Les Than Impressed

When Les suggested we meet for lunch one Saturday to see if we liked each other, I agreed. He professed to enjoy culture, fine dining and wine and wanted a special friend to enjoy those things with him. I thought, "It would be nice to go on dates with someone; Thomas and I have very good sex, but we don't go out to galleries or the theatre. This could be fun."

I woke up Saturday morning, hung over.

At 11:15 my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"It's Les. I just wanted to let you know I'm here."

"You're at the restaurant? Aren't we meeting at noon?"

"Yes, but I didn't know about traffic, so I allowed plenty of extra time."

"Uh, okay, but I won't be able to be there until noon, like we said."

"Oh, that's perfectly alright. I'm wearing black jeans and tennis shoes and a yellow and black striped shirt. I'll be watching for you...I know you have red hair, right?"

"Uh huh. I'll be the one waving to everybody there. See you soon."

As I closed the phone I thought, "He's forty-five minutes early and from the sounds of it, dresses like Charlie Brown. I wonder if he lives with his mother."

After drinking about a gallon of water and standing under a hot shower for twenty minutes I was ready. I figured I had an hour to assess whether or not this was someone I'd like to hang out with. I prepared my "I wish I could stay longer" excuse.

As expected, it was a total wash. I mean, I had a sandwich and a tomato-basil bisque which was very good, but I was so not into him.

Here's the thing: Les was so gay. And not gay in that good way that gay men have of being totally fun and secure in their sexuality or the way that bisexual men have of knowing how hot it is that they suck cock and eat pussy.

No, Les was gay in the discomfort-inducing way that in-denial queens have when they buy sports cars, talk tough and overcompensate for what they're terrified everyone might discover. I got a creepy feeling from this guy.

Les could definitely use something in his ass. To dislodge the piece of coal transforming into a diamond as we spoke.

All through lunch I kept thinking, "I'd really like to see this guy get fucked like a prison bitch." I, however, had no desire to be the one to do it.

Then came the last straw.

Our server was a very cute young man who, while taking my order, made a sweet remark, not flirtatious, just sweet. From that moment, Les was rude, demanding and condescending to him.

I seethed.

Have I mentioned that I used to wait tables?

After paying with his AmEx Platinum and leaving a one dollar tip on a fifteen dollar check we got up to leave. I conveniently forgot my sweater at the table. When we got to the door I said I'd be right back, and went to retrieve it.

I padded the tip.

What an asshole.

When I returned it was starting to rain.

"What would you like to do now, dear?"

Ew. Please don't call me 'dear' or 'honey' or 'baby' unless we have a history.

"Well, I'm sorry I don't have more time, but I promised my mother I'd help her prepare for a party tonight."

"Oh, you have to leave? I was hoping we'd get to spend some time together. You remember how I told you I love to satisfy women?"

Sure, Dr. Kildare.

"I do, but I'm going to have to take a raincheck."

"Speaking of which, where are you parked? It's really starting to come down!"

I was just down the block and he was several blocks away. I offered a ride to his car.

You know that Volkswagen commercial where the guy's leaning out his window into the megaphone saying, "Because I'm compensating for my shortcomings?" It was sort of like that. Tiny and red and obviously more car than he knew what to do with, I had to try very hard not to a) laugh or b) groan.

"So, when can we get together? Can you see what you can make work next week? And call me!"

"I'll let you know. Thank you for lunch, Les."

I drove home in the rain, composing my 'so long' email to him. Three minutes into the drive he rang my cell phone. I didn't pick up. It was raining and I was driving and jeez, relax, man.

Over the next twelve hours he sent three emails, four text messages and called a total of four times. He was the second dude to freak out and turn girly and emo on me that day. I'm not even going into the second one. Suffice it to say it was a first.

I don't have time to worry about what I say or don't say and how it's going to affect someone who is clearly not mentally stable. The gracious email I'd drafted to Les became a pointed request that he stop contacting me.

Thank god I had a date with Thomas that evening.


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Broke

On a beautiful day in May I walked through the school doors and signed in at the office. I pinned my Guest pass to my dress and took the stairs to Miles' classroom.

It was the Mother's Day Tea Party.

I was escorted to my seat by Miles and presented with a gift of three plastic spoons, each dipped in chocolate, for stirring into coffee or cocoa.

The kids put on a play about mothers and then served the moms (and a couple of dads, and the school nurse, who was filling in for Anthony's mom, since she couldn't be there) tea and cookies.

I sat with Miles and he read me a book. The 3:00 bell was about to ring and so I leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, "You can go to after-school care and I'll pick you up later, or you can come downtown with me and help me bake a cake at home!"

"I want to go with you!"

"Done! Let's bail."

I had an errand to run downtown, but it would be fast. We parked the car and walked a couple of blocks to the housewares store. My springform pan had been deformed in an unfortunate incident involving Jack's entire body weight standing on it.

New pan in hand we started back toward the car. Miles jogged ahead of me, running on the ledges of the concrete planters containing trees and flowers.

"Slow down, baby," I called, too late.

Miles went down about ten feet in front of me. I kept walking toward him.

I'm a pretty laid-back mom, I don't run to my children's aid the second they stumble. And Miles has done his share of stumbling. But this time he wasn't jumping up and shaking it off.

I rushed to him, lying face-down on the sidewalk, arms out in front of his body. He was whimpering. His right wrist was at a decidedly wonky angle.

"Oh, honey, okay, okay," I picked him up and rushed to the car which was, thankfully, right in front of where he'd fallen. I buckled him into his carseat and drove to the nearest hospital.

On the way I called my mother.

"We're on our way to the emergency room; Miles has broken his arm."

"You're KIDDING ME!"

"Yes, mother, I am kidding you. COME on!"

"Are you sure?"

"Would I say his arm was broken if I wasn't sure?"

I hung up the phone.

"Momma...."

"Yes, baby?"

"Is my arm broken?"

"Yes, sweetie, it is."

"Owieowie, ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts, owieowieowie..."

"I know it does, baby, I'm so sorry. And you're being very brave. Can you try to take deep breaths and relax?"

We got to the hospital in less than five minutes. My mother met us there.

At a point, sitting in the room in the ER, Miles said to me, sitting beside him, "I'm really tired...I just want to go to sleep so my arm will stop hurting."

"Do you want me to turn off the overhead light? Is it too bright?"

"Yes, please."

My kid's arm is broken in half and he says 'yes, please.' Unbelievable.

I turned off the overhead light and my mom stood next to the gurney, stroking Miles' leg.

"Nanny, please stop that," he said.

I smiled. He's like me.

I can handle a lot of pain. What I can't handle is someone putting their hands on me in a soothing fashion when I'm in pain. Seriously? Just let me check out and I'll be fine.

Miles turned his head and shut his eyes, wincing every once in a while.

After waiting a total of four hours for his stomach to clear the cookie he ate that afternoon, the orthopedic surgeon came to set the arm.

"Hey, John."

"Madeline Glass? How are you? Is this your boy?"

"Yeah, this is Miles. Miles, this is Dr. Siegler."

"You sure broke your arm, young man! Does it hurt now?"

"No, I took the bitter medicine that tasted bad and now my pain is a zero! When we came, I was a ten, but now I'm a zero...maybe even less than a zero! Hey, that curtain is really colorful, but I like the one in my bedroom better, it's blue and yellow and red and has planets on it..."

Uh, yeah, my kid was totally stoned.

"Madeline, it's a pretty clean break, which is good, but the bones need to be reset. It's loud and nasty and it's best if Miles has no memory of it, so we usually anesthetize kids his age."

"Oh, totally. Go for it."

The door opened and the anesthesiologist walked in.

"Is this....Miles?"

He looked up from his clipboard. This was becoming comical.

"Hey, Dr. Cranston."

"Maddie Glass! How are you? I didn't realize you were back in town!"

"Yeah, we've been here for a few years now. How's Jeremy?"

BOTH these men have sons who were in my high school class. At least I didn't date either of them. Or their sons. Heh.

I was invited to stay in the room for the procedure. I passed.

When we finally got home, Miles had a huge splint on his arm and a bottle of Tylenol with Codeine.

He never needed it.



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"You Want Fries With That?"

On Wednesday Thomas IMmed me: What was I doing around 12:30?

I smiled. Not a damn thing that couldn't wait an hour while he ate me for lunch.

"But wait," I said, "does this take the place of our date on Saturday?"

"I hope not," he replied.

"Excellent."

I'd just showered and tossed on my cotton slip when he rang the doorbell. I let him in. His hands were in my hair the second I bolted the door.

I undressed him at the entrance, hanging his clothes on hooks and going straight down to suck his cock.

He stopped me, his cock stiff and pulsing, taking my hand from it and pulling me up to kiss me.

"I have something for you!"

"What is it?"

"Porn," he said, as he produced a pirated DVD from the shelf.

"Wow, thanks! I'll watch it tonight...unless you'd like to watch it now?"

"No, thanks. I'd rather have sex with you than watch other people doing it."

"Good call. Oh! I have something for you, too."

"You do? Where?"

"Back here, in the bedroom."

We walked back and I picked up the panties on the corner of the bed. They were white lace thong panties. I never wear them because they're terribly uncomfortable. A g-string is fine with me, but who gets off on having an inch-wide piece of elasticized fabric between their asscheeks? Not me, and I like things in my butt.

Nevertheless, they are quite pretty. I thought Thomas might like them.

"Put them on," he said.

I pulled off the slip and stepped into the thong, adjusting the sides and backstrap.

"mmmmmmm. That looks so nice. Sit on the bed."

I backed up to the edge of the mattress and Thomas lowered his face to my cunt, smelling and tasting my juices through the lace, talking about pretty pussies and asses. He looked at me and said, "What am I going to do with you?"

I looked pointedly to the chair in the corner, where I'd laid out the flogger.

"You need a flogging?"

I nodded.

I really did. More than an orgasm, which I can give myself daily, I wanted pain and the suspension of time and space.

The flogger isn't painful, but it does have a great sound, and the reddening effect it has on my skin is an added bonus. Plus, ever since I taught him to use it, Thomas has made several references to it, wondering when he'd get to use it again.

I stood bent over the bed, legs spread and he ran his palms over my ass, "Such a smooth, pretty ass..."

I sighed, raising up on my toes, aching to feel the first strike.

It came from his palm. The surprise made my breath catch in my throat. The burn made my cunt tingle. I was wet and smiling, my face turned to the side as it rested on the mattress.

He alternated between the flogger and his hands, remarking on the redness of my skin and the heat it radiated.

"You like it when I smack your ass?"

"Mmmm-hmmm."

He pushed the thong to the side and I felt his tongue on my ass. I squirmed and flinched. It was so sensitive. But I wanted it. I wanted to feel the warmth and wetness and strength of that muscle circling and lapping at my opening, overloading my senses.

He probed inside, flicking me with just the tip of his tongue. I growled into the mattress and reached for my clit.

I heard him pick up the condom on the bedside table and tear into the foil.

"Finally," I thought.

He pounded me from behind as i held on for dear life to the mattress, which was moving farther and farther toward the other side of the frame and taking me with it.

He yanked me back and buried himself deep inside my cunt, holding the thong aside while he drilled me.

"Stop! Don't move!" I panted.

His cock was on my g-spot and my fingers were rubbing my clit and my eyes rolled back as I came.

He pulled out and came on my back, tossing the condom and jerking frenetically. I felt the warm, wet spurts falling on my lower back and shivered, too spent to move.

Thomas retrieved a washcloth and cleaned his load from my body.

I felt his fingers slip under the panties and he pulled them down over my hips and to the floor, where I stepped out of them.

He dressed, putting my panties into his pocket.

I kissed him goodbye, saying, "See you Saturday."

I tossed on a dress and hightailed it to the door.

I had a parent-teacher conference in ten minutes.

I was starving.


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Sad Thomas

Thomas was in mourning.

Grace, his sweet old dog, had to be put to sleep. She was thirteen and his first pet, ever. He was very, very sad. We'd IMmed on the day he picked up her ashes from the vet. Of course I offered to help him with anything, even if he just wanted to get out of the house for a movie or to talk.

On Thursday he sent me a text message: What are you doing tomorrow night?

Thomas and I usually talk via Instant Messenger. It's not always dirty; we could be talking about yard work or trips to Target as much as sex. Text messages, however, usually mean 'I'm horny and I want to nail you.'

I smiled and replied: Um, plying you with alcohol and taking advantage of you?

He called later.

He would bring a bottle of wine. I would supply food.

I was online with Meg, discussing the merits of homemade pizza versus cheese and fruit.

At 7:30 the following evening he arrived, bottle of Merlot in hand. I'd already set out cheese and fruit and a baguette. The food was really a formality, but I'd not eaten dinner and that turned out to be it.

We sat in the kitchen at my new table. There were two tables in my kitchen that night, as the old one hadn't been taken away yet, so quarters were a bit tight. Still, we talked easily as we drank the very delicious wine and Thomas kept refilling his glass.

I was having a good time, hearing stories about Thomas as a geeky kid, telling ones of my own. I realized that we really knew very little about each other, save for the fact that we like the convenience and uncomplicated nature of our relationship. I found myself thinking very sweet thoughts about Thomas as a friend and a good person. I was glad I'd suggested he come over.

I'd never seen him drink more than a glass of anything and this was getting fun: Thomas was tipsy. After his third or fourth glass he stood and turned toward the doorway.

"It's the second door on the left," I said, thinking he was going to the bathroom and it had been a year since he'd been in my place.

He turned out the fluorescent overhead light, "That's not where I was going," he said.

He stepped over to me, pulled me up and backed me up to the counter, kissing me like he was starving. His cock was pressed against me and I traced its outline with my fingers as I kissed him back.

He took off his shirt. I kissed his neck and nipples.

I was prepared to be in charge of the evening. He was in my house needing comfort and attention. Thomas was vulnerable and I was very turned on by that.

"Maddie, I'm intoxicated. You can have your way with me."

"Excellent."

I led him to the living room. He stood in the middle of the floor and I took his shoes off, then his socks and then his trousers. I left his boxers on.

"I think i'm a bit overdressed," he slurred.
I knew what he meant. That I was overdressed. I still had all my clothes on.

"Don't you worry, baby," I said, "I'll take care of you."

I stretched the waistband of his boxers over his dick. He sighed and touched my hair.

As I lowered myself to my knees, pulling the boxers down with me, my face stopped on level with his cock, curved straight back to his stomach. I let the shorts fall to the floor and he stepped out of them. I ran my palms up his thighs and licked a path from his balls to the tip of his cock.

With two fingers I lowered it to my face, looking at him while I licked the shaft and then plunged its length into my mouth slowly.

"Awwww, yeah, fuck...FUCK."

Thus commenced the blowjob.

Holding his throbbing cock in my mouth, not moving, waiting for the signal from his hips that I could start again, I thought, "This is so nice, such a change of roles, I might not even care if I don't get fucked tonight."

He moved to sit on the futon and I sat between his legs on the floor.

He was stroking himself lightly, looking at me.

"Show me how you lick your girlfriend's pussy," he said.

I smiled, having so much fun.

I spread his legs wide and moved his ass to the edge of the cushion. I kissed and licked and swirled my tongue from his perineum to the base of his cock, thrumming across the ridge as he sighed and cursed.

He was so relaxed; his legs were parted, his hips raised up. I lowered my face a bit, lightly--ever so lightly--touching his ass with the tip of my tongue.

He gasped and pushed closer to my face, "God, you're so fucking filthy...lick my ass, you dirty, filthy girl...gah, fuck..."

I teased his anus with my tongue, flicking it over and around as I pressed up into his perineum with a thumb.

I went back to his cock, taking it down my throat, bobbing up and down, remembering the strokes and rhythm he uses when he jerks off: Several quick strokes up top and then one long and slow down to the base.

He pulled me off, not wanting to come, and kissed my lips. My face was wet with saliva and tears. He kissed me hard.

We stood and he went into the bathroom. I walked to the kitchen and drank the second half of my glass of wine. I drank it, smiling, "Thomas just kissed my mouth after his dick was in it. This is more like it."

I was standing in the living room when he opened the bathroom door.

"Hi."

"Hi, Madeline."

"Would you like to undress me, Thomas?"

"Yes."

He put his hands on my hips, kissing my mouth and pulling my tshirt over my head. We kissed as his hands unclasped my bra and I shrugged my shoulders, letting the straps slide down, my breasts bare and full in his hands. I lowered my pants and our naked bodies were in full contact.

"I love your body," he whispered.

"Mmmmm," I smiled, my hand on his neck.

"I need to fuck you."

I took his hand and led him to the bedroom. I'd already set out condoms on the nightstand. He laid me down and sucked my nipples as he fingered my pussy, bringing his finger up to his lips and then mine.

He flipped me over, raising my ass in the air and pushing my chest to the mattress. My clit was throbbing; I was ready to be drilled.

But instead of his cock, I felt his tongue. On my clit. On my ass.

I moaned and wiggled as he used a finger on my g-spot. My insides suddenly got very wet.

Thomas grunted and in one motion took a condom and opened it. Within seconds he had hold of my hips and was pounding me from behind. I was gasping, it was so hard.

He turned me onto my back and pulled my legs up, driving his cock straight down into me.

His breathing quickened and little moans started coming from his mouth.

"Come on my belly, baby."

He pulled out and threw off the condom, jerking his dick as he sat on his haunches over me. He came, groaning, his mouth in an O, his eyes shut tight. My torso was covered in jizz.

When he finally finished he bent down and kissed me, catching his breath. I handed him some tissues from the nightstand and took some for myself.

"Thank you," he said, when he collapsed on the pillow next to me.

I laughed, "Selfish reasons...I hate cum stains on sheets."

"No, Madeline," he swallowed, "I mean, thank you."


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