Paris in The Rain

His cock reminded her of Paris in the rain. It reminded her of Machu Pichu at sunset and the blue green lights over the empty snows of the Yukon. His cock reminded her of everything beautiful in the world and she came around it like she was impaled on the tower of Babylon. She scratched his chest and slapped his face as her orgasm ripped through her and she called him a name that was almost his.

 

“Get the fuck out,” she said as her body began to return to itself.

 

He was lying in her bed, but she had moved to the window with a cigarette clutched in her hand. She flicked open her Zippo and said it again. It took three times before he responded, but by the time she was halfway finished he was closing the door behind him.

 

“Why God, why?” she whispered.  “Why does that cock have to be attached to that man?”

-gny

© by The Dirty Gentleman
I hope you all had a lovely, relaxing, filthy, and enjoyable Memorial Day.
xo
-gny

© by The Dirty Gentleman

I hope you all had a lovely, relaxing, filthy, and enjoyable Memorial Day.

xo

-gny

Thinking Less, Fucking More

Sometimes bing poly means we spend a lot of time in our heads. I spend a lot of time in my head, she spends a lot of time in her head (as well as mine), and together we can process, discuss, articulately argue, and occasionally shout at each other for long periods of time.

 

But living in our heads means that sometimes we forget our bodies, and we talk ourselves right out of them without hardly trying. We can converse about the sex we are not having far better than we can let go and have it once more. Because as much as our minds are connected to our junk they are also a familiar distraction. The intellect is somewhere we are both more comfortable.

 

But there are certain things that let us slow down the brain activity and remember what skin feels like: anything that raises our heart rates high enough, medium sized bodies of water, and of course tequila.

 

We’ve had the most success with the tequila.

 

In fact there was very little running through my head this weekend when I walked up behind her and simply removed her underwear from beneath her dress. For a second we nearly moved into discussion, but then our hands found wet skin and our foggy minds were suddenly more interested in touching than thinking.

 

“I want to fuck you,” I growled, not thinking at all. “I want to eat this amazing pussy, because I love you, and there is nothing I like better. I want to taste you, and I want to hear you come so loudly you forget your name.”

 

“Bed,” she moaned, turning back towards me and pushing me through the door. Seconds later I undid her dress, she pulled off my shirt, and I bent her over the bed, marveling at her ass and her cunt like I hadn’t done in far too long. I leaned over her further, my mouth opening between her thighs as I tasted her and there was nothing else. She was sweat, salt, and skin. She was love, sex, and want.

 

“Fuck me,” she growled, rolling over and spreading her legs, and I could see it in her eyes. Her thoughts were clear and focused. Her mind was in one place and one place only, and if I had been thinking at all it would have been fascinating.

 

As it was, I climbed between her legs, my hard cock in my hand, as I let my body do all the work. I slid inside her, listening to the moans escaping her lips, as we moved faster and faster. She was wet and alive, and I was hard and powerful. There was no fear, no worry, and no second guessing to tear us from our skin.

 

After days and weeks of trying to work through everything at the same time, we simply fucked.

 

-gny

(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 free content we post here.)

Silk Stockings!

After three years of working together, The Dirty Gentleman and I are finally releasing a collection of his photos in a beautifully printed book called Silk Stockings. We teamed up with Moleskine to produce a gorgeous, leather-bound, hard cover book with more than fifty original photos. The details (from the stitching to the pocket in the back) are classic Moleskine, and I think you’ll agree that TDG’s photos look absolutely stunning.

As we get closer to pub date we’ll get you all the details (including how to order one). We will also be announcing a contest/giveaway for one lucky follower to receive a free, signed copy of this limited edition book.

We are very excited. 

-gny

Please note the above photos are from a digital proof, not photos of the printed book. Those will come soon. 

Fucking Her

I miss fucking her.

 

I miss her moaning and her legs wrapped around my body as I thrust inside her, and I miss the sound of her coming just moments before myself. I miss her impossibly tight cunt and the way her eyes glossed over when she couldn’t focus any longer. I miss holding her down, slapping her ass until she was soaking wet and begging, before sliding inside her once more. I miss her tears and her laughter.

 

I miss the names I called her and the ones she called me, either in hushed whispers or ecstatic groans, and I miss how powerful I felt each time I held her down, just on the edge of letting go. The taste of her skin, her lips around my cock as she choked, and the small of her back when I fucked her from behind, are memories burned into my body.

 

And when we were done, our bodies exhausted from days of abuse and use, I miss the look in her eyes that told me I’m amazing. The look that said I know her and understand her. The look that said I am strong and capable. I am someone who makes her come colors and forget.


I miss her.

-gny

© by The Dirty Gentleman
And here’s to hot sweaty nights on the fire escape.

© by The Dirty Gentleman

And here’s to hot sweaty nights on the fire escape.

tdgpresents:

Miss Prim kindly rolling over.

Stockings on my mind…

A Fragile and Tactile Thing

I met Stephanie at an event somewhere on campus in our various roles as political organizers. It was important in college to be involved in something, no matter how little influence we might have on the world. A part of us knew it was a game, but we dove in headfirst with all the energy and enthusiasm of youth, and the skill of the same. We argued with each other mostly, because yelling about language was more accessible than having real conversations with people who came from different worlds. It was easier to discuss the nuances of feminist literary theory than it was to organize the Walmart employees, who just ten years earlier had lost well paying jobs at the now abandoned factories.

 

She had long brown hair with hints of red that felt like autumn. Her face was round, her hands strong, and she intimidated me instantly. Everyone knew she was a lesbian, and she had a friend with a shaved head. I was toying with my sexuality, as all of us were, and I tagged along to write letters, raise money, and stare at this woman who scared me and drew me in at the same time. But she flirted with me when I wasn’t paying attention, and we slowly began to spend more and more time together.

 

One afternoon I told her I was getting attached to her. We were walking and laughing and it felt like a natural thing to say. It was as close as I could come to saying I think I’m falling for you. I think I might love you, or at least want you. You make my heart do strange things, and I think about you far too often.

 

She smiled at me and shook her head. Don’t do that she said. Don’t ever get attached to me.

 

This was not all my love for all my life. This was not, I long for you too. And yet, there she was, still holding my hand as we walked through the falling leaves on a chilly afternoon. She smiled and she laughed. She leaned in closely to me, and at that moment I decided I wouldn’t mention it again. I had no illusions that my feelings might change, not that I really understood them, but I was sure that talking was the problem, not doing. Not being, or acting, because all of those things were easy. She didn’t tell me to go away. We were together, not separated by slow words and the post office, and I suppressed every urge I had to work something out with words.

 

The first time we climbed into bed she was on the phone with an ex-boyfriend. It’s not a romantic story, and even now I’m amazed at my nerve and her response. I was lounging in her room, like I had learned quickly to do, and she had been on the phone for nearly twenty minutes. She mouthed apologizes, but made no move to hang up. I finally stood behind her and wrapped my arms around her. She smiled at me over her shoulder and let her body fall against my own. When I slid my hands beneath her shirt she did nothing, and when I undid the button on her jeans she sighed as she wiggled out of them.

 

Before we ever kissed I knelt on Stephanie’s floor, my mouth between her thighs as she struggled not to give anything away to the man on the other end of the receiver. When she finally mumbled her goodbyes, we crawled to the couch where we lost the rest of our clothes. I’d like to say we made love, and maybe we did, but what I remember is that we fucked. We fucked and we fucked, hours slipping by with our young bodies somehow pushing us on through orgasm and recovery, until finally we were simply done. I held her and kissed her, and she caressed my face without saying a word. I choked back all the sweet things I wanted to say, and somehow I managed to let her smile be enough. I desperately wanted her words, but somewhere within me I knew that her breath and her skin were all she had to offer, and they were a far greater gift for it.

 

And so suddenly I had a relationship with no words at all. We saw each other most every day, we fucked hard and often, and we took longs walks and attended lectures and concerts together. We ate together, studied together, and did all the things that couples do without ever once mentioning that fact at all. For a long time it felt precarious, like it might fall and break at any moment, but as the months went by it was simply what it was.

 

It was love without words. It was a relationship without boundaries, and it was in fact a fragile and tactile thing, that while nearly impossible to destroy with action, could be brought down with a few simple words that I held in my throat each time they pushed to the surface.


-gny


© by The Dirty Gentleman

It’s my birthday! Let’s party. 

Reese’s Peanut Butter Condoms

I was sitting on the couch at The Dirty Gentleman’s last night, with a glass of whisky in my hand a pretty girl on my lap, as we prepared small packages to go out to subscribers. For most of the evening we helped write notes, poured drinks, and generally made ourselves useful, but by ten we had moved into kissing as we slipped hands beneath clothes.

 

These events tend to move gracefully from work to play, and this was no different. I had her dress around her waist within in minutes, and no one batted an eye. She had my cock out the front of my suits pants almost as quickly, and still the room didn’t notice. It wasn’t until she was kneeling above me, her panties torn from her hips, that our desperation grew palpable.

 

“Someone give me a fucking condom,” she groaned, her eyes searching out help.

 

“Here,” Elsha said, tossing a bright orange package to us.

 

“Is that a fucking Reese’s Peanut Butter Condom?” I asked, groaning in frustration.

 

“Maybe,” she replied with a shrug. I tore it open to find the thick chocolate candy nestled up against the condom, which was wrapped once more in it’s own plastic. Without missing a heartbeat my date reached in, grabbed the peanut butter cup, and ate it in one bite. I struggled to tear open the condom, my fingers greasy from the chocolate, and I groaned again in annoyance.

 

“I fucking hate these!” I screamed, even as I finally pulled the latex from its confinement.

 

When my date held me in her hand and guided me inside her, I managed to return to myself again, but it was nearly impossible to focus. I grabbed her hips, pulled her down onto my cock as we fucked, and within seconds all I could hear was her breathing.

 

When she finally kissed me, I could taste nothing but Reese’s.

 

-gny

Just a friendly reminder that this is happening on Sunday. In our new, bigger, and better venue on the Lower East Side.
I will be reading some Brorotica. Some Daddy porn (possibly bro daddy porn?). Definitely some penis poetry, and who knows, maybe even a new story about Ortolans. 
Come get drunk with us and listen to dirty things. 
The crowd at Dirty Boys is always the fucking best. They are hot, filthy, brilliant, funny, sexy, and all around fun. Join us.
Please share!!

-gny

Just a friendly reminder that this is happening on Sunday. In our new, bigger, and better venue on the Lower East Side.

I will be reading some Brorotica. Some Daddy porn (possibly bro daddy porn?). Definitely some penis poetry, and who knows, maybe even a new story about Ortolans. 

Come get drunk with us and listen to dirty things. 

The crowd at Dirty Boys is always the fucking best. They are hot, filthy, brilliant, funny, sexy, and all around fun. Join us.

Please share!!

-gny

© by The Dirty Gentleman
Just past the curtain is where everything changes…

© by The Dirty Gentleman

Just past the curtain is where everything changes…

Fuck Me Like You Fuck Her

“Fuck me like you fuck Maggie,” she whispered.

 

I was on top of her moving slowly within her, and her voice was faint in my ear. Once I convinced myself I had heard her correctly, I leaned up on my hands and looked into her eyes.

 

“Are you serious?”

 

She nodded, her bottom lip between her teeth. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When I opened them I was almost someone else.

 

“Get on your stomach, bitch,” I growled. She rolled over without saying a word, but I could hear the whimper in her voice. “Now open your fucking legs and touch your filthy cunt.”

 

Her fingers moved between her legs in a second, and then I was back inside her, pulling her hips to me as I fucked her hard. I grabbed her hair in one hand as I slammed into her over and over again. After just a few minutes she stopped and moaned out another request.

 

“Now like Kelly. Show me how you fuck her too.”

 

I rolled her over and touched her cheek with my hand as I knelt above her. I slide my fingers down to her lips, wet them on her mouth, and then gently pushed them into her pussy without once losing eye contact.

 

“Do you want me inside you, little girl?” I asked. “Do you want this big cock inside you?”

 

“Yes,” she whimpered as I rubbed against her without entering.

 

“I can’t hear you,” I said.

 

“Please!” she moaned as I pushed barely inside her. I teased her for a few moments longer before sliding into her so slowly I could hear her heartbeat. I almost kissed her, my mouth tasting her breath as I held myself above her, only moving enough for it to be painful. We had never fucked so gently.

 

“Oh god, now do Stephanie. Just one more,” she pleaded.

 

I was all the way inside her seconds later, and I kissed her wildly. I wrapped my arms around her, needing her closer than ever before, we fucked with each breath. I brushed her hair back, kissed her eyes, and whispered I love you into her ear over and over again.

 

By the time she started to come there were tears in her eyes.

 

-gny

(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.)

© by The Dirty Gentleman

There are so many good things going on here I don’t even know where to start…

Can I Come Now?

“Can I come now?” is one of my all time favorite questions.

 

In this case we had been fucking for nearly an hour, and both of our bodies were tired. We had moved from sweet kisses to slaps on her thighs, hand prints on her ass, fingers around her throat, and soft begging. Each time we slowed down we returned with more push than before, and by the time she asked the question she was on her hands and knees with my cock inside her and her fingers on her clit.

 

I debated saying no. I wasn’t sure if she could stop even if she tried, but the moment she asked I was filled with something else. The slaps and the name calling suddenly felt less important. The groans and demands drifted to the back of my mind as I watched her body writhing beneath me. I stared at our connection, my cock opening her wet folds as she pushed back onto me, and I was filled with a different desire.

 

I suddenly realizing that more than anything I wanted to see her in the thralls of joy and release. More than anything else I wanted to hear her happiness, her exaltation, and her surrender. More than anything else, I loved her.


Yes,” I whispered. “Come for me.”

-gny

(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.)