I can’t write a story for you.
The last time I saw you was not perfect, and the time before that I can hardly remember. Somewhere in between the drinks and the heat something happened that I needed to scrub from my mind and it’s gone. It’s all gone.
Well, most of it is.
What I do remember is you pressing against me at the bar and then turning away every time I tried to kiss you. I remember your hair smelled like coconut and we were drinking cucumber martinis because they reminded you of summer in Maine. I remember a quiet corner in the back of that old dirty bar and I wouldn’t let you up off my lap.
When I got home that night someone came with me. You told me over and over again that I dreamed it, but I remember smells and tastes and I can’t make those things up. I even wrote it down, and I read it again and again the next morning.
“It’s too fucking late, and the bed is soaking,” I wrote. “We fucked like goats, and you bit me so fucking hard that I slapped you. You told me that wasn’t your name, and I cried in your hair as you kissed me and slid my hard cock back inside you.”
I could hardly make out the words, but it must have been true. I must have had you and you must have held me because even though I woke up alone I could smell you on my sheets. I woke up with images in my mind and as many times as you told me I’d forget you I didn’t.
So, this isn’t for you. You might read it, and you might pass it on to a friend—as you do with everything—but it’s not for you.
—Guy New York
ambidextrously-erotic:(via extremetube)
I’m sure I’ve posted this before, but it’s just so damn compelling. Plus it reminds me a few people I love.
sandyb77:(via papiersgras)
I’m not sure why, but I really like this photo. Maybe it’s her eyes, or the woodwork, or the one breast that is smaller than the other. I suppose it doesn’t matter.
nakedness:pinkelephantsonparadeee:lastdaysofmagic:
Pretty, but it reminds me of Nina Simone, “Remember Darling, don’t smoke in bed.”
Your copy of Coming & Crying will be hardcover, 168 pages, containing 24 stories by 24 people, sent directly from a box in Melissa’s apartment and carried in a series of bins by Meaghan and Melissa to the general post office in Manhattan, where a woman named Estelle Lee will release it — that’s the word — to you. It will come in a white envelope.
$28 ($24 + $4 shipping/handling/Estelle, which will ship in 2-3 weeks)
You should probably buy this. Right now.
The only rule was that everyone had to remain fully clothed.
In all honesty it was the hostess’s fetish, but we hardly put up a fight. She wanted us in suites and ties with long black dresses and perfect stocking. She wanted to hear zippers, watch straps fall off shoulders, and generally enjoy the pile of well-dressed bodies scattered throughout her apartment.
My date cancelled at the last minute and so I walked in alone with a tie on that I wasn’t quite sure about. It was still early and mostly people were drinking and talking, unsure of how the evening would go. In the far corner by the window I saw my dear friend C on her knees with one end of a hard cock in mouth and the other nestled within the folds of Italian linen. I knew everything was going to be ok.
The first three hours included a lot of hands beneath dresses, kisses on necks and lips, and an occasional breast, freed in the dim lights of the apartment. I kissed and touched and tasted my fingers along with the hostess, but while some people paired off into well dressed fucking I generally stayed chaste. I had some strong hands on me and some soft kisses, but no flies opened and only one or two elastic bands were moved to the side to make room for fingers.
And then we recognized each other.
It had been nearly fifteen years since I flirted with her in class and she hinted that I might see more than the top of her thigh highs when she crossed her legs. We smiled in awe and remembrance, and we kissed long and hard before we even said hello. We talked and we kissed some more and with every question our hands got bolder. By the time she told me she where she worked I was hard in her hand and the breasts I had dreamed about for years were pressed against my chest. Our talking slowed as our touching increased, and when I finally slid two fingers inside her we stopped talking all together.
I went to undo my tie and she stopped me. She nearly lost her top until I re-buttoned it, and we finally had to hold each other’s hands as we kissed on a chair near the windows.
“I want you,” I finally said between kisses.
“Good,” was all she said as she handed me a condom. I slid her dress up, she undid my belt, and the rest of the room dissolved around us. I tried to tease her for just a moment, but I couldn’t resist. As soon as I felt her around me I pulled her to me and we kissed so hard that it hurt. I felt her soft skin beneath her dress and she kneaded my shoulders with her elbows as we kissed. We whispered silly things about missing each other into ears and we let our emotions swell and explode without pause.
It wasn’t until I came that I realized we had a crowd. I don’t know if it was the tears, or the biting, but more than a few friends were standing around us when we opened our eyes. We either looked bashful or defiant and it didn’t matter which one.
We said our hellos and goodbyes without consulting one another, and less than a half hour later we were walking out the door hand in hand.
—Guy New York
