Artistic License

I am finding myself torn lately.

Being a blog author as well as a “character” in my own blog and two others that I’m aware of, I am coming face to face with the issues of subjectivity and interpretation in blog writing.

Jefferson, Marcus and I have discussed the fact that our relationship, however it evolves, is most decidedly outside social convention. Writing about that is tough. Talking about it is tougher. So I’ve entered into the realm of potential misinterpretive blog fodder. I want to address that before it becomes an issue.

I haven’t written about Marcus’s visit to me this weekend. Colton has. Jefferson has. I was surprised by Jefferson’s post, just as he was at Marcus’s quick decision to visit. I was concerned and a bit confused when I read Colton’s post, just as he is about my relationship with Jefferson and Marcus. So I feel I must write about the visit; if for no other purpose than damage control. Jefferson posted two sentences which received six comments; mostly from concerned friends who read into his post and saw him wounded by his best friend and online girlfriend “cheating” on him.

I thought about posting a comment there myself. Then I realized that it wasn’t my place. My job is not to convince people that Jefferson and I are in a good place in our relationship or that we’ve talked at length about us, about Marcus, and about the future. It certainly is not my job to do that in Jefferson’s space.

Here, though, in my space, I can. I will. It is my privilege as a writer; just as it is the privilege of others to write their stories their way. That being said, while the stories in my blog are as true as I can make them, I do not have a photographic memory. It is excellent at recalling events and conversations, but it is in no way perfect.

This must extend to each narrative blog one reads; they are subjective recollections of events, open to interpretation and revision.

It’s called artistic license.

I take artistic license as my right, and as a useful tool to move my stories along. The stories themselves don't change, they just flow more smoothly. Personally, I am not interested in reading blogs which are about nothing. If I don’t have anything to say, I will wait to post until I do. Others write their blogs religiously, every day, as a journal. This is their right. I edit my text for tempo, language and fluidity; others write extemporaneously, without edits or pause.

When Marcus and I were discussing the possibility of him visiting, I told him I was concerned about Jefferson’s feelings. I wanted to be sure he would be okay with it. Marcus felt the same way. He doesn’t want to damage my relationship with Jefferson, and sees our triad as something admittedly unconventional, and potentially wonderful. I myself felt torn, because this is a new dynamic for me.

During one of our conversations, Marcus said something like,

“Maddie, what are we going to do?”
“Share me.”
“I think Zeus had the right idea.”
“You’re gonna split me right down the middle? Gonna cut me right up in half?”

Sounds pretty good to me.

Marcus is a person I chose to meet. A person who meant a great deal to Jefferson, and by extension, I figured, would be a good friend to me as well. I didn’t expect us to like each other so much.

Jefferson and I have a relationship independent of Marcus, Marcus and I have a relationship independent of Jefferson, the two of them have a relationship independent of me. We are all trying to manage time together; I want them both to visit me, and I am certain Jefferson will still call Marcus to come to New York when he has visitors wanting a solid fuck.

Lord knows those boys can deliver that.

For now I’m content to share the boys. And to be shared. And, as with my own little boys, I want to be fair. Marcus and I will be alone this weekend. Jefferson and I didn’t have that during my stay in New York. We’ll have it soon. We’ve been talking about it for weeks.

I know that the need to compartmentalize is strong for most people. They want a nice little box in which to put their lives and feelings and relationships and they balk at anything which might spill over the sides. Problem is, things are rarely as tidy as we’d like them to be.

Anyone who writes a blog contends with misinterpretations and the drawing of false conclusions on a regular basis. My goal in this post is not to be defensive or apologetic, but simply to remind readers that between each line of text and the next one there is space. Read into that space what you will, but remember that your interpretation is just that.

So that’s why the sudden change in tone over the last two days. I felt the need to address you as author, and not narrator. It’s a fine distinction, but an important one. I welcome your comments and observations about my posts; they help me to be a better writer, and ultimately--I hope--a better person.

And now, back to the fucking.

Interesting

Dear Readers,

Yesterday I received a comment which puzzled me a bit. A reader called Jack in Austin, TX commented on my past post entitled "Thirteen." What puzzles me is this: why choose that particular post? And, oh, my goodness--could it be that I have reached a milestone in my young life as a blogger? Could it be that my life reads as a fictitious account?

Truthfully, if I was not living it I might not believe it, either. And if I weren't so tangled up in other bloggers' lives and writings it would be easy to dismiss Madeline as a character in my as-yet-unpublished novel.

Jack said:
Interesting.
I'm finding myself exploring different sexual avenues lately.
Maybe I should start a sex blog.
Interesting you don't post your face. Have you read belle de jour?

Madeline said...
Jack,
With all your other blogs, I'm sure a sex blog would fit right in! Yes, I've read a little bit of Belle, and I must say I'm intrigued by the idea that someday, some marvelous publisher might offer me a ridiculously large sum of money to turn my blog into a tome which garners few positive reviews.

I also read your post, "Blog Popularity," which raises some interesting issues, though I am inclined to take umbrage at a thinly veiled comparison of Belle de Jour's "pandering" blog and my own. Perhaps I am misreading your comments, but a sex worker not revealing his or her identity seems pretty rudimentary stuff, non?

I can assure you that since I'm doing nothing illegal (in most states, anyway), I would have no problem posting my face, as you do. I am not ashamed of my life, and though it may sound fantastic, I do not write fiction.

I do, however, live in a small town with a college full of Internet-surfing coeds and more Wi-Fi locations than you can shake a stick at. I am a fairly well-known person in my community, as well as a native of my town.

I am also a mother, and while I choose to share certain details of my life online, the rest must remain private for the sake of my children.

I'm curious: how did you come across my blog? Because if you want inspiration for an unbelievable sexblog, go to Jefferson's.

It is...how you say?
Interesting.

And it's all true.

Pre-Approval

I have a friend, Disapproving Maya, who has only recently learned of my sexual “leanings.”

A couple months ago I told her that I’d met someone online, through his blog. I described, pretty generally, the nature of his blog and what attracted me to him. I did not give her his name or URL. Only that he was a very smart and funny bisexual single parent who hosted sex parties at his apartment in New York. (Is that too much information?!)

Maya was silent. Disapproving.

Later that week I was in the shop where Maya works. Another friend of ours, Jen, was there with her girlfriend, Laura. The four of us stood around talking and Laura asked what was new with me. I told her I was spending a lot of time online since meeting Jefferson.


“No, he doesn’t live near here; he’s in New York, but we really like each other. We may make plans to meet.”


Maya looked over, silent. Disapproving.


“Maya, of course, disapproves,” I said to Laura. “I understand, and I appreciate her concern. But I am still going to do what I want.”


Maya sighed.
I blew her a kiss.

About two weeks later, as my online relationship with Jefferson progressed, we made plans to meet. I had been extrapolating: crossing out his parenting weekends and those during my period. I made sure my kids’ dad could be here on the weekend I’d chosen, then cleared the date with Jefferson.

“April Fools’ Day.”

I scrawled it onto a Post-it and stuck it to the door of my computer armoire.

Maya was coming over to take me to breakfast. Things were great between us; we had simply agreed to disagree about the healthiness of this new relationship. I was chatting with Jefferson when she arrived. My webcam was on, and so Jefferson saw her come into the apartment. She walked around like a mother hen, surveying everything. I stopped the cam, minimized Jefferson’s image, and told him I’d catch up later.

Maya came over to the computer.


“Why do you have ‘April Fools’ Day’ written here??”

“It’s a reminder.”

“Are you planning a joke?”

“Sort of. Oh, by the way, Jefferson says, 'Good morning, Maya.'”

“Oh, you are talking to him now? 'Hi, Jefferson.' What does he look like?”


I pulled up a photo he'd sent.


“Wow! He’s CUTE!”

“Yeah."


I showed her a piece he'd written.


"Wow! This is GREAT!"

"I know... Um, I'm flying to New York on April Fools' Day to visit him.”


We went to breakfast. Maya was suddenly very curious and not so silent.


"So what is it about this guy that makes you want to fly halfway across the country to meet him?"

"Maya, it's this really amazing thing; we are--at the risk of sounding saccharine--about perfect. We have a lot in common, and we really enjoy each other. Things have gotten very intense emotionally, and I wouldn't be going unless I felt this was something pretty great.

"But you are both sleeping with other people? How does that work?"

"Well, it's about being open, honest and respectful of each other. And we obviously haven't slept together yet. But we have talked about it; about what it means to have a solid relationship which does not exclude the possibility of other partners. Nothing is carved in stone, though. We could decide that we are way into each other and don't want to sleep with anyone else, or that we only want to play with other people at parties, or whatever."

"I don't think I could handle that."

"It's new for me, and I like the openness and respect it requires. You know that Daniel's cheating is one of the reasons my marriage ended; but his lying about it was a bigger issue. I'm still fleshing out the picture of Jefferson and me in my head, but I do feel safe with him. The main thing is to be considerate of each others' feelings and needs. So you really shouldn't worry. And anyway, the weekend could be a total letdown. I seriously doubt it, but you never know."


When we parted ways, she kissed me and said,

“You can tell Jefferson he’s been approved.”

Something

Monday, 2 AM
Marcus has left to catch his train; Mitzi is gone five minutes later. I am getting into bed as she says goodbye.

Jefferson slides into bed, spooning me with his arm under my neck. I can feel his chin on top of my head. We lie there, quietly breathing. We have 18 hours left.

We both feel it; I can't speak. My stomach is twisted. I try to breathe deeply and not tremble in his arms.

“Something’s happening here,” he whispers into the darkness.

My throat catches and I can only nod, my tears welling.

He moves back, turning my face toward his. We kiss. I am remembering our first kiss on Friday morning; when he pulled me into the apartment and we spun down the hallway. How intensely charged and passionate and hungry it was. Over the past three days we’ve learned how to kiss each other. Now it is about doing that and making it last; of searching out each other in the darkness and stopping time.

We make love. I feel sad and hopeful and lonely and full. This I did not expect.

He is sweet, gentle and quiet. His body rocks me into a place between wakefulness and sleep. My eyes close, and I am aware of my own voice, speaking somewhere in the ether. I feel him whispering to me. I should surface; come back from this place I have found to the quiet cadence of his voice.

His words are soft and muffled in my ears. I understand them anyway.

He is holding me close; my face is turned into his neck, breathing him.

Marcus

When I mentioned to Jefferson that it would be great to meet his friend Marcus during my visit, I didn’t imagine that he would go to lengths to ensure that I did; I had thought that Marcus would be a good person to meet simply because I had more in common with him than other people in Jefferson’s Cast of Characters. I figured that if things didn’t work out in the sex department, we could always talk about our kids. Plus, Marcus seemed very smart and funny and sexy. And Jefferson obviously loved him.

So Jefferson arranged for Marcus to come to the city. For me.

I was a little worried that things would be awkward or forced between Marcus and I, being tossed together like that. Would I feel like a third wheel? Would he? Shortly after his arrival on Saturday it was clear that I didn’t need to worry about that; everything clicked.

The sex was great. But we were better. The three of us—Jefferson, Marcus and I—were in sync. I remember at a point, standing in the Apple Store facing each other, talking about something or other.

(Remember the group game of holding hands in a circle, then passing energy around the circle by squeezing the person’s hand next to you? The point of the game is to get the energy moving as quickly as possible; so that it becomes impossible to see.)

That’s how I felt, standing there with the two of them; like our minds were on exactly the same plane and our thoughts passed from one to another without pause.

Sunday afternoon we went for dim sum with Mitzi. We naturally divided into couples at the table; Jefferson and Mitzi, Marcus and me. Once we went out to the street, Mitzi and Jefferson cruised ahead, while Marcus and I hung behind a bit.

We had all been walking arm in arm in arm since last night. Now it was just Marcus and me. We talked as we walked, trying not to lose track of Jefferson and Mitzi, who would stop periodically to search the crowds on Canal Street for my bright green raincoat. We covered the bases: kids, exes (In fact, I called my ex to check on the boys and to tell them hello), parents, religion, sex. My right arm was around his waist and at a point he moved his left arm from my waist to my left shoulder. My left hand reached up and held his fingers.

Is that when it started?

In the cab, after computer and sex toy shopping, on our way home, Marcus was on a call with a potential client. I sat between them in the backseat. I was kissing Jefferson and tracing his cock through his jeans. I looked at Marcus, who had already closed the partition between us and the driver. He pulled out his own hard cock, never missing a well-rehearsed beat with his client.

There we were again. Madeline in the Middle.

Back at the apartment Marcus shaved, Jefferson worked on setting up his computer equipment and I lounged on the couch. Marcus and I played in the bedroom. Jefferson gave up on the computer and joined us. Then we got presentable for Mitzi.

Sunday evening was not a regular sex party. It being my first such event, I should have been more anticipatory or nervous or something. But I was just very comfortable. A big reason for that was Marcus.

Days later, when Jefferson and I talked about the evening, I commented on how, if this had been a regular gathering, and my first, he wouldn’t have left my side. But with Marcus there, I was doubly protected and very at ease. And without Marcus’s help in fleshing out details, the following wouldn’t exist:

Once Mitzi arrived we all went into the bedroom; Jefferson and I lit candles and got condoms and toys accessible. Marcus and I were kneeling on the bed, Jefferson and Mitzi were in one of the sex chairs. Marcus gives Jefferson his Lesson on spanking, then takes up with me.

Jefferson and Mitzi are tending to each other in the bedroom. Marcus and I go to get water. We kiss in the living room. He picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. He starts walking around the apartment, getting closer to the windows.

We giggle; this was not the first time we’d been stuck together like spiders in the last 24 hours. It won’t be the last.

There is a knock at the door. I jump down from Marcus and make a quick retreat to the bedroom, leaving him to greet Franz.

Mitzi is blowing Jefferson on the bed. I go to him and kiss him. He wants my pussy. I straddle his face and he goes to work. I cum, and then we switch places. I am lying on my back, Jefferson kisses me, knowing how much I like tasting myself. Mitzi starts licking my pussy, while Jefferson sucks my tits and fucks my face.

When we are in this scene, Marcus and Franz walk into the bedroom. Marcus makes introductions all around. I manage a wave to the gorgeous gay boy, then I’m back to sucking Jefferson’s Cock. Mitzi gets me off, then she’s off to the chair with Jefferson and the magic bullet double vibe.

I am lying on the bed watching Marcus and Franz fuck. Those two switch from top to bottom and back like it’s nothing! They go at each other for the better part of an hour while I go down on Our Lady of the Double Vibrators. Mitzi is reclining on the chair, I am on my knees in front of her, spreading her lips and pulling back her hood with my fingers while I suck her clit.

By the by: I don’t know WHAT some guys are complaining about when they say they don’t like eating pussy. How can you not like that? (Okay, I don’t understand girls who don’t like sucking cock either, but goddamn!)

Jefferson is eating my pussy while I’m eating Mitzi’s. I cum, then kiss Mitzi. Girl should taste herself, too.

I break for water, then get a good spot on the bed watching the boys, then the others. Jefferson and Mitzi finish, then he moves up to the bed. Now it’s all three of them, while Mitzi retrieves the eggs from her ass and pussy.

Finally the boys finish, and I walk up to Jefferson. I look him straight in the eye and say, “I think it’s time you fucked my ass.”

I hand him the condom and the lube while I lube my ass. I snack on Mitzi while Jefferson pounds me from behind. I want more; every time I try to push back into him he pushes me down into Mitzi. He starts lightly slapping my ass, using the technique that Marcus taught him earlier, bringing me to the edge of orgasm. I pull up from Mitzi and look over my shoulder, pleading with my eyes, nodding my head. “Now.”

I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Everyone switched.

Jefferson and Mitzi go over to the chair and he fucks her face and pussy. Marcus and I get together for the first time since Mitzi arrived. I was in assfucking mode; I asked Marcus to do the honors.

It was a good fuck.

Franz was standing next to Marcus, watching. He was getting excited and said something about it being “really hot.” Marcus, ever the gentleman, asked Franz if he’d like to fuck me. Franz said yes.

What follows is a blur.

Marcus pulls out and immediately leans into my ear, “Madeline, Franz is going to fuck you in the ass now. Is that okay?”

I nod. He is already inside.

This tall, lithe European with the sculpted body, as I’ve posted previously, knows his way around an ass! He gets me into a rhythm and we are totally in tune; our bodies moving the exact distance apart and back together to make the best use of his cock. I am blissed-out, looking back at Franz, then down to Marcus who is lying beside me on the bed, watching and holding my hand.

The rhythm intensifies, Franz pushes me flat to the mattress and is pounding away. My right hand is being held by Marcus, my left reaches for my clit. I am masturbating, moaning fuuuuuck; cumming. Franz yells he’s going to cum.

Marcus and Jefferson are congratulatory. I didn’t realize what had happened until Marcus said, after Franz went into the bathroom to shower,

“Madeline, he came while he was fucking your ass! Do you know how rare that is for him?”

I kind of thought it was impressive that he came while he was fucking a girl. But whatever; I got the gay boy to cum with my ass!

I am spent and Marcus and I are recovering. Jefferson and Mitzi go into the other room. Franz has come back from the shower and I tell Marcus that I’d like to be restrained. He thinks this is an excellent idea, and since no one has been particularly dominant tonight, he is just the person to do it. Besides, after my last experience with his fancy restraints, I am ready to go further with him.

He fastens the wrist cuffs, and then connects them together behind my back. Now I am submissive.

“You want to be tied up?”

I smile, “Yes, Marcus.”

“Then pick up those goddamned condom wrappers from the floor.”

I start to move toward a torn foil square next to the bed. I maneuver into position, slowly lowering myself down so I can pick it up with my hand. I move toward another, then another. Once I lose my balance and fall against the wall. Marcus sternly tells me to get up and finish the job.

The others are coming back, and Marcus blindfolds me, and then moves my wrists above my head. They are connected to a rope and lashed to the bed frame. Same with my ankles. I am flat on my back and tied down. Marcus is in charge of my bottom half, while Jefferson and Mitzi take care of me from the waist up. Jefferson pours wax on my body and fucks my face. Marcus puts a condom on one of the vibrating eggs, and then puts it in my ass. He starts lightly slapping my inner thigh, up to my pubis and down the other side. He repeats this several times, increasing the pressure and finally ending up on my pussy; slapping my clit. He really lets loose. I have a huge orgasm. The blindfold is removed, and Marcus is kneeling over me wearing a leather mask, which he promptly throws off. It was a good visual.

I am unbound. Kissed. Coddled.

Marcus stays with me on the bed. He is focused on me after having caused so much pain/pleasure. I am still high from it. He puts on a condom and fucks me silly. At one point he is standing beside the bed; my ass is at the edge and I am on my back, legs in the air. I put my hands behind his neck. He brings his arms under my thighs and stands up. The man is fucking me standing up using nothing but his hips and gravity. It was like a goddamned ride at Disney World.

More Spidey-fucking. Then, with Jefferson watching, Marcus throws me back onto the bed, yelling, “Fuck you, bitch!” Then he turns and walks out of the room. I am laughing so hard.

Jefferson and Mitzi come over to work on my pussy again. I am learning that Jefferson likes that I’m a gusher. His fisting technique is very good, and so I am very willing to let him in. He shows Mitzi what he’s doing, and soon enough her fist has replaces his. I cum. A lot..

Marcus is intrigued, and compares hand size with Mitzi. Then he looks at me and asks, “Madeline, would you do something for me?”

“Of course, sweetie.”

“Would you fist me?”

“Oh! Yes, of course I would!”

We assumed positions, Marcus on his back, knees raised, me kneeling at his ass, lubing it and my hand.

“Madeline, have you ever done this before?”

(Was he fucking kidding? Have I ever stuck my entire fist into a person’s rectum? Let’s see…)

“No, honey, I haven’t.”

“Okay; we’re going to have a little instructional moment before we get started.”

Marcus. Always the teacher.

“Madeline, you’ll get through the first sphincter and then about three inches in you’ll feel a second wall. Just wait until it relaxes and keep going very slowly.”

I used my left hand, palm up and inserted two fingers, then three. I crossed my pinky finger across the other three, and then pushed all four further in. I felt the second sphincter resist. The intensity was starting to get to Marcus and he called for Jefferson to come to him. Jefferson sat holding Marcus’s hand, stroking his hair and saying, softly, “I’m here, baby. You’re okay.”

The wall gave way and I crossed my thumb into my palm, making my hand as small as I could. “Marcus, she’s up to her wrist.”

I was, and gently curling my fingers back. Rocking. Marcus was moaning, and holding onto Jefferson like a raft. I held Jefferson’s eye for a long time.

“We love you, Marcus,” I said.


sex
bdsm
fisting
anal+fisting

Domestic

Friday, 6 PM
We are finishing dinner. Jefferson made my favorite: Breakfast for dinner. We both make it for our kids when we’re too lazy to think of anything creative.

Omelets with mushrooms and cheese. Bacon. Fruit. Was there toast? I can’t remember.

He is sitting, watching me eat. We are not speaking; just taking each other in.

His expression changes; I know this one. I have seen it during our online dates, when he’d cocked his head and looked at my image on his computer screen. I knew what he was thinking: That in this dark room, with the light from the stove hitting the side of my face, I looked more familiar. I looked like my webcam to him.

“Madeline, would you like to go do something? We could go for a drink, or coffee or something.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere.”

“Me, neither. So, honey, it’s 6:30. Shall we go watch the evening news?”

“Perfect.”

The pope was dying; there were live reports from Vatican Square. The Person of the Week was the organizer of a project which involves photographers across the country photographing children awaiting adoption. I got a little teary. I can’t help it; I’m a parent.

Peter Jennings is interviewing the ABCnews Medical Editor about the Pope’s condition. Peter looks a bit off. He makes strange faces and clears his throat at inappropriate moments. Jefferson and I both wonder: What’s up with Peter Jennings?

News over, television off. We decide to watch Secretary. Jefferson pours bourbons and makes popcorn. He has never seen the movie. I love it, and make sure to pause the DVD when he gets up to freshen our drinks.

The movie ends, and we are alone. I swear, that film never fails to give me a hankering for a good beating. Jefferson senses this. He asks when I’d like to be worked over. “Now,” I say.

Truthfully, I don’t remember much of the slapping, biting and whipping; only my responses to it. At one point Jefferson was spanking my ass and I was so excited I let loose with uncontrollable giggles into the mattress. This is a good thing.

My wrists are bound, though I can change positions. Jefferson beats and licks and chews on my ass, my thighs and my calves. The bites and the slaps leave marks; the rope lashes on my back and bottom are welts, but disappear overnight. He unties my wrists, takes me into his arms and holds on.

The next morning, after my shoulder bite, we are getting ready for Marcus' arrival. Jefferson comes back up to the apartment with the clean sheets. He kisses me hello, then tells me that he’s just run into Mr. Lansky at the elevator, who says to him, “Well, you look very…domestic.”

Funny; that’s just how we are feeling. Nevermind that the reason he’s got those sheets in his arms is that he’s just been fucking for about 24 hours with a five-hour sleep break.

I help remake the bed. I make good on my promise to teach Jefferson the fine art of folding a fitted sheet.

We decide that the word “domestic” fits. We decide to use it as our code word for ‘fucked.’ As in, “God, I feel so domestic.” Or, “I could sure go for a little domestication right now.”

Besides, this morning, after fucking, Jefferson had a dream about Martha Stewart, Domestic Goddess, and how she brought us together.

Speaking of which:

I enjoy the coming together of aggression and tenderness; that duality of being slapped or bitten or choked, then comforted is one of my favorite experiences. It is not something I will do with just anyone; it requires much trust and communication. And I am always in control. If something is too intense, I can stop it. But what an amazing ride it is with a person who pays attention to what works for me; who knows what gets me off.

I think the duality of hot sex and domestic comfort is just as thrilling. The ease of being at home—doing dishes, refilling coffee, making beds—is even nicer when, in the midst of it, great sex happens. It’s feeling close to someone on those seemingly disparate levels which brings about real comfort.

The most interesting thing about the whole weekend was not how many “firsts” we chalked up (though those were considerable!); it was how strangely comfortable I felt in this space, with this person I’d known for seven weeks but only just met.

Four days later, while waiting to board my flight home, I read that Peter Jennings has cancer. I call Jefferson's cell and leave a message.

Threesome III

Sunday Morning
Three of us in Jefferson’s bed. Madeline in the middle. My right side is asleep from my shoulder to my foot. I turn my head to look at the two men on either side of me. Goddamn (I think I actually said “Goddamn!”).

I scoot smoothly down to the foot of the bed, climbing over Jefferson’s legs and almost losing my balance once my feet hit the floor. I am wobbly from last night. I look back after catching myself on the wall. Jefferson’s eyes are looking at me.

“Sorry, honey- I’m just going to the bathroom. Go back to sleep.”

I have to pee. I wash my face, brush my teeth and examine the bruises that are showing up on my ass and thighs. I look a mess. I love it. Jefferson is not in bed when I return to the room. I peek into the back bedroom, where he is curled up on the futon.

“Hey, baby, what’re you doing here?”
“Um, it was really crowded with everyone in the bed.”
“Well, why don’t you scoot over, then, so I can join you?”
“No, I’m fine; you go back to bed. We can’t leave Marcus by himself.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I’ll be fine, and I’ll come join you in a bit.”

I go back to Jefferson’s room and get under the sheet, flat on my back. I drift for a while, then wake. It is just before 7 AM. Marcus is pulling the duvet up to my shoulders.

“What are you doing?”
“I thought you might be cold; I was freezing.”
“I was very warm between the two of you last night.”

Marcus and I lay in bed, talking about our exes and the proper way to handle his balls. He has low-hanging balls. He can do amazing things with them. Why, just yesterday they were inside my pussy along with his dick.

I would not make this up.

“Madeline, you have such a nice body. And great skin. Hey- show me your teeth!”

I do not know what the deal is with these two and their dental fixation; just last week Jefferson had asked me to lean into my webcam and flash him all my teeth. Now here was Marcus doing the same. I am self-conscious about my teeth. I refuse to show him, and he pins me down. I do not let him do a full examination.

“So what else don’t you like about your body?”

“Well, you know I have these spider veins on my legs ever since I had kids…I really don’t like those.”

“Oh, my god, that is so dumb!!”

“I know it is; I can’t help it. I’ve always really loved my legs. I’m just not terribly fond of their present incarnation.”

“I’d like to see your legs in the air.”

“Haha! So early?”


He reaches down to a bag he’s set next to the bed. Pulls out two webbed nylon and Velcro restraint cuffs. Puts them around my ankles. On each cuff is a d-ring. To each ring he attaches one end of a nylon strap. The strap is adjustable. He positions me at the foot of the bed. Kisses my pussy.

“Don't worry; I'm not going to fuck you yet,” he says, knowing that I’m wary of breaking the house rule that we must wake Jefferson before Marcus and I have sex; “I’m going to give you a lesson on deep throating.

Ahem:

First, you do an excellent job of taking a cock down your throat, Madeline. There is no problem there. But you know, you always have to work at keeping everything relaxed in your throat so you don’t set off the gag reflex. This is a lot to think about, especially when you are with more than one person. Watch what happens when you lie on your back and let your head hang off the edge of the bed. Now I’m going to put my cock into your mouth and it is going to slide all the way down your throat.”

Wow. It really did. Long and smooth.

“Thank you, Marcus! That’s a fantastic trick!”

“Now, I want to bind your legs in the air. Raise your legs, please, and keep your knees straight. Now bring them back toward your ears.”


Marcus practices yoga as I do. He knows already how flexible I am. He takes the strap that connects the ankle restraints and puts it under my neck, at the base of my skull. He then tightens the strap until my ass is raised up into the air. My knees are back above my shoulders.

I am looking at him, eyes wide.

“Marcus, go wake up Jefferson.”

“I’m not gonna go in there. You wake him up.”

“Well, I can’t exactly go in there now!”

“So just yell at him, like this: ‘Jefferson! Wake up! Jefferson! Emergency!!'”


In stumbles Jefferson, rubbing his eyes, which bug at the sight of my ass in the air and Marcus putting on a condom. I smile.


“’Morning, sweetie!”

“Good morning, darling. You remembered the rule.”

“Of course.”


Marcus rolls his eyes, feigning disgust. Then he starts fucking.

Jefferson works my mouth and breasts, while Marcus goes at my pussy. I like these restraints; my hands are free to play with my clit or Jefferson’s cock, which has been hard since he walked in. I turn my head toward it.

“Oh! Hey, Jefferson! Slide her toward you, man; get her head offa the bed. Now put your cock all the way down her throat.”

“Unh. Marcus, that is nice!”

“See how easy it goes down, baby?”

“Yeah," He slaps my face. "Suck that cock, Madeline.”


We take turns in the shower, Jefferson brews coffee and Marcus and I sit on the couch. Marcus gets the idea that Jefferson’s computer can use some souping-up. So he gets on the phone with Apple. He borrows my cell for its glamorous speakerphone feature.

While Marcus is on indefinite hold, Jefferson and I clear the bedroom of glasses, condom wrappers and toys. I spill a container of almonds onto the floor. He kneels down to pick them up and Marcus uses my camera to take a picture of his naked ass. We are all laughing.

We are ready to go for dim sum in Chinatown, followed by computer hardware and sex toy shopping. We walk out of the building. Marcus has the address of the Apple store and a list of what we need to buy. Jefferson has Mitzi’s barrette in his pocket. I have the two of them flanking me, our arms around each other. Hot as hell.

Intermission

Saturday, 8 PM
Marcus is corralling Jefferson and me.
“Come on! I’m hungry- let’s go out! I’ll pay. Madeline, do you like Indian?”

We agreed that maybe the fresh air would do us good. And we really did need to keep up our strength; this was turning into a fuckathon. But I was busy riding Jefferson on the bed. Marcus had gone to take a call. When he returned, I was curled onto Jefferson, resting my head on his shoulder.

“Hey! Let’s go!!”

I turned my head and saw Marcus standing at the foot of the bed. In an unusual stance. A warm stream ran down my back. Holy Fuck- he was pissing on me! It was the tiniest bit, but oh my god! I screamed and jumped up, he laughed and pushed me into the shower. I turned on the water and began to wash myself. As I stood with my back to the door, my face turned up to the shower head, I noticed another stream was hitting my backside. I turned to look. They were both standing on the bathroom floor. They were both pissing on me.

“Oh, my GOD!! EEW!” I have to admit, though, I kind of enjoyed it…li’l bit.

They joined me in the shower. We washed each other. They washed my hair. They were both so lovely. I absolutely adored it. We got dressed. I put on jeans, my boots and my t-shirt which reads: “I Do All My Own Stunts.”

“You most certainly do, sugar.”

We walked to the restaurant in the drizzle, looking so fucking good; their arms around my waist, Marcus and I using the umbrella since Jefferson had the foresight to wear a hat.

I don’t remember ordering. I don’t remember eating; only that I was ravenous and loving all the touching that was happening underneath the table. We took a cab home. Which is where we really wanted to be anyway.

“Shouldn’t we be drinking Marcus’ gift?” I asked.

Marcus had brought an expensive bottle of bourbon. We decided to open it and watch Hedwig and the Angry Inch in the bedroom. Jefferson had seen it before, but it was the first time for me. Marcus was an aficionado on all things Hedwig. I was blown away.

Movie finished, bourbon drunk, we start up again. Marcus and I take turns blowing Jefferson. Jefferson fucks Marcus. I ride Jefferson as Marcus sucks my tits. Marcus fucks me. Jefferson sucks Marcus’ cock while his ass is filled with a vibrating egg. Jefferson then hands me the dildo, prepped with a condom. The dual-egg vibrator is on the fritz; we’ll need a new one. I remove the egg, lube up, and fuck Marcus’s beautiful ass with the black silicone dildo. It’s a very nice dildo, and the first time I've topped a man.

I don’t know what time we stopped; spent and sexed. We all fell asleep in Jefferson’s bed. I bet we looked gorgeous.

Boys on the sides, Madeline in the Middle.

J. C.

It is a week since Jefferson left me at his apartment. A week since we’ve seen each other.

I returned home, dazed and drunk with the experiences of the weekend.

As the days pass, the memories surface in bits. Most of these bits are sensory experiences—taste, touch, sight, sound or smell—which flood my brain and call up events.

Before I get back to the events of Saturday, I wanted to write about Jefferson’s Cock. Our readers have never really learned about Jefferson’s Cock; he talks about it very little except to describe what it can do, which is considerable and impressive. But I am talking about the Cock itself; it really is nice, and I think it deserves a bit of credit in the Playbill.

To begin, Jefferson rarely wears underwear. Therefore, Jefferson’s Cock is not unduly restrained by cotton or spandex. It is well-ventilated, and I feel better knowing that it is readily available—say, in the back of a cab, for instance—I am a fan of Commando Cock.

Next, Jefferson’s Cock is cut, with a very nice tip; there is a marked indentation for the urethral opening; perfect for swirling with my tongue and a lovely knob that feels so good sliding past my lips. It makes for such a nice sound while it’s being sucked. Get that Cock nice and wet and it really does sound like the chrome being sucked off a trailer hitch.

Speaking of sucking, Jefferson’s Cock is perfectly suited to my mouth. Its diameter is not small (which can cause jaw exhaustion from tightly pursed lips), nor overly thick (which can have the same effect—no one likes a dislocated jaw!). Jefferson’s Cock is so friendly. It could be—and often is—sucked for hours.

But probably the most remarkable thing I’ve noticed about Jefferson’s Cock is its color. Jefferson’s Cock has a beautiful complexion. It is smooth, and not overly vascular with a rosy tint that matches the color of my labia and is so well-suited to his skin tone. Jefferson is pale, with reddish-blond trimmed pubic hair. To see Jefferson’s Cock standing up in the middle of all that for me, well…

That’s a good memory.

Lucky

Last night Jefferson was busy hosting biweekly guests. I was busy editing.

You get two today.

Threesome II

Saturday, 3PM
We are sitting at the table, having finished eating. Marcus is on the end, Jefferson and I sit next to each other on the long side. We talk easily about life, blogs, kids, divorces. Marcus brought a bag of culture: Hedwig and the Angry Inch and about 20 CDs to spin. He hopes we can watch the movie later.

Marcus is cheeky. He tosses a grape down my dress, and when Jefferson teases him about something, he tosses a glass of water onto Jefferson’s jeans—soaking his lap and my bare legs which were resting there. The boys both jump up and playfully shove each other. Marcus goes to the bathroom and comes back with a bottle of Tylenol. He has a headache.

We start talking about work; I am curious about Marcus’ and he and I act out a phone conversation with bananas. I am pretending to be a prospective client and he is giving me his phone shpiel. It cracks Jefferson and me up.

“Wow, that sounds pretty hot, especially the part about us both being naked during the massage! What are your rates?” I asked.

“Well, my mininum length of time is 90 minutes; anything less than that is just shortchanging your experience.”

“When is your first available appointment?”

“How about right now? In the bedroom?”

I giggle.

We walk quietly back to the bedroom. It is a grey, drizzly day. The light is low and Jefferson stands kissing me by the window. Marcus actually lies on the pillows and closes his eyes against his headache. Jefferson’s jeans come off. In a second my slipdress is tossed in the corner. We move to the bed.

Jefferson stretches out alongside Marcus, who I really think is sleeping. As I slide down to take his semi-hard cock in my mouth, Jefferson reaches over and touches Marcus through his pants. I am watching this. I am liking this. At this point we are like that “machine” game: each one of us working an action and reaction to the others. Marcus stirs, smiles and moans. Jefferson’s dick gets hard in my mouth. I gasp, feeling the swelling of my clit. I pull my mouth off and sit back.

Marcus sits up and kisses Jefferson. Hard. He takes off his clothes. We are all nude. I am quiet. I just want to watch. I lie on my left side and bend my right knee up to touch myself.

They are aware of my eyes on them, but I am paying more attention to their faces than their anatomies. These two are so deeply connected. It is fucking gorgeous. And I got to watch Marcus suck Jefferson’s cock. I took mental notes.

Marcus wanted to taste me. Jefferson told him I tasted very sweet; like honey. He should absolutely partake. I propped myself with pillows at the head of the bed and watched as Marcus dove in. Jefferson let us go for a couple minutes, but then reemerged behind Marcus wearing a condom and carrying a bottle of lube.

Jefferson fucked Marcus while Marcus buried his face in me. I held his head and looked up at Jefferson. We smiled. I came.

“I have to fuck her, Jefferson,” then to me, “I have to fuck you.”

“Welcome.”

He fucked me hard, moving my legs around to suit him. He shifted them both over to one side; one of my favorite positions. It’s a different angle of penetration, and I think it’s a nice view for the fucker. Also, the fuckee gets to rest a bit after holding legs aloft for so long.

At a point, someone said, “Thank god this is going so well!” It’s true. We were really good together.

Marcus wanted me to suck his cock. I happily obliged. He was lying down and I crouched beside him. Marcus was sucking Jefferson. Our lips made the same noises as we worked.

“Play with his balls, Madeline. You can be rough with his balls.”

Really? Good to know.

“Unh, Jefferson, I want to taste her again. Madeline, can I eat your pussy?”

“Of course, sweetie!” I moved to straddle his face; to sixty-nine him. This left Jefferson with my ass in the air and his dick hard from Marcus’ mouth, which was otherwise occupied. As I sucked on Marcus, I heard Jefferson roll on a condom. Felt his cock in my pussy while Marcus’ tongue and lips worked away at my clit.

“Bite it…bite my clit, Marcus.” He did, perfectly, using his tongue to press it up against his top teeth. Flicked it a bit.

“Fuck!” I came.

“Oh, God,” said Marcus, “You guys need to move up a bit; I need to breathe.”

I lifted myself off and looked down at Marcus. He was smiling. I kissed his mouth and licked his lips clean. I kissed Jefferson.

“Yum.”

At one point that afternoon, Jefferson was fisting me. I think Marcus was fucking my face. I don’t remember much. Except the cumming. And Jefferson bringing his fist up above me and opening it; letting my juice rain down onto my belly.

I had been in the city for 30 hours.

Surfacing

Monday
Jefferson and I go for a walk. It is Monday, a few hours before he leaves me at his apartment in his city.

We are both a little nervous about how that will go.

We had spent the day inside, after making love in the morning sunlight as it fell across our naked bodies through the bedroom window. So much had happened and I was totally blissed-out; really out of my head. Floating somewhere beneath the surface. I was content to work the crossword while Jefferson tied up loose ends before his business trip.

At Eleven I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up two hours later to his freshly shaven face and skin which smelled like my shower gel. He was sitting beside me, touching my face.

“Mmmmm, you smell good... You’ve showered? I should do that, too.”

“Take your time, Madeline. We’re not in a rush. I’ll put in another call to my attorney while you shower, and then we can go out and enjoy the day.”

I hear divorce talk as I’m drying myself. I know it well. He is speaking with his attorney, and I will stay in the bedroom and close the door until he’s finished.

I fall asleep again.

At Three O’clock I am finally awake and we leave the apartment to walk in the park. It is the first time we have walked these streets, just us.

As we walk, we talk about Sunday night’s sex party with Marcus, Franz and Mitzi.

“Here’s the thing, Jefferson,” I started, “I had a good time with everyone; I had firsts I’d never thought of!”

“Like fisting Marcus?”

“God, don’t even get me started on that; that was so goddamned intense. We need to talk about that later. I’m thinking, too, about having a gay boy cum from fucking my ass, being bound and worked over by three people, and being fisted by a girl.”

“You also had a girl eating your pussy, and you reciprocated—more than once!” he reminded me.

“Yes, but on the intensity meter, that was probably the tamest of the firsts. Seriously. I really enjoyed watching Marcus and Franz go at it; they are so into each other! And when Franz was on his back and said he wanted to watch Marcus’ dick in his ass, I was very happy to retrieve the mirror and hold it for him. That was hot.”

“Yes, you know that Marcus is bi, and Franz is a gay boy who will fuck girls at the parties. Those two can go at it for hours, though. It’s really unusual for men to be able to switch back and forth like that. I think that the last straw for Franz was watching Marcus fucking your sweet ass; he thought that was really hot. And when Marcus asked him if he wanted a ride, Franz climbed on.”

“Yee-haw! Boy knows his way around an ass, that’s all I can say.”

“I looked up and saw the three beautiful people on the bed: Franz behind you, Marcus lying beside you looking at the both of you. Your back arched, pushing back into Franz, getting him more and more excited til he pushed you flat onto your stomach and went crazy.”

I smiled, “You know the really nice thing about Franz was that he knew when to leave. I loved everything about Sunday night; but at a point all I wanted was to be alone with you.”

“I know how you feel, baby.”

“It’s not a jealousy thing, either. It’s just that we live so far apart and this was our last night together and we hadn’t been alone in a day and a half. I wanted to be selfish, but I didn’t know how to do that without hurting anyone’s feelings. I don’t know how a gathering like that comes to an end on its own. And I have no idea how to blog it.”

“You’ll figure it out, sweetheart. You’ll just write it out. It’s what we do. And you’ll do it well.”

We kissed under the Ramble Arch.

A tourist took our photo overlooking the Lake.

We fell into a diner near Jefferson’s apartment. We were starving. We each ordered cheeseburgers; I ordered a coke. I never drink coke. But what the fuck; I was eating a burger and fries. Jefferson ordered onion rings. We shared.

“I don’t like coleslaw; you can have mine,” I said

Jefferson made a hatch mark in the air with his finger.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Just chalking up one more item on the Jefferson-Madeline compatibility sheet.”

“Hey, Jefferson, are you going to eat your pickle?”

“Nope. It’s all yours.”

I took my right index finger and made a mark in the air.

Threesome I

Saturday, 12:30.
I have showered and am looking quite fetching in a little cotton hippie dress that is two sizes too big. It is thin and weightless and does me no favors, but it feels like I’m wearing nothing.

Jefferson is preparing lunch for us and Marcus, who’ll be arriving soon. I set myself to washing the dishes. We work side by side in the small space, reaching past one another for this and that.

“Maddie, where do you stand on the whole ‘rinse/don’t rinse’ chicken controversy?”

“Well, I’ve always rinsed and patted dry. Obviously, if you cook it at a high enough temperature, you’ll kill off the bacteria anyway, but I always like to think it’s semi-clean before I put it into the oven.”

“Then for you, baby, I’ll rinse.”

I remember thinking that this felt different. Things were so easy. I didn’t feel like I was playing house with my new boyfriend. There was no 'watch him be amazed by my dishwashing prowess!' The dishes needed washing. I can wash dishes.

Jefferson finished stuffing the chicken and put it into the oven. The sex sheets had seven minutes to go in the laundry. I sent him to shower while I changed the trash bag in the kitchen. When the laundry timer went off, and Jefferson was still showering, I walked in, per our discussion of showers and peeing.

“Laundry’s done, darlin’.”

“Thank you, baby.”

We were sitting on the couch drinking coffee and chatting when the doorknob started to rattle; then the door started to shake. Jefferson looked at me, kissed my mouth, grinned, and walked to the door.

Marcus.

“Hi sweetie!”

“Hey, baby!”

They kissed. Well.
Marcus looked up.

“Oh, my god- Madeline! Hi!! Um, I’m not sure what to do!”

As Marcus walks toward me, I can see why Jefferson and he are such good friends. He has a brilliant smile. He is charming, funny and smart. Clearly loving and generous, I think. And, um, yeah- he's hot.

I stood up, “Hi, Marcus!”

We kissed. Not bad.

“Look what he’s done to you already! What have you done to her, Jefferson?”

My fingers go up to the bite mark on my shoulder. “Oh, do you like it? I’m thinking of having it tattooed there.”

By Sunday morning I will have bites and bruises on my tits, thighs, calves and ass. I will have had my first boy-girl-boy threesome. I will have had hot sex with Marcus after yelling for Jefferson to wake up so he wouldn’t miss it.

It was one o’clock on Saturday afternoon and we had time. Time to sit on the couch and chat. Time for a dramatic reading of J.T. LeRoy by Marcus and Madeline while Jefferson put the final touches on lunch. Time for getting acquainted.

April Fools

Friday
My morning flight to New York was to have put me on the ground at 11:30. I figured the earliest I could possibly be at Jefferson’s was 12:30 or 1:00.

“Perfect,” he said, “I’ll take the kids to school and have time to get back and prepare for your arrival.”

I planned to sleep on the plane, since I hadn’t gone to bed Thursday night at all.

I left my house in darkness, driving the short commute to the airport, parking in the long-term lot and checking myself onto the flight.

The plane wasn’t full, so it was quiet. Even so, I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t nervous. I was impatient for us to finally meet face to face. We’d covered so much ground in our two months of chatting. We were completing sentences for each other. We were very hot for one another, but also very much at ease. We could chat just as easily about fucking as we could about cooking.

There was apparently one hell of a tailwind because the flight landed about 40 minutes early. I had the dull headache of the sleep deprived, which I had decided not to alleviate with caffeine. I’d rather be tired than dehydrated. I drank gallons of water.

I hadn’t checked a bag, so I was ready to go. I walked down to the Ground Transportation Exit, found a seat and called my mother. As I told her I’d arrived safely, I noticed how weakened I was from lack of sleep. I was actually shaking.

Shit. Jefferson’s not expecting me for another hour, but if I stay in this airport I might fall asleep or get a headache or both. I decided to take a cab to the city. I gave the driver the address, and then pulled out my phone.


“Hello?”

“Hey, darlin’. How are you?”

“I’m fine! So what’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m in a cab.”

“In NEW YORK?”

“Yeah. The flight got in really (yawn), really early. And I just decided to head toward Manhattan. I am exhausted and I really didn’t want to be in the airport longer than I had to be.”

“Holy Fuck. I still have stuff to do before you get here!”

“Honey, you really don’t have to do anything for me; I’m so tired I wouldn’t notice one way or the other. If you’d like, though, I can go to a coffee shop or a bookstore and wait for you. Isn’t there a bookstore near where you live? I can go there and read until you’re ready for me.”

“God, but you might fall asleep while waiting, and I’d feel bad. …You know what? Fuck it; just come straight here.”

“Jefferson, it’s really no problem.”

“Just get your ass here already!” Then, sweetly, “Hey baby- you got a cab? All by yourself??”

“You are impressed with my ability to walk to a taxi stand and let the attendant call a cab for me? Whatever, man.”


He laughs. I smile, too tired. The classical music playing in the cab is putting me the fuck to sleep.


“Madeline, where are you now?”

“Ummm, crossing the bridge.”

“Shit! Okay, I’m hanging up now.”


I walk into the building, take the elevator to his floor and stand outside the door of his apartment. I am wearing my green raincoat over a black sleeveless sweater, denim A-line skirt and my zebra print cowboy boots. The boots are a running theme in our online conversations.

I knock.

The door swings open. He stands there all blond and cute in jeans and a black t-shirt I’ve seen before.

Jefferson: “Fucking-A!”

He takes my face in his hands and kisses me, pulling me into the apartment. I let my bag fall to the floor and start kissing him back. His hands are in my hair and he’s spinning us down the hallway to the bedroom. He pulls away from the kiss for a second, looks into my eyes like he’s going to swallow me whole, and then throws me onto the bed.

He pulls up my skirt, takes my black lace panties down over my boots and starts licking my pussy. I am impressed. And very hot for him. He gets me off, sucking my clit and fingering my g-spot while pressing into my lower abs with his other hand. I am propped up on my elbows, watching him. I want to taste myself on his mouth. We kiss, and he pulls me up to standing beside the bed. He is taking his clothes off, and I am finally getting out of my coat and skirt. My sweater and boots haven’t budged.

He rolls on a condom, and pushes me back down to the bed. Brings my booted legs up over his shoulders. Shoves a pillow under my hips. Holds one of my shins to his cheek while he fucks me. He watches me play with my clit while we go at it.

I am so blissed and horny. I am also physically exhausted.


“Goddammit, bitch! Move your hips like you want to be fucked!”


Oh, right.

After a bit he pulls out and goes back to sucking my clit. Spreads my legs wide, knees bent. Inserts a finger, then two, then three into my cunt. Squirts lube onto my perineum and lubes my ass. Slips in a couple fingers there, too. He is sitting on his heels between my bent legs, working both hands in tandem. Ups the digit count in each hole. I feel like I’m going to split in half. Once I get relaxed again, though, I can ride this through. I cum so hard I can barely move. I take off my sweater, leaving me in a camisole and the boots.
He goes to wash, telling me not to move.


“Come to the edge of the bed. I’m gonna fuck your ass.”


Oh, my dog.

I am, by this point, dripping with sweat; my hair plastered to the sides of my face and forehead. Completely sexed. I crawl over to him as he puts on another condom, lubes it and my ass and then pulls my knees apart.

His cock slips inside, way too fast.

“huuuuuuooooooohhhh!

He starts fucking me, hard; I can’t take it. My muscles have tightened up from the shock. It’s too much.


“I need you to stop, Jefferson! You need to stop!”


He does, immediately. Leaves to wash. I am whimpering on the bed, curled around myself, trying to regulate my breathing. He comes back, puts his hand on my cheek and kisses my wet forehead.


“Oh, honey- look at you. Are you okay, baby?”

“Yes- I’m sorry; I think my body just shut down. I haven’t slept.”

“Nothing to apologize for. We could both use a rest. Let’s take off the boots and get us some sleep.”


We slide between the covers like I’d imagined us doing so many times. He pulls me toward him. Soon we are sleeping face to face, our legs tangled together, breathing each other.

I wake up a couple hours later in the same position. I watch him sleep, then his eyes open. We look at each other for a good minute.

His eyes are very blue.
I wear no makeup.

“Yellow flecks,” I say.

He grins, “Lip freckles.”

Bitten/Smitten

For a nice little description of the effects of endorphin release during rough sex go to
http://www.xeromag.com/fvbdwhy.html


Saturday Morning

“I’m getting up,” I said for probably the sixth time since Jefferson and I woke at 5:30, lying in bed, discussing grammar and punctuation like the dorks we are. I swear it's true. You can ask him. “But could you just do me one favor?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Could you, um, bite me right here, between my neck and my shoulder?”

“Bite you?”

“Yes,” I pinched the top of the muscle between my fingers, “Hard.”

I was sitting up in bed. Jefferson sat behind me to the right. I bent my head down to the left. He had his right hand on my shoulder, his left arm reaching around to my sternum. He started slowly, gently easing his teeth into my flesh. First a pinch, then a burn, then an intense ache. I suck my breath, feeling the blood circulating to the area, warming and tingling. I breathe, relaxing into the sensation, feeling the skin get sensitized, and then a wave of pleasure washes over me. He increases the pressure and I start to moan, as that intense pain becomes unbearably good.

My eyes are closed, my pussy wet. No one has ever bitten me for this long. I think the bite itself lasts about two minutes. He keeps biting harder and harder until I stop him. Jefferson releases his mouth, and then slowly pulls back. I am panting. My eyes are watering.

“Wow,” I say.

“Goddamn, girl-that was intense. Have I finally met my match? A woman whose skin can outlast my jaws?”

“Thank you, sweetie.” I kiss him. His dick is hard.

I moved down to suck his cock. I will get up and shower, but not yet.

“You know,” I said, while working with my hand, “It’s a good thing Marcus is coming today; I really need to watch someone suck you off. Someone who knows what you like.”

“Oh, you seem to have figured that out….”

My head is bent into his stomach, and I am swallowing his cock as he thrusts his hips toward my face. His pubic hair is wet with my saliva and tears, and my finger is in his ass. I sit back to watch him cum. Amazing.

Afterwards—after he cums and I walk naked into the bathroom to wash—I look at myself in the full-length mirror on the door. There are a couple of bruises on my arms from being spun into his apartment and flung to the bed, a tender red spot on my left cheekbone from a well-placed slap to the face, and a raw spot on my chin from a combination of kisses, stubble and the occasional chew.

I turn to look at my right shoulder. The bite has welted up nicely. It is perfectly formed in the shape of Jefferson’s teeth. It is an angry purplish-red.

It is the first thing Marcus will notice when he arrives in an hour.

Patience

It is Wednesday.

I just returned home from my long weekend with Jefferson.

I promise to post soon; I am still overwhelmed (in a good way) from the time we spent together.

It was an amazing weekend. It was a weekend of firsts.

Soon,
Madeline

No Fooling

Note: This post was written by Jefferson and also appears on his blog.


I’ve been keeping a secret.

A few weeks ago, my online girlfriend Madeline popped up with an instant message.

Madeline: April Fool’s?

Jefferson: Are you getting an early start on some tomfoolery?

Madeline: No—how about I come to see you on the weekend of April Fool’s Day?

She wasn’t kidding. She had her finger on the trigger to confirm a reservation, pending my thumbs up on the itinerary.

Jefferson: Wheels up, Madeline. You are airborne.

Madeline and I have really hit it off since she contacted me after reading my blog.

We have a lot in common, as she goes through a divorce with a control freak, while raising two young boys. She’s very funny, and our online dates and phone calls are gosh darned hot as hell.

Our web cams brought out a strong physical attraction between us. And when she copycatted me with her own brilliant blog on juggling parenting and perversion, Madeline established that we are apparently sexually compatible –like, crazy.

I talked about her with my pal Marcus. “Wow, she seems perfect,” he said. “There must be something wrong with her.”

“Of course there’s something wrong with her,” I said. “She lives in the fucking Bible Belt! We will never meet.”

But now, it seemed, we were meeting.

We’ve had many conversations since then. She likes my blog, and she is curious about trying out some of the things I write about. But we are also just curious to get acquainted in person.

I asked her if there was anything special she wanted me to arrange for her. She demurred, leaving it to me, but adding, “You really care about Marcus. It would be great to meet him.”

Marcus agreed to come to town for one night of her visit.

I sounded her out on other ideas. I put some of my sex crew on red alert: you may or may not be called into action. Can I count on you?

I could.

I am so content to just see what happens.

Tonight, I got my kids to bed. She dropped off her boys with her parents. I poured a bourbon, cranked up the web cam, and we finalized plans.

Jefferson: You look far better groomed than I do, nice haircut.

Madeline: I had the help of professionals.

Jefferson: It's best to rely on professionals when there is that much work to do. You are pretty homely.

Madeline: Truer words have never been spoken.

Jefferson: Look; I want to clear up a few things before you get here.

Madeline: Okay.

Jefferson: Regarding bathrooms: I have one.

Madeline: I thought you might.

Jefferson: Showers and pissing are open; we can walk in on one another, no problem. But poop is private.

Madeline: Are you kidding me?

Jefferson: No one has ever seen me shit.

Madeline: People actually poop with one another in the same room?
Madeline: Fair enough. I don't want to be there. Thank you very much
Madeline: (I am so glad we are having this conversation.) Agreed.

Jefferson: Great. Now: food. Anything you want, you take. Don’t be asking: can I eat this? Are you sure?

Madeline: Okay. But what if I don't like your food? Like, what if you have the wrong peanut butter?

Jefferson: Then get your own damn peanut butter. Or let's go shopping. Or let’s send Marcus to buy peanut butter. We can solve that problem.

Madeline: Is he coming, for sure?

Jefferson: Don't make me backtrack. Yes, he is coming, and so you are very likely having sex with a total stranger who is one of my oldest friends. I thought we had been over that?

Madeline: Not fo’ shizzle. Okay, all clear.

Jefferson: Good. Now: sleep.

Madeline: Okay.

Jefferson: The side of the bed with the nightstand is my side. The nightstand is where my bourbon goes

Madeline: Of course it is. Duh.

Jefferson: I have no idea where you will keep your bourbon, but that is really your problem to solve.

Madeline: This is my setup as well, so I have no problem with the terms.

Jefferson: Very good. Also, I require two pillows. You may use as many or few as you chose, so long as I get my two.

Madeline: You can have them. I don't use pillows under my head.
Madeline: Only my hips
Madeline: While fucking.

Jefferson: That brings up another thing: fucking
Jefferson: We are probably going to fuck

Madeline: Well, yes.

Jefferson: Yes. I just want us to be clear about a few things regarding fucking.

Madeline: Okay! Hit me.
Madeline: (No, really. Hit me.)

Jefferson: Well, see, I might, actually.

Madeline: You know that I like that, right?

Jefferson: You have only made that abundantly clear.
Jefferson: I will agree to keep bruises and hickeys where they can't be seen when you are dressed

Madeline: Okay.

Jefferson: Now, when Marcus sleeps over . . . he is very hot, you know.

Madeline: Yes.

Jefferson: If I am asleep, and the two of you decide to have sex, you have to wake me. Because if he has sex with you, and I am not there, he will forever refer to that as the hottest sex ever.

Madeline: Oh, of course.

Jefferson: I will say, yes, Madeline is very sexy. He will say, you don't understand, I think she and I connected in some way that wasn't there when you were there.
Jefferson: This may or may not be true. He will just say it to taunt me that I missed the hottest sex ever.

Madeline: This is a good rule, I think.
Madeline: It should also be true for you, no?

Jefferson: Oh? You mean if Marcus and I go at it, I should wake you?

Madeline: Yes!

Jefferson: Good idea. We have the hottest sex ever. You don't want to miss that.

Madeline: Absolutely not. So it's settled.

Jefferson: Well, that is settled, but we aren't done yet.
Jefferson: Back to sleep: as you know, I snore.

Madeline: And I told you . . . that is comforting to me.

Jefferson: I’m glad! But you really need to stop being perfect if you are going to continue to live 1200 miles away from mw. If you find that my snoring is less than comforting, I am granting you a privilege: you tell me to get the fuck out of bed.

Madeline: Oh, no you didn't.

Jefferson: Oh yes I did. If you decline this privilege, the couch is very comfortable and the twin bed more so.

Madeline: I don't want the taco futon.

Jefferson: No, you do not. Now: suitcase, you are welcome to live out of your suitcase, but I am happy to clear out a drawer for you. I have many drawers.

Madeline: Honey, I don't think I’m bringing much at all. But what I do bring will, I’m sure, fit into a small drawer. I would like that.

Jefferson: good. I will prepare a drawer for you. I think that covers it from my end. Otherwise, standard room mate stuff. You use it, you wash it. You spill it, you clean it up.

Jefferson: Oh! And music.

Madeline: Oh! Music

Jefferson: Music plays pretty constantly. The radio station is WFUV until they start fundraising on Monday. We listen to Big Broadcast on Sunday. This is non-negotiable.

Madeline: Of course! I was thinking the exact thing!!
Madeline: Um, you are blowing my mind.

Jefferson: I’m just getting started on your mind, and on blowing you.
Jefferson: Pay attention though.
Jefferson: We need to agree on a house joke for the weekend.

Madeline: Okay. (She likes this idea!)

Jefferson: Anytime you find one of those Goddamned strands of plastic Easter grass that are a plague on my home . . . you have to pick it up, throw it down, and exclaim: “Christ on the Cross!”

We laughed about that. Candy is a bane for each of us.

Madeline: I threw out my kids’ faux greenery while they slept. Jack asked me this morning: Where's the Easter grass?
Madeline: I told him that the bunny needed to save it for next year. He recycles. So he came and took it back.

Jefferson: Fucking genius, mama.

Madeline: Well, the little one was pissed, but he can't argue with the Easter
Bunny. Or the EPA.

Jefferson: I tried to throw out Lillie’s grass, which was piled on the floor. She curtly informed me that it was a nest for her Peeps. So it stayed on the floor.

Madeline: Oh, jeez. Maybe you and Marcus can make s’mores from the Peeps.

Jefferson: But I have to wake you if we do so, cf previous rule.

Madeline: Of course. Then we could have Peeps s’mores in the fort.

Jefferson: The fort we are making under the dining room table, with the sheets?

Madeline: Will the three of us fit, with the Peeps?

Jefferson: We can only try.

We smiled.

Madeline: I am looking forward to this.

Jefferson: Me too. It’s a date.

Madeline: Damn promising date.

Jefferson: No kidding, huh?

Madeline: No fooling.