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


Blogger RedHeadBedHead said...

You always write so beautifully and with such ambience.

Blogger Freya said...

Wonderful. Beautiful. Funny.

Blogger Wendy the Cavewyfe said...

I'm with the other two. That was wonderful.


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