Friday, March 31, 2006

Jefferson Writes:

No Fooling

I’ve been keeping a secret.

A few weeks ago, my online girlfriend Madeline popped up with an instant message.

Madeline: April Fool’s?

Jefferson: Are you getting an early start on some tomfoolery?

Madeline: No, how about I come to see you on the weekend of April Fool’s Day?

She wasn’t kidding. She had her finger on the trigger to confirm a reservation, pending my thumbs up on the itinerary.

Jefferson: Wheels up, Madeline. You are airborne.

Madeline and I have really hit it off since she contacted me after reading my blog.

We have a lot in common, as she also goes through a divorce with a control freak, while raising young children. She’s very funny, and our online dates and phone calls are gosh darned hot as hell.

Our web cams brought out a strong physical attraction between us. And when she copycatted me with her own brilliant blog on juggling parenting and perversion, Madeline established that we are apparently sexually compatible- like, crazy.

I talked about her with my pal Marcus. “Wow, she seems perfect,” he said. “There must be something wrong with her.”

”Of course there’s something wrong with her,” I said. “She lives in the fucking Midwest! We will never meet.”

But now, it seemed, we were meeting.

We’ve had many conversations since then. She likes my blog, and she is curious about trying out some of the things I write about. But we are also just curious to get acquainted in person.

I asked her if there was anything special she wanted me to arrange for her. She demurred, leaving it to me, but adding, “You really care about Marcus. It would be great to meet him.”

Marcus agreed to come to town for one night of her visit.

I sounded her out on other ideas. I put some of my sex crew on red alert: you may or may not be called into action. Can I count on you? I could.

I relaxed. Let’s just see what happens.

Tonight, I got my kids to bed. She dropped off her two boys with her parents. I poured a bourbon, cranked up the web cam, and we finalized plans.

Jefferson: You look far better groomed than I do, nice haircut.

Madeline: I had the help of professionals.

Jefferson: It's best to rely on professionals when there is that much work to do. You are pretty homely.

Madeline: Truer words have never been spoken.

Jefferson: Look; I want to clear up a few things before you get here.

Madeline: Okay.

Jefferson: Regarding bathrooms: showers and pissing are open; we can walk in on one another, no problem. But poop is private.

Madeline: Are you kidding me? People actually poop with one another in the same room?
Madeline: Fair enough. (I am so glad we are having this conversation.) Agreed.

Jefferson: Great. Now: food. Anything you want, you take. Don’t be asking: can I eat this? Are you sure?

Madeline: Okay. But what if I don't like your food? Like, what if you have the wrong peanut butter?

Jefferson: Then get your own damn peanut butter. Or let's go shopping. Or let’s send Marcus to buy peanut butter. We can solve that problem.

Madeline: Is he coming, for sure?

Jefferson: Don't make me backtrack. Yes, he is coming, and so you are very likely having sex with a total stranger who is one of my oldest friends. I thought we had been over that?

Madeline: Not for shizzle. Okay, all clear.

Jefferson: Good. Now: sleep.

Madeline: Okay.

Jefferson: The side of the bed with the nightstand is my side. The nightstand is where my bourbon goes

Madeline: Of course it is. Duh.

Jefferson: I have no idea where you will keep your bourbon, but that is really your problem to solve.

Madeline: This is my setup as well, so I have no problem with the terms.

Jefferson: Very good. Also, I require two pillows. You may use as many or few as you chose, so long as I get my two.

Madeline: You can have them. I don't use pillows under my head.
Madeline: Only my hips
Madeline: While fucking.

Jefferson: That brings up another thing: fucking.
Jefferson: We are probably going to fuck.

Madeline: Well, yes.

Jefferson: Yes. I just want us to be clear about a few things regarding fucking.

Madeline: Okay! Hit me.
Madeline: (No, really. Hit me.)

Jefferson: Well, see, I might, actually.

Madeline: You know that I like that, right?

Jefferson: You have only made that abundantly clear.
Jefferson: I will agree to keep bruises and hickeys where they can't be seen when you are dressed.

Madeline: Okay.

Jefferson: Now, when Marcus sleeps over . . . he is very hot, you know.

Madeline: Yes.

Jefferson: If I am asleep, and the two of you decide to have sex, you have to wake me. Because if he has sex with you, and I am not there, he will forever refer to that as the hottest sex ever.

Madeline: Oh, of course.

Jefferson: I will say, yes, Madeline is very sexy. He will say, you don't understand, I think she and I connected in some way that wasn't there when you were there.
Jefferson: This may or may not be true. He will just say it to taunt me that I missed the hottest sex ever.

Madeline: This is a good rule, I think.
Madeline: It should also be true for you, no?

Jefferson: Oh? You mean if Marcus and I go at it, I should wake you?

Madeline: Yes!

Jefferson: Good idea. We have the hottest sex ever. You don't want to miss that.

Madeline: Absolutely not. So it's settled.

Jefferson: Well, that is settled, but we aren't done yet.
Jefferson: Back to sleep: as you know, I snore.

Madeline: And I told you . . . that is comforting to me.

Jefferson: I’m glad! You really need to stop being perfect if you are going to continue to live 1200 miles away from me. If you find that my snoring is less than comforting, I am granting you a privilege: you tell me to get the fuck out of bed.

Madeline: Oh, no you didn't.

Jefferson: Oh yes I did. If you decline this privilege, the couch is very comfortable and the twin bed more so. That is where I would go if kicked out of my own bed.

Madeline: I don't want the taco futon.

Jefferson: No, you do not. Now: suitcase. You are welcome to live out of your suitcase, but I am happy to clear out a drawer for you. I have many drawers.

Madeline: Honey, I don't think I’m bringing much at all. But what I do bring will, I’m sure, fit into a small drawer. I would like that.

Jefferson: Good. I will prepare a drawer for you. I think that covers it from my end. Otherwise, standard room mate stuff. You use it, you wash it. You spill it, you clean it up.

Jefferson: Oh! And music.

Madeline: Oh! Music.

Jefferson: Music plays pretty constantly. The radio station is WFUV until they start fundraising on Monday. We listen to Big Broadcast on Sunday. This is non-negotiable.

Madeline: Of course! I was thinking the exact thing!!
Madeline: Um, you are blowing my mind.

Jefferson: I’m just getting started on your mind, and on blowing you.
Jefferson: Pay attention though.
Jefferson: We need to agree on a house joke for the weekend.

Madeline: Okay. (She likes this idea!)

Jefferson: Anytime you find one of those Goddamned strands of plastic Easter grass that are a plague on my home . . . you have to pick it up, throw it down, and exclaim: “Christ on the cross!”

We laughed about that. Candy is a bane for each of us.

Madeline: Agreed! I threw out my kids’ faux greenery while they slept. Jack asked me this morning: Where's the Easter grass?
Madeline: I told him that the bunny needed to save it for next year. He recycles. So he came and took it back.

Jefferson: Fucking genius, mama.

Madeline: Well, the little one was pissed, but he can't argue with the Easter
bunny. Or the EPA.

Jefferson: I tried to throw out Lillie’s grass, which was piled on the floor. She curtly informed me that it was a nest for her Peeps. So it stayed on the floor.

Madeline: Oh, jeez. Maybe you and Marcus can make s’mores from the Peeps.

Jefferson: But I have to wake you if we do so, cf previous rule.

Madeline: Of course. Then we could have Peeps s’mores in the fort.

Jefferson: The fort we are making under the dining room table, with the sheets?

Madeline: Will the three of us fit, with the Peeps?

Jefferson: We can only try.

We smiled.

Madeline: I am looking forward to this.

Jefferson: Me too. It’s a date.

Madeline: Damn promising date.

Jefferson: No kidding, huh?

Madeline: No fooling.


It’s Monday afternoon, after Madeline and I spent our first weekend together. She is napping in my bed as I do some work. When she wakes, we are going for a walk in the park. It is a sunny day.

We part company tonight.

I won’t be able to post about the weekend immediately, so I will refer you to her blog, gentle reader, as she will likely get stories posted before I do.

I commend myself for making it through the weekend without proposing marriage. At least, not often.

On the subject of marriage, I just got off the telephone with my lawyer. The t’s are crossed and the I’s are dotted. Fingers crossed, folks.

My divorce is all but complete.

In the Flesh

I woke the kids and prepared their lunches as they dressed for school.

I lamented the mess of stuffed animals and Easter grass that littered a bedroom floor. “Please, everything is much easier if we all help to keep the apartment clean,” I chided.

Jason and Collie picked up a few toys with desultory obedience; the main culprit, Lillie, watched as she sucked her thumb, still struggling to wake herself.

We took a cab to school. It was a Parents’ Day, when parents are encouraged to spend the first period reading along with their children in class.

Lillie showed me a book about whales that she had written and illustrated. Afterwards, I kissed her goodbye and went to Collie’s classroom, where we read selections from the Velveteen Rabbit. I kissed him goodbye, and set out to walk home.

The sky was grey, and the skyline surrounding Central Park was sheathed in fog.

I swept and tidied the living room. I made my bed, washed dishes, and showered. I made coffee and answered some email.

She knocked.

I opened the door. It was really her face. “Fucking a.”

”Fucking a,” she beamed.

Madeline. In the flesh.

I grabbed the lapel of her raincoat and pulled her into my kiss. I kissed her as I kicked her suitcase inside. I kissed her as I closed and locked the door.

I kissed her, pulling and tugging her raincoat, spinning with her, down the hallway and into my bedroom. I kissed her as she fell back onto my bed, as I fell on top of her.

The kisses were long and passionate, punctuated with short, quick ones when we caught our breath. My hands roamed her body, feeling only the textures of her raincoat. I finally found flesh at her thigh. I needed more flesh.

I sat up and looked at her. Her head was over the edge of my bed. Her hair was ginger, short in back, long in front. Her eyes steel gray. She had freckles, even on her lips, parted in a smile.

She was holding her chic glasses in one hand. I took the glasses and placed them on my night stand.

My need for flesh overwhelmed the moment. I lifted her skirt and found mesh panties that revealed what they covered. That did it--those panties are getting shredded . . . I controlled the impulse. I lifted her calves, still covered in cowboy boots, and removed the panties, tossing them away blindly.

My eyes were on the prize. That sweet honey pot for which I had hungered. She had groomed it for our debut--her pussy was waxed smooth but for a closely cropped landing strip at the top.

I went down on her, and savored the first orgasm we would share in person, after so many spent in longing for one another.

Her cum poured into my cupped palm. Why hadn’t she mentioned that she is a gusher?

I removed my t-shirt.

”Hi,” she said.

”Hi Madeline. Thanks for coming to me.”

”Thanks for having me.”

”Oh, I am having you, all right.”

Her hands tugged at my belt. I unfastened it, and stood to drop my pants. “I think you may have time to lose the raincoat before we fuck,” I suggested. She wriggled out of her coat and tossed it onto a chair.

That was all the undressing we had time for. I was already wearing a condom, already poised between her legs. She lifted her legs back as I entered her.

She was juiced; I fucked her hard.

In our long conversations, our online dates with web cams and bourbon, she had taught me so much about how to be with her. And now I was able to put those lessons into practice.

She smiled at me from between her calves. I smiled back.

I slapped her face, hard.

She turned with the blow, then looked back at me. Her eyes gleamed.

I slapped her again. She looked back at me, ecstatic.

I fell onto her, fucking fast, our mouths opening into kisses. She came.

I pulled up. “That sweater, it’s got to go,” I said. She removed it as I thrust into her. Underneath was a black chemise.

”Jesus Christ,” I complained. “How many clothes can one person wear?”

”I had to wear something,” she apologized, tugging it over her head. “I wasn’t wearing a bra.”

No, she wasn’t. Her breasts, large and full, finally in my mouth.

We had only the skirt left. But removing that would mean pulling out of her body. I preferred the skirt to that.

Her nipples were pronounced and erect as I flicked them with my tongue. I caressed her breasts as I sucked, then grabbed them forcibly. She sighed.

I needed more flesh. I pulled out, and we lost the skirt. She was finally nude. We held each other close, feeling the electricity of touch on our bodies.

She bent over the bed, offering me her ass. I took it hungrily, fucking her deep and long, spanking her into submission.

Panting, finally, she said, okay, okay . . . we can stop.

I washed up and came back to find her reclined on the bed. I lay in her arms. Her body was bathed in sweat.

Madeline. In my bed. In the flesh.


Rough sex is new to me. Lucky I am a quick study.

It once would have taken me aback to be asked by a lover, as I was by Madeline, to slap her around during sex. I’m certainly an odd candidate to cast as the heavy, as violence is so alien to my nature.

As new lovers have schooled me in rough sex, I have come to understand that it is not about violence. It may borrow from the vocabulary of violence--spanking, choking, slapping--but applies those actions to the ends of giving pleasure.

These actions cause sensations, and for some people, those sensations release powerful feelings: a rush of endorphins, a delight in surrendering, a sense of being taken.

Since I am a “pleasure man,” I understand how that can work. So I meet my lover’s request by butching it up.

But even a bruiser like me wants it nice and easy sometimes.

I grew hard as I rested in Madeline’s arms. I rolled on to my back. “I want you to ride me,” I told her. “Real nice like. Okay, pretty lady?”

She took a condom and rolled it onto my cock. “You know,” she said. “This may surprise you, but this is the first time I have put a condom on a man.”

(This was the first time--and certainly not the last--that Madeline would use the phrase “this is the first time . . .” during the course of the weekend.)

She lowered her body onto mine. I was in her.

She rode me slowly at first, feeling my touch as I caressed her, opening the depth of her eyes to my stares, releasing my eyes to follow my hands in getting to know her body. Her gyration intensified as I cupped a breast in my mouth.

At one point, she moved her right hand to touch herself, fingering her clit to orgasm.

At another, she reached back to lift her buttocks, arching her back in orgasm.

I watched, logging these clues to her body’s sexual responses.

As we rested, I looked at my clock and wondered aloud, “How is that have you have been here all this time and you have still not given me head?”

”Yeah, what’s up with that?” she replied, moving to rectify this oversight.

Her mouth was on me, deep and wet. She watched me through the hair falling in her face. She sensuously sucked me up and down, moaning as my pelvis lifted to push into her.

Her hand held the shaft of my cock as her head moved up and down on me. She jerked me as her mouth found my balls, licking down until she found my anus. She pushed back my legs and flicked me with her tongue.

”Unh, yes, eat my ass,” I moaned. She did, taking her time to enjoy how it affected me.

”Okay, now suck me more,” I writhed. She returned to my cock, taking it deep again as she slipped a finger in my ass.

She doesn’t yet know this about my body: my ass is ground zero of my body’s erogenous zones. It usually takes a lot of foreplay before anything goes there. She took it in one fell swoop; I let her have it.

I lifted my legs, putting them on her shoulders, resting my feet on her luscious hips. With this leverage, I could push my legs to rock her body back and forth, her mouth responding on my cock..

I grabbed her hair, pulling her head up and down as she swallowed me. I pushed her head down and held it there, forcing my cock deep into her throat.

Just as she had predicted: this excited her as much as it did me.

I pulled out and tossed her body over. I squatted on her chest and fucked her face. She lifted her head to take my cock as fast as I could feed it to her.

I was about to blow. I pulled out and came on her neck and chest.

”Now I’ve seen you cum too,” she said, grinning. “We’re even.”

”Even.” I collapsed by her side.


I made dinner. As we ate, her face was lit by a faint light on her right, a candle on her left.

”You know what I’m thinking?” I asked.

”I look like my web cam right now, don’t I?”

”In this light, exactly right.” I was accustomed to seeing her via web cam, in the light of a lamp on her desk. This lighting mimicked that.

”Hey darling, it’s me.”

”And here we are.”

We had spent the day nude or in pajamas, acclimating ourselves to the three-dimensional versions of the lovers we had become via computer screens. We measured this novel reality--tactile and present--against all those words and all that longing.

I suggested that we do something mundane, like watch a movie in bed. She liked the idea, and so we made popcorn, lit candles, poured bourbon and cozied up to Secretary. It is a favorite of Madeline’s. This was my first viewing.

The film is the story of a mousy young woman (Maggie Gyllenhaal, who is, Madeline tells me, the real-life love interest of Peter Sarsgaard--Madeline suggests we add double “A”s to our last names if we hope to lure the actor) who takes her first job as secretary to an eccentric lawyer (James Spader).

The lawyer must have things done in particular ways, and she strives to perform as perfectly as possible. His corrections of her mistakes lead to spankings delivered as she bends over his desk. His spankings lead to her falling in love with him.

How apropos to our moment, I thought.

As we talked after the movie, I said, “You will have to let me know when you want me to beat you.”

”I want you to beat me now,” she said, eyes on mine.

”Fair enough,” I replied.

I instructed Madeline to lay face down on the bed. I bound her wrists and secured them to the bed frame. I left her legs free, not sure how long I would want her on her belly.

My hands caressed her back, her legs, her buttocks. Her body moved and turned to my touch.

My hands gravitated to her ass, those finally shaped orbs, those hips offset by her waist. I opened her ass to study the dewlap of flesh at her anus. I had to feel that tag of skin on my tongue, just for a moment . . .

I slapped her ass, hard. She squirmed. I gave her two more, hard, on the opposite cheek. She giggled into the mattress.

She had warned me that she laughs aloud when aroused.

Awakening my capacity to strike takes an act of transference. When I am this aroused, my mouth is on fire. In those moments, I fight a cannibalistic urge to consume the flesh I want, to digest its power over my desires.

To strike her as she wants, I have to fight the urge to taste, to bite, to devour.

I spank her with that hunger. She writhes in pleasure.

She bears the imprint of my hands, many times over.

I must have a taste. I can’t stop it any longer. I bite, slowly, carefully, not wanting to tear flesh, just to taste . . . I make a buffet of her buttocks, the backs of her thighs and, when I see that this is a very tender place, her strong calves.

The next day, she would mention in passing that when she dies, she will leave her body to science.

”Lucky science,” I replied. “Leave it to me instead. I will eat course after course, then make stock from your bones.”

My hunger is sated. But she needs more. I take a length of rope. It whirls around my head, building momentum before it lashes her tenderized bottom.

When I am done, she is crossed in welts. I untie her, and kiss away her tears.

”Did that do it, baby?” I asked.

She smiled at me. “L’il bit,” she drawled.


She was already awake, staring at my face. She smiled as my eyes fluttered open. I instinctively glanced at the clock…it was not yet six in the morning.

Was I snoring? I asked, closing my eyes to the sunlight behind her face.

No, you were sleeping, she smiled, touching my face. I moved my face to her hand.

We talked, soon gravitating to the subjects of punctuation and book indexes…topics guaranteed to spark the flames of arousal.

She asked me to bite her, showing me the precise shoulder muscle she wanted to give over to pressure of my teeth.

I complied, biting slowly, firmly, taking care not to tear the skin. My jaws ached, but I would not relent until she had what she needed.

When she had enough, she had two curved welts that would last for days. She joked about having it tattooed in place.

We made love.

We fell asleep, entangled. I left my arm under her head; she kept it as her pillow.

As we slept, Martha Stewart came to me in a dream.

Martha Stewart invited me to bring Lucy and the kids to a small house she had rented in Connecticut. A century before, this area had been an artists’ colony; now it was a community of mansions. Martha Stewart had chosen the authentic over the ostentatious in renting such a ramshackle house in this wealthy enclave.

Martha Stewart made sure that we were settled before a warm fire. We were very content.

Jefferson,” she asked. “Can you help me deliver a few paintings?” In this dream, Martha Stewart was an amateur painter. We put her canvases into the back seat of a convertible Saab.

I was stationed in the back with the paintings “Hold them down,” she directed over her shoulder as she started the car.

I extended an arm over the canvases. When we arrived, my forearm was smeared with blue paint. The paintings were fresh and still wet.

I was afraid that I had ruined the art, but the paintings were intact. Only my arm was smudged.
Martha Stewart parked at a local arts center. I helped her unload the canvases.

The arts center was bustling with activity. There were dozens of women, each well-coifed and wearing smocks at easels. A few helped sickly children who were engaged in art therapy.

A woman with dark hair and a blue smock came to Martha Stewart and me. “Where did you find him?” she asked Martha Stewart, nodding in my direction. “He’s hunky!” With that, she touched my chest and bicep, holding them firmly.

I felt aroused, and thought, wow, I am hunky.

”Now, none of that,” Martha Stewart scolded the woman. “We have paintings to deliver.”

Martha Stewart set to work, and I wandered deeper into the arts center.

Some artists were painting from nude models. Many of the artists were also in stages of undress. I ran into Madeline.

”Are you painting today?” she asked, kissing me in greeting.

”No, I’m just helping Martha Stewart run some errands. Lucy and the kids are back at her place.”

The woman in the blue smock interrupted us. “I think he should model for us, don’t you?” she leered to Madeline.

”I don’t mind modeling,” I said, “if you are paying.”

The rate was ten dollars an hour, which is what I was paid when I was a nude model in college. I agreed and undressed. As I stepped on to a platform to pose, I saw that Madeline was stripped to her waist. “In solidarity,” she said, sketching.

We mingled with the artists. Some were self-consciously bohemian, playing instruments or talking insistently, as if art were the most important thing in the world. Madeline and I held hands, serene and nude among them.

We were outside. She phoned her kids. I phoned mine.

When we awoke again, I told Madeline about the dream, a little embarrassed that it seemed so transparent.

Martha Stewart, the goddess of domesticity, had led me from a domicile where art was a relic to a vibrant place where art was being created. She led me from a place of the past to a place of the moment. She led me from the warm contentedness of the hearth to the white-hot excitement of art and sex.

Martha Stewart led me from Lucy to Madeline.

And thus did Martha Stewart sanction my relationship with Madeline.


”Can you talk?”

”Yes, I’m at the store, getting stuff for lunch. Madeline is back at the apartment.”


”Marcus, she is . . . it’s just . . . even better than I had hoped.”

”Wow. Wow, that’s great. And it’s cool that I am coming?”

”Yes. Where are you?”

”About an hour away.”

”Yes, we are fine. She is eager to meet you, and, I dunno . . . we are just in a very nice place together right now. I think this will be fine.”

”You’re sure?”

”See you in an hour.”

It was drizzling as I walked home, carrying a few bags of groceries. I checked the laundry, where I had sheets in the dryer. Madeline’s sweat and gushing, and my cum, cost us two loads of laundry in our first twenty-four hours together.

I kissed her hello. She was nude under a light slip, drinking water and relaxing.

In the kitchen, I unpacked juice. We had to stay hydrated.

We also had to stay nourished. I planned a large midday supper, not quite confident that dinner would happen. I stuffed a chicken, seasoning it in herbs and olive oil. I peeled potatoes and boiled them to mash. I chopped onions and soaked raisins for a sweet Moroccan carrot dish.

As the pots simmered, I collected the sheets and re-made the bed. Madeline lent a hand. “Can I do anything else?” she asked.

”You can stay out of my kitchen and enjoy your vacation.”

Instead, she stayed in my kitchen and enjoyed doing my dishes.

We were talking on the couch, when suddenly at the door there was a knocking . . . then a pounding . . . then a kicking, followed by a desperate voice pleading, “Let me in! Let me in!”

All in the few moments it took for me to cross the room to open the door.

Marcus had arrived.

I kissed him hello and introduced him to Madeline. Their conversation was easy. They have a lot in common, including having lived overseas in the same country.

But more, their demeanors and humors are well matched. Never mind how attractive they each are. I silently commended myself for being such a yenta when it comes to introducing my lovers to one another.

We sat to eat, as Marcus and Madeline compared notes on massage. She is a bonafide massage therapist; he has a talented set of hands that provide a front for his sex work. Asked about this, he explained to her how he cautiously screens new clients, in part using a carefully crafted script in response to callers.

He picked up a banana, answering a call. Madeline picked up another, posing as a client. He walked her through the booking of an appointment in words we would later hear him use again and again with actual callers. By the next day, we could all do Marcus’s spiel cold.

In the meantime, we kept Madeline’s appointment with Marcus. He had booked her for right now, in the bedroom.

Mod Squad

My memory of what follows is unreliable.

When Madeline was finally in New York, finally in my arms, my mind was awake and jotting notes, not wanting to miss a moment that I would later want to revisit.

When Marcus joined us, my mind simply couldn’t keep pace with our bodies. It finally gave up, throwing down its notebook to join the fray.

After lunch, we undressed in my bedroom. I kissed Madeline. But the presence of such a beautiful nude woman meant, perversely, that Marcus and I should make out. She would have to wait to feel the desire she caused in us. We would savor her patience, and the feel of her eyes on us.

This would be her first threesome. This would be the first time she saw two men make love.

I lay back on my bed. Marcus crawled over me, his long limbs lowering his lips to mine. I touched his face as we kissed, combing his hair with my fingers.

”I love you, sweetie,” he said, his white teeth gleaming.

”I love you, baby.” My eyes met his.

Madeline lay beside me. She parted her knees and touched herself.

Marcus’s mouth moved around my torso. My back arched involuntarily as he took my cock in his mouth.

As he sucked me, I watched as Madeline fingered her clit, listening to the already familiar sounds of her orgasm.

I thought, she finds this so hot? This is so simple.

The three of us made love all that grey, rainy afternoon, and into the evening. Madeline’s list of “firsts” grew longer.

She watched as I fucked Marcus.

Marcus fucked her, tucking his balls into her cunt for good measure.

She sucked cock as she was fucked. She sucked two cocks at once.

We washed and a quick shower turned golden when we pissed on her.

At one point, she was blowing Marcus, his head at the bed’s edge as he sucked me. He asked to eat her pussy. Never leaving his cock, she moved her body to comply with his request, giving it to him as she lay across his body.

I saw the opportunity to indulge in my very favorite position.

I slipped on a condom and entered her pussy. My cock slid across Marcus’s face as I went in and out of her. His face was full of our fucking. He licked and moaned with pleasure. I crouched a little to suffocate him with our sex.

Madeline came. Her body undulated and released a mouthful of juice onto Marcus’s face. He came almost immediately afterwards.

Later, we dressed and walked to an Indian restaurant. Marcus’s treat. We felt drugged and naked as we sat clothed, away from our cocoon. We hurried back home for more.

The next day, we would venture out again. As we walked the city streets, I was struck by how well synched we were. And how hot we all looked together.

We were like the fucking Mod Squad.

Three’s Company

Sunday morning, I woke as Madeline tried to wriggle out of the bed without waking Marcus or me. The three of us had fallen asleep, nude, side by side, without covers, Madeline in the middle.

”Shhh, go back to sleep,” she whispered. “I’m just going to the bathroom.”

I looked at Marcus. He was out cold, his mouth open. My body was stiff and elongated.

I needed to curl up, which was impossible in bed with two other adults. I decided to move to another bed. Madeline came to me there.

”I’m going to sleep here to allow more room for you both in the other bed,” I said. “I’m fine, just get some sleep.” She kissed me before heading back to bed.

I fell back to sleep. I awoke to voices in the next room.

”We have to wake him. It’s a rule.”

”You wake him, then. I want to fuck.”

”I can’t wake him. I’m a little indisposed, in case you haven’t noticed.”

”Just shout. Like this: Jefferson! Jeff-er-son!”

I stumbled into the next room. “Good morning, baby,” Madeline smiled.

Her ankles were bound and held aloft by a restraint secured behind her neck. Marcus crouched at her bottom, his cock sheathed and hard near her pussy.

”Oh good, you’re awake,” he said. At that, he plunged his cock into her.

”Good morning, sugar,” I kissed her. “Thanks for remembering the rule.”

We had agreed that she wouldn’t have sex with Marcus without me present…not because I was jealous or possessive, but because he would surely tease me that anything I missed was the hottest sex ever.

That’s just his way. I had to be alert to avoid being ribbed.

”Of course, baby,” she said, as Marcus fucked her. “A rule’s a rule.”

”That’s right, dear,” I agreed, dropping my cock into her mouth.

After a morning of sex, I was willing to venture another outing into the city. I had a hankering for dim sum in Chinatown.

”Should I invite Mitzi to join us?” I asked.

Madeline agreed, a little hesitant. I understood why: the three of us were in a place of our own creation. Would the addition of another person upset the balance we had found?

I decided to risk it. Mitzi was keen to meet the two of them, and besides, she had left her favorite barrette at my place. She was bereft without her barrette. I needed to return it.

Mitzi agreed to meet us for dim sum.

We had the devil’s time getting to the restaurant. The F train was running on alternate tracks, unbeknownst to us, so we overshot Chinatown, finding ourselves in Brooklyn. A few subway corrections later, we bagged the trains in favor of a cab.

Mitzi smiled when she saw us. She knew what we had been up to.

We sat at a large table, Madeline and Marcus snuggling at one side, Mitzi and I at another. We talked and gorged ourselves, selecting a variety of delicacies from the passing carts. Turns out that Mitzi is something of a dim sum expert.

At one point, Mitzi leaned over and whispered in my ear. “They are really spectacular people,” she purred. “I want to come over and have sex too.”

”Then let’s make that happen,” I said.

After lunch—Marcus’s treat again!--we headed over to Toys in Babeland. My silver bullet was busted, and we needed a replacement.

I darted ahead with Mitzi as we navigated the crowds on Canal Street. Madeline lagged a bit, her lower extremities sore from so much exertion. She glowed as Marcus walked with his arms around her waist.

As we toured the shop, I found myself with each of my friends at different times, looking at the various sex toys. We kissed and fondled as we stood there. We were all alive to the sex in air.

When I had a moment alone with Marcus, I asked if he would mind if Mitzi joined us. He agreed. I asked Madeline, who also thought that would be fine. I told Mitzi the good news.

If this was going to be a late night--as seemed likely--she needed to make a sidetrip home to walk her dog. She offered to meet us later at my place. “Don’t get started without me!” she pleaded.

We made our purchases and ran a few other errands. We hailed a cab for the ride home, having had enough of subway adventures for one day.

As we settled into the cab, I looked at Marcus and Madeline. “Damn, you two are hot,” I said. I couldn’t seem to get over that.

”The three of us are so hot together,” Madeline agreed.

By this point in the weekend, our vocabularies were becoming increasingly diminished, as if all the blood had rushed to our libidos, leaving our intellects pale and shivering. “Hot” had become a favored catch-all adjective, occasionally modified to “so hot” for added emphasis.

Marcus returned calls to clients as we rode home in heavy traffic. I was hard in anticipation of returning to our naked bedroom. Madeline massaged my erection through my jeans.

Not missing a beat in his phone conversation, Marcus pulled out his cock. Madeline jerked him as well, leaning into my ear to mimic his well-rehearsed spiel.

Needless to say, we got started without Mitzi.


When Marcus agreed to come up for part of the weekend, he asked about Franz. Could he possibly join us?

Marcus met Franz at one of my gatherings last summer. The two of them hit it off royally, seemingly unable to stop fucking one another. They were great to watch, Marcus with his dark hair and lean body, Franz with his stunning Aryan good looks.

Franz has been unable to join our gatherings for a while, having retreated into monogamy with a new boyfriend. When that relationship ended, he contacted me with the good news/bad news that he was single again, and eager to return to our parties.

Franz was happy to see Marcus and me again, and planned to join us on Sunday evening.

We were dressed when Mitzi arrived, thinking it might be rude to start off undressed. Our show of good manners lasted only a few moments. Mitzi watched as the three of us undressed, joking and touching each other familiarly.

She took stock of our easy camaraderie. “It’s like you three just got back from summer camp,” she said.

Mitzi soon lay beside me, and we felt the comfortable familiarity that she and I have. She undressed as we kissed. Madeline joined us there.

Marcus answered the door when Franz arrived. Franz stood clothed in the doorway of my bedroom. “Hello, everyone,” he waved.

”Hi Franz!” I exclaimed from my position under Madeline and next to Mitzi. I made introductions; the women waved hello. I got up to kiss him as he undressed. I had genuinely missed him during his months of monogamy.

Marcus had missed him too. “I really need to fuck you,” he told Franz by way of greeting. Franz was happy to have so direct an invitation. He lay back on the bed. Marcus entered him and was soon pumping away.

Madeline was propped on an elbow, watching them. I stood next to Mitzi’s chair and pulled her face up to suck my cock.

I fucked her as she lay back in the chair. Madeline repositioned herself to watch us as well.

I was eager to try out my new silver bullet, with its two vibrating eggs. I pulled out of Mitzi, threw a pillow on the floor, and kneeled before her.

”What are you going to do, Mister J?” Mitzi cooed.

”I’m going to put a vibrator in your ass and another in your cooch as I eat your clit,” I replied.

”Ooh, thank you, that would be nice.”

I proceeded to do just that. Madeline leaned over the side of the bed, watching as I put condoms on the new sex toys.

Madeline had never been with a woman before. She had never been in a threesome with a woman.

Mitzi writhed with the sensation. I sucked her clit, then stopped for a moment.

”Hmmm, Madeline, can you help me out here? My jaw is aching something fierce,” I lied. “I’m just not sure I can finish the job. Can you give me an assist?”

I adjusted the duvet underneath me to make room for her knees.

”Well,” she said. “We can’t leave Mitzi dangling.” Madeline lowered herself to the floor, and put her lips to Mitzi, taking her first taste of another woman.

”Ummmf,” Mitzi moaned. “It’s so nice to see such a pretty girl down there.” Being with a woman is still new to Mitzi as well.

I kissed and massaged Mitzi’s body, looking up to see that Franz was now fucking Marcus. That’s right boys, I thought. Get it out of your system and come help me with the girls.

Madeline’s body was just too tempting to resist. I lay on the floor and, like a mechanic, scooted underneath to get a look at her chassis. I licked and sucked her pussy as she did the same to Mitzi.

When Madeline had cum, I emerged to find Marcus kneeling on the bed, Franz standing behind, about to enter him again. Marcus’s eyes were closed in ecstasy as he leaned his head back on Franz’s shoulder. He was hard.

I lay back on the bed, taking Marcus in my mouth. He fell forward to reciprocate in sucking my cock. From my intimate vantage, I watched as Franz’s cock went into Marcus.

As they fucked above my eyes, Marcus’s balls jostled on my face, Franz’s balls bouncing on his.

I could hear the women’s excitement as they watched us.

We adjusted positions after a while. I thought surely now the boys will join me with Madeline and Mitzi. Nothing doing; they were soon back at their game of tag team ass fucking.

God, I thought. Get a room, boys.

I resigned myself to taking care of the two women.

I fucked Madeline as Mitzi sucked her tits. When she was nearing orgasm, I pulled out to manipulate her g spot with my fingers. I pressed with two fingers, then three. “More,” she moaned. I lubed and three fingers became four. Four became my fist.

Mitzi’s eyes were wide as I fisted Madeline. This was not something we had done.

Of course, she had to try it herself.

When I pulled out of Madeline, I uncorked a rich flow of girl juice. I smeared it on her torso and triumphantly splashed it in the air.

Later, as Madeline put her mouth to work on the boys, Mitzi put her hand to work on Madeline. I watched from a chair as Mitzi’s fingers became acquainted with Madeline’s innards.

Her face lit up as her fist made it in.

”Look at what I’m doing!” she exclaimed. I looked: she was up to her wrist in Madeline.

”Nicely done, Mitzi,” I commended her.

This turned her on tremendously. She retrieved her hand and set to fucking me.

Madeline decided to bring the mountain to Mohammed. She joined the boys as they fucked. Soon she had Franz in her ass.

He came as he fucked her.

When he went to wash up, Madeline gloated, “I got the gay boy to cum with my ass!” She got a high five on that.

Franz showered and dressed. Marcus was eating Madeline when he returned to say goodbye. He looked nice, as if he had a dinner engagement.

Marcus stood and kissed Franz on the cheek, giving him a nice cologne of pussy. The poor fellow went back to wash his face before departing.

With Franz gone, Marcus could return to the rest of us. He was impressed by the fisting action. He held his hand up to Mitzi’s and noted how much smaller her hand was than his. He held a hand to Madeline’s.

”Madeline,” he asked sweetly. “Will you fist me?” The tone in his voice suggested he might well drop to one knee to propose.

”Of course. I’d be honored.” It was a first for each of them. Another in a series of firsts.

I caressed Marcus and held him as she set to work, lubing a hand and working her fingers into him. Mitzi joined me in touching him.

Soon Madeline had her fist in him, pumping gently as he rocked to her motion, moaning.

I caught her eye. Somehow I had felt she was watching me. We smiled at one another.


Early in the evening, just after Mitzi’s arrival but before that of Franz, Marcus took inventory of the bruises on Madeline’s ass and legs.

Jefferson, let me ask you something.” He motioned for me to sit near him on the bed. “I want you to spank me on my thigh the way you spank Madeline.”

”You want me to slap your thigh?”

”I want you to give me one spanking, yes.”

I let him have it.

”No, now you see, that’s too hard. That why Madeline has these hematomas. Can I offer you some advice?”

”Of course.”

”Madeline, let me borrow your ass,” he requested.

”Certainly, Marcus,” she replied, backing up on all fours. She arched her back and shook her ass coquettishly before Marcus.

Mitzi, still dressed at this point, cut a glance to me as she watched. She liked where this was going.

”Now, pay attention Jefferson,” Marcus instructed. “You need to do more to bring blood to the surface of the skin before you deliver a hard spanking. There are probably many ways to do that, but this works for me.”

With that, he delivered a quick succession of light but firm spankings to Madeline’s right buttock.

”You see what I mean? Watch again.” Again, his palm whacked away, rapidly but not too hard.

”You mean, like this?” I imitated his spankings on her left buttock. Madeline wriggled and smiled at me.

”Exactly. That way you prepare her flesh for harder slaps. Like this.” He gave her a firm wallop.

”I see. Like this?” I copied him.

”Good! You are a fast learner.” I was about to suggest that Mitzi take a practice run on Madeline’s ass, but something interfered…namely, Marcus burying his face in our target range.

Later, after Franz joined us, came time to put the lesson into practice.

”I think it’s time you fucked me in the ass,” Madeline said, bending over the bed. She just happened to be bending over Mitzi.

I took her up on the offer, putting on a condom and lubing her ass. I was in her and soon going strong, grabbing her hips for more leverage.

”Oh yes, you are fucking me well,” she said.

”You sure talk a lot for someone with a face full of pussy,” I chastised her, pushing her face down between Mitzi’s spread legs.

Mitzi gasped as Madeline got to work. Marcus began to suck Mitzi’s tits, until Franz’s mouth took him away.

I released Madeline’s hips from my grasp. I fucked with my arms dangling at my side.

Yeah, I needed to spank her.

My right hand took to her left buttock in a rapid-fire sequence of blows. I was firm but light, as Marcus had instructed. I gave her right buttock the same.

I kept at it, tenderizing her flesh for what was to come.

She looked back at me. “Now.”

I let loose with hard whacks. Noisy pops echoed in the bedroom. If she pulled back, I pushed down on her neck, telling her to eat that pussy.

She laughed as I spanked her; a prelude to her orgasm.

I chalked one up to expert advice.

Leaving New York

We awoke making love.

It was our last day together. Later that evening, I would leave town on a business trip. Madeline would stay in my apartment for a few days more, on her own.

Our last day was the first sunny day of our long weekend together. Madeline smiled as the sun reached her cheeks through my bedroom window, warming her as we fucked.

The night before, I had served up a late dinner sometime around midnight. Afterwards, I had sex with Mitzi on the couch as Madeline took up with Marcus in the shower.

We were saying goodbye to our company. They left sometime around two.

We retired to bed, happy with the course of the day, sad that we had given away precious time we might have spent alone. Such contradictions played at our emotions.

”Something’s happening here.” My voice cracked as I whispered, holding her close.

She nodded into my neck.

We began to make love, tender and slow. God knows how many times we had been at it that day. This was the first time since yesterday it had been just us.

Madeline and me, in the middle of the night.

I whispered how much I would miss holding her close. I whispered how much I would miss being with her when we talked. I whispered that I wanted to know her boys, that I wanted her to know my children.

She fell to dreams as we made love, speaking softly to another me somewhere in her subconscious. I pulled out and held her, leaving her alone with her dream lover.

The next morning, we picked up where we left off.

That afternoon, we wanted to walk in the park. I had some work to do before my trip, including a final review of my divorce settlement. Each time I reached a good stopping point, I would find that she had nodded off. When she roused, I would be deep in work or in discussions with my lawyer.

We finally got our body clocks in synch. We dressed and walked to the park in the late afternoon sun.

We strolled toward the band shell, turning north to Bethesda Fountain, across Bow Bridge and into the Ramble. We held hands and talked, about the sights, about the weekend, about nothing in particular.

My heart was full. She told me she felt submerged in us, unable, or unwilling, to swim to the surface of her own reality.

We had not eaten all day. I craved comfort food. We sat in my local diner for cheeseburgers. She laughed when she ordered a Coke…so unlike me, she said. The carbonated bubbles made her laugh again.

I packed when we got home. When my bag was waiting by the door, we undressed and kissed on my bed. We were tender.

My hands traveled her body, leading to her wetness. I needed a last taste; she was soon cumming to my mouth and fingers.

”Thank you baby, that was what I needed,” she said. “Now your turn.”

She went down on me, but my cock was soft and disinterested. “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked, looking up.

”Just hold me until I have to go. I’m stressed, I think, and sad.”

We lay in one another’s arms, talking. She cried. I kissed her tears, tasting my own in the back of my throat.

We knew this part might hurt.

As we lay in my broken bed, we heard a crack below. We laughed that after all the action of the weekend, we had caused another break in the bed frame while laying still.

”The bed can’t bear the weight of our heavy hearts,” I said.

We are quiet for a moment. We giggle.

”Good line,” she laughed. “Which of us will blog it first?”

I got up and dressed. She pulled on her slip to show me out. We embraced at the door, long and slow. I forget what we said. Doesn’t matter.

I left. She stayed. She would be gone when I returned.

My eyes would well later, on the plane. The levee broke as I listened to a band I used to like, thinking of her sleeping alone in my bed.

It’s easier to leave than to be left behind.

What if

Marcus called as I was approaching the security check on my way to the gate.

”Can you talk? Do you have a minute?”

”I will in a few, once I get past security. I’ll call you back in a sec.” I hung up and dropped my phone, shoes and belt into a plastic tray. All were x-rayed as I crossed through the metal detector.

The phone was ringing as it came out of the scanner.


”What did you say?”

”I said I would call you back. Can you give me a moment to get my shoes on?” I closed the phone. I slipped on my shoes, put my belt through its loops, put on my jacket, and hoisted my bag to my shoulder.

The phone rang.

”Marcus . . .”

’Why do you keep hanging up on me?”

”Marcus, I’m not hanging up on you, I’m . . . oh, fuck it, let’s talk.”

”Is now a good time?”

”As good as any, until my plane leaves.”

”Okay, good. So what did you think?”

”Wow, it was pretty amazing Marcus. I mean, you saw what it was like when you were there . . .”

”And that was okay? You’re sure I wasn’t interfering, or being too intense, or . . .”

”You were fine, Marcus. She thought so too. We talked about it a lot today.”

”You did? What did she say about me?”

”She likes it that you and I are so loving with one another. And she thought that we are one hot threesome.”

”We are. But that’s about us. What did she say about me?”

”About you specifically? Oh, I don’t know . . . she thought you were very sexy, very funny.”

”Okay, good. You know I need to make this about me! Now what about you? What are you feeling?”

”Um . . . very content, very relieved, very excited about this.”

”Where do you think it will go?”

”I have no idea. I mean, I can try to be content if this was a unique encounter, or if we meet every now and then, as time and money allow . . .”

”But is that what you want?”

”Well, no, I don’t want it to be a unique event. I want to see more of her, you know, in the flesh, not just on web cams. If we lived in the same town, we would definitely be dating. No question.”

”Do you see a future with her?”

”You mean a ‘future’ future? Marcus, it’s premature to even think along those lines.”

But of course, I have been.

”I mean, yes, it is conceivable that we could wind up together. I mean, logistically conceivable. I can’t leave New York, as my kids need to be near their mother. She likes living where she lives, but she is not bound there by a custody agreement. So if it came to that, I suppose, yes, it might be possible for us to be together if she could move to New York with her kids. In theory.”

”Is that what you want?”

”What I want is to be able to process my thoughts about this weekend without you asking me to make wedding arrangements, please.”

”I’d be the best man, though, right?”

”Yes, and we’d take you on the honeymoon too.”

”Of course! I know you don’t know much now, I just wanted to see what kind of future you see.”

”I see myself getting on to a plane in twenty minutes. Beyond that, who knows?”

”Now, here’s my follow up. Let me ask you something.”


”What happens if I fall in love with her first?”

”Marcus . . .”

”Now, hear me out. You know, you don’t meet someone like her very often. I know I don’t. She is really . . . unique.”

”That she is. But sweetie, you’ve only known her for twenty-four hours!”

”Well, forty eight, since I left you guys yesterday. Plus the time I spent reading her blog, I think you have to count that.

”All in all, it was a pretty intense immersion, and it just felt so comfortable, right from the beginning. You had had time to get to know her a bit, and of course you and I have a long history, and that helped for the three of us to gel . . . but I don’t know, I think she and I connected as well.”

”I’m sure you did. You both hit it off really well.”

”Did that bother you?”

”No, no. I don’t mean to say that sparks flew between you like that. It’s just that you got along well, as I hoped you would. I don’t see it as a problem in my relationship with her.”

”Am I being ridiculous about being attracted to her?”

”If you weren’t attracted to her, I’d call the morgue to pick you up. Because you would have to be dead.”

”So what am I supposed to do?”

”Well, by all means, keep in touch with her. It’s cool if you have both found a new friendship in one another. But I think that after a few days, and a few cold showers, you’ll come to your senses. This was one hell of a hot weekend…I really hope we do it again. But I don’t think you are in real danger of falling in love with my online girlfriend.”

”I guess you’re right. It was one hot weekend. Thanks again for making me a part of it.”

”Thanks for coming up, honey. It was good to see you, in addition to all the fine sex.”

”You too baby. Get on your plane. I love you.”

”I love you, Marcus. Let’s talk when I’m back.”

Time for one quick call.

”Hi Madeline.”

”Hi baby. Are you on your way?”

”Almost. Just wanted to check in with you again. I can’t believe this was real.”

”It was real.”

”It was really real.”

”You said some very sweet things to me last night. I was just trying to recall them all.”

Don’t strain your brain too much. I’ll probably repeat them at some point. I’m a little redundant at times.”

”Me too. So keep in touch as best you can when you are away.”

”I’ll do what I can, and we’ll talk more when I return.”

We paused, anticipating that we were soon back to our relationship of web cams, cell phones and blogs.

”How the hell am I going to blog this?”

”Beats me. My mind is reeling.”

We were quiet for a moment. One day, this might be the part of a conversation where we would routinely swap ‘I love you.’ But we know better than to rush that.

She reverted to the next best thing.

”You hang up first.”

”No, you hang up first.”

”I said it first.”

That doesn’t mean I have to do it first!

Yes it does. That’s how it works.

Okay, fine! One . . . two . . .”




Blogger Shara said...

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11:11 AM  
Blogger Jamie said...

This is so beautiful. Way to make a kitten cry.

1:21 PM  

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