Having multiple partners means knowing whom to ask which questions.

I was sitting next to Alice at Lilly’s Bar one afternoon and she was making something out of her napkin. Her drink was nearly untouched and her coat was still on. She ordered a burger—rare—and once again she had forgotten her phone. She was exactly the right person to ask.

“I think I just asked a girl out,” I said between sips of my gin and tonic. It was cold and raining, but I wanted it to feel like summer.

“I don’t want to hear about it.”

“What? You always want to hear about these things.”

“I’m feeling jealous and insecure and it’s been a shitty month. I don’t want to hear about it. Can’t we just fuck in the bathroom and talk about summer? I’m tired of being cold.”

I put an arm around her and kissed her cheek. She put her hand on my leg and kissed my lips. I took a sip of her drink and she polished mine off in one gulp before sliding her fingers along my thigh until she found what she wanted.

“You like fucking me, don’t you?” she whispered.

I twitched in my jeans and she didn’t need a response.

“You like holding me tightly, bending me over, and fucking me like a little whore. You like it when I beg and scream, and you like to bite me to keep me quiet. You want to fuck me right now, you filthy boy.”

We were in the bathroom two seconds later and the door was locked. I kissed her with more teeth than lips and her hand never left my cock. I had to resist completely removing her belt, but her jeans slid down around her knees before I could think too much. She turned around without asking, and I fumbled with the condom wrapper. My fingers were sticky already, but before long she was guiding me into her, and I was fucking her with quick long strokes.

Who does this? I thought as I held onto her hips and pulled her hard against me. Who fucks in bathrooms on Sunday afternoons while the bar is loud outside? Who fucks during brunch?

I reached a hand around her, and my fingers found her clit as I struggled to stay inside her. I leaned back further and thrust harder as I pressed against her. I circled, rubbed and pressed—letting her voice dictate my direction—and she came around me before I said a word. All the dirty names and insults were left stuck in my throat as she called herself everything I might have said.

Trembling and shaking, she leaned her elbows against the wall as I pulled up my jeans. I tossed the condom in the garbage and kissed the small of her back.

“Get dressed, we’re going to get kicked out.”

“I don’t care,” she mumbled. “Let them kick us the fuck out, I need a few minutes.”

I leaned forward and kissed her again. I wrapped my arms around her and held her there in complete silence.

Knowing who to ask is so important, I thought.

From my e-book Hana: Polyamory and Erotica in New York

You should really read the rest to understand the context of this story. :-)