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.)

© by The Dirty Gentleman
Thinking about asses, open hands, and pretty moans this afternoon. What to do…

© by The Dirty Gentleman

Thinking about asses, open hands, and pretty moans this afternoon. What to do…

The time has come the walrus said, to speak of many things. Like why the sea is boiling hot and why Guy New York wrote a book of poems about his penis. 

And to this, I say, why not? Some of them are funny, some are touching, most are dirty, and I think they’re all pretty damn honest. If you’ve ever thought your life needed more penis poetry, then now is the time to change that.

Available as an e-book, or in case your want to carry it around in your back pocket next to your clove cigarettes, a printed thing.

E-book: 32 Poems about my penis on Amazon

Printed: 32 Poems about my penis on Create Space

xsirensongx said: 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.

Thanks again!

gny

Tags: question

tdgpresents:

Miss Prim was kind enough last evening to assist me with testing the new stockings samples that arrived from my fine man in Taiwan this week.
I must say that they, and she, performed superbly and very much to my satisfaction.

tdgpresents:

Miss Prim was kind enough last evening to assist me with testing the new stockings samples that arrived from my fine man in Taiwan this week.

I must say that they, and she, performed superbly and very much to my satisfaction.

Anonymous said: 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.

gny

Tags: question

Schillers, Oysters, and Poly Bliss

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.

-gny