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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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30 August 2005


Heart Shaped Bruise

I am checking my email on Jefferson’s computer.

“Breakfast, baby.”

Bacon. Toast. Grapes. Eggs carefully cracked into heart-shaped molds.

It still makes me smile.

Jefferson's ex-Father-in-law is staying over this evening… “Madeline, how do you feel about that?”

“Fine by me, but it’s your call, baby. We can go stay at Viv’s.”

“I want you here, in my space, in my bed.”

“Done. Let’s go out and play.”

Jefferson indulges my Vermeer fetish.

Crossing the park, music and voices in the air; Madeline stops short.

“Jefferson, do you KNOW who that is?”

Slowly shaking head…

“Elvis and Emmylou, honey. Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.”

Blanket on the grass

A Summerstage picnic

Wine and roast chicken. Watermelon slices and Love Hurts.



Our Last Night.



24 August 2005


Sweetest Downfall

It is 7:30 and the sun is shining.

We’d done some writing and caught up on emails Sunday night, then eaten the duck with noodles and gone to bed early.

Now, it was Monday morning, and the sounds of the workday were starting outside. I snuggled closer, glad we had no plans.

“Jefferson? Are you awake? Baby, can you hear me?”

He looks so sweet asleep. No snores, just peaceful slumber, a slight smile on his lips which I touch lightly with my finger. He flinches, and turns toward me, opening his eyes and smiling. Then he is gone again.

“I love you,” I whisper, as I kiss his forehead and slide out of bed.

I throw on my dress and go to the kitchen. I wash the dishes and wipe down the counters. I get a glass of water and walk to the living room. The Sunday New York Times sits, unread, on the couch. I pick up the front page.

I am reading a piece on the families of people missing from the London train bombings, several days earlier.

It breaks my heart.

Maybe it was the thought of something terrible happening to one of my children.

Maybe it's just the terrific uncertainty we've grown accustomed to in the wake of so much international terrorism, in the age of Homeland Security

Maybe it has nothing to do with London or 9-11 or Lockerbie or Entebbe at all. Maybe it is the knowledge that I have a short time left here, I’ve gotten comfortable in this space, and I don’t want to leave. I feel sad and then guilty. My life is good. Nobody is dead or missing.

I put the paper down and cry. Really cry. It feels good.

I hear Jefferson in the bathroom and quickly go to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

I make coffee and splash water on my face in the kitchen as Jefferson brushes his teeth.

I go out one end of the kitchen to meet him; he’s gone ‘round the other way to meet me. We chase each other in circles, never catching up.

“Stop!!” I finally say, laughing.

We meet in the kitchen, where the coffee is steeping.

“’Morning, sweetheart. How long have you been up? What’ve you been doing?”

“Not long. I did dishes and read the paper.”

“That’s just so…domestic.”

We laugh.

I ready the coffee cups while Jefferson turns on the radio. It is WFUV’s CityFolk Morning. We listened to the Big Broadcast last night while writing at our respective computers.

After the first coffee of the day, I am ready to work. Jefferson sits at his desk and I turn on my laptop, at the end of the dining room table.

I am struck by the familiarity of it all, “This feels so like Monday morning at home!”

When I am writing at home, I listen to the live stream of WFUV online. Jefferson usually has it in the background at his place.

“It does feel like Monday; it’s a good way to start the week, with this music, eh?”

We write, taking the occasional break to make more coffee or refill water glasses.

At around 3, I decide I can’t do any more. I go to the couch and start up again with the paper.

Jefferson sighs.

“What is it, baby?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just fielding IMs from various folks.”

(ugly head beginning to rear…). You know, I think I’m going to go into the bedroom and read or something.”

“Okay, love. I won’t be much longer with this.”

“Take your time.”

I grab the Magazine and walk to the bedroom. I know who was online and it is starting to annoy me. The messages had been going on all day, all weekend, and would continue through my visit.

I guess it’s because, when I know that Jefferson has guests—especially sleepover guests—I try to give him space. I’ll check in, and we may have a conversation, but I always wish him a fun evening/weekend/whatever with whomever. I try to have respect for his other lovers.

It’s difficult to do when the lovers are not respectful or are even hurtful of our relationship and his relationships with others.

When they know how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other. When they know how far apart we are.

I sitin the middle of the bed, cross my legs and close my eyes. I can feel my indignation rising behind them. I take a deep breath.

Insecurities are starting to swirl in my stomach. I focus on them, one by one…

…and one by one they retreat.

I feel …lucky.

Lucky to be involved with someone who is as crazy for me as I am for him.
Lucky that I’ve managed to arrange the things in my life to come for this visit.
Lucky that he’s made room in his life for me, and asked me to consider staying for more days.

I’m lucky that I’m able to recognize jealousy, insecurity and irrationality, in myself and in others. Especially in myself. It helps remind me of my power over my emotions. It reminds me that there is a reason for feelings as intense as these.

It just makes sense.

And thinking about it now, with all that’s happened I’m not so sure I truly believe in luck.

I fit my earbuds over my ears and select a playlist on my iPod. The workers outside are drilling and pounding away at the building, but soon I hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing. And this song.


You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
I loved you first
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
I have to go
I have to go

Your hair was long
When we first met

Samson went back to bed
Not much hair left on his head
Ate a slice of Wonder bread and
Went right back to bed

And the history books forgot about us
And the bible didn’t mention us
And the bible didn’t mention us
Not even once.

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
I loved you first
Beneath the stars keep falling
On our heads
But they’re just old light
They’re just old light.

Your hair was long
When we first met

Samson came to my bed
Told me that my hair was red
Told me I was beautiful and
Came into my bed

Oh, I cut his hair myself one night
A pair of dull scissors and the yellow light
And he told me that I’d done alright and
Kissed me till the morning light, the morning light
And he kissed me till the morning light.

Samson went back to bed,
Not much hair left on his head
Ate a slice of Wonder bread and
Went right back to bed

Oh, we couldn’t bring the columns down, yeah, we
Couldn’t destroy a single one
And the history books forgot about us
And the bible didn’t mention us
Not even once.

You are my sweetest downfall
…I loved you first.

I play it for Jefferson later while standing behind him at the computer.

Never looking at the screen.

Not even once.


Hey, Jealousy!

It’s the million-dollar question.

How can I be involved with Jefferson, who is involved with other people, and not be jealous?

How can I be involved with Marcus, the misunderstood slut, who has regular fuckbuddies and sex clients- the graphic details of which he shares with me- and not feel jealous?

Madeline, how do you avoid feelings of jealousy?


I don’t.

I think jealousy is a good tool for introspection. It feels awful, but when I recognize that I’m feeling jealous or envious or otherwise excluded, I force myself to consider why.

Jealousy, though convenient to blame on the actions or inactions of another person, is always about oneself. Jealousy feeds on insecurity. If I’m feeling insecure, I almost always start to have feelings of the green persuasion.

I am not normally jealous or possessive. When my ex, Daniel and I first got together, we would go to parties and clubs where he would be surrounded by women-- some friends, some flirts. I gave it very little thought. My girlfriends would ask me, incredulously, why it didn’t bother me that Daniel talked with, danced with or even flirted with other women.

“He loves me. I trust him,” was all I needed to say, and they would go off, shaking their heads.

When my marriage ended, the final straw was his lying to me in the wake of an affair. I met the woman he’d been with before they’d started sleeping together. My intuition told me not to trust her, but I never felt jealous. I trusted Daniel.

It wasn’t the affair that ended it for me; the problem was the dishonesty and betrayal of my trust.

It's why I don't fuck married men. It's why I couldn't get involved with anyone who was attached unless their partner was aware of it. Bad Karma. Really Fucking Bad.

The friends who’d shaken their heads at me now returned, saying,

“You see?! You can’t trust anyone but yourself.”

I don’t believe that. And I guess I could have taken that experience of being betrayed by someone I loved and run with it. I could have made generalizations about all men, all men of his nationality or culture, all men named Daniel.

It could have made me extra-cautious about trusting people in the future.

I’ve told Marcus and Jefferson and the other people I’m involved with that the only thing I want from them is honesty. I can handle just about anything as long as I know what is expected of me. Life is full of uncertainties; knowing my role in their lives shouldn’t be one of them.

That’s why, on this visit, when I was standing behind Jefferson, rubbing his shoulders as he responded to emails, I never looked at the screen. Not at the emails, not at the IMs. He’s told me his feelings for me and how I fit in his life. That’s enough.

I don’t need to go looking for validation or for a reason to distrust him. There really is no reason for him to hide anything significant from me; it’s not in his nature, anyway. So I know about the instant messages and the emails and the dirty pictures that people send.

But I respect his privacy. I don’t look at them.

Ever. Unless, of course, he shows them to me.

And it’s cool. Most of the time.

16 August 2005



Monday Evening

Back from our meeting with Marla at the pizzeria, we ended up on Jefferson’s terrace.

“Look how everything good just keeps happening, baby,” he says to me, “we get all the right trains, we spend so much time having sex that there’s no time for you to spend any money, and just as we’re getting ready to go out to eat, in comes an invitation from Marla, dinner and rough sex talk included.”

“Yeah, darlin, I am probably the only person to come to New York for a week and SAVE money…"

“I really am glad we get so much time together. I like being able to hang out and talk. I just want to know everything about you. Like, every thought; every freckle.”

“Jefferson, it’s amazing how easy this is for me; being here with you…that’s what makes the rest of it so hard… you know, because the hardest parts are already so easy.”

“It’s what makes us ‘us.’ We get it. And don’t forget that I loved you before I ever knew what you looked like.”

“I loved you first.”

“I loved you first!”

I am sitting on his lap, straddling his thighs, kissing him.

“Shall we continue this conversation horizontally?”


I don’t know what it was—our conversation about the book he wanted me to read, or something equally scintillating—that made me so anxious to get him naked.

But I wanted that boy more than anything.

Most of the time when I initiate sex, it is indirectly. I’ll press my ass back against my lover or run my fingers over a particularly sensitive spot or give a look, and that’s that. I get fucked. Tonight, though, I was all about being direct.

Jefferson was lying naked on his back as I undressed and stepped toward the bed. I crawled over him, straddling his body and holding his hands while I kissed him, stroking his chest with mine.

I was quiet. Slow. Deliberate.

I slid my torso down the length of his, and back up again.

His eyes were closed.

I moved my mouth to his right nipple. He sucked in a breath and his hips shifted. I took my time with his nipples, tracing them with my tongue; first flat, then with the tip, then sucking each one. I released his arms.

I traced the hair on his stomach down to his cock, wrapping my hand around it, feeling its pulse and noticing the throbbing of my clit, keeping time.

I took a few long licks and slid my mouth onto his cock, just enough to get it wet. His hands were in my hair.

“Baby… sweety..”

I wanted this to last. But I had to have him in me.

“I need to fuck you now.”

I reached for a condom and rolled it on. He looked up at me, so sweet and blond and pacific. I touched his face, kissed his mouth and lowered my body onto his. The initial sensation was almost more than I could bear.

My voice caught in my throat.

My pussy started contracting, pushing itself to cum.

I stopped, breathed, and rode him slowly, my feet tucked under his thighs.

The room was quiet, except for our breathing and the constant hum of the air conditioner.

His hands went to my hips and stomach, then my breasts. I was rocking back and forth on his cock, my left hand on my clit, and the right one on Jefferson’s leg. I needed to cum. A lot.

I picked up the pace, my body moving like a serpent, arms at my sides, then pinching my nipples, then lifting my ass, feeling his cock rubbing my g spot while I ground my clit into him.

And then Madeline went away.

This, in itself, is not a new phenomenon. I regularly float in subspace during rough sex and beatings, but this went a step further. I was aware of what I was doing, but the experience was so intense it was as if my body wasn’t mine. Something else had taken over.

I was filled with the souls of women--sisters, mothers, daughters--since the beginning of time: The Divine Mother. The Eternal Feminine.

This had happened to me twice before, when my children were born. I was connected at such a primal level with my body; I literally felt the ancient sexual and spiritual power of women coursing through it.

It is the strangest and most amazing feeling; like I am powerless—me, Madeline—but through this thing, this embodiment, this occupation, my body is the most powerful instrument in the universe.

So I welcome it; I let it take over.

I remember fucking him unbelievably hard and fast and not feeling taxed, not wanting it to end. I know I came many times. I remember my voice (Was it my voice?) moaning.

I remember thoughts and emotions that weren’t my own: Joy, desperation, anger, love and a strange, beautiful, overwhelming sadness. I felt it in every cell of my body.

My heart was breaking.

I laughed.

I spoke.

I wept, my head on his shoulder.

“My darling, my baby, ssshhhh.”

He turned me over slowly. My head was swimming. I was still not myself.

As he made love to me, I tried to focus my eyes on his face; my thoughts on the present. But there was something residual in my head. I needed to get it out.

I looked at his sweet face, staring down at me.

“Fuck me like you don’t know me.”

He hesitated, and then started pounding, harder and faster.

“Fuck me like you don’t care, goddammit!”

He did.

I came.

He shot on my chest.

Tuesday morning

Jefferson’s arm is under my neck where he left it when we fell asleep. I am on my back, his hand resting between my breasts.

I stretch and turn my face to his. He blinks his eyes open and smiles.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hi, baby.”

We lay there, silent. I am trying to wrap my head around what had happened; around that Rapture. I am desperately piecing together fragments of the night before, trying to make sense of it. I need to understand it. Except I can't. Finally I speak, my voice barely a whisper,

“Jefferson, that was so…what WAS that?”

He pushes the hair from my eyes, "Are you okay, honey?"

"God, yes, I'm fine...are you okay?"

"Madeline, I'm fine! You were just so...on. What was IN that pizza?!"

I laugh a little, secure now, knowing that we're both in one piece.

"I mean it," he continues, "that sex was something else."

“That sex was Goddamned Pentecostal, is what it was!”

We laugh.


“Seriously, darlin,” I say, “the only thing missing was a box of snakes.”

14 August 2005



Sunday Evening

“Talk to you later, cherie. Get some rest...”

We kissed Viviane goodbye at her stop, then continued on to ours.

The train was full of people with shopping bags, looking drained and hot. I rested my cheek on Jefferson’s shoulder as he held my hand and kissed the top of my head.

A couple in their fifties, clearly on vacation sat across from us. The woman looked at me and we smiled at each other. A few seconds passed, and when I glanced back their hands were clasped together on his leg.

I closed my eyes and nestled closer.

At our stop we bought a Sunday paper, and then floated up to the apartment.

Drinking water, Jefferson asked, “So, baby, what do you vote we do?”

“I really want to veg out, maybe watch a movie? I’m not good for writing anything yet.”

“You’ve brought Kinsey! I’d watch it again.”

“Of course you would. You get to see Peter Sarsgaard nekkid. He's so yummy...”

We take off our clothes and he goes to refill glasses. I spray myself with the water bottle and towel off, deciding to put on underwear.

I walk toward the kitchen to help with the drinks and nearly run into Jefferson coming around the corner. He stops short, and his mouth drops a bit when he sees what I’m wearing.

He says nothing; just follows me into the bedroom where he starts the DVD.

We settle back together, watching the true story of two people, who by coincidence or fate meet, fall in love and become part of an international discourse about sex.


I start thinking about how my early experiences with adult love affects the way I am today. I’m talking about how I saw my parents express love, which was not much. Not openly. They had five children together, but I don’t remember seeing them kiss or hug each other in any way other than quickly, as an aside.

There was always an air of sexual tension in my parents’ house which I attribute to the difficulty of making time for each other while raising five small children.

I remember hearing them making love one night through the wall separating my room from theirs. I was eleven. I knew what they were doing. I wondered then why he never touched her in front of us.

I was thirty before I ever heard him say to my mother, loud and clear, without any prompting, "I love you."

I started making a point of telling my parents that I loved them when I was in high school. A classmate of mine had been killed in a car accident which is, I’m certain, what prompted me to tell my family and friends that I loved them.

Every day.

So they’d know.

In case anything bad happened.

It makes me so happy when my children, apropos of nothing, wrap their arms around my waist or knees, saying, “I love you, Momma!”

As many mistakes as I make as a parent, I know that this is not one of them; they always know that they are loved, and they are not hesitant about expressing it to others. I'm glad of that.

I'm glad, too, that I can be in love with Jefferson, and he with me, and it doesn't hurt either of us knowing that there are others with whom we can share ourselves.

The movie ends and Jefferson and I are lying down, his fingers skimming the skin of my stomach, stopping at my panties. I tense and relax my stomach muscles.

We are giggling at the Kinsey Archives’ animal sex videos at the end of the credits. I roll from side to side, clutching my stomach, as Jefferson, putting on the Voice of the Porcupine says,

“Come on, baby….suck it…..suck it...”

I am breathless from laughing, smiling.

I prop myself onto an elbow and kiss him, touching his face.

It is so easy, this love.

I move my body down and straddle his right leg to lick and suck his nipples. My hand reaches for his cock, which is semi-hard.

“What do you want to do now, Jefferson? Read the paper?”

“That is one of the options on the short list, yes…we could also write or take a nap or have sex. But if we have sex, you might not be able to form coherent thoughts for your readers…”

He is well schooled in my sex hangover symptoms. And he is absolutely right.

“Well, my pussy can wait until later to have you inside it. But I don’t know that my mouth can."

Now, you may believe me or not; it really doesn’t matter. I did not keep count of every single time Jefferson’s cock was in my body over the course of those six days, but I can tell you this: That was the hottest blowjob EVER.

Maybe it’s because I never removed my white cotton bra and panties.

Maybe it’s because it was cocksucking for cocksucking’s sake.

There was no leading toward something else—something greater—this was it. I wanted to give him pleasure: physically, visually and emotionally, without needing anything in return.

Except that I always get something in return.

It excites me when his dick grows in my mouth. When it twitches and bobs and he sighs and holds my head and feeds it to me, burying it in my mouth and holding still so I can suckle; my tongue and lips forming a quiet suction around his shaft.

I stop and ask him a question. I want to know exactly what he likes and why; I want to know what it means when he moves a certain way, and what makes it different. How I can increase his enjoyment.

After all, we write about sex. We’d just spent two hours watching a movie about a sexual clinician. Matter-of-fact talk works just fine for us.

We are quiet, enjoying ourselves in the evening light of his bedroom.

His breathing quickens, and his hips thrust upward as his legs bend and extend and his body arches. He lifts his head, lips parted. His hand on my head.

“Unnh… I’m cumming.”

I smile and sit back, jerking his shaft.

“No kidding.”

I climb up to his face once he’s finished. He looks at me, half-laughs, and smiles. I kiss his mouth, and stare at his eyes, our faces nearly touching. My hair is falling around us. I am making a memory of the way I feel at this moment.

I’ve done it with my children since they were born. I’ll find myself with them and close my eyes, making an imprint in my mind, because I want to remember this sight/sound/pain/love/taste/smell forever.

I look at Jefferson and feel my soul in transit. I want to crawl through his eyes and live inside his skin.

10 August 2005


Dim Threesum


I wake up at 9 AM and walk to the bathroom to pee. The bite mark above my collarbone has turned dark purple, my ass and sides are crossed with red lines from the crop, and there are more bites on my calves.

I brush my teeth and splash my face. I slide back into bed and finish the water on the nightstand. I lean over to kiss Jefferson’s sleeping head and Viviane opens her eyes.

“’Morning, sunshine. It’s 9:00. Think we’ll be at dim sum by 11:30?!”

“Christ…how late were we up?”

“5:30. ‘Cause we’re fucking nuts.”

We go back to sleep for another hour. I turn onto my side and wake up with Jefferson’s cock hard against my ass. My clit is throbbing. I put two fingers on it, and just press, rocking my hips slightly. My pussy is wet against his thigh.

Viviane gets up to go to the bathroom. Jefferson takes out a condom and rolls me onto my back. He smoothes my hair from my face and kisses me as his cock presses into my cunt. We make love for the better part of an hour while Viviane watches and fondles my nipples. We are moving slowly, circling our hips while his cock stays inside me, and then switching back to forward thrusts.

It feels so good; I cum, quivering from my toes to my scalp.

Jefferson moves from me to Viviane, putting on a fresh condom and taking on her rhythm. I lean on the pillows with my water and gather the strength to get up.

I walk nude to the kitchen and refill my glass. I drink a huge slug of orange juice from the carton. When I walk back to the room I was struck by what I saw. Jefferson is on top of Viviane, and I set my glass down on the bookcase, stopping to look at his feet.

I've becomed very attached to Jefferson's feet in the last few days, with many foot rubs and toe poppings exchanged. I’d had his toes in my pussy at one point last night. Now I just wanted to suck on them.

I sat on the edge of the bed and took a foot in both hands. I flicked my tongue in between his toes and sucked each one, biting gently.

I had a nice view of his cock sliding in and out of Viviane’s pussy. He switched his rhythm and pulled her legs up. I moved away and sat in the chair to watch and drink my water.

I wanted to give them time without me in the mix, and it was a nice show. They had been at it for a good 40 minutes.

Viviane looked over at me. I smiled, and she extended her hand, pulling me into their space.

I kissed her and sucked her breast. She put her hand on my pussy, then found my clit. I sat up, moving with Jefferson’s pace as he fucked her, circling myself around her fingers.

I looked to Jefferson. We kissed and looked back at Viviane as we sped things up. I arched my back, grabbed my ass cheeks and came. As my orgasm ended, Jefferson’s began.

He left the room and Viviane and I lay together on the bed, basking in the glow of the recently laid.

When Jefferson returned, he laughed as he surveyed the room.

“This place looks like one of those ‘guess what happened here’ games!”

It’s true. With the piles of rope on the floor and hanging from doorways, the collection of condom wrappers strewn about, the shirt-draped television and collection of butt plugs and lube on the nightstand, it really is comical. I appoint myself staff archivist and photograph the scene.

Viviane gets up to shower and call her friends, whom we won’t be joining for dim sum. It is 11:00 and Jefferson and I stay in bed while she does.

“That was some mighty fine het’rosexual lovin’, baby.”

I laughed.

“Mmmmm, Jefferson, the last two days have been so awesome, us with Viviane. I’ve had so much fun. I just can’t imagine topping last night and this morning. And you know, I kind of don’t want to try.”

“You’re right. Let’s go for dim sum, toy shopping, and call it a day. We may all need to recover. And I do want you to myself some more.”

Jefferson and I shower together, dress and the three of us head toward the subway. Viviane and I walk together on Canal Street, commenting on how annoying it is when people walk without purpose. Jefferson brings up the rear.

We spend the next hour and change drinking strong tea, eating dim sum and trying to come out of our sex-induced comas. I feel stupid. And silly. And sleepy. And full.

Jefferson decides to get dinner to take home and buys half a roasted duck and noodles for later.

We hail a cab and ride over to Purple Passion. Fetishistas rejoice! Jefferson and Viviane spend their time looking at the floggers and cat o’nine tails, while I head for the nipple clamps and strap-on harnesses.

I end up buying a set of Smart Balls, which I can tell you now are VERY nice. Highly recommended. I’ve been walking around with them inside me and I can feel my already strong PC muscles getting stronger.

Watch out- soon I’ll be crushing walnuts with my pussy.

We cross to the subway and sit on the train like three zombies.

“What are you guys gonna do for the rest of the day?”

“I was thinking I might try and write some…I’ve been here for three days and I haven’t written a thing. I’m going to start forgetting soon. And I need to get a handle on this stupid sex coma…I can’t put two thoughts together.”
(Me: stupid grin…)

“I’d like to write, too. And perhaps a nap is in the offing?”
(He: looks at me inquisitively...)

“I was thinking I might go hang out at my building’s pool.”
(She: stares blankly ahead…)

I am snapped back to my senses.

“Viv, baby, get real. You can’t go to the pool with those bruises.”

It was true. Viviane had a huge bruise on her upper arm, and bite marks on her upper chest, tits and stomach.


08 August 2005


Bitches and Switches

Saturday Evening

Viviane arrives about 7:00, carrying two bottles of wine and a riding crop.

We open one of the bottles and take it out to the terrace.

Jefferson and I had had sex early in the morning. This is becoming our pattern; sex on sleeping and on waking.Nobody's complaining. It has been sweet and delicious. Comfortable, domestic and connected. Normal.

We ate breakfast and spent several hours walking around the city, ending up at a photography exhibit in Williamsburg. We met the artist and his wife. The four of us stood around, drinking beer and flirting with their baby girl.

It was a very hot day. By the time we got home, we were beat. Jefferson and I ended up asleep together on the couch and awoke when Viviane knocked at the door.

We finish our wine and crudité and I get dressed to go out. I hate wearing pants in the heat of summer, so I’ve mainly brought skirts and dresses with me. I wear the white cotton knee-length skirt with the sequins and a tangerine top. I put on my strappy sandals. Big mistake. By the end of the evening I have matching sores on the tops of my feet.

We had plans for dinner and a movie. Viviane had told me about the Louis Malle film series at the Walter Reade, and got us tickets for Au Revoir, les Enfants, one of my favorite films. We go to dinner at a casual place, where Viviane and Jefferson order salads. I order a cheeseburger, which Jefferson covets, tastes, and to which he refers for the rest of my visit. It’s a good fucking cheeseburger.

By the time we arrive at the theatre, the film is just starting. We grab three seats together near the front and sit girl-boy-girl. Viviane and I have seen the film, but it is Jefferson’s first time.

In WWII France, three Jewish boys are taken in by the priests at an exclusive boarding school in the country. Their identities as Jews are kept secret from the other students.

It is such a sad movie and, like Life is Beautiful, one whose context would make any attempts at humor dubious, but it succeeds in creating an often-funny world of privileged schoolboys who never had a care, becoming painfully aware of politics of the world surrounding them.

It is a story of friendship, trust, betrayal and honor. The words of the final scene still echo in my head.

When it ends, tears are rolling down my cheeks like they always do. He wipes them away. Like he always does.

We go back to the apartment, talking about the film and laughing at one line in particular, when two of the schoolboys, having been told the book will give them hard-ons, are reading a story from 1,001 Arabian Nights which refers to the “narrow passage of the Chinese girl.”

Viviane is Asian-American. We all laughed a little too loudly at that reference in the theatre.

I go to the back bedroom and take off my skirt. When I walk back to the living room wearing only a t-shirt, I lay a towel onto the couch and have a seat.

Viviane gasps.

“Hey baby,” says Jefferson, “whatcha doin’ without’cho skirt?”

I shrug my shoulders, put my feet on his lap and grin. Then I wonder aloud, “Why didn’t Marcus ever call us back today?”

Jefferson and I had talked to Marcus while walking in Williamsburg, but a call came in and he had to go. Probably a client. We call again now and leave a message.

Then I remember what Colton had said about eating a girl’s pussy and telling her it was from him. I had already told Jefferson, but I told Viviane now, as Jefferson dialed Colton’s number. It was early on the west coast.

Again with the voicemail.

“Colton, baby, this is Jefferson. I’m sitting here with Madeline and Viviane,”

‘Hi, Colton!’

“…and Maddie told me about how you wanted her to suck my cock and say it was from you. Baby, it was so good. I was calling to have her do it again so you could hear, but we’ll just have to save that for next time.”

Viviane and I are laughing hysterically on the sofa as Jefferson closes my phone.

Suddenly I want to feel that riding crop on my ass. I stand, walk over to the table and pick it up, slapping the leather end into my palm. It stings.

“Come here, sweet thing.”

I walk back to Jefferson and straddle him in his chair. He pulls my head towards him and kisses me.

“You want to be spanked?”


He hands the crop to Viviane. I get on my knees on the couch, facing the wall. She takes a couple practice swats on my ass.

“I want to be tied up and beaten.”

“Alright, girls. Let’s go.”

Jefferson throws us together on the bed. I am kneeling beside Viviane, who is on her back.

“You are so pretty,” I say, and kiss her.

Jefferson moves between her legs. Soon he’s replaced his mouth with my fingers and we are both sucking a breast.

“Unnh, who is that? Whose fingers are in me?”

“Oh, you know whose fingers those are, Viviane.”

Jefferson is feeding Viviane his cock. He turns to me.

“What are you waiting for? Strap on your dick, honey. You get to fuck Viviane.”

My heart leaps!

I’ve jokingly threatened several times to use my strap-on with Viviane, and she has politely declined every time.

I brought it just in case.

“Is that okay, Viviane? Can I fuck you with my purple cock?”


Jefferson pulls out of her mouth, “Yeah, I think I’d like that,” then, covering her eyes in disbelief, “Oh, my god.”

I go to the chair and step into the harness, pulling the straps tight around my hips. I roll on a condom and put a drop of lube on my cock. It’s only 6” long, but about 2” thick, and Viviane has that whole “narrow passage” thing going on.

I kneel between her legs and tell Jefferson to help me hold them back. I rub my cock down her slit and slowly press into her. She draws a breath.

I start fucking, my hips moving in tandem with hers. She sucks Jefferson, who is holding her left leg up while I hold her right. My right hand holds the base of the dildo.

The problem with my strap-on harness is that there’s no pad between the dildo and my pubic bone. Between her wetness, the lube and my sweat, things get slippery and the dildo isn’t held firmly in place.

I’ll have to be looking for a new one. Leather. With a pad. And interchangeable rings for different dildos.

I make a mental note.

Viviane is gasping and moaning and about to cum. Jefferson has been fucking her face and looking from her to me. She pulls my hips toward her and takes my cock all the way in. Her body shakes as she cums.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! That was so hot!” I kiss her, then pull out and toss the condom, laughing all the way. I step out of the straps and stand beside the bed while Jefferson helps Viviane up to sitting.

“You fucked her so well, baby.”

“Thank you! God, I need more water! Am I going to get that beating now?”

“Of course you are. Viviane and I are going to tie you up and beat you.”

“Okay, but could I make a request? Could I be standing up? I don’t know if I need to be tethered to anything; I promise to hold still, but I would like to stand. Please? I’ll leave you to decide what you’d like to do. Anyone need more water?”

I come back to the bedroom and Jefferson’s genius is showing: He has wrapped a long piece of rope around the bar in the closet and brought it up over the top of the door, closing it.

He has also thrown a shirt onto the television set, dimming the annoying blue light it casts.

I take a drink and Viviane steps up, handing Jefferson a length of rope. He binds my breasts, crossing my torso with diamonds. It is tight, but feels so good when I take a breath and feel the rope dig into my ribs.

I am still sweating and flushed from fucking Viviane.

“Poor baby, you’re so hot…this’ll cool you off,” he says, as he sprays me from head to toe with a squirt bottle filled with water.

I gasp.

He kisses me as Viviane gets another length of rope to tie my wrists. Jefferson secures the wrist tie to the rope on the door, turning my body to face it.

“Thankyoubaby,” I whisper as he pulls the knot tight.

He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back. His other hand rests on my ass. He starts smacking it. Viviane is smacking the other side, building up to harder slaps.

I lean forward, sticking my ass out to take the blows, spreading my feet wide. Viviane switches to the crop, hitting my ass, varying the rhythm and intensity.

Jefferson is smacking me and pulling my hair. I am out of my head, enjoying the high this is giving me. Time and sequence have disappeared and I am floating, resting my cheek on my shoulder.

Then, I am back. And wet, and sucking in my breath, pulling against the restraining rope in the doorway in an attempt to push back against…

“Unnnnhhh……………uh, fuck, Jefferson!”

Jefferson is fucking my ass, filling it and rocking my hips back and forth.

Viviane has ditched the crop, sitting herself down between me and the door. It’s like she knows exactly what I want: a finger on my clit. She does one better (or was it two? Three?).

“God, Madeline,” Viviane says as I cum into her hand.

I look back at Jefferson, who has slowed down. His arm wraps around my waist. I lean my head back, enjoying the aftershocks of my orgasm.

I am turned around, back to the closet door, hands above my head, legs wide. Viviane is on her knees, hands on my hips. I feel her chin-length hair grazing the insides of my thighs.

Thank god for the rope; without it I would have fallen over. I am swimming in subspace, eyes closed, convincing myself that I can breathe underwater.

Viviane stands and kisses me, and then she is gone from the room. I feel Jefferson at my side, untying my wrists, unbinding my chest. He holds me, smoothing the hair from my eyes, whispering.

By the time we fall asleep, the three of us in the bed, dawn is breaking. It is 5:30 AM.

I regret that I can’t give more detailed account of what happened with Viviane and Jefferson after I was bound; at that point I was so overcome that the only real thoughts I could process were those fragments related to the sensations I was feeling. Those of you who understand the physiology of submission—of completely letting go—know that with the flood of endorphins comes a sort of amnesia.

It was several days before I remembered much of the above account, the pieces drifting upward through my subconscious, finally to be picked up by my conscious mind, delighted to regain this knowledge, and to file it with the rest.

04 August 2005



Friday Evening

“How does this feel?”

“Shit, Maddie, that hurts!”

“Breathe through it; it’ll be much better, I promise.”

I am working on Viviane’s upper back muscles, which are crazy tight from so many hours of blogging.

It is Viviane’s birthday. She had dinner out, and then had planned on coming by Jefferson’s apartment for drinks afterwards.

Viviane and I have been chatting for a couple months online, and she has generously linked to this blog, while supplying the cats and kittens of the blogosphere with more sex info than they could ask for.

Jefferson and I were having sex around 9 PM when she phoned. Jefferson was fucking me, and I grabbed the phone.

“She’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“Perfect,” Jefferson says, his thumb on my clit as he angles his cock up toward my G spot.

We finish up and I splash water onto my face and towel off.

“Sweetheart, do I need to get dressed? Or can I just wear my slipdress?”

“Just wear what you’re wearing. Viviane’s already seen your naked picture, baby. I don’t think she expects to see you fully clothed, ever.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

I toss on my cotton slipdress, and we remake the bed.

There is a knock on the door. I go to open it, and Viviane is standing there, with a knowing smile. “Okay, kids, I’m intoxicated,” she says.

I am so glad to finally meet her. I give her a hug. Jefferson kisses her hello.

“Happy Birthday, Viviane!”

Viviane is an inch or so taller than I am, with dark hair in the same cut as mine. Pale, smooth skin and red lips. She looks like a doll. I like her because she is a fellow smart person and a grownup. We have developed a sisterly bond in the last few months. I think she is as excited as I am that Jefferson and I are getting to spend time together.

We’ve chatted about a lot of things, one of which is the possibility that we'll need a code word for when I’d like to be left alone with Jefferson. It is so nice to be that honest and up front with her. I’m not worried about it, and I trust that things will go well.

Viviane swears she doesn’t expect to have sex with us.


Jefferson pours drinks which we decide to take to the terrace and enjoy the breeze. We are chatting like old friends. Jefferson and I smoke cigars.

We go inside, and I show her photos of my kids. She mentions that her shoulders have been aching from all the computer work she’s been doing.

“Well, I can help with that,” I say. I move beside her on the sofa and start massaging the tender spots with my thumb first, then with my elbow.

“Ach, God, that’s so tight!”

“I think it would be easier if you were lying down, Viviane;
Jefferson, I think Viviane and I are going to the bedroom to work on these kinks.”

“Oh, excellent idea.”

Viviane lies facedown on the bed and I start digging into the offending shoulder blade. Jefferson comes in and kneels at the end of the bed, where he starts massaging Viviane’s feet. He moves up her legs. We catch each others’ eye and kiss above her body.

Viviane rolls onto her side, sliding out from underneath us and Jefferson takes off her dress, saying he doesn’t want it to wrinkle.

“What? What are you doing?”

“We’re just getting you naked, Viviane. It’s just us.”

“But, this wasn't the plan... um, this is not what I expected…”

I pull off my dress and toss it into the chair.

“Viviane, please stop talking. Jefferson, will you do something about her?”

Jefferson turns Viviane onto her back and starts kissing her and massaging her breasts.

I touch a nipple, and then take it into my mouth, flicking it with my tongue and gently nibbling it. She gasps.

I move down to her pussy, pull back her hood and start sucking her clit, then pressing into it with my tongue.

I slip a couple fingers into her. Her pussy is tight, and she pets my hair as I eat it.

Viviane is writhing; with both hands she pulls my head up to her mouth. As we kiss, Jefferson positions himself behind me, wraps his cock and starts to fuck me.

I am on my hands and knees at the side edge of the bed, and Jefferson is standing behind me, holding my hips and fucking me hard. I reach down and rub my clit. It doesn’t take long. I cum, wailing through my orgasm. Viviane is watching me, kissing me, stroking my hair.

“Goddamn, Maddie. Jefferson, what are you doing to her?”

“Oh, I’m just fucking her. Nice, huh?”

“Jesus, you two are amazing.”

I am shaking, my head resting on Viviane’s shoulder. I roll off, and Jefferson moves up to her face. They kiss, lips locked. I lie back on the pillows and take a drink. Once I’ve regained my leg strength, I walk out to the kitchen to refill my water glass. I go to the bathroom, wash my hands and splash water onto my sweat-drenched body.

When I return to the bedroom, Jefferson has Viviane’s legs straight up in the air, toes pointed as he fucks her. They are both so quiet. I sit back on the pillows and watch, touching myself. Viviane starts to gasp, then moan. I can’t help myself; I cum, too.

Viviane and I have discussed ganging up on Jefferson in our online conversations. I know that Jefferson is not the most willing submissive, and doesn’t much get off on it, but I think it would be very hot. Especially if we didn’t punish him; just worked him over together while his wrists were bound.

We divided up the task.

“Lie on your back, please, Jefferson,” she says.

“Me?? Why?!”

“Madeline and I are going to tie you up, silly. That’s why.”

“But, uh, you see, I…..”

“Hush, baby,”
I say. “We’re only going to bind your wrists together. And we’re not going to spank you or anything. It’ll be fine; I promise.”

Jefferson lies back, amused. He puts on his Triumph the Insult Comic Dog voice.

“Do not think you are going to fuck me in the ass with dat beeg purple dick.”

“You don’t think you can handle the size of my strap-on?! Don’t worry, darlin. I’m not going to put it in you. This time.”

“Jefferson, darling, you are talking too much,” Viviane takes a bandana and fits it between Jefferson’s teeth, tying it behind his neck.

Viviane ties his wrists, and kisses his sensitive nipples while I get started sucking his cock. The sounds of my cocksucking and Jefferson’s gasps as his nipples are sucked fill the room.

Viviane sits back and watches me.

“God, that’s hot.”

“Here, Viviane, you suck his cock.”

“No, you keep doing it. I want to watch.”

“Sorry, baby, I’m gonna be prepping his ass. Suck that cock.”

Jefferson has removed his gag with his hands, and is speaking again.

“Sit on his face, while you’re at it.”

She takes him in her mouth, holding his shaft with her hand as she moves to sit on his face. I push his knees up and start licking and sucking his balls, moving slowly toward his ass.

Jefferson has a face full of Viviane, whose moans join his as they suck each other off.

I am so turned on by this, and silently regretting that I hadn’t thought to put something in at least one of my holes before we started. I am squeezing my thighs together. I could cum like this right now.

But right now it isn’t about me.

I slowly lick Jefferson’s ass and lube my finger. He gasps and his body twitches with the sensation. I massage his asshole and feel it start to relax after a couple minutes. I could get a finger up there now.

“Baby, I’m putting my finger in your ass now. “

“Unh…okay, okay.”

“Ssshhhhh..just breathe.”

And like that, I was in.

With one finger up Jefferson’s ass and another on his perineum, I sat back on my heels and watched as he freed himself from the ropes on his wrists.

“Okay, I can’t take any more; I need my ass back.”

I pulled my finger out in slow motion, and then went to the bathroom to wash.

I walked back in, and Viviane was bemoaning the fact that Jefferson wouldn’t let her put the double bullet vibe in his ass. She had it all wrapped in a condom, lubed and everything.

“Fuck, give it to me,” I said, “I’ll put it in MY ass!”

I grabbed the egg and pushed it in. Viviane laughed.

Viviane and Jefferson double-teamed me.

Viv says that Jefferson and I both had an egg vibrator in our asses. How should I know if we did or not? I was on my hands and knees in the middle of the bed while they took turns spanking my ass. Maybe Jefferson knows. In any case, my ass was buzzing like crazy and I was sticking it up into the air, chest to the bed, moaning with the perfectly timed slaps.

And really, at that point, it kind of did become about me.

With the bullet vibrating in my ass, Jefferson starts eating my pussy. I am blissed-out and losing track of time and place.

The next thing I know someone pulls the vibrator out and Jefferson is sitting behind Viviane between my legs. Jefferson is talking to her as I feel something sliding up inside my cunt. It’s bigger than a finger, smaller than a fist, but it is definitely pushing me to the edge. My G spot is being stroked. My legs are shaking. Someone has their finger in my ass.

“Unnnnnhhhh…how many fingers are inside me?”

“Eight. No, wait, ten,”
Jefferson says, “we each have four in your cunt and two of mine are in your ass.”


I ride it through, my breathing getting shallow and more rapid as Viviane rubs my G spot and presses down on my lower abdomen. Jefferson had guided her fingers in with his, and was now pressing his down toward the ones in my ass. I can hear Viviane, speaking softly, giggling something about “four handed piano playing.”

I am shaking, my throat forcing the air from my lungs to whistle over my vocal cords, squealing. I hear Viviane: “Give it, Maddie…give it…” I cum, my orgasm low and growling into the pillow.

They take their fingers out. I am gulping, trying to regain breath control, and then laughing uncontrollably. Viviane goes to wash her hands. Jefferson kisses me.

Viviane returns and Jefferson gets busy. His cock has been neglected for too long. I watch the scene, and as Jefferson starts pounding Viviane’s pussy. I say,

“Damn, baby, you’re giving her a lot!”

“Girl sure can take a hard fuck.”

“Nicely done!”

I kiss them both.

Shortly after, they are both pulling on clothes and Viviane is leaving. I am spent, and stay in the bed, kissing her goodbye and lying back on the pillows. Jefferson walks her to the door.

By the time he returns I am sound asleep.

01 August 2005




It is 5:30 AM. Jefferson and I have slept about 6 hours. Once again we are awake before the sun, lying in bed and talking about kids, language and books.

Every so often during a lull we stop and look at each other. Kiss.

Our legs are tangled together, the sheets snaking through them so that we have to kick them off the foot of the bed, giggling, to free ourselves.

I move down to suck his cock. His feet are on my hips as I sit on my heels, bent over and taking it deep into my mouth. I love giving a wet blowjob, the sound of my sucking loud and nasty in the bedroom.

I am keeping a tight grip on his cock, lips sliding from base to tip, enjoying the way it feels along my tongue, the way my forehead gets buried in his stomach as he thrusts his hips up and holds his cock deep in my throat.

My body is responding to the noises he makes while writhing beneath me. I am so fucking turned on.

I pick up speed, his hips take on the new, faster rhythm and intensity, and then he gasps and stops, pulling my head up.

“Goddamn, girl!”

“Is that okay?”

“Oh, it’s more than okay, baby. But if you keep sucking my dick like that, I’m gonna cum, and I really want to fuck you.”

“Well, what do you suggest, Jefferson?”

He sighs, like it’s a consolation prize,

“I’m gonna have to put my dick in you again.”

I grab a condom and roll it on. I ride him until he flips me over and fucks me; covering my body with his, creating a sweaty slip and slide between us.

We are drenched.

We take a short break, but resume with the fucking very soon. Jefferson is between my legs, and it feels so good. It is so quiet and decadent, this thing we do. He’s not in a hurry to end it, and I just keep cumming.



“Hey, Jefferson, when you decide to cum, would you do it on my chest?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

He fucks me, the friction building as I squeeze my pussy around his cock. His strokes get faster and shallower and he pulls out, throwing off the condom and jerking his dick.

He cums without cumming. I mean, he cums without shooting. His body convulses, everything else happens the way it does during a standard ejaculation (Is there such a thing?). It’s just that there’s no ejaculate. I remember this from last time and I still think it’s one of the hottest things ever.



“I love watching you cum, baby. You are so intense.”

I have eaten four crackers and some processed cheese food in the last 24 hours. This was the in-flight snack around 4 pm yesterday. I am ravenous.

We get up. I go to the bathroom and Jefferson starts the bagels toasting and coffee brewing.

I join him in the kitchen.

“Madeline, do you like whitefish salad?”

“What are you, Jewish?”

“Baby Mine, I’m a New Yorker. And I think it was Groucho Marx who said: ‘In New York City, everyone is Jewish, even the Gentiles.’

“So, whitefish. Do you like it or not? ‘Cause if you do, bonus for you, because you get to eat it with me and it’s really very good. But if you don’t, bonus for me, because I get to eat it all.”

“Let me taste it.”

I take a bite with a fork, and roll my eyes back.

“…’cause it’s to die, right??”

I smile. “Serve it up, baby.”

After a breakfast of sesame bagels with whitefish salad, sliced tomatoes and fruit, we hang around the apartment. I want to go to an art gallery in Chelsea where a girl from my town works. We decide that we can go there around three and have a bite out somewhere.

We go to the gallery, and spend about an hour looking at the exhibition and talking with my hometown girl, Lara. There is a painting that is shouting my name. It is priced at $500 and Lara sidles up, offering it to me for $425. Hometown discount.

I could buy the painting or pay most of my rent. I chose the rent. I’m still wondering if it was the right decision.

We say goodbye, and head into the heat, making our way to Jefferson’s secret: a bistro called le Madeleine. Of course we go in. Neither of us is hungry, so we have a glass of wine at the bar.

I love that he is reminded of me this way; that he sees little things and thinks, 'oh, Maddie would like that.' Like when Marcus and I were in Kentucky and spent the entire weekend taking photos of everything “Jefferson” and emailing them to him.

We arrive home, pour water and check emails. We return phone calls. We call our kids. Mine are too busy watching “Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure” to talk, my mom says. I tell her I’ll try again in the morning.

Jefferson puts on the pot for pasta. We are standing in the kitchen, talking and kissing. I put my wine glass on the counter and feel his hard-on through his pants.

In his galley kitchen, things are very accessible. The salt and pepper are an arm’s length away, serving dishes and spoons are within reach. Turns out his cock is no exception.

As Jefferson tends to the cheese tortellini, I tend to Jefferson's Cock. He manages to get the pasta drained, tossed with butter and into bowls all while having his dick sucked.

We like the multi-tasking, we do.

We eat our carbs outside on the terrace, and then head back to the bedroom for a workout.