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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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07 April 2006



I am facing the headboard, knees on either side of Jefferson’s head as his tongue and lips pull and pet my pussy.

“He asked for this,” I think, as I grind my hips down and around, “earlier, when he asked me to sit on his face.”

I am holding the bedpost for balance as my body shakes and my back arches and my ass juts out and I come. I know he tastes my juice, hot on his mouth, my pussy closing around his tongue.
His arms wrap around my thighs and his fingers pull my labia apart.

I can feel my clit exposed, wanting warmth and cover. His tongue swirls it gently.

My body moves slightly forward and back against him, my cheek against the wooden wall hanging. I can smell the lacquer as my breath warms its surface.

My mind flashes to another smell, earlier in the evening.

I was on the floor between his legs. He was stretched out on his back. We had been talking about our new books and plans for the evening. His cock was semi-hard and as I moved to take it into my mouth my nose caught his scent.

I inhaled, drunk on the smell. I didn’t put my mouth on his dick. I buried my face in his hair instead and traced his scent across every inch of his groin.

Sweet. Salty. Musky.

I nuzzled.

My hair fell onto his thighs and slid over his cock, which was growing harder by the second.

He grabbed my head and pushed it down onto his shaft.

I am pushing myself down onto his face, his eyes closed as my body shudders through another wave.

I know this feeling in the pit of my stomach.

My pussy is poised for greatness.

I lift up from his mouth, still panting, and kiss him as I dismount.

I am going for a condom; he has other plans.

The fingers slide up to my g-spot, the other thumb to my clit. He is still on his back, I am beside him on my knees, legs spread, bracing myself with a hand on his leg.

He starts slowly, moving his fingers and wrist with steady pressure and gradually builds to a fucking rhythm I can get behind. I envision my pelvis totally relaxed.

My hips circle and I feel it: the cold tingle spreading from my clit throughout my body. I let myself be open. There is a low hum in my throat.

I don’t want to stop this.

It’s coming, and I can’t speak, can’t warn him that this is big- bigger than anything he’s felt.

My hips press forward and up as his three fingers massage my insides.

The hum becomes louder and he’s thrusting from his elbow and I’m ecstatic with the pulsing warmth and wetness.

I’m raining cum down his arm.

“Oh, Jesus…” he murmers.

I manage to ride through the first torrent only to cry out as the next wave crashes.

Again I’m flooded. He’s flooded. The sheets are flooded with my juice.

I open my eyes.

He is looking at me in awe.

I swallow and manage a smile.

He slowly withdraws his hand from my cunt.

The sheets beneath me are soaking wet.

I jump off the bed and start to tear them off.

I can’t believe I’m doing this after what just happened.

But I don’t have one of those plastic mattress covers.

We strip the bed. Or rather, I strip the bed and toss the sheets and mattress pad onto the hallway floor. Jefferson is strangely quiet.

I look at him and, using the sheet in my hands, dry myself from his forearm. I am exhilarated.

And the mattress topper is dry.

He kisses me, “I really need to fuck you.”

I sit on the edge of the bed as he readies himself next to it.

My pussy is juiced and hot and swollen so tight we both gasp when he pushes into me.

We are staring at each other as he holds my hips and fucks me slowly. My head is tilted to one side, watching him and smiling. He kisses my ankle, resting on his shoulder.

I am rocked by his movements, his speed increasing now.

“mmmmnnnn, ahmunna cum...”

He pulls out and shoots on my belly.

01 April 2006


Such Great Heights

It's 1 AM on April 1st.

A year ago Jefferson and I were having our last chat online before spending the weekend together in New York, in the flesh. I've reposted it below. His account begins here. Mine is here.

I've also taken the liberty of posting our chronicles of the weekend here, if you prefer reading your tales of kink and romance without navigating backwards through archives.

And yeah, I'm gushing.

I know.

Friday, April 01, 2005

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.