Sex by the Numbers

"Have you ever been to an orgy?”

I ask that question of anyone who expresses an interest in attending one of my sex parties. Very frequently, the answer is “no . . . what, are you kidding?”

That’s fine by our gang; we’re very welcoming of those who are new to all of this. In fact, many of my friends first came to our orgy just to see what it was all about, never expecting they would actually do anything.

Typically, they do something.

Months and even years later, many of those first timers are still at it. Orgies can get under yours skin like that.

So it was with Belle. See, she had been without sex for a while, when a friend recommended . . . well, how about I let her tell you what led her to my door . . .

In late April 2005, I visited New York City for a whirlwind weekend of debauchery and freedom. I had my first threesome with two men. I almost doubled the number of sexual partners I'd had prior to coming (no pun intended).

But wait, let me back up. This really started in early March 2005 when, at the behest of a good friend, I was invited to one of Jefferson's now-famous sex parties.

I was recently divorced, after my husband realized he was really a she. I was going into month fifteen of a far-too-long period of involuntary celibacy. I was nervous. I considered not going. I thought, surely, something this good couldn't happen to me?

But I pushed through my fears, and I went to the party. And, nervous as I was, I slowly began to relax as I talked to the people there, and when I finally got down to some good old-fashioned fucking, with the whole room watching . . . it felt right. It felt, to use a hopelessly cheesy literary cliché, like coming home.

I felt like my old self, no longer imprisoned by lack of sex.

And so, later that month, when I discovered there were some frequent flyer miles burning a hole in my pocket, I knew I had to go back. Jefferson graciously offered to arrange whatever sexual menu I would like for the weekend. And he delivered.

The blog posts here chronicle my journey of liberation, self-actualization, and other such hippie shit. Or, to put a finer point on it—some seriously good sex.

Belle
June 2007

The story of Belle’s sex tour of Manhattan first appeared in One Life, Take Two. It is published here in its entirety, with links back to the original posts, which contain additional commentary. And context—as I was squiring Belle, my girlfriend Madeline, who had first visited me in the previous month, was hosting our shared boyfriend, Marcus.

Photographs of girls in glasses are courtesy of Abby Winters. Visit her site for more.

Enjoy your travels with Belle. The next time you’re planning a trip to the Big Apple, drop a line to her tour guide.

Group rates available.



Violet Y.

Package Tour

Two months ago, Dacia brought her friend Belle to one of our gatherings.

Belle and Dacia had been classmates in college before Belle transferred to a university in the Deep South. They had reconnected when Belle happened across Dacia’s blog.

This, in turn, led Belle to my own blog. A few clicks of her mouse, and Belle had learned a lot about her pal Dacia.

Belle was going to be in New York on business, so she asked to accompany Dacia to our sex party.

You see, she needed some sex. It had been a while.

Belle’s marriage had ended when her husband decided that he would prefer to trade in his gender to live as a woman.

As Belle lent her support to her spouse’s transformation from hubby Patrick to best friend Patricia, she discovered that she had left her own libido in limbo.

By the time she showed up at my door, Belle was fifteen months distant from her most recent shagging. A long time in the sexual life of a twenty six year old coming out of a monogamous marriage.

That night, Jake put an end to her fast. In doing so, he became the seventh man she had ever fucked.

We all kept in touch with Belle after she returned to the South. We celebrated when she found some worthy local talent, bumping her pussy’s odometer to eight.

Still, our sex buffet seared at her memory, even as frequent flyer miles burned in her pocket.

One day she asked: if she came back to New York, could I arrange a sex itinerary for her?

What do you have in mind? I asked.

She wanted to up her numbers with some fine quality sex.

She wanted to see Jake again, and to get her hands on Todd, who she met at the party but neglected to fuck. It was to be assumed she would sleep with me. Maybe I could add a few more boys to that mix?

You want a gangbang? I asked.

Oh no. More like a sequence of dates. A parade of men.

We crunched numbers and decided to aim for five men in two days.

Any flavors appeal to you? I asked.

I like geeky white boys. And sorry, girls don’t do it for me.

I had my charge.

Belle is a young woman with a sharp mind. She’s pale and thin, with short strawberry blonde hair, long limbs and large breasts.

She’s geek through and through, with a stripper’s physique.

I only wish this task were harder, I complained.

I activated the sex crew.

This story first appeared at One Life, Take Two on Saturday, May 07, 2005.



Natalie M.

Nine

Around noon on Saturday, there was a light rap at my door.

“You don’t have to knock down my door, you know.”

“Sorry.” Belle smiled hello. She came in and set down her bag.

I kissed her. She stood, kissing me back. Wet, open and warm.

For the next forty-eight hours, I was responsible for keeping her kisser happy.

I wasn’t worried. We had planned well.

There were a few kinks in the plan. Top of the list: Belle was tuckered after a late night and an early flight—not an auspicious beginning for a weekend of sexing it up.

“How do you feel? Do you want to rest now, or should I offer coffee?”

“Coffee would be great,” she said, sitting at my table. “I can rest later.”

It was so Southern of her to sit at the table. Other folks would sit on the couch and rest their cups on the coffee table. Our people sit at a table, leaning on elbows over coffee when chewing the fat.

She poured a healthy stream of sugar into her coffee.

Yes sir, she’s a cracker, all right.

Belle is an easy conversationalist. We had a pleasant back and forth over our cups.

She was a little nervous about her weekend, she confessed, but as we talked, she was increasingly at ease.

It’s one of those things, we discussed. Sexual adventure seems so extraordinary and unusual when you fantasize about it, but when you are in the midst of it, it is surprising that what happens can be so normal. One breath after the next.

“At any rate,” she said, taking a sip. “I am in good hands.”

“Yes, you soon will be,” I replied. “You know, I was glad when you found your local talent. But when he became your eighth man, I saw the window closing on my opportunity to be among the select few in your single digits.”

“Looks like you are squeaking in at number nine,” she laughed.

“Number nine . . . number nine . . . number nine,” I geeked, in my best Liverpool accent. “So let’s log that number, shall we?”

“By all means.” She stood.

I prepared two glasses of water and led her to my bedroom.

She surveyed my room, which looked as it does when I am not having sex parties, like the last time she had been there. No candles, muted porn or the sounds of sex and music spilling from the other rooms.

Just her and me, and a bed with a crisp white duvet and freshly laundered sheets.

“So how do we do this?” she said, flapping an arm.

“You kiss me,” I said, stepping closer and kissing her. “And then we lose the clothes.”

“Gotcha.”

We chatted as we undressed. I nearly halted her at her panties. Horizontal candy-colored stripes, in a hot pants style, so perfect for her frame.

On a longer date, I would want a nice long time with her in panties. To touch them, to finger the elastic, to lick the cotton wet. To wish them away.

I daydreamed of her in a swimsuit. All day, on a beach, admiring those hot pants, those hips and long legs . . .

But for now, on our schedule, nudity would have to suffice.

I stripped and lay on the bed. She was nude, climbing on hands and knees across the bed, climbing over my body, her lips making a beeline for mine.

Her kiss landed on me, exploding neurons, kicking off power chords.

I took her kiss and gave back into it. She was there to volley it back to me.

“I like kissing,” she smiled. “You too, huh?”

“Shut up and kiss me.” My hands were on her cheeks, mussing her hair.

Forget the time to worship her panties.

I wanted to date her in high school.

I wanted to make out behind the bleachers. I wanted to linger months at first base wondering if we would ever make it to second.

“Would you like me to go down on you?” she asked.

“Yes please.”

As her mouth ventured south on my body, I took note. Among my responsibilities for this weekend was to offer pointers on the improvement of her cocksucking.

Apparently, the local talent has complained that her teeth get involved when she blows him. And her gag reflex has thus far prevented her from a accomplishing a successful deep throat.

Of course, she said, his cock is “ginormous” and he is not very patient.

She took me into her mouth. I observed, thinking patient thoughts, trying not to have too large a dick.

She had enthusiasm. No problem with teeth . . . it was a smashing good blowjob.

I would suggest more eye contact.

And work on going deeper. She did tend to give head, as we say, “like a girl,” meaning that she held the base of my cock in her hands. This allows a nice handjob motion, but it’s also a ploy—the hand prevents the mouth from going lower.

She came up for air. “Pretty good?”

“Pretty great. Very nice blowjob, Belle.”

“How do I go deeper, though?”

“Well, it helps to relax, of course. And experience with the guy matters for that. But sometimes positions help. Let’s try something.” I took her hand from my cock, pushed back and stood next to the bed.

“Now, lay back so that you head is over the edge of the bed.” She turned her body and scooted over.

“Like this?” She looked at me.

“Yes. Now feel this as I feed you my cock.”

I gave my cock to her inverted mouth, slowly, then deeper. Much deeper than before.

She relaxed into a bit. I fucked her throat.

“See?”

“Yes, but I can’t do it for long. It’s hard to breath.”

“Practice this with the local talent, if it’s comfortable.”

“I will. Can you eat me now?”

“Be glad to.”

She twisted around and back into the pillows. “This bed is fucking comfortable!”

“Isn’t it though?” I caressed her legs as they opened.

Belle keeps a closely cropped pubic region, blonde and pink. Our hairs are the same honey color.

I licked the sap of her wet cunt, savoring how much she gave me. I could content myself face down in her pussy for the duration of high school and well into college.

I slipped in a finger as I sucked her clit. She was tighter than a pensioner’s wallet.

“That’s so nice, but you know, you’re going to have to fuck me real soon.”

Belle likes her oral sex just fine, I learned, but she sees it primarily as a prelude to the overture. And this girl likes her trumpets and kettledrums kicking out loud. Not much time for the trill of flutes.

I reluctantly retracted my eager tongue from her well, and reached for a condom.

I leaned back on my heels to roll it on my cock. “Now, you have to tell me what works. I want to know your body, and I need a crash course.”

“Hold me close, you’ll see.”

I entered her, and pressed down, holding her body close to mine.

“You are, uh, mighty tight.”

“So I hear. Now, stay inside real close and hold me.”

I did.

I fucked her deep, in short thrusts, pushing against her clit. She clenched my shoulders as she came.

“Oh yes,” she panted. “You are going to know my body just fine.”

I repeated what we had done, and she came again. She had handed me the key to her orgasm.

I wanted more. I was very satisfied to keep pleasuring her.

At one point she asked, “What do I need to do to make you cum?”

I smiled. “I have no intention of cumming. I am fucking you all day.”

“In that case, I may need to take that nap now.”

“Go ahead.”

“Yeah, but we may need to stop fucking for that to happen.”

“Ya think?”

“I think fucking you will keep me awake, yes.”

“Even if I’m quiet as a church mouse?”

“Even if.”

I pulled out and kissed her, caressing her face.

“See, that’s going to make me want to fuck, not sleep.”

“Oh, right.” I stood and closed the blinds, darkening the bedroom. I returned and kissed her forehead.

“Enjoy your rest,” I whispered. “You have about an hour before clocking number ten.”

This story first appeared at One Life, Take Two on Sunday, May 08, 2005.



Marianne

Ten

As Belle napped, I signed on to check email.

Madeline was online.

I had wondered whether or not I wanted to be in touch with her and Marcus during their weekend together. Maybe it was better, I thought, to just let them have their time alone.

But at that particular moment, well rested and freshly fucked, I thought, what the heck? I typed howdy, and got a warm how-do-you-do in response.

I ventured the web cam.

Up popped the image of Madeline in a slip, getting a massage from Marcus.

Marcus was nude.

We chatted for a few minutes. I asked Marcus to take my daughter Rachel shopping for shoes when he returned home—she needed something nice for her prom. Then we signed out. They had plans for barbeque.

I had plans for Belle.

“Belle, honey . . .”

“I’m up,” she croaked.

I sat beside her. “Driti will be here shortly.”

“Okay. Do you think I should put on clothes to meet him?”

“Probably would be polite.”

“Okay.” She pulled back the covers, and swung her long legs over the bed. I caressed her flesh as she stood. We kissed.

“Go. Let me get dressed.”

“Get dressed. I’m gone. One thing . . .”

“Yes?”

“You will like Driti. He is very handsome, very polite. But don’t be surprised if he tries to come on suave—he’s young, he’s European, that’s just his way.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for that.”

We were chatting on the couch when Driti arrived. “S’up, bro,’ Jefferson, how have you been?” He put an arm around my neck and pulled me close.

“Very well, thanks. Please, come in and meet Belle.”

He removed his shoes, then stepped to her.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. “So, where are you from?”

A conversation of pleasantries passed pleasantly. Driti was, as promised, polite and tad smooth.

“So,” I interjected after a suitable interval. “Shall we get naked?”

“Let’s,” said Belle, standing.

“You lead the way, Jefferson,” said Driti.

“Please. Right this way.”

We entered the bedroom. Belle was getting the hang of this no-nonsense approach—she set to removing the clothes she had been wearing for only a few minutes. I stripped and we met in bed.

We kissed as Driti stood watching, wearing only underwear stretched by the curve of his erection.

“Why don’t you join us?” asked Belle.

“Okay, I will,” he said, slipping off his underwear. “So, you are ready for two men?”

“Bring it.”

I have known Driti for almost two years, since May and I first picked him up online for a threesome. Since then, we’ve had many threesomes.

Driti is twenty one, lean and well muscled, with dark hair and handsome features. He’s straight and rather caught up in a Baltic machismo that, thankfully, he relaxes around me.

Belle liked what she saw.

He slid into bed next to her. She turned and climbed his body to kiss him.

“I like to kiss,” she explained.

“That’s nice,” he smiled, his cock lurching in spasms against her flesh.

They kissed more, until Belle pulled her face back.

“I think you need to fuck me with that thing banging on my ass.”

“You mean, in your ass?”

“No, take my pussy. Got a condom, Jefferson?”

“One step ahead of you.” I took a freshly unwrapped condom and slowly rolled it down his cock.

“Hot,” Belle said. “Now give it to me.”

She eased her body onto him. His body tensed and relaxed into her.

“Damn!” he said, looking at her, then to me.

“Yeah, she’s pretty tight.”

“It’s okay?” Belle asked.

“Oh yeah, it’s okay!” He pushed up into her. She pushed up and down. They found a rhythm. He took a breast in his mouth.

This is Driti’s favorite position. He got to it fast.

I watched them go at it, rubbing her skin, sucking a breast, kissing her. I stroked his cock and balls as she fucked him.

“Mind if I join in?” I asked, once they were hot and heavy.

“Please,” Belle panted.

I stood on the bed and stepped over Driti, standing so that my cock was in Belle’s face. She took it into her mouth.

I fucked her face, looking down to see Driti watching as he pumped her cunt.

“Okay, lockjaw!” she gasped.

“Good job,” I kissed her. “Now you’ve had two cocks in you. That’s another item checked off your itinerary. Ready for the next?”

“You mean . . .”

“That’s right. Double pussy penetration.”

“Oh my!”

Belle and I had been over many sexual shenanigans she wanted to try. This was high on her list.

Driti and I do this very well.

“Okay Driti, you anchor her,” I said crouching behind her as I put a condom in place. I reassembled the configuration of their legs to make room for my knees.

I reached down to stop his cock. “Hold on a second, Driti.”

“Okay, master.”

I fucking love it when he calls me that. He initiated the use of that honorific, referring to himself as “the master’s son.”

He was one hot protégé. He learned fast.

I pressed my cock against the base of his, fingering lube and Belle juice on us all. I slid my cock up the shaft of his, and slowly into her.

“Fuck!”

“You okay?”

“That may be too much,” she gasped. I pulled out. “Sorry, I really want to do that, but I’m just too tight.”

“There’s always another time,” I kissed her. “For now, fuck the boy.”

She pulled off and pulled Driti on top of her. I sat on a chair, enjoying the view as he mounted her.

She showed him what got her off. He performed well, to her moans.

He followed with a slow fucking until he shifted to his preferred tempo—jackrabbit rapid.

His ass tensed and pushed, the muscles forming and reshaping.

He came in arching lurches.

“Damn!” he said, pulling out of her. “Look at that condom. So many little Dtritis.”

So much for suave.

He left to wash up.

“He’ll be ready for another round in, like, five minutes,” I stage whispered.

Belle smiled. “Super!”

He came back with an ashtray and sat in a chair next to the window.

“It’s okay I smoke?” he asked, pulling on his underwear.

“Sure,” said Belle.

No one smokes in my apartment. No one, that is, except Driti. I make an exception for him because he looks so good doing it.

He exhaled, his profile in silhouette against the closed blinds. The smoke circled and was drawn out the window by the cool afternoon air. He was quiet and still, absorbed in his cigarette and his body’s post-coital relaxation.

I could see that Belle enjoyed watching him too.

“You want to fuck until he’s ready for more?” I asked.

“Sure.”

Driti smoked as he watched us. His slender cock was pushing up on his underwear.

Not even a cigarette later, he was ready to go again.

I pulled my lips from Belle’s. “You want to practice your blowjobs?” I asked.

“I do.”

“Driti, please bring your cock to her mouth.”

“Okay master,” he stood, stamping out his cigarette. He pulled down his underwear and crouched on the bed next to us.

He gave his cock to Belle’s mouth. She swallowed it well, to a point.

“Can you try deeper?” I asked, keeping my cock far into her. I wanted the pressure of my pubis on her clit—the trigger of her orgasm—subtly moving in and out.

“I can’t seem too.”

“Here,” I took Driti’s cock from her mouth. “Try relaxing here,” I massaged her esophagus. “And then leaving your throat open. Like this.”

I took his cock whole into my mouth, deep. I swallowed to the base, rolling my tongue under the head.

Driti moaned.

“Shit, that’s hot,” she exclaimed.

I sucked up and down, fucking her harder as I blew him.

I had to be careful here. This is so taboo for my straight boy.

It gets him off every time.

But I selfishly wanted a few moments of this pleasure for myself. His cock in me, mine in her.

I ran my hand along his tight abdomen.

I wanted him to cum. But that was not my task that day.

“See?” I came up for air. “Like that. Want to try?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“Okay, But you are going to practice by sucking us both.”

“How?”

“Hang on.” I pulled out and tossed the condom. I maneuvered Driti to face me, sitting on the bed.

My right leg went over his left; my left went under his right. I took his hips in my hand and slid my ass closer to his.

Our balls were pressed together. I held our cocks in my grip.

“Try sucking both, just the heads.”

She took us in her mouth.

“Now more.”

She took a little more.

“Now swirl your tongue between the heads, on that sensitive spot.”

She did. Driti groaned.

“Okay, now that’s good. Very good.”

She sat back.

“Should I keep doing that?”

“You have two cocks at your disposal. Do what you enjoy.”

She took us both, then alternated from one to the other. I was settling back into this, watching Driti’s face.

He winced.

“Damn, you are killing me with your teeth.”

She stopped. “I am?”

“I’m feeling it too,” I agreed. “But it’s not teeth—it’s one tooth, on your upper left. Open your mouth please.”

She did. I fingered the inside of her gums. Nothing—no snaggle tooth or sharp molar. Perfect teeth.

She wanted to work on her blowjobs in part because the local talent had complained about her teeth. And yet her blowjob was fine to me, but for this instance.

“You know what: it’s the angle. You are coming in from our sides. I didn’t feel anything when you sucked me straight on. So focus on your approach.”

“Right.“ She twisted to suck Driti.

“Yessss.” It worked, apparently.

To get a better angle on him, she lifted her leg to climb on me. She propped her pussy on my mouth.

I licked her as she sucked him, getting harder.

I wanted my favorite position.

“Driti, please come here. Put on a condom on your way.”

“Okay, master.”

With his cock removed from her mouth, Belle went to work on mine.

“Driti,” I looked at him from under her ass. “I want you to fuck Belle’s pussy.”

“Okay, master.”

I pushed her ass back to him as he pushed into her.

I licked up into her clit, sucking it, My tongue slid across her pussy to his cock, feeling him fucking her across my mouth.

She pushed forward and back, taking my cock fast and wet. I pumped up into her.

My hands roamed her ass, his hips, his ass. His eyes were on my face, his cock.

I took his smooth balls in my mouth. I licked down his cock to her pussy, and latched on her clit.

She moaned.

Okay, that’s it.

I pulled back from her mouth.

I came.

In long spurts, deep waves.

Wish I had seen that, but my eyes full of sex. Belle says it was quite a show.

I was tingling, still convulsing.

“Okay, get off me.” I stood, weakly. “You. Him. Fuck.”

I left to wash. I was drenched.

I returned and sat at the end of the bed, massaging Belle’s feet. I watched them go at it until both were spent.

They reclined into my pillows.

“Well, I made the double digits,” Belle smiled. She turned to Driti. “You’re the tenth boy I’ve fucked.”

“You mean, today?”

“No, ever.”

“That’s good news,” he said. “Right?”

She nodded.

Driti pulled on his underwear and went to the terrace to smoke and make a telephone call.

While he did so, there was knock at the door.

Number Seven had arrived.

This story first appeared at One Life, Take Two on Friday, May 13, 2005.



Emma R.

Seven

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

Jake kissed me full on the mouth. I gave him my tongue.

“Good day so far?” he asked, removing his size fifteen sneakers.

“Very much so. Belle seems to be enjoying herself. Take your jacket?”

“Thanks. That’s great to hear. Is she . . .?”

“. . . in the bedroom, yes.”

Jake leaned over the bed to kiss her hello, then reclined next to her. He was fully dressed. She sat up in bed, nude and spent from sex.

Driti returned from his call and smoke. I introduced him to Jake.

“You are his neighbor?” Driti asked.

“No. A friend.”

Driti retrieved his pants from the floor. “Jefferson is a good friend to have.”

“Indeed.”

With Driti dressed and out the door, I went back to Belle and Jake. She was starvedand hankering for scrambled eggs. The two of them talked as I cooked.

Belle’s trip to New York was largely influenced by her interest in seeing Jake again. Since he broke her long spell without sex—becoming Number Seven in the lineup of men she had bedded—the two have kept in touch, chatting about life, music and computers.

They are both geeks.

It’s just as well that I was in the kitchen. They lay in my bed dissecting the ins-and-outs of Internet radio and the background gossip on Mac’s new OS X 10.4, the “Tiger.”

What I caught of their conversation only made my blonde head dizzy.

Belle ate her early evening breakfast in bed, from a tray. I sat in a nearby chair, sipping cabernet.

As Belle finished her meal, she mused, “I wonder if I should follow the swimming rule and wait thirty minutes before resuming physical activity.”

Physical activity was resumed within five minutes.

As Jake undressed, she warned that he might need to be gentle, as she had been fucking since noon.

“I don’t really ‘do’ gentle,” Jake shrugged. “But I’ll do my best.”

Belle climbed onto Jake, kissing him deeply.

As I watched, I observed initiatives she had made with me, now being made with Jake. I saw how she approached a new lover, and how his responses led her from one approach to another.

I have watched Jake have sex countless times. I know he enjoys kissing the way she does, the way I do. When encountering a lover who wants to kiss, he also gives over to it.

She enjoys getting head, but feels it primarily as a warm up to the main event. He sucks clit with relish, and still, once he hits third base, he’s on his feet and building steam for the charge to home plate.

They are well matched in this regard.

As for me, I run the risk of frustrating many a third base coach—wave your arms in as many windmills as you like, but once I hit third, I want to examine the fabric and weave of that tender base, lovingly sweeping it clear of clay and cleat prints, raising the bill of my cap to get as close as possible, to run my tongue along its stitching to find that central button . . .

I took a sip of Cabernet.

I watched the couple round the bases.

Jake sat back on his haunches as Belle applied her blowjob skills to his ten-inch slugger. Her mouth focused on his head; I wondered if she fretted about going deeper on so large a cock.

His moans offered encouragement from the bullpen. And then:

“Okay.”

He wanted to move on.

He asked her to lay back. She spread her legs, and he was face down on her cunt, licking open her labia.

“Oh, you know what you are doing,” she sighed, stretching back.

“Unnnffff,” Jake acknowledged.

Jake’s head was steady as his jaw worked her, his hands firm and gripping her thighs.

I sipped my wine, adjusting slightly in my seat. My cock was recovering nicely from my orgasm.

“That’s very nice,” Belle told Jake, “But you really need to fuck me now.”

“Yes, I do.”

Jake opened a package of Magnums and rolled one on his cock.

Belle raised her hips as he entered her. “Oh yes,” she laughed. “That’s what I remember.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he said. “At first.”

Jake cradled her shoulders in his arms, undulating his large frame into her.

Watching Jake’s body move, as he fucks, is like watching a thoroughbred at its peak.

Every muscle moving under his skin in a way that sends my memory back to anatomy lessons, remembering illustrations of how the body should look in motion.

His hips thrust more rapidly. Her hands clung to his latissimus dorsi.

Her gastrocnemius extended. Her toes distended.

He was at full gallop.

Looking ahead to this moment, I had not anticipated a threesome. Jake is big as a house, hung like a horse and fucks like a locomotive.

With all those analogies, there’s not much room for a second man.

I was content to watch. I sipped my wine.

She hollered “Whoa!,” slowing to a trot. Jake dismounted.

Poor Belle—to fuck Jake after a day of sex was quite an undertaking.

They nestled and talked as he jerked off.

“Talk dirty to me,” he asked.

“Um . . .”

“I love watching you stroke your cock,” I prompted.

“I love watching you stroke your cock,” she laughed.

“Thanks for your enthusiasm,” he smiled.

His hand worked harder as she caressed his chest.

“Are you going to cum on me?” she asked offering her belly.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice untroubled by his efforts. “But I can’t promise much—I was jerking off last night to the thought of you.”

“That’s sweet . . . ,” she said, as he began to unload on her flesh. Her hand went to his cock.

“Unh!,” he twitched as she milked him.

They kissed as he recovered.

I brought a warm washcloth and cleaned them.

I rinsed the cloth then found things to do, leaving them time alone.

Soon Belle had to shower, in advance of her evening’s plans with Dacia.

I reclined next to Jake. We chatted as Belle dressed.

With that, the first day of Belle’s itinerary was concluded. I was off duty until the next day at noon. I kissed goodbye to Belle and Jake, and prepared for that great rarity in my life.

A Saturday night alone at home.

Why would I go out after such a day?

Online during the evening, I traded instant messages with Mitzi, as we tried to get a handle on our relationship.

Later, concerned about that and a little in my cups. I would call Madeline and Marcus.

This story first appeared at One Life, Take Two on Friday, May 13, 2005.



Juliet N.

Eleven

On Sunday, Belle and I had to take our show on the road. I had a family member staying with me, which curtailed on-site goings-on.

As I got to know Belle while planning this weekend, I looked forward to introducing her to Thomas. Their senses of humor are so complementary.

Physically, too, they proved to be a stunning match. Both are lean and pale, with translucent skin, fair hair and clear eyes.

They would be lovely in bed together.

Sadly, I would not be there to see it.

Thomas had moved into his apartment on the preceding day, taking the second bedroom of his new roommate’s digs. He was wary of having a girl over so soon.

Bad enough if his roommate heard him with a woman in his bedroom. Very awkward indeed if he were discovered with a woman and a man!

Remember now: Thomas is not really bisexual. Not really.

We were to meet for lunch, and then I would send them off to have fun. Since I wasn’t there, Belle has agreed to fill you in on her Number Eleven. You can read her account below.

When we parted company, I went off for a sauna and schvitz at the Tenth Street Baths. I paid extra to have a man beat me with leaves.

One way or another, I was going to look at sweaty naked bodies.

As for Belle and Thomas, well, they were generating some radiant heat of their own.

I awoke Sunday morning at around ten thirty, feeling thoroughly rested (especially after being on only three and a half hours of sleep the day before). I lounged around for another half hour or so before getting in the shower. I finally got in touch with Jefferson around twelve thirty (I think) and we laid out the plans for the day.

Thomas had just moved into his new apartment, so we thought it would be convenient to visit him first and help him christen his new place. We planned to meet at a cafe for lunch at two o’clock.

I got there right at two and checked inside for signs of Jefferson or Thomas (although, I didn't know what Thomas looked like). Didn't see anyone so I waited outside.

A few minutes later a guy walked up, peered into the cafe, then looked around the sidewalk and walked away—I didn't think much of it until I realized ten minutes later that he was sitting right behind me on the tree thing (whatever you call it . . . a concrete planter or whatever).

I wondered if this was the fabled Thomas, but being the shy introvert I am, didn't say anything . . . I thought I might look like an asshole if I said, "So, hey, are you Thomas?" and it wasn't him.

I waited some more . . . called Cari at some point and we chatted for a while.

When I got off the phone with Cari it was almost two thirty, and I decided to suck it up and just ask this guy. So I said, "Are you Thomas?" And he said, "Yes, I am." He said he'd thought I was me too, but like me, didn't want to look stupid by asking.

Then I asked, "I'm not the nerd you were talking about, am I?" (Referring to something I'd said on the phone with Cari about some weird guy she'd been talking with). "No, of course not!" I said, and promised to explain.

Already I was struck with how endearing he was.

We decided to get a table, figuring that Jefferson, being a smart man, would be able to find us.

In fact, Jefferson showed up right after we'd been seated. The three of us had a very pleasant, enjoyable lunch. There was no awkwardness whatsoever, and even though I was eager to make with some fucking, I was perfectly happy to just take our time and enjoy lunch.

Thomas and I got along great; I was pleased to find that he has the same kind of wry sense of humor as me. Plus he was exactly my type on a more superficial level as well—you know how I like the cute, skinny, quirky guys. I felt very comfortable and at ease (redundant?) with him.

After lunch, we proceeded over to Thomas's building, which was basically right across the street. Jefferson would leave the two of us to our own devices (so to speak) this time. His cell phone being on the fritz, I gave him mine with the plan that Thomas or I would call him after we, er, finished.

We went upstairs and Thomas took a long time figuring out how to unlock his own door—new apartment, you understand—and it was pretty damn amusing and cute.

I love shit like that.

The apartment was really nice, and of course the bedroom was the prototypical small Manhattan bedroom—but hey, it's cozy, and there was plenty of room for the bed, so that's what matters!

I noticed an iBook on his desk and remarked on how it seems like everyone I've been having sex with lately is a Mac user. Hey, good taste seeks out good taste! ;)

We chatted for a bit but basically I was ready to get down to business.

I wish I could remember the exact order of events. I guess it all became kind of a sex-induced fog. One thing, we discovered that we're both Scorpios—hell yes, motherfuckers!

As I yanked off his boxer briefs (another good decision on his part; and a recurring theme, in addition to the Macs), I told him about my renewed blowjob paranoia, then got to work.

After a few minutes he said, "I don't know what they're talking about, because you give great head." Score!

I couldn't keep my mouth off that boy. Damn he has a nice cock. It was just the right size for me to have my way with however I pleased.

First I was sucking him with him lying down, then later with him up on his knees and me down in front. That was when he said, "You look really cute doing that."

”Oh, honey, don't make me blush!”

He went down on me, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I don't remember if I just thought it or said out loud, "You look really cute doing that!"

Gah, it's hard to type all this because I'm remembering everything and wishing I could have myself a quickie (or two, or ten) with him now!

Soon we were fucking, and damn, that was good too.

First I was on top, and I came after not too long. We had some good ol' missionary position after that, and then (I hate this term, it's so silly) doggy style—though the latter may have been during round two.

One thing I particularly liked about sex with Thomas: he smiles a lot. He just looks like he's having a good time, you know? Actually at one point he said something similar to me . . . "You look like you're having a really good time."

To which I enthusiastically replied, "Well, I am!" Yes, I was a smitten kitten.

After two rounds of seriously hot sex, we were both pretty tired; Thomas's new apartment had been duly broken in. "It's only my first full day here and already my bedroom smells like sex!" he announced triumphantly.

I would've loved to stay for more, but alas, I had another appointment to keep, so I figured I'd better call Jefferson to retrieve me.

We met Jefferson out in front of the building. I left Thomas with a kiss and couldn't stop smiling.

As we walked away, Jefferson said, "So, do I know how to pick 'em or what?"

"Yeah, you know how to pick 'em!" I replied.

He asked how it went.

"What do you think?” I said. “I can't wipe this smile off my face!"

This story first appeared at One Life, Take Two on Monday, May 16, 2005.



Georgie R.

Twelve

It was a lovely late afternoon as we left Thomas in the East Village, so I proposed we walk to Chelsea.

There, Belle would clock Number Twelve.

As we strolled, Belle asked, “Say, what was the name of that boy I fucked yesterday?”

“Congratulations!” I laughed. “If you can’t remember the name of someone you fucked yesterday, you are now officially a slut.”

“I appreciate the honor. But really, what was his name?”

“Do you really want to know, or would you prefer to have fucked a boy whose name you can’t recall?”

“I really want to know.”

“Starts with a ‘D’ . . .”

“Come on!”

“Driti.”

“Right. Driti. He was cute. Kind of full of himself.”

“That’s Driti. Now you know his name. But you are still a slut, because you forgot it.”

“I can live with that.”

We were nearing the corner of Todd’s street.

“Now, I have to warn you,” I told her. “I’ve never been to Todd’s place, but it is legendary for its mess.”

“Dacia has warned me.”

“You are prepared for the worst?”

“Oh yes. Nocturnal bachelor living alone? I’m ready.”

Todd rang us up from the entry.

“Belle! It’s so great to see you again.” Todd kissed her, then me. “I’m really glad you are finally visiting my apartment, Jefferson.”

“It’s . . . very nice,” I commented. “Prewar?”

“Yes. Excuse the mess.”

“Oh . . .,” Belle demurred, taking it in. “It’s not so bad . . .”

“Of course it is! But it’s just me and the kitties, and we don’t mind.”

At thirty-one, Todd is young yet, but well on his way to becoming an eccentric old man who may yet rival the legendary Collyer brothers.

The Collyers were packrats who collected pianos and saved heaps of newspapers, books, maps, and pretty much anything one can imagine in their Manhattan mansion. No one was allowed inside.

The elder brother, Homer, was blind. His younger brother, Langley, saved each day’s newspapers in the event that Homer would one day regain his sight and want to read up on what he had missed.

So it went for decades.

They died in 1947, when Langley was crushed by a fallen pile of newspapers. Left to his own devices, Homer died of starvation a few days later.

The authorities eventually excavated Langley’s body—well after it had been discovered by rats.

A cautionary tale for Todd? Perhaps.

For now, like the Collyers, Todd has created an environment that is very much like the man who lives within.

Standing on the landing of his studio apartment, one can see carefully selected furnishings—comfortable leather chairs, vintage side tables, book cases and an entertainment center—that reveal his peculiar erudition.

All of that, though, is buried under avalanches of books, DVDs, CDs, magazines, and the accumulated cat toys of an indulgent papa.

The kitchen is kept dark, and perhaps that is best. It was long ago retired from use, reassigned as a repository for unwashed dishes, heaps of papers, and other disused items escaping easy classification.

In stark contrast to his home, Todd is most fastidious in his personal appearance. His short black hair is well coiffed, his skin clear, and his clothes stylish.

His clothes . . . well, truth to tell, I more often see him without them, so I can attest that his tall, lean body is also kept smooth and neatly trimmed.

“What do you think of my Moroccan lamps?” Todd asked. The room was dimly lit by elegant lamps, whose designs cast shadowy finials over the room.

“They are really lovely,” I admired, in full honesty. “And they work here.”

As Todd finished a late lunch—or an early dinner, I’m not sure of his schedule—Belle and I sat in chairs rescued from an old movie theatre, watching a few moments of House of Flying Daggers. Todd keeps movies playing on his flat screen television as background.

The colors of this film transformed the space the way a painting might.

He played a selection in which the blind heroine is pursued by horsemen in woods. The horses tumble in impossible acrobatics. We wince, eyes full of lush cinematography.

“So, I suppose we should get at it,” he said, putting aside his meal and standing.

We moved to his bed.

I was undressed quickly. I planned to watch and lend support.

Belle found a clear space to stand, and shed her clothes, leaning an arm on a bookcase. Once again, she wore striped hot pant panties.

“You have chosen a style of panties that really suits you,” I admired.

“Thanks,” she said. She hesitated, then removed them.

Todd adjusted lights as he stripped to his underwear.

They met on the bed.

I cleared a chair at the foot of the bed and sat to observe, propping my feet on the mattress.

They knelt before one another, caressing. Todd learned how Belle loves to kiss.

His cock grew between them. She tugged down the band of his underwear to release it.

“You have a gorgeous cock,” she admired, bending to take it in her mouth. He moaned loudly.

I grew hard, stroking my cock as I watched her tug his underwear down to his knees.

He took her fingers to his mouth.

She crouched to get a better angle on his cock. He leaned back, running his long fingers through her short hair.

Her back was arched, lifting her ass. His hands ran along her back, finding the soft skin of her hips.

“I want to taste you,” he said.

“We can arrange that,” she replied, sitting up, and then laying back.

Todd stood and kicked his underwear to the floor. He bent to suck each of toes, affording me a full view of his ass, and his mouth on her.

She spread her legs wide as his mouth made a circular and unhurried journey up her legs, finally plunging into her cunt.

He licked with a strong tongue, gradually slipping two fingers to her g spot.

She took as much of that as she could. “You know, you need to fuck me now.”

I was hard, hearing her repeat those words again. She smiled to see me looking at her eyes.

“I was just thinking that, yes,” Todd agreed. He retrieved a condom.

He entered her slowly, deeply, his moans drowning her own. They kissed as they fucked, holding one another close.

“You are gorgeous,” he beamed at her.

“You aren’t so bad yourself.”

The build up to this had been intense. After a time, they stopped for a breather. Todd rolled onto his back.

They talked. I listened, watching, quiet.

“Jefferson? You want to join us?” Todd asked.

Belle slide to one side, making room between them.

“Sure!” I crawled across the bed to lie between them. It was a tight fit. I snuggled in, holding Belle’s hand in mine.

Todd caressed my arm and chest as the three of us talked, feeling our skin on one another.

I grew hard.

“Jefferson, you want a hand with that?” Todd asked.

“Huh, well, would you look at that?” I said, holding my cock. “Yes please, that would be mighty neighborly of you.”

Todd rolled off the bed and knelt. He patted the mattress before him.

“Park your ass right here,” he directed. I shifted my body, dropping my legs to the floor, resting my head on Belle’s thighs.

“Oh, I get to watch some hot boy-on-boy action!” Belle exclaimed.

“Enjoy the show . . . ooh!” I jolted as Todd’s mouth plunged to my cock.

He took me deep, swirling his tongue up and down my shaft as he swallowed me.

My body lurched involuntarily as that boy went zero to sixty on my gear.

He alternated his powerful mouth with strong hands, greased with a tasteless lube.

When I was still, I touch his hair. He has soft hair, I realized.

His mouth put my body in convulsions.

I reached back to touch Belle. My mouth ached for her breast. I looked back and up—her mouth was wide as she watched him blow me.

I found the nipple I wanted, sucking, my mouth longing for flesh.

Belle shifted, putting a pillow under my head in place of her thighs. She crouched next to me. My fingers traveled up her thigh.

She was dripping. I plunged two fingers to her g spot.

She pushed her body down to my fingers, groaning, her eyes never leaving Todd’s mouth on my cock.

I wanted my mouth on her cunt. Soon her mouth was on my cock, sharing it with Todd.

“Please,” I said, “Stop. You’re going to make me cum.”

I wasn’t ready for that.

They released me. My skin was tingling, alive, tender, my lungs heaving.

“You okay there, Jefferson?” Belle asked.

“Yes . . . fine . . .” I panted.

Once I caught my breath, Todd proposed that we massage Belle. A fine proposal. We worked her over with four hands and sweet musky oil.

Todd brought out a pinwheel, a small spiky metal disk on a handle. It reminded me of a tool my grandmother uses to cut patterns.

“I want you to feel this,” he told Belle. “It’s a Wartenberg pinwheel.” He rolled it gently along her spine. Her buttocks lifted under my hands.

“Unnh,” she squirmed. “That is so nice!”



Wartenberg Pinwheel

After a few moments, he handed it to me. “Let the weight of it guide you,” he instructed. “Gentle, like a watercolor brush.”

I could visualize that. I rolled the wheel along her back, down her legs, to her feet, my ears drinking in her responses.

Todd slipped on a fur mitt, and followed the tingling of my traces with a soft rub.

“I died and went to heaven.”

“Don’t die yet,” I laughed, as Todd buried his face in her ass. “You’ll want to be alive for Lucky Number Thirteen.”

This story first appeared at One Life, Take Two on Wednesday, May 18, 2005.



Patima

Thirteen

As we hit the streets, Belle confessed to feeling a bit done in.

“Jefferson, I’m not sure I can go another round.”

“Eyes bigger than your stomach?”

“Something.”

“Maybe if you eat a bite?” suggested Todd, who joined us for a stroll.

“That may help,” she agreed. “I hate to disappoint him . . . who is it, again?”

“Mark,” I said. “No worries. He’s cool. Let’s cancel.”

“Will he be disappointed?”

“One day, you will meet him, and then you will be disappointed we cancelled tonight. But seriously, don’t push yourself. He will be fine.”

I called Mark. “Looks like I will get beer with friends tonight,” he said. “No problem. Send my best—see you at the next party.”

We walked a bit further, until we were at the subway station. I was heading home; my work was done. Todd offered to escort Belle to meet Dacia.

“All done, Belle,” I kissed her. “Let’s talk when you get home. Thanks for the lovely weekend.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll be back for more!”

“We’ll keep it warm for you.”

When Belle returned to her hometown, she dumped the local talent who bitched about her blowjobs.

She also logged Lucky Number Thirteen, all on her own.

The sex, she tells me, is righteous.

And they play board games.

This story first appeared at One Life, Take Two on Wednesday, May 18, 2005.



Kristina

Thirteen and Holding

One Spring afternoon, an email from Belle showed up in my inbox.

I hadn’t heard from her in a while, although she often crossed my mind—invariably altering the priorities of my bloodstream.

Hello, Jefferson!

Not sure if you know it (you probably don't, with your busy schedule . . . such a social butterfly) that today is a very auspicious anniversary.

Yes, it was exactly one year ago that I came to a party at your place, at Dacia's most gracious invitation. I know you and I haven't corresponded in a while, but I still read your blog fairly frequently, and I just wanted to say thank you on this one-year mark; that party was so important for me in so many ways.

Anyway. Hope you are well, and thanks for a wonderful March 1, 2005.

Belle
March 1, 2006

I smiled. I typed a warm thank you and inquired about her main squeeze.