We walk a few blocks to a sandwich place for lunch with Arthur, a friend of his. While marcus is waiting for his quesadilla, I have a couple minutes alone with Arthur at the table. I have to be careful about what I say to Arthur, since he knows nothing about marcus’ sex work or that he has an apartment in the city.
I am a terrible liar. I just am. I get flustered and nervous and I talk way too much if I’m not telling the truth. That is the trickiest part of being me in this “we.” marcus is very private. He uses pseudonyms for work. It’s hard for me to keep track of what people know and don’t know. marcus understands this and has tried to prepare me with answers to the more common questions people have.
“So, Madeline, how did you and marcus meet?”
Then the standard answer, issued to our family and not-so-close friends:
“We met through a mutual friend in New York City.”
“How do you like his place in the country?”
“Oh, it’s great! Very peaceful and quiet. It’s a bit of a drive into the city, though.”
The truth is, I’ve never even been to marcus’ house, though in photos it does look lovely and peaceful.
It's just part of the unspoken pledge of allegiance between sex bloggers. We keep each others' identities protected. This is even more important when worlds collide and we meet each others' friends, families and lovers, many of whom have no idea about the other parts of our lives. Sometimes I think I should make a flow chart for myself, as the stories of our many identities intersect.
marcus joins us at the table and the conversation turns to more mundane topics: work, travel, music. I excuse myself to go to the restroom and discover that my period has finally arrived, a full three days after I’d expected it.
“Damn,” I mutter, as I unzip my purse and dig for the tampon.
We tell Arthur goodbye at the corner and continue to the apartment. marcus needs to drop off his laptop and take inventory before we go shopping. I suddenly feel wiped out, but I know that I’ll be fine if I just walk around. He makes his list and we head back down to the street. We walk to the rainbow-stickered sex shop, where marcus buys them out of Maximus lube and seven boxes of Crown condoms. I swear, if prostitution is ever legalized, that boy will have one hell of a deduction for business expenses.
I am looking for a good leather strap-on harness. Sadly, they don’t carry the one I want, but I manage to find a lovely vibrating butt plug and the sweetest black leather flogger I’ve ever seen. marcus and I each decide to buy one.
Loaded down with discreet plastic shopping bags we head out, stopping at a couple of stores. marcus buys a hat.
My body feels heavy. I’m tired of walking in these boots and my back and pelvis are aching from my period. We fall into a hotel pub and order calamari and irish coffees. Strange combination, but it hits the spot. It cracks me up that marcus is checking the big bag on the banquette to make certain it doesn’t fall over and reveal its contents to the gentleman sitting a few feet away.
It’s just a couple blocks to the apartment and we have about 20 minutes until his client arrives. We put fresh sheets on the bed, shut my things into the closet, light candles and put our purchases away. I grab the laptop, kiss the boy goodbye and walk to a nearby Internet café to write for 90 minutes.
The place is crowded, and filled with smoke, which I couldn’t stand. I order my tea and go outside to sit at one of the tables in front. It is chilly, but the fresh air feels good. I love watching people on their way home from work or meeting friends for dinner. I look off to my right and see a familiar face walking toward me, his dog keeping step.
I have about a second to think, “I am here without marcus; where would marcus be right now, and me by myself in this neighborhood with his laptop? Shit, maddie, think of something fast!”
Arthur is surprised to see me. “Madeline, what are you doing?”
“Hey, Arthur! Oh, I’m just writing a little bit…what are you doing?”
“My dry cleaner is just next door; I live around the corner…where’s marcus?”
“Oh, he’s at a meeting…”
“Wow, he’s still working? What are you two doing tonight?”
“I’m still not sure; we talked about maybe seeing a movie or something low-key like that.”
“Nice! Well, tell him hi, and if you two are going to be in DC on Saturday evening, some friends and I are going out to a club. It’d be great if you could join us!”
“That sounds nice; I’ll tell him! Good to see you again!”
“You, too! Have fun tonight, and be careful driving back to the country!”
He walks away and passes with a wave a few minutes later, a plastic dry cleaning bag slung over his shoulder.
Fuck, that was close.
Dusk turns to dark and marcus calls with the “all clear.” I pack up and walk back to the apartment. He opens the door, naked and freshly showered. My cheeks are cold as we kiss, his clean scent filling my nostrils.
“Hi, you… so when I was sitting at the café I saw someone I know!”
“I know! Crazy that in a city this size I’d run into anyone, but I did!”
“Who was it? Someone from college?”
“No, baby, it was Arthur.”
“Oh, my god. You know, he lives around here.”
“So he said. I told him you were in a meeting; it was the only thing I could think of...”
“Whoa, that was a close call. I should probably start setting the stage to tell him I have a pied-a-terre in DC.”
“Well, especially since you live in the same neighborhood, yeah, that’s probably a good idea. After all, you wouldn’t be the only Washingtonian with a place in the city and another in the country.”
“True. So, what do you want to do tonight?”
“You want to see a movie? I’m feeling like doing something low-key.”
We get online and check movie listings, deciding on Tony Takitani, a Japanese film by Jun Ichikawa which had received accolades at Sundance this year. It is a melancholic dream of a movie, slow and artful and sad, with an amazing score and perfect characters.
We choose our seats on the right, toward the rear of the theatre. We hold hands and I put my cheek against marcus’ shoulder. There are a total of eight people here.
Here is my problem: I’m very tactile. I love to have my hands on other people. I know it is one of the reasons I’m so good at what I do, so in that sense it isn't a problem at all. But being a massage therapist and then being this close to someone whom I love to touch is hard. Especially in public places when courtesy dictates a certain restraint.
I don’t want to hold back. My left hand is in his, my thumb stroking the back of his hand. I bring my other arm across to his thigh, and then slowly move it toward his cock. I think, “I can’t believe I’m doing this; I’ve never done this in a movie theatre before.” Back of a cab, yes, but never during a movie.
marcus adjusts his body in the seat and I start rubbing his cock, one eye on the screen, the other watching his face. He is hard now, and I reach into his waistband, careful not to jangle his belt buckle. He inhales deeply, quietly as I stroke his dick. I kiss his neck and he bends his face down to mine.
We are very quiet.
sex sex blogs polyamory erotica Tony Takitani Jun Ichikawa Washington, DC Louis XIV