.

"I'll give you mine, if you want it."

"OK." He wrote down his number on a piece of paper on my desk.

"Well. That was fun," I said. "I've never done that before."

"Wait...what? Are you telling me...?"

"Yes. I was a virgin. Until about, oh, 10 minutes ago."

"You were really good!"

"Oh, you're just saying that." But I smiled in the dark.

I put on my bathrobe and walked him downstairs. We kissed one more time by the front door and I let him out. For some reason, both of my roommates were sitting in the living room (at, like, 3 in the morning?) doing schoolwork. They saw me let the boy out. I turned to them and we all shared a "cat that ate the canary" look.

I went upstairs to bed.

Lemon drops

2009-04-01T20:16:00.003-04:00

I had a lot of gay friends in college. I love my gay friends and I remain close with many of them to this day. I loved them because their company was nonthreatening--because I didn't and still don't understand and know how to use the power of my own sex appeal, modest though it is, I could be myself with them. I didn't have to worry, "Does he like me? Do I look OK? Do I have to flirt? I'm a shitty flirt." They supported me and encouraged me in whatever I tried, and they enjoyed my company--gay dudes love a mouthy fat girl.

---

I was a bit of a fuckup in college. I spent more of my time at my side job (or the bar) than in class, I scheduled my classes for Tuesdays and Thursdays so every week would have a four-day weekend, I had rotten time-management skills. So between an accounting error on my part, a professor who didn't like me, and a healthy dose of laziness, I had to go back to Pitt for a semester in order to graduate.

That spring, I subletted a room in a lovely, creaky old Victorian from a friend who was studying abroad. I loved Shadyside, the sweet residential neighborhood I lived in. There were lots of bars and restaurants and boutiques just down the block from my house, and I had roommates who never failed to keep me amused. For example: One night, my meathead rugby player roommate Fuckface drank an entire bottle of generic Robitussin to get high and spent the whole night hallucinating sabertooth tigers in our living room. I put a cold compress scented with lavender essential oil on the back of his neck to calm him down, and now the smell of lavender reminds me of Pittsburgh and meathead rugby players.

---

My gay buddies called me one night and asked me if I wanted to go to a new club on the North Side called True. They couldn't describe what made this place so special, they just said, "It's really cool. [beat] And you have a car. So will you drive us there?"

We piled in my beat-up Honda two-door and drove across the river to the club. It was tremendously cool inside. It had clearly been three rowhouses that had had walls knocked out and little enclaves built here and there. We explored the place, running up and down the stairs and trying to figure out which spot was best for checking out guys.

We found a bar we liked that opened onto a deck so we could easily run inside and outside for smokes--as I recall, True was one of the only bars in Pittsburgh that forbade smoking inside. I couldn't decide what I wanted to drink, but I was inspired by a guy down the bar who was sipping a pale drink from a sugared martini glass. I pointed at him and told the bartender, "I want what that guy's drinking."

It was a lemon drop. I loved it. Tart, sweet, went down like water.

I ordered another. And another.

The bar began to thin out, but the music, the kind of unh! tss! unh! tss! dance music I like to here when I'm at a gay bar, was still thumping. Even though there was no dance floor, I started dancing like the wasted 50-year-old woman at the Jimmy Buffett concert. A cute boy started dancing next to me. He was short and had that styled hair that was so popular in 2004.

We didn't talk much. What's your name (~~Steve~~ Dave [I'm a dummy and I can't read my own Little Black Spreadsheet]), where do you live (Shadyside), are you in school too (yes, I study business).

I remember asking him if he was gay, and he seemed taken aback by that. "We ARE at a gay bar, you know. It's a reasonable question."

I ordered another lemon drop. He paid. When I finished my drink, I said, "You know, I drove here. Do you want a ride back to Shadyside?" "OK," he drawled.

I told my friends to find their own rides home. They were disappointed, but when they saw I had a boy in tow, their moods lifted.

~~Steve~~ Dave and I drove through the city, listening to the radio, when...SCREEEEEEEE *SMASH*!!!

I'd hit another car. Our quarter panels were crunched together and there was busted polycarbonate from our headlights on the ground. Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. The girl I hit and I got out of our cars. She was dressed like she'd been clubbing, and I'm sure she could smell the vodka seeping from my pores. "Do you want to just...uh...trade information?" "Let's do that."

I got back in the car and ~~Steve~~ Dave asked if I was all right. "No, I'm not all right! My father is going to see my fucked up headlight and know I got in another accident, my insurance is going to go up, and--" He turned me toward him and kissed me. I truly had no inclination that the night was going to turn in this direction.

The light changed and we held hands, fingers interlaced, the rest of the way to my house.

Red-headed slut*

2009-03-26T15:20:00.005-04:00

This is not a happy or funny story story. This is a scary story. This is a string of mistakes after mistakes after mistakes. But I'm telling this story because I think this was a formative experience for me. I still get a chill when I think about it.

I had a friend in college I lovingly referred to as Have Another Drink Camille. Camille was an attractive, hardworking girl who went to school full time and still worked three jobs. I referred to her as such because no matter how late it was, how tired or drunk you were, how shitty your day was, her solution to make you feel better was to--you guessed it--have another drink.

One Wednesday night at work, she told me she and her co-workers from one of her other jobs were going out for karaoke and asked me if I wanted to come. I'm a karaoke fantatic, so I agreed instantly. We started the night with gimlets, which I followed with lagers, and then several rounds of red-headed sluts. THEN I got on stage, which I can only imagine was a trainwreck of epic proportions. After I slurred my way through Madonna's "Don't Tell Me," we drank some more.

Then we ended up at a bar by my Have Another Drink Camille's apartment. That's where the night ends in my memory.

I have a vision of about five seconds: Ankles by my ears, my bra and tank top up around my neck, being plowed at. (I say "plowed at" because I remember the guy wasn't penetrating me, just sliding his dick against my pussy. In another context, I really would have enjoyed that.) Mercifully, I blacked out again after that.

The next thing I remember after that is waking up with an epic hangover. I was lying in the fetal position on my left side, and the sun was hitting my face. I had no idea what time it was. My bedroom at the time was oriented the same way, so my first thought was, "Huh. I'm home. How'd I get home?" I rolled over, thinking I'd plop onto the floor and crawl to the bathromm to pull the trigger, but instead, I came face to face with a naked, doughy blond man. He was watching me with some interest, smiling creepily at me while I slept.

"Hellooooo," he crooned.

I can only imagine the face I made when I took a look at this guy in the cold light of day. Inside, I did a scream take like a horrified Milton Berle.

"Where are my clothes?"

"Don't you want to stay for breakfast? I'll make you breakfast." No, I did not want to stay for breakfast. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I possibly could. "Uh, no, I have class. Thanks."

When I got up, I noticed the trash can next to me, into which I had apparently copiously puked.

When I wake up with a hangover, it's like pulling a pin on a grenade. I have an approximately 30-minute window to get myself set up to ride out the hangover--get home, get chicken broth and saltines, turn on MTV Hits, rub one out--otherwise it's projectile vomiting all over the subway.

The clock was ticking.

I ran up and down the guy's three flights of stairs, collecting pieces of clothing I had discarded on the way to his third-floor bedroom. A boot in his hall, my raincoat in his bathroom. When I emerged from his house and looked around to get my bearings, I realized I was six houses down from the house of a guy I worked with who was with me at the second bar. (Oof, there are a lot of prepositional phrases in that sentence.)

My co-worker and I did not get along, but since he had seen me at the bar, I called him and asked him if he had seen me leave the night before. "No," I could hear him snicker through the phone. I knew he would trash me as soon as he hung up, and when I got to work that night, he had indeed told our co-workers about my very eventful evening. More than one person gave me the side-eye, or "How was YOUR night, heh heh heh."

To this day, I have no idea how I got to that guy's house, who asked who to go home together, or, most importantly, whether or not he wore a condom. I went to student health that afternoon and got my first prescription for Plan B (I got a bitter chuckle out of the fact that my parents' prescription plan paid for it.) And I've tested clean ever since. When I spoke to them later, the friends I was with at the second bar said I "vanished."

I still don't know how I feel about this incident. Sometimes I think I was drunk and made a stupid, dangerous decision to go home with some mook I'd met five minutes earlier. Sometimes I think the mook took advantage of a stupid drunk girl. I might have told him I had consented to sex, but I sure don't remember ever doing that. I was too drunk to make a sound decision of my own if I wanted to go home with that guy, and he made up my mind for me.

*I'm actually a brunette.

Life List

2009-03-24T16:15:00.007-04:00

Birdwatchers make these things called life lists. They're lists of all the birds they've ever seen in their birding lives, and they get excited about being able to add new birds to their life lists. They list where and in what context they saw the birds, and they list birds they hope to see in the future.

I guess this (this post, this blog in general) is my way of making a life list.

Have sex outdoors
Have a MMF threesome
Fisting (on the receiving end, please)
Attend and participate in an orgy (I ~~may~~ will have to get absolutely blotto to make this one happen)
Have sex in a bathroom at a club or bar
Get tied up
Make out with someone famous
Seduce a hipster (I kind of already did this one, but it didn't work out the way I wanted it to, so I'm keeping it on the list)
Make friends with anal, and once that's accomplished...
DP
Have sex in my office
Have sex with a girl again
Have sex in an alley between two buildings (Katerade reminded me about this one)
Fuck late at night in the lifeguard stand on my beach (inspired by one of Byron's posts)

White Russians

2009-03-21T00:39:00.011-04:00

There's no sex in this story. There is a profound mindfuck, but no sex.

I am an only child, and as such, I have a rich interior life. I tend to ruminate on things and turn them over and over in my mind, examining them from every angle. So between my vivid imagination and my camel-like ability to go without sex for a very long time, I don't find it unusual that after Orange Vest, I was satisfied by my right hand for many months.

Like, 20 months.

I know how irrational this will sound, but in my defense, I think, subconsciously, the guard angrily calling me the next morning kind of put me off the whole "getting drunk and picking up boys" thing. I guess I was afraid that every sexual encounter would end with an angry black woman accusing me the next morning of stealing the wallet of my paramour for the evening.

I said it was irrational.

---

During my junior year, I had a class that was taught by an adjunct professor. There were about 12 of us in the class and we met in the basement of a bar. Some of us would stay after the class and drink with the teacher. Hey, I was 19 at the time and I didn't have an ID. You would've done it too.

My professor was not an unattractive man, but was significantly older than me (like more than 20 years older than me) and married with children, and just generally not my type. One night after class, we traded drinking stories and nattered on about the Steelers. As we talked, we kept leaning closer to each other across the table. I looked down at my watch--we had been talking for two hours. I felt the bubble around us pop. I panicked. I thought, somewhat incredulously, "Is he...FLIRTING...with me? He's not blind, right?" I left.

By now I assume you have realized that I do not have a particularly positive self-image.

When I got home from the bar that night, I told two of my roommates, who also knew this professor, about the weird evening I'd had. "I think he was flirting with me. Is that...does that sound crazy? That's crazy, right?"

They exchanged a look.

"What?"

"Wolf Biter, he's done this before."

"Done what?"

"He's been...inappropriate...before with the girls in his classes."

"Oh, please. You guys are crazy. He couldn't have been flirting with me. Hello, have you seen me?"

"Just...be careful."

A few weeks later, my professor brought one of his co-workers to class to do a presentation, and afterward, his co-worker joined us for our usual post-class boozefest. Everyone was in a particularly jovial mood that night, and my professor and were seated across from each other again. I was working on my third White Russian and he was on his fifth Crown on the rocks.

Suddenly, he leaned over and said conspiratorially to everyone in the class (except me, I might point out), "Hey, do you guys wanna get high?"

My classmates practically ran out of the bar to hotbox his car, and I was left alone with my professor's co-worker. He turned to me and said, "What's going on with you two?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're in your own little world. Neither of you have talked to any of us since we sat down. I'm getting a vibe from you two." He paused. "Is there something, y'know, going on between you guys?"

"No. No!" I sputtered. "He's old enough to be my father!"

"I'm just saying."

Hmm. That makes two people who've said something (read: warned me) about him.

My classmates and my professor trooped back in, giggly and red-eyed. He sat back down and gave me a googly-eyed look. By now I was probably on my fifth drink. Ah, the days of drinking your dinner.

"You're making me so hard, WB."

"Oh, shut the fuck up."

"I am. Wanna find out?"

Something in me snaps. "OK." My classmates watch us go.

We left the bar and drove to a bar far, far away from campus. "Where are we going? I don't have an ID." "Don't worry." We were so far from campus I had no idea where we were, and I had no idea how I'd get home. We got in the bar and I immediately went to the bathroom to pull the trigger. Puking cleared my head. As soon as I came out I demanded he take me home.

He had a fresh drink in front of him and had one waiting for me too. "But we just got here!"

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE, TAKE ME HOME NOWWWWWW." I made a tremendous scene. He threw down his drink and stomped out of the bar, me following him like an angry puppy.

"What's wrong with you? Do you know how old I am?" I shouted at him.

"You don't know anything, do you? You don't know how hot you are." I would like to point out that that night I was wearing (and betoma will love this) a pink Ralph Lauren chambray button down shirt, jeans, and pink and gray Nikes. I could not have looked more dykey if I had tried.

"Oh, fuck you, I'm not stupid." What the hell kind of response is that?

We were stopped at a light. We regarded each other. Something passed between us. We dove toward each other. We made out at every stop light between the bar and my apartment. It was, at that point in my life, the sleaziest and hottest thing I'd ever done.

Finally, we made it back to my apartment and we made out some more in front of my building. He bit my neck, which drove me crazy. I bit him back. He put his hand down my shirt outside my door. I was terrified that my roommates or neighbors would see me making out in a car with a man old enough to be my father, but I couldn't stop myself.

I pulled back, got out, walked straight to my apartment and passed out on my bed, shoes and handbag still on.

EPILOGUE NO. 1.

The next morning, still wearing my sneakers and purse, my roommate rapped sharply on my door. Her face was hard, and she was wearing a business suit. "Where were you last night," she asked coldly.

"I went out drinking."

"You and I need to have a talk when I get back." She turned and walked out, slamming my bedroom door behind her. Her frosty demeanor gave me a chill. But I was so hung over I plopped my head back down on the pillow and passed out for a few more hours.

When she came back, she called me to her room and dialed her voice mail.

"I want you to listen to this."

She gave me the phone. In the first five seconds, I recognized the noises: grunts and groans, smacking noises, moaning, and clothes rustling.

I grimaced; I knew immediately what I was listening to. It was me and my professor making out in his car. My handbag, with my cell phone in it, was squished between us; I must have dialed her number while we were making out.

She made me listen to all five minutes of it.

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE BEING RAPED."

"No, [Roommate]." I sighed. I was not looking forward to the judgement I knew I was going to get. "It was me and [Professor]. We were...making out."

"HE'S MARRIED. HOW COULD YOU." She was furious! I knew she was thinking, And I warned her! Funny how my pitiful sex life seems to enrage so many people, no?

(Let me sidebar here and say that several years after we graduated, she dated a guy she worked with who--wait for it--just so happened to be married with a kid. She called me one afternoon all excited to tell me this news, and I knew she wanted me to condone her new relationship, because everyone else in her life had told her what a horrible idea it was. I guess she figured, "Hey, Wolf Biter's hooked up with a married guy before, I'm sure she'll say it's fine." When I told her I didn't approve and it was inappropriate, she cursed me out. There's a big difference between making out with someone inappropriate and dating/fucking a guy on the regular who's married. End sidebar.)

"I was drunk. We were drunk. It was a mistake. It's not going to happen again."

"WELL I HOPE NOT." Her demeanor softened. I could tell she felt a little guilty for coming down so hard on me. "You're sure you weren't being raped?"

"I'd tell you if I was, OK?"

EPILOGUE NO. 2.

After the last class of the semester, we all went out again, and he said to me over gimlets, "I know you're a virgin, Wolf Biter." I turned as red as a beet. "I don't want to be your first. But when you lose it you call me."

If I hadn't gotten an A in his class I would've reported him.

Let's start at the very beginning

2009-03-19T20:50:00.000-04:00

A very good place to start.

I never thought I'd forget the name of the first boy who ever saw me naked, who ever tried to get me off. Sadly, nine years on, I've lost his name to the ether. But I've never forgotten what he was wearing when I met him: An orange safety vest.

It was springtime in Pittsburgh. April, the weekend of the the Carnegie Mellon Carnival. I remember it was the first night where it was comfortable enough to go out at night without a jacket or a sweater. My friend Ryan and I had spent the evening drinking in a friend's dorm room and riding the Tilt-a-whirl at the Carnival. We drank a lot that night. If I hadn't been so drunk, what happened once we got back to the Ashtray, the patio outside the freshman dorms where everyone goes to smoke, never would have happened.

Ryan and I staggered back to the Ashtray, and we were laughing at the top of our lungs about something. Something stupid, and probably about boys, since Ryan and I are both into dick. While we were cackling, two guys started laughing about us laughing, which made us laugh harder. And which made me go sit between them on the bench where they were smoking.

You need to understand that in high school, I had kissed a grand total of three boys, one of whom had turned out to be gay. I was (who am I kidding--I still am) frumpy, fat, and square, and after 13 years of all-girls school, my game was weak. Really weak. It's still weak. Whatever. We'll get to that.

So, with that in mind, had I not been fortified with liquid courage, I never would have plopped myself down between the two boys on the bench and said, "What the fuck are you two laughing at?"

"You."

I was incredulous. "Me? Why?"

"'Cause you're making a lot of noise."

What scintillating dialogue, right? But when I'm drunk and two decent-looking boys are paying attention to me, my rapier wit goes out the window.

I bummed a cigarette from one of the boys, and we talked about where we had spent the evening. I remember asking the boy in the orange vest why he was wearing a safety vest. I've forgotten the reason, but I remember he was chewing a piece of gum. I thought, "I bet I can get him to pass me his gum." So while he was talking, I leaned in and kissed him. This would come be one of my signature moves.

When he slipped his tongue into my mouth, I knew: It's. On. Now. So I asked what any drunk, horny freshman boy wants to hear on a beautiful spring evening:

"Do you want to come upstairs?"

He assented and I dragged him to the guard at Tower C.

Now, I don't know what your college dorms were like, but Oakland was kind of a shitty neighborhood, so bringing a guest into a dorm at Pitt was like receiving a delivery from a Brinks truck. You had to show ID to the guard, sign the person in (kind of hilarious to ask someone you're about to bone "Uh, what's your name?" when you're scrawling his name into the guest book), make him show his ID, swipe your own ID, and wait to be buzzed in. How anybody pulled on a Saturday night remains a mystery to me--it was such a pain in the ass to get someone into the building!

Finally, Orange Vest and I got into the building, and in the elevator, I backed up against the wall and pulled him into me. We kissed, and I wrapped one of my legs around his knees and rubbed myself against him. I could not wait to feel him against my body. I have come to realize this is another one of my signature moves, wrapping my leg around the boy and pulling him into me so I can feel him against me. I do it without thinking. It is one of the positions my body wants to be in.

We fumbled to my room, 918. Tower C was all singles, so I wasn't disturbing anyone by bringing someone back to my room. As I unlocked the door, I could hear my IM dinging like crazy; I knew before I looked at the messages that it was Ryan frantically asking me what's happened to me and where am I and did I bring the boy back to my room. I did vanish from the Ashtray without saying goodbye to Ryan!

Orange Vest backed me up to my bed and bent me backward onto it, kissing his way from my lips to my neck, to my throat, to my chest. I raked my fingers through his hair while he kissed me and I moaned quietly. No one had ever kissed me like this before.

I peeled his vest off as he unbuttoned my jeans and we climbed onto my bed, which was high off the floor--the mattress was the same height as the window ledge. My window was wide open and I could hear the cars on Fifth Avenue 12 stories below. For a moment, I worried that we would fall out the window while we were fooling around, and I had a horrifying vision of telling my parents, "Mom, Dad, I died while fucking a guy I met 15 minutes earlier."

Whatever, nobody's rational during sex.

I wriggled out of my jeans, and I pulled his shirt off and threw our clothes down. Our things were piled on the floor in a jumbled heap. We were down to our underwear, and his skin was smooth and pale in the light from the street. I remember he was slim but had muscular arms. We kissed some more and he snaked his fingers into the cups of my bra. I squirmed against him as he played with my nipples and kissed me. I had a number of different thoughts in my head at once; God, this feels good; we just met, does fooling around with him make me a slut?; will my parents find out?; I'm naked and he's touching me and I'm so gross but he hasn't run off screaming yet.

He had some trouble with my bra (three hooks are trouble for any boy) so I folded my arms behind me and unhooked it. He moved from my mouth to my neck, and down to my breasts, and sucked them gently. I loved it; I arched my back and while I bent against him I craned my leg up to hook my toe into the waistband of his underwear and pull them down. His briefs caught on his dick. He was hard.

He was hard?

I got a boy hard? Me? Wow.

Oh shit. I got this boy hard. Now he probably wants to have sex, I thought. I do not want to lose my virginity this way!, I thought!

"I'm not going to have sex with you."

"OK."

Huh. That was easy.

I reached down and felt his cock. It was hard and hot. I stroked him gently and he closed his eyes, enjoying my hand on his dick. I was getting wet, but I was enjoying more his reaction to him enjoying my hand in his pants.

He got up on his knees and crawled backward between my legs, his mouth working his way down my torso to my pussy. Because I hadn't expected to end the night with a man's mouth at the junction of my thighs, I hadn't bothered to groom my bush, a habit I still have. (What can I say? I'm lazy.) I halfheartedly tried to stop him (I'm no dummy--it still felt good!) and he lazily looked up and said, "Let me. I want to."

He slipped his tongue into the folds of my pussy and flicked the tip against my clit, which felt completely different from the way my clit was accustomed to being touched. I was so keyed up from the way the last half hour had gone, if I had been able to relax, I might have better enjoyed enjoyed this first taste (ha) of cunnilingus, but I was so nervous and self-conscious I couldn't let him work. I realize in retrospect that I was making the rookie mistake of "let's get him off and worry about me later."

As we were grunting and straining and rubbing against each other, I heard my high school nurse admonishing us in Health class: If given the choice of a blow job with a condom or no blow job, every man in the world will choose the former.

I rolled away from him and rummaged around in the top drawer of my nightstand and found a condom. I flicked it against his cheek (yes, his face. God, what a bitch I was) and said "Put this on." He looked at me like I had two heads, but he did it.

Then it was my turn to kneel between his knees. I slipped my mouth around his dick and felt the heat and strength in it. I bobbed up and down from the waist, sliding my tongue against his cock. "No teeth!" he cried. "Sorry, sorry," and I went back to sucking him. This went on for a few minutes. To his credit, he never pushed down on my head or tried to fuck my face. Some people hate the flavor of latex on a guy's dick, but I don't remember the taste.

I was getting tired. The adrenaline rush of bringing him back to my room was wearing off, the booze was wearing off, and the exertion of bending up and down was making my back ache and wearing me out.

I had an idea to take the strain off my back; I got on all fours with my hands on the mattress on either side of his hips. I pushed down on the mattress; his dick slipped out of my mouth. I released the pressure on the mattress; his dick slid between my lips. Brilliant! I realized being on all fours was awesomely arousing for both of us (something I would come to embrace in later years) and this modified push-up position made my arms look really strong and sexy.

I sucked him faster and faster in this push-up position, and eventually he grunted and jerked against me. The drawback of giving a beejer with a condom is you don't know when the guy finishes. Did I make him come? He stood up and pulled the condom off and threw it away in the trashcan by my desk. I guess I did.

Strangely, all the fatigue I felt while I was sucking him off went away, and I was seized by the notion that he got his and now it was time to get mine. I didn't know what I wanted, but I knew I wanted something. I pulled him back down on the bed and he laid down next to me, catching his breath. I squirmed up next to him and whispered into his ear, "Kiss my neck."

"Only if you put a condom on it first."

Excuse me?!

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

I fumed for a moment, then said, "I think you should leave."

"Fine. I will!"

He rooted around on the floor, pulling his and my clothes apart and getting dressed. I don't remember what I put back on, or if I put anything back on at all, but I put my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in for one last kiss. Indeed, he kissed me back again, and then he walked out.

EPILOGUE.

The next morning, naked, hung over as hell, I woke to the sound of my phone ringing angrily.

"Hello?"

"Is this Wolf Biter?"

"Yes?"

"This is the Tower C guard."

"Yes?"

"Do you know why I'm calling you?"

"No?"

Her voice was accusatory. "Did you have a guest last night?"

"...yes?"

"And did your guest leeeeeeave anything behind?" She sounded furious, like the Sex Police was going to charge me with reckless frottage (a Kissing Suzy Kolber word if ever I heard it).

"I don't know?"

"WELL, LOOK."

I clambered out of bed and looked around on my floor. Sure enough, Orange Vest's wallet fell out of his pants and didn't make it back into his pocket when he left in a huff.

"Yes. His wallet is here. I'll bring it down."

I hastily threw on a Kappa Sigma shirt I had stolen from Carnegie Mellon and track pants, and trudged down to the lobby. Orange Vest was furiously waiting (can someone wait furiously?) with his arms folded angrily in front of him. He yanked his wallet out of my hand and in a particularly childish gesture, he opened it up in front of me, not to check if I had stolen anything, but to say, "Oh, I see the condom's still in here."

I was mortified, and to add to my embarrassment, the resident director of my building was going into building as I being humiliated by Orange Vest, hailing me, "Hey, Wolf Biter, what's up? ... Oh."