Once Upon a Mattress

I woke up at 2 AM a couple months ago. Jack had crawled into bed with me and had an accident. He wears Pull-Ups to bed, but he's so tiny that sometimes they gape at the legs. Ergo, pee on my sheets. Ergo, pee on my egg crate foam mattress topper.

I stripped the sheets after changing Jack and redirecting him to his own bed. The mattress topper was ruined. There is no way to clean pee from foam rubber. I rolled it up and set it by the front door to go to the trash in the morning and got back into bed between clean sheets.

I couldn't fall asleep. I kept tossing and turning and flopping back and forth, the springs of my mattress groaning with each movement.

This is ridiculous, I thought at 5 AM.

I rolled over to get out of bed and felt metal beneath my body.

Just to be sure, I tried it again, this time rolling to the other side of the bed. Plain as day, I could make out the web of springs under the surface of the cheap-ass mattress which had served me well for the last three years.

I needed a new mattress.

I couldn't afford a new mattress. I had medical bills from Miles' broken arms, a car in desperate need of a timing belt and other obligations.

I piled six or seven fleece blankets atop my mattress and stretched the fitted sheet over them. It is bearable, but I can still feel the metal poking me from time to time.

Especially when I am on my hands and knees.

And the noise!

My upstairs neighbor, I'm sure, now thinks I have lots more sex than I actually do, because every time I roll over my mattress groans as if it's competing in the sex olympics. Would that it could. I worry about bringing someone home for fear that they'll injure themselves on my bed, and not in the good way.

I consistently wake up aching. I am 34 years old. I should not ache when I rise each morning. Okay, some mornings, yes. When there's a good reason for it.

I need a new mattress.

My friends had an idea.

Chelsea Girl, Juno Henry and O have been so kind as to point me in the direction of the Amazon Honor System. It's a truly ingenious system whereby readers can make donations to this blog by using Amazon.com's secure site. I've decided to raise money for a New Mattress for Madeline. Because, let's face it, if I'm going to write about sex, I need to be having some. And feeling rested enough to write about it post-coitally.

So I'm asking for your help.

Click on the little button up there and you can make a donation from $1 to $50 (You can, of course, donate more, you just need to repeat the process.).

You can even check on my little fundraiser's progress while you're there. Cool, huh?

But your kindness won't go unrewarded.

To show my appreciation, if you donate $20 or more I'll send you an audio file of me reading one of my favorite posts. If you donate $50 or more, tell me your favorite post and I'll read it, record it and send it off to your inbox with my thanks.

Come on, you know you want my voice whispering things like "I took his throbbing cock down my throat" into your headphones during your morning commute.

Pegged

I stood and steadied myself on his shoulder as blood rushed from my head. I took a sip of my bourbon and kissed him softly.

"I'm going to take good care of you, Billy. William."

"Why do you call me William?" he whispered.

"I like it. It's nicer than Billy. And I believe that if one is going to have one's lights fucked out, one should be addressed by one's proper name. And I fully intend to fuck your lights out." My voice was barely a whisper into his ear as my hand reached down to fondle the erection in his boxers.

He smiled and laughed nervously.

I walked him into the bedroom.

I turned and took his baseball cap, tossing it into the corner, "Take this ridiculous thing off. It makes you look twelve."

I lowered the boxers and knelt to inspect his cock.

"It's not very big. I shave it so it looks bigger." More nervous laughter.

I said nothing; just took it in.

His cock jumped and then he stood there, passively.

After a few minutes of slow and deliberate cocksucking I pulled back.

"William, you need to fuck my face. You need to hit the back of my throat with your cock. I'm serious."

He nodded, and I held my head still as he held me behind the ears and bobbed into me. My lips pursed and the sound they made as his dick slid between them made me very wet. I moaned.

"Your turn," he said, as he pulled out and helped me stand. He tossed me back onto the bed.

I laughed, a bit drunk. He pulled me to the edge of the bed and I felt vaguely like I was at the gyno's office ("Scoot your bottom to the end of the table. Good girl.").

Oh, that makes me miss my gynecologist in Detroit, Dr. Amnon. Sigh. But that's another story. Promise.

Then, as if the thought had just landed in his head he said, "Oh! Where are your toys?"

"Hah! Right here."

I flipped over and flung my body across the bed, reaching into the far nightstand. I started tossing things over my shoulder onto the mattress.

"Good lord," he said, picking up a dildo.

I'd stopped, holding the blue Buzz dildo in my hand, remembering a previous conversation. My oral sex could wait. I wanted to test his skills. I reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out the harness.

I stepped off the bed next to the nightstand and stepped into it as he watched wordlessly. I fitted the dildo through the O ring and pulled the harness down on my hips. I walked around the bed and stood in front of him.

He was breathing fast.

"Suck my cock. Now."

He went to his knees and immediately deep-throated the silicone.

"William. Look at me. Slow down and enjoy sucking my cock. Put your arms around my legs. Pinch a nipple. Use your tongue. Do you like how that feels on your tongue?"

"Mmmmmmmnhmmmmmn"

"Me, too."

He looked up, as if to protest that it wasn't a real cock, that it couldn't be affecting me.

But it was. The sight of this gingi-boy sucking my big blue cock made me giddy. And goddamn, I wanted to fuck him. I put my hand on the back of his head and began to fuck his face.

By this time the silicone had warmed up nicely and was sliding in and out and down his throat easily.

"Baby, you are a very good cocksucker."

He smiled, "Maybe you can invite me over when one of your other boyfriends is here."

"So you can suck their cocks and watch them fuck me?"

"Uh huh."

At that point I might have given him anything he asked for, but the thought of fucking my boyfriend while he watched electrified my clit and my chest pounded with ache. Damn it, I missed my boyfriend.

I needed to fuck.

Hard.

I told Billy as much and he happily got onto his back. He lubed himself as I pulled a condom onto the dildo. As he held his legs back, I pressed my cockhead against his hole. I slid right in.

I started fucking slowly, easily, remembering that he'd never been fucked in the ass. Presently, though, the thought occurred to me: He's pretty wasted, into it and this hole is more than ready for some action.

I flipped him over and started pounding him, calling him a freak who liked to have his ass fucked because he couldn't please a woman with his small dick. I called him names. I pinched his nipples until he moaned. And the more I degraded him the hotter the fucking got. He pushed back onto my cock as it sunk into him. I slapped his haunches and held him there as I came, thrusting in place deep inside.

While i was there I encircled his dick with my thumb and forefinger and stroked him once, twice, three times a lady and he shot on my sheets with a cry.

It was as if I'd actually sprouted a cock. I was shaking and felt it as an extension of myself inside him.

I replayed the scene in my head--the degradation of Billy. That was kind of a mindfuck. I don't do that. I barely talk during sex, let alone talk dirty.

I wanted a break.

I pulled out quickly and walked to the bathroom, leaving him to recover on the bed, the drunk-ass motherfucker.

As I sipped my water, I gathered my thoughts, reassured myself and relished in the feeling of a successful fuck.

I looked at the clock. Four and a half hours since he told me about his panty fetish.

I was in no rush to get rid of him. And he was in no condition to drive home. He would leave later, after dinner and several more hours of sex.

I walked back to the bedroom. He was sprawled face down on the bed.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Oh, man, that was awesome!"

"Yeah, you did great, darlin. You really took it in."

"Yeah, and now I'm starving! Let's go eat."

"Why don't we just order something?"

"No! I want to go out! My treat."

I drove.

He chose Greek.

How appropriate, I thought.


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Next

I waved goodbye to my babies, strapped into their car seats, embarking on an adventure which would take them away for two weeks. I didn’t cry, though I felt that I should.

What came next were two weeks of shameless debauchery, peppered with phone calls and webcam dates with the boys. They talked about the summer camp they were attending, the many virtues of Deiondra's cat and the fact that there was a huge piñata in the backyard for their joint birthday party at the end of their visit.

The fact that the kids were gone gave my mother the notion that I would be at a loss for things to do. I called Jackson. He agreed to call me every other day and invite me to do something with him and his girlfriend. That way, when my mother asked what my plans were for an evening or a weekend I could say, honestly, that he'd invited me out.

I never saw Jackson those two weeks.

I saw a lot of Thomas. Anthony. Curtis. And Billy.

Billy posted an ad on Craigslist which sounded innocuous enough, with the phrase "busy professional" worked in. Translation: He doesn't have time for or interest in bullshit. He was my age with strawberry blond hair and freckles and a nice build. Billy also had a keen interest in being dominated by a girl.

My heart leapt with excitement.

"I know; it's pretty freaky, right?"

"I don't think it's freaky at all," I replied, "tell me more."

He told me about a girl he'd picked up, taken to a sex shop and fucked in the dressing room where they were interrupted by another guy. Billy invited the guy to take a turn while he watched.

"I guess I'm into being cucked. Do you know what that is?"

"Yes. Tell me, do you ever participate?"

"With the dude? Sometimes."

"Giver or receiver?"

"I like to suck. I've never been pegged, but I'd like to try it. I'm a total freak. I'm freaking you out, aren't I?"

If he only knew.

"You most certainly are not. When can we get together?"

"Friday afternoon?"

"Lunch? How about a drink?"

"How about I schedule a massage? I'm really nervous about this, and that might relax me."

"We can do that. But you have to know that I'm not THAT kind of massage therapist. I mean, it's all totally ethical."

"Oh, yeah, I'll pay you and no funny business. I didn't mean to suggest..."

"That's fine. Let's schedule a massage and get comfortable with each other. One o'clock?"

He phoned at noon, saying he'd finished his meeting early and was on his way to my town, "I'm really nervous. I was going to stop at the brewpub downtown and have a beer before i came over, and I thought you might want to join me--my treat."

He picked me up on his way downtown and we sat at a corner table. We ordered our beers and talked about him. I kept to one beer. After two he loosened up and started to smile. After three he was confessing to a secret fetish he'd had for a dozen years: Tight, shiny panties.

"Oooh! Like, so tight that they cut into the hips? And you can see them digging?"

"Uh huh. And the shinier the better."

"Damn, that's hot."

He grinned.

We left and drove to my apartment.

"Are you still wanting a massage?"

"Definitely. No funny business."

I left the room and came back a few minutes later. He was under the sheet, ready for work. I kicked off my sandals.

I started with his upper back and shoulders, stretching, kneading and pulling while digging my elbow into the trigger points between his shoulderblades.

After about 20 minutes he needed a bathroom break. He grinned sheepishly and walked across the floor in his boxers. When he came back I continued the massage. We talked about his work, his divorce and baby son named Jack.

25 minutes later his hands were hanging straight down at the head of the table where I stood stroking parallel paths from his neck to his low back.

I felt his fingers graze my ankles.

"Is this allowed?"

"If you touch me like that I'll have to end this session and fire you as a client."

His hands moved up my calves.

"Wow, your legs are so muscular!"

His fingers stopped behind my knees.

"William, this session is over. I can't be your massage therapist any longer."

"Oh, that's too bad."

He raised my skirt and caressed the backs of my thighs. I pulled back.

"Now that we are no longer therapist and client I want you to get me a drink. Pour one for yourself if you'd like. You'll find the bourbon in the cabinet to the right of the sink along with the glasses. Three cubes and two fingers for me, please."

He sat up.

"Do you have any beer?"

"William. I have bourbon."

He turned and walked into the kitchen. He was a little loopy.

I stripped and climbed onto the table as the cabinet door closed, glasses were plunked onto the countertop, ice cracked and dropped into glasses. I listened to the delicious thunngg of cork pulling free from bottle, followed by the glug-glug of bourbon rushing downward.

I raised myself on my elbows and watched him.

He came back with the drinks, clearly not accustomed to the finer points of whiskey drinking: He'd poured us both glasses 3/4 full of bourbon.

"This shit is really strong."

"Easy, baby, you need to sip it. Maybe you'd like a glass of water? So you can alternate?" I asked, taking a drink and swallowing.

"Nah, I'm good. I've just never drunk bourbon before."

Uh oh.

"This is going to be fun."


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Hummer

Every morning at Miles' school they "invite you to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance." Some kids recite it word for word, hands on hearts, at the tops of their voices. Other kids stand respectfully, turned toward Old Glory on the gym wall.

We parents stand, too. I imagine that the parents who choose not to recite the pledge have children who say it, and vice versa.

I never heard the pledge without the words "under God," but when I discovered that they were an addendum during the Cold War--a reactionary alteration against the threat of Communism--I stoppped saying them. For fifteen years I've hummed to myself while two words which I don't believe belong in a public institution flow past.

This morning, when Mrs. Lester said, "Today is September the Eleventh. I want you to pay special attention to the meaning of the words we say today, and I invite you to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance," my eyes started to tear.

Oh, shit, she's really doing it, isn't she?

I put my hand on my heart and just stood there, eyes burning, swallowing because I totally choked.

I still hummed when they got to the God part.

Countdown

Two Weeks
Daniel, you'll recall, phoned to tell me he'd gotten married and his new wife Deiondra was with child. I got off the phone before my laughter betrayed me.

One Week
It occurred to me that I hadn't thought to find out how far along in her pregnancy Deiondra was. I inquired and learned that, yes, she was seven and a half months along. I shouldn't worry, Daniel assured me, as Deiondra was feeling great, and the pregnancy was progressing very smoothly.

Um, okay, really not my concern.

Jack had something which looked like a chigger bite in his groin which swelled up to the size of a cherry within a couple of days. I took him to the doctor, who guessed it was another infected spider bite and prescribed antibiotics. The thing came to a head and oozed yellow pus down his thigh as Jack stood naked on his tiptoes in the kitchen, hands to his sides, palms up, eyes wide, paralyzed and with a look of sheer disgust on his face.

Because it was a pustule.

Five Days
Daniel and Deiondra and I spoke on the phone about the boys' upcoming visit. They would be spending two weeks with their dad in his new house, with his new wife and her burgeoning belly. Deiondra asked a ton of questions. She has no experience with children. Mine are going to eat you for breakfast, I thought. Good, though, that she was asking; even if it was for show, I felt better sending the boys knowing she was taking notes and seemed concerned about what might happen to her should she fuck things up.


Two Days
Miles and I went to the Orthopedic office to get his cast removed. He'd been in it for six weeks and all I can say is thank dog for Gore-Tex because if he'd not been able to swim all summer I'm not sure what we'd have done. He freaked out at the sight of his pale, skinny forearm and felt better when the wrist brace was slid over it and fastened with velcro on the side.

One Day
Miles had a cough and an earache. I took him to the urgent care clinic because it was Saturday. He got a new inhaler and ear drops. Of course this would happen on their last day in town. Of course now they will be fine when they are with Daniel. We went to their favorite sandwich place to eat and I let them get second helpings of ice cream.

Four Hours
As I packed their bag earlier in the evening I'd laid out clothes for a week for each of them, along with books and a few games they'd requested. I'd washed the baby blankets my mother had knitted when they were born and used extra softener in the rinse. I'd printed out the list of everything I'd packed. I'd printed the CD label for the vacation mix I'd made them.

I turned out the lights and slid between them on the futon in the living room.

I contemplated the two weeks until I would see them: Time to work as many hours a day as I could, eat whatever I wanted, clean out their closet without any protests. Go to movies. Dinner. And sex. I could have as much sex as I decided to have. Suddenly the world seemed huge and even though I wanted to bite it, the fact that the possibilities were so great scared me a little.

We had never been apart for more than six days. In a few hours they would board an airplane with their father and fly--for the first time that either of them would remember--away from me for two weeks.

I snuggled with each in turn. I whispered that I would miss them and that I loved them very much. I fell asleep with my babies curled into my body, heads nestled in the crooks of my arms.


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