xsirensongx asked: Hi! I love your writing style and your stories! You're a huge inspiration for me! They're all perfectly encapsulated little scenes - what do you do they are longer? Do you work to shorten them, or do you let your scene run as long as is needed, and store the longer ones somewhere else...?
That’s wonderful to hear, thank you so much for your note.
Originally I tried to keep every story under 500 words, but after a while I gave myself a little bit more wiggle room. When they get overly long I do edit them down and see how tight I can keep them without losing too much of the story.
When they get much longer I put them into e-books, either as a stand alone book or a collection of stories like the Brorotica books. You can see all my books on Amazon, including my last novel The Island on The Edge of Normal.
Anonymous asked: I really needed that last story. Thank you. Thank you for all of your stories.
You’re very welcome! I realized I often write about either the super sexy parts of poly or the big challenging parts. The easy fun times don’t come up as often, so I’m glad that you enjoyed it.
The bartenders at Schillers pour some of the best Manhattans around. They add a splash of Grand Marnier which gives a taste of citrus but somehow doesn’t make it overly sweet. I only drank about half of mine before my boyfriend showed up, and I quickly ordered him one as well. He had the day off from work, which meant that instead of his normal attire he was dressed in jeans, a black t-shirt and a black jacket, all of which made him look like a fucking rockstar.
A few minutes later my girlfriend and her husband arrived, and we moved to a table, ordered a few dozen oysters and another round of drinks. Our plan was to meet up early for a bite and good cocktails before heading over to the monthly Poly Happy Hour event on Delancey. We’ve been going on and off for about five or six years now, and it’s an event that brings in family members from across a wide range of scenes in New York. There are kinksters, swingers, unicorns, and radical-trans-queers who are into library science. There are bi-boys, leather daddies, non-leather daddies, and the simply curious.
We sat and laughed over our drinks, our oysters, and our sliders, as all four of us basked in the warm air blowing through the window. Spring has finally come to New York and it is perfect. A and I held hands beneath the table while her husband and J laughed and smiled, and I had one of those rare poly moments that have felt elusive for a long time. I felt loved, I felt happy, and I felt content. And maybe, most of all, I felt at ease with three dear friends who reveled in each other’s company.
Happy Hour was full of old friends, new friends, and joyful acquaintances, and we moved about easily, sliding from one to another as we talked, shared drinks, and kissed in the dark corners of the bar. When J and I held hands or kissed, A looked on with a smile, and when I wrapped my arms around her, he kissed my head and told us how pretty we were. There was more laughter than anything else, but as the evening wore on, I felt happier and happier by the minute.
Later that night, as I made my way home by myself, I paused long enough to be grateful. It isn’t always like this, and even when it is, I don’t always notice. Maybe it was spring, maybe the warm breeze, or maybe it was simply the full moon lending her bright reflection, but as I moved seamlessly between friends and lovers, I was reminded of what it feels like to experience complete and boundless joy.
It says something that I still find my own happiness to be a surprise, but through all the challenges and trials that come with an open life, it does often catch me unaware. But with their warm hands on mine, their lips against my cheek, and the smell of spring in the air, I am reminded once more that it’s possible.
And that makes everything else worthwhile.
Anonymous asked: I cum to your stories at least once a day. You're fantastic xo
Well that’s nice to wake up to. Thank you for letting me know.
“Where the fuck are we going?” she asked as I dragged her down a side street with nothing on it.
“I have a friend,” I said, unwilling to give away anything else. We stopped towards the end of the block and I sent a quick text message. Two minutes later a door with no handle opened, and Marco waved us in with a furtive look down the street.
“You can only have ten minutes. I can’t leave it alone for longer. And don’t fucking touch the machinery.” He lead us up the back stairs, down a short hallway with flickering fluorescent lights, and though one final door. It took us a second for our eyes to adjust, and the sound of the projector was almost deafening. He closed the door behind us and my date stared out the small square window to see Nymphomanic projected on the big screen.
“We don’t have much time,” I whispered, kissing the back of her neck as I reached beneath her dress and slid the cotton off her ass and down to the floor.
“You have go to be kidding me,” she whispered, pushing back against me as I undid my jeans. I slid one hand around her body, my fingers pushing against wet skin, while in front of us Stacy Martin knelt on the floor of a train car with a cock in her mouth.
“Do you like it?” I asked placing her hand firmly on my own cock, willing it hard.
“Uh-huh,” she moaned as she leaned forward. She spit on her hand and a second later it was back on me, sliding up and down my length with a rare skill. Her thumb slipped over my head with perfect precision, and seconds later I was nestled between the lips of her cunt as she wiggled against me.
“Fuck me,” she growled as we watched the actress on screen sit up with cum dripping off her lips. “Hard.”
I pulled her hips to me, sliding inside her instantly, and the heat from the machine next to me was nearly unbearable. I fucked her as deftly as I could, her eyes glued to the screen and the crowd just below as. One hand covered her mouth and the other moved over her clit, and she trembled against me. I looked down at our junction, watching her open around me as I slid in and out of her frantically.
“Oh fuck, I might come,” she said, finally looking down and biting her lip. I pulled her to me harder, my fingers never stopping their motion as she moaned into my ear. “I want to be a bigger whore than she could ever be.”
She shook around me as I pushed inside her so deeply it hurt. My head was against her back as I struggled to stand, and she convulsed and groaned as she came, her body tight around me. Seconds later I stepped back, my cock still hard and alert as I pushed it back inside my jeans. Marco knocked once on the door before opening it, and the two of us flattened our clothes as we moved back to the hallway.
“Just go down quietly and leave through the back door. And don’t touch anything.”
We nodded as we wove our way through the flickering lights until finally we burst out onto the street, the noise of the city bringing us back to reality. She grabbed me and pushed me against the wall, before suddenly breaking out in laughter.
“What is it?” I asked, trying to catch my breath.
“I left my panties on the goddamn floor.”
“Fuck it,” I said, pulling her to me and kissing her on the mouth with everything I had. “Fuck it.”
(If you enjoy my writing and would like to support the blog, you can buy my novel or one of my dirty e-books on Amazon here. You can also contribute via pay pal on quickienewyork.com if you enjoy the content.)
Her pussy did not taste like Pepsi Cola.
It was more of a margarita with salt on the rim and intoxication close behind. Her pussy was a dirty martini with an olive that demanded to be savoured. It was strong coffee late at night.
Her pussy was not sweet. In fact, at the end of the day–or in this case the early morning–her pussy mostly tasted like pussy.
Which is much healthier than Pepsi anyway.
weakneeds asked: I am sweating and smiling like an idiot after reading "There's Nothing". Jesus. Super great job thumbs up gold star.