Monday, November 22, 2010

New Horizons

Monday, November 22, 2010
Hang-ups be damned. Taboos as well. For the first time in years, I've pushed my boundaries and experienced something new -- and I'm here to tell you it was pretty amazing.

The threesome occurred at Noah's apartment, that sexy, professionally-furnished loft in Manhattan's Financial District. Simone and I arrived together, condoms and lubricant included. No handcuffs or blindfolds, but there's always round two.

After a bit of wine, we settled into kissing. Simone and I, that is. For what felt like the longest time, Noah just sat there and watched. Soon, however, he inched over, smoothed a hand across my chest before pushing me away, then kissing Simone himself.

Soon we were both kissing her, touching her, cupping her breasts and licking her neck and unbuttoning her jeans. Her clothes dropped to the ground one by one -- top, jeans and eventually her bra and panties. Noah's eyes widened at the sight of her bare breasts, though he managed a smirk when I snuck behind Simone and (gently) pinched her nipples.

"Is this amusing you?" I asked him. "We haven't even gotten to the good part."

"Just not something I'm used to seeing on a regular basis," Noah replied.

Simone cleared her throat and said, "Undress each other, please."

We obliged her wish. Part of me found this arousing, performing with another man for the sake of Simone's whimsical fancy. There we were, two love slaves for her to command, to use as she saw fit, to embrace or discard or shower with all of her sexual repertoire if she so desired.

Noah led me by the wrist, then sneaked behind me and began to unbutton my shirt. The feel of his hands was foreign to me -- large, cold, a bit rough but expertly aware of where on my chest to linger. Next came my pants, then my boxers, until I was as naked as the day I was born.

I hadn't even noticed that Noah had stripped down as well. Naked, together, we turned our attention back to Simone. In what felt like the blink of an eye we were in bed, with Noah kissing Simone's mouth while I ate her pussy. Hearing her gasps and moans and feeling her nails scrape my scalp was all the confirmation I needed to know she was enjoying herself.

Next came a shudder, then a moan, her hands seizing the sides of my head as she cried out. That was the first orgasm -- but she wanted more.

"Enough," she said. "Now, you two."

For a brief second, it really hit me: I was doing this was Noah. No more pondering or weighing the pros and cons. This was it. This was real.

He reached out and kissed me first -- my lips, my cheek my neck. His hands grazed my shoulders, fingertips intertwining with the hair on my chest. His mouth worked over my own in a persistent yet gentle manner, with just a hint of tongue pushing through my lips.

So strange to feel a man working over me. Gently, he pushed me flat on my back and then kissed down my abdomen, then finally took my cock into his mouth. And yes, the old adage is true: Gay men give great head.

He let me go right before I came. I opened my eyes to see the smirk on his face, like the cat who ate the canary. Ah yes, but there was still Simone. To make a long story short, I fucked her from behind while she sucked Noah off.

Soon enough, we all came, and collapsed into a panting and sweaty heap. I fell asleep pretty quickly, and I'm sure Noah did as well. Funny thing happened, though: Simone must have been awake, because she caught a cab back to her place. She left us a note, saying that her family was going to be in town the next morning (which was indeed true) and that she couldn't show up looking like she'd just had a three-way.

That left Noah and I, in bed, together. We woke up together. Had breakfast together. And, he even walked me down to the lobby of his building as I departed.

My apologies if this entry is a bit dry compared to my usual writing. Between work (as you know, I work for an advertising firm and we do work with several high-end consumer brands, all of whom are in the midst of the Christmas rush) and life, I haven't had much time to write this blog.

But stay tuned, everyone. Something tells me 2011 is going to be a very, very interesting year.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010


Wednesday, November 17, 2010
"What are you really after?" Noah said to me. "Come on, tell me."

"Simone is interested in you," I said. "Well, you and I. Together."

"She thinks we're having an affair?"

"No -- she wants a threesome."

What I thought would take a fifteen-minute explanation was revealed in just four sentences. Noah seemed amused, amazed, and just a little incredulous. Simone was beautiful, he said, and most beautiful women are very territorial over their partners.

"Simone isn't actually your average woman," I reminded him. "She and I were both escorts, remember? Besides, it's not like I haven't had a threesome before."


"Yes," I said, and told him the time Adam and I met with a client. Noah sat back, wide-eyed and mouth open, as I recalled the details of double-penetration and the feeling of Adam's arm, leg and other body parts brushing against my own. The sweat, the moans, the veil of heat over all out bodies -- I remember it like it was yesterday.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Noah asked. "This Adam, was he--?"

"He was an acquaintance first, then a friend," I explained. "And it wasn't the worse night at work I ever had, no."

Only after a pause in the conversation did I realize where I was: Noah's apartment. It was a studio-come-loft in downtown Manhattan. Clean lines, dark cherry wood floors and exposed beams were proof enough that Noah was quite successful. No help from mommy and daddy here -- he earned this place fair and square.

"I should get going," I said, and rose from my leather chair. "Work tomorrow..."

"I'm in," Noah said.


"The threesome -- I'm in."

"I thought you were gay?"

"Most of the time," he replied, grinning like Cheshire cat. "On this occasion, I'm willing to make an exception."

He walked me to the door, then to the elevator, and ended our night with this:

"I never forgot, you know. That night, at the party. I never, ever forgot."

Before I could make my reply, the elevator doors shut. I caught a cab, slumped into the back seat, and pondered my life on the ride through the light and sound of the Manhattan night.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Sting Operations

Sunday, November 14, 2010
I, for one, think that sting operations set up by police departments for the purpose of trapping prostitutes are a monumental waste of time.

Oh, but they're doing a good service, the police will claim. We're catching prostitutes! We're luring them to motels and videotaping it, and then sending said tapes to the evening news for the purpose of entertainment!

Give. Me. A. Fucking. Break.

In today's day and age, there are much scarier things than prostitutes meeting a client at an off-highway motel. For instance, there are terrorists, bankers who gamble with our 401(k) savings, and even a certain (former) politician from Alaska who refuses to go away.

But no -- the prostitutes are out there, and they need to be stopped.

Pray tell, why is that the police never seem to humiliate the John who beats and rapes an underage girl? Where's his judgment day? Why is his face never plastered on the evening news? Is it because unlike the girls trapped in these sting operations, he's actually committed a crime and is deemed innocent until proven guilty?

Let's not forget: soliciting sex isn't the same as actually having sex for money. These girls didn't really get "caught" having sex for money -- only offering it to an undercover police officer. So if they haven't really done anything, why is it they're allowed to be shown on the evening news?

This is fucked up, people. I'm tired of seeing girls who obviously aren't at the high-end of the business paraded around like some sort of sideshow for the puritanical masses. And as for the cops, well, they're mostly a bunch of fat, middle-aged buffoons who wouldn't know how to solve a real crime if it grew a pair a teeth and bit them right in the ass.

How does this make the world safer? How does jailing a girl who needs the funds form prostitution improve her situation? Why does this whole scenario reek of patriarchal tyranny?

Your thoughts are welcome at For the record, inspiration for this post was a piece on the evening news that was, by far, the biggest piece of journalistic trash I have seen in years. The reason why the police did it is even worse: they needed the PR after a very, very big screw up the previous year.

Girls, keep your heads high -- even if you get caught. You're earning a living, paying your bills, staying off public assistance and keeping your house in order. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Don't ever forget that!

Monday, November 8, 2010

The Bedroom

Monday, November 8, 2010

For some reason, Simone isn't eager to slap me in face, even though I ask for it.

"I could leave a mark," she said. "How will you explain that at work?"

"I'll tell them that I asked my girlfriend to do it," I replied. "That will teach them to ask questions when they aren't prepared for the answer."

She laughed. Mind you, I was lying in bed, fully naked. Simone wore nothing but a pair of panties and was straddling me. After tying me wrists to the headboard, she bent down and kissed me on the mouth, her tongue flicking against my lips in a way she knew drove me crazy.

"This works too," I muttered.

She said nothing in return -- just reached down and squeezed my cock. Hard. Squeeze and release, squeeze and release, before she dragged her nails against the shaft. I let out a moan, only to have her bit my lower lip with her teeth.

She let go of my lip, then my cock. I felt almost naked without her bite, her grasp, the feeling of her breasts against my naked chest. 

"Are you sure you want me to? Because if I leave a mark..."

"Just fucking do it."

She grazed my cheek with the back of her hand before she struck me with an open hand. The impact made a soft crack. Immediately the right side of my face -- where she'd just slapped me -- warmed and tingled. No less than 10 seconds later, I could feel my lips spread into a smile.

"Again," I said.

She slapped me once more, this time against the left side of my face. Then back to the right side, and then the left.

"Happy now?" she asked.

"Very. OK, untie me."


"Still have some more punishment in mind?"

She smiled, and did in fact untie me. She rolled me over on my stomach, then went into the closet. I could hear the jingle of the belt buckle as she came back in bed, then spanked my ass until it was as red as the paint in her bedroom.

By then, I'd had enough. Once my cock was securely wrapped in a condom, we fucked on the bed, on the dresser, and ended up on the floor. And while I'm not sporting any marks on my face, her fingernails left several indentations on my back.

Simone might have fantasies about me with another man -- but my fantasies revolve around her and her exclusively. Allowing her to slap me, spank me, bite me and squeeze me, it's all rooted in trust. Only when I feel loved can I willingly ask for pain.

I'm planning another entry about this soon. Stay tuned...

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