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


Say My Name

marcus drove into the city for dinner at Zaytinya, a Mediterranean tapas restaurant designed by a friend of his. (Follow the link, people, I'm serious.) I was starving; I hadn't eaten since morning. The hosts were lovely and, learning that it was my first visit, seated us inside at a table by the window.

We sat together, smiling and telling stories. We sampled several things and marcus told me to check out the bathrooms because the design was very cool. I laughed, because it's exactly like something I'd say to someone.

Sitting in the restaurant, his phone rang.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"
"Do you mind?"
"Of course not!"

marcus took the call and I heard him saying that he was booked up through the weekend. I cocked my head and looked at him inquisitively. He asked the caller to hold.

"What's up, Madeline?"
"Does someone want to book an appointment while I'm here?"
"Yeah, they wanted tomorrow afternoon, but I want to be with you!"
"marcus, if it works out, you should take it! Ninety minutes is the perfect amount of time to sit by myself in a cafe and write. I'll need to do that anyway. You can make us some play money. Go for it."

He made the appointment for the next evening at 5:30. I cracked up. We kissed at the table and walked out. After walking around for a bit we drove to his apartment.

The space was clean and spare. Warm, butter-colored paint and low lighting made the room glow and complimented his modern furniture and tribal art. As promised, an Eames sofa sat in the far corner, opposite it was a silver Bertoia chair. I gasped. I am a complete slut for industrial design.

This is the apartment I would buy: Parquet floor, tall ceilings, simple and elegant. In the center of the space was an olympic queen sized bed with white sheets that looked so inviting. I felt like I was standing in a gallery that happened to be someone's bedroom.

marcus went into the tiny kitchen and mixed our vodka and cranberry juices. We sat on the bed kissing, rubbing and undressing each other.

"You're in luck, baby," I said, "I haven't gotten my period yet."

It was due two days ago, and there was no way I had anything to worry about (Yeah, that's right, I'll say it: I've had no sex with boys for over a month.). I figured a good fuck would open the gates.

marcus kneeled over me, pulled off my jeans and ground himself onto me through our underwear. My hands were in his hair; it was longer now, with soft little curls at the back of his neck. We were quiet, just enjoying the sensations, taking inventory. His skin was so soft and I couldn't stop stroking his forearms, his shoulders, his neck.

He hadn't shaved his face that day, and my skin stung when he took my nipples into his mouth... When he eased down my panties and put his face between my thighs, a hand under my hips, lifting. His tongue traced my clit, circling and lapping, then sucking and biting. I winced and then sighed.

My feet were on his thighs as he sat between mine. As I got closer to cumming, my ass lifted itself off the mattress and my legs closed around marcus's head. My hips started rocking forward and back, hands in his hair, head lifted to see his eyes and the bridge of his nose as he moved his head perfectly and fit two fingers into my pussy, tightening now with my imminent orgasm.

Five seconds later, with his fingers on my trigger I let loose, grabbing the back of his head and growling, "aw, yeah, fuck!"

As my legs loosened their grip on marcus's skull, he pulled himself up and brought his face to mine. As I licked his lips, his fingers slid out of me and he repositioned himself, his knees on either side of my waist. He opened a condom.

When marcus is intent on fucking, he has a certain expression which I find totally fascinating: His brow furrows, his lips purse and his breath bursts through his nostrils like a bull. It is a face I've seen many times, but I'm often caught wondering whether he's intending to fuck my lights out or holding back tears. It's usually the former.

And it's always very acrobatic. The way he tosses me around always surprises me.

During a lull, I was lying with my face on his chest, my hand stroking the hair on his stomach. I love his stomach: flat, smooth and downy with a sweet belly button that just begs to be kissed. So I kissed it.

I was feeling very good; comfortable and relaxed for the first time in weeks. My life had been crazy lately, with physical and emotional demands being made by family members and friends. I was just so content to have left them at home and come to this place where no one demands anything of me, just--you know--loves me.

"Suck my cock," marcus' voice was deep as he pushed my head toward his dick. I resisted. I didn't want him to tell me what to do. I didn't want to have to please anyone.


"The longer you wait, the worse your punishment will be later. Suck my dick."


I was trying to enjoy this building of tension, wondering if the next 'no' would be the one to start whatever would follow, but i still really didn't want to be told to suck him off. marcus rolled off the bed and grabbed me under the arms, pulling my body back, my head hanging off the bed. He held my arms down and put his face next to mine.

"Are you going to suck my cock?

I shook my head, tears starting to build in my eyes, seeping out the corners.

With the flats of his fingers he slapped my cheek. It didn't hurt, but my feelings stung. Another slap to my other cheek and I started to cry. I knew the next ones would be harder.

Could I take it? Could I get my head back into the scene? Or was I too overwhelmed with other shit to submit to marcus the way I normally love to do?

My eyes were closed and I felt the backswing of his hand, preparing to come down,


He stopped, mid-swing, and lay beside me on the bed, pulling me into his arms, rocking me, "Sweet baby, what's the matter? Did I hurt you?"

I shook my head, "It's just too much... I can't do it...I can't do it tonight."

I was shaking, thinking, 'please just hold me and be sweet to me and let me cry and get it out so we can be what we are and be good to each other and do this again but in a good way--the right way.'

I just breathed into his throat, my arms threaded around to his back.

"Shhhh, I'm sorry, sweetheart, I never want to hurt you," he kissed the tears from my face.

"You did the right thing, Madeline, you know? You said my name."


Blogger Frenchy said...

what a fucking awesome use of mind twist on the "say my name theme". your realness served up raw rocks. gros bisous, petite M.

Anonymous marla jo said...

holy shit, i just cried a lil bit.

don't we all just want to be held sometimes?

Blogger Lexi said...


You (and the website) have convinced me. I'm totally going to Zaytinya when I go home (shiver) for the holidays.

Blogger ~ Storm said...

While my ex and I didn't play with safe words per se', and I was the dominant one, all he ever had to do was say my name. My given name, not what he called me while we were playing. I always knew he meant to stop at that moment.

Nice, heartfelt post.

Blogger AlwaysArousedGirl said...

Oh that was lovely.


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