Cooch Waxing Business

You wanna know how I got into the cooch waxing business?

Shit, there ain’t much to say. It’s been twenty years I’ve been doin’ it, but there’s no glamorous beginning or nothing. I don’t even know why they hired me, but somehow they did. I remember the very first day, this pretty girl walks in and tells me to take it all off. I must of stared at her funny or something ‘cause she looked me right in the eye and asked if it was my first time.

“No, I done this tons,” I told her, but she squinted and shook her head.

“Whatever,” she said as she climbed up on the table and opened her legs. “Just don’t leave one fucking hair, you got it?”

I’m not dumb or nothing and I gone through my training, so I spread that stuff all over her, doing what I was supposed to, but when it came time to pull it off, well damned if my hand didn’t shake. She was hardly paying any attention, but I musta’ stopped long enough for her to finally noticed. She reached a hand down and touched my arm.

“It’s okay, baby,” she said. “Everyone’s scared the first time. It’ll hurt, but I can take it.”

I’d like to say I wasn’t crying at the fucking kindness shown me, but by the time she walked out the door I was a bit of a mess. I framed that first five dollar tip and it’s still the most important one I ever got. That girl showed me a kindness and kept me going just when I was ready to give up.

And ever since then I’ve been doing it sure as shit. Girls come in, I wax ‘em up good, and I ain’t never had no complaints. Twenty years I’ve been waxing cooch, and I’m not saying I’m the best, but I will say it’s been a callin’.

Guy New York

(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.)


The Dick Dock

One summer in college I got an apartment in Provincetown with an old friend of mine. We both got jobs in town where we worked six or seven days a week, and we drank each night until two in the morning. He was as straight as a line dance, but we held hands as we walked down the street each morning simply because we could.

In Provincetown everyone assumes you’re gay. It’s incredibly refreshing, but as a twenty-one-year-old mildly bisexual college student, it was culture shock. The first week we spent a few nights at the only straight bar in town before we realized that it was not only depressing, but also boring as fuck. Once we made friends, found roommates, and settled into our jobs, we expanded our horizons.

It was late one night in the middle of the summer when my new best-friend Mark asked me if I wanted to go to the Dick Dock. The Dick Dock was a legend. It was a running joke for the locals, a fantasy for the tourists, and a reality for a small group of men, who often found themselves on the beach at two am trying to satisfy something or other. I had never been, and so with a smile we crossed Commercial Street, took the narrow path to the beach, and turned right.

There is no Dock at the Dick Dock. But there is dick. On this particular night there was a line of dick. About fifteen or twenty men stood in a row, but Mark took me by the hand and marched me to the front without a word. There was a young man, possibly a few years older than me, kneeling at the front, his back to the wooden fence that closed off the dunes. As each man approached, they pulled their cocks out, jerking themselves off until they were hard. When it was their turn they looked down at the young man with mysterious expressions, and he dutifully took them into his mouth for the best blow-job he could manage at two am.

Mark stood me so close to the young man that I was almost touching him. My pant legs brushed his shoulder but he never once looked up. We may has well have been invisible. If we got even a glance I didn’t notice, although I was definitely distracted as I watched the kneeling boy go from one man to the next. We didn’t stay long, but it was enough.

As we walked down the beach he asked me what I thought.

“I don’t know. It’s pretty intense.”

“He likes sucking cock.”

“I guess so.” I said. “You don’t ever get in line?”

“Dude, if I want to get my dick sucked I just go to the bar. Those are the dudes who can’t get their dick sucked any other way. It’s a little depressing. Still fucking hot though.”

We walked back into town a few minutes later and most everything was closed. Even the pizza place was quieting down, and there was not much else to do. I said goodnight and climbed the stairs to my apartment. My old friend was still up, and with mild curiosity he asked where I had been.

“The Dick Dock,” I said.

“You get any Dock?” he asked, laughing at his joke.

I shook my head and climbed into bed. I was still overwhelmed by what I had seen, and not sure how I felt about any of it. I thought about waiting in line, watching everyone else use the young man for their pleasure and I shivered. And then I thought about him, taking cock after cock into his mouth without any regard for where it came from. I rolled over to find myself hard. I tried to let it go, but my hand moved faster as I closed my eyes and imaged myself kneeling in the sand on that quiet stretch of beach.

-Guy New York

(If you enjoy my writing, you might like my new novel, The Island on The Edge of Normal, now available on Kindle and in Print.)

Like Bros of a Feather

"Dude, does your wife always come that loudly, or is it just with me?"

"I don’t know. Does yours call everyone Daddy, or is that just me?"

I stared at him over the rim of my glass of Rodenbach Grand Cru and I wished for a moment I had ordered the Three Philosophers like he had. He always knows which beer to order.

"Last night after we had fucked six times I thought she was going to pass out, but instead she sucked my dick all the way down her throat until I came again. She’s a pro."

"Yours can’t get mine more than halfway in her mouth. But I’m sure it’s not her fault."

The bartender poured the rest of the bottle out into his glass, and I smiled at her. She had complimented his order when she had raised an eyebrow at mine. Sometimes I think I don’t get anything right.

"Has your wife always loved it up the ass like she does now?" he asked out of the blue.

"I don’t know, has yours always enjoyed begging and crying at the same time?"

We were both quiet for a while as we nursed our beers. What else was there to say?

"Do you want a sip of this. I think I’m over it."

"Sure. You want to finish my Grand Cru?"

"I’d love to. What a perfect fucking beer. I was jealous when I heard you order it."

I pushed my glass over to him and he did the same. I smiled as he took my hand and held it for a few long minutes.

Everything was going to be just fine.

One Year Later

A year after she died we still called out her name in bed.

It wasn’t so much of a dying wish as a demand. We said no over and over again, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She made us practice a week before she left, and we had to tell her about it in detail. She couldn’t stay awake for most of it, but when her eyes opened she smiled at us and made us continue.

For six months is made us cry, but then the sun rose one morning and she was there with us. We had been fucking for hours and her name didn’t hurt any more. We said it over and over again, and before we knew what was happening we could smell and taste her again. We heard her moans and her sighs as our bodies moved, and we both started laughing as we came.

We didn’t stop when our bodies gave out, and as the sun poured through the window we basked in her presence. She stayed with us through breakfast, never pushing us to remember and never letting us forget. By the time evening came, we no longer had to try.

Guy New York

Humping Her Leg

“I’m wearing this dress so you can fuck me at the bar tonight. Just to be clear.”

“Yeah, well, I’m wearing these jeans so when I get hard it will be really obvious to everyone and their mother.”

“Good. I want them to know I make you hard. Their mothers too.”

“You want them to know their mothers make me hard?”

“Fuck you. You know what I meant.”

“Do you think we should practice before we leave? I mean, what if we have trouble with a zipper or something? It would be embarrassing to get caught in public not knowing how to have a quickie. I mean, come on. My blog is called Quickies in New York.”

“I thought quickies was about the length of the fiction not the length of the sex.”

“And just how long is your sex?”

“Fuck you. Let’s go. I want a drink before you start slobbering on my neck and try to hump my leg.”

“I don’t try. I either do, or do not, hump your leg.”

“Good boy. Now zip me up and let’s go do something we’ll both regret.”

“Yes, Dear.”

Read Me Something

"Read me something,” she said as she nuzzled against my cheek.

I rolled over and picked up my Kindle from the bedside table.  I had downloaded a shitload of smut recently and hadn’t read any of it yet.  I put my arm around her shoulder and she looked on as I scrolled through the collection of dirty works.

“That one,” she said.

I barely noticed the title when I clicked on it, but after ten years of reading I had an idea what it might sound like.  

“Once upon a time there was a very slutty wife name Sally who only wanted one thing in the whole wide world.  Wherever she went, and whatever she did, the only thing that would make her happy was a ginormous cock.  She liked coffee, and she enjoyed a good book, but she LOVED cock.  Like really loved it.”

“That’s not what it says,” she told me.  She was reading over my shoulder, and it’s possible that I was improvising just a bit.  

“It’s the general idea,” I said.  “Do you want me to keep going?”

“O’tay, but only if you don’t stray too far.”

I patted her on the head and pushed my glasses up over my nose.  I took a drink of water and picked the “book” back up with a cough.

“Well, this little wifey had a husband with an itty-bitty penis and she knew that no matter how much she loved him, she would never be happy unless she could also get pounded on the side by a real man with a real big pecker.”

“It doesn’t say pecker.”

“I know, but I can’t just keep saying cock over and over again.”

“Why not?  I do?”

I kept reading.

“One night their friend Bobby was over and somehow they all decided to get really stupid fucking drunk and talk about sex!  Her hubby was a little shy, but Bobby was more than happy to tell them about how he loved to fuck slutty wives with his giant cock (is that better?).  His only problem was that he was TOO big for so many women, and that made him sad.  If only there was a slutty wife somewhere nearby who could handle him!”

I looked over to see if she was still paying attention.  Her eyes were closed and one hand was under the covers.  I decided to finish the tale.

“To no one’s surprise, Sally promised Billy that she could take it.  Her husband tried to protest, but even he was so turned on by the idea of watching his wife get fucked by Billy’s huge pecker, that he didn’t put up  much of a fight.  Before anyone could say a thing, Sally was on her knees sucking their best friend’s cock!  No one could believe it, least of all her, but she knew pretty soon that if she didn’t get that monster in her snatchy-pie she was going to go totally crazy!

“I need him to fuck me, she moaned to no one in particular.  That’s right, said Billy.  Get on my big stick and ride me while your husband watches.  I bet he wishes HIS pee-pee was this big!

“Oh, thank you Billy, Sally cried as she pulled off her skirt to reveal her perfectly smooth honey pot.  She had shaved it just that morning, hoping she’d get to use it.  As her husband watched, Sally crawled onto Billy’s lap and slowly lowered herself down around him.  At the first two inches she screamed.  At the third and fourth she started begging. At the sixth inch she was moaning and clawing at his chest, and at the ninth inch she closed her eyes and started to cry.  When he finally had all sixteen inches of his rock hard man meat inside her, she was coming harder than she ever had in her whole whole life. 

“Sally came and came and came, and her husband sat and cried as he watched his wife fuck another man.  He knew inside himself that this would change everything.  From then on, Sally would need it every day, and nothing would ever be the same.

“I love you honey, she said when she finally finished the aria she was singing.  But I love this big love pole too.  Hopefully all three of us can be together like one big happy family.  One really really BIG happy family.

“Billy kissed her and said now she was a real woman.  Her husband laughed and smiled at them, and they all climbed into bed.  It had been a perfect night between good friends and everyone was tired.  They all kissed and finally drifted off to sleep.”

She looked at me when I put the book down, and I wasn’t sure what was going through her head.  She took off my glasses and kissed me.  She climbed up onto my lap, pulling her shirt off in the process.

“That was okay.  I think I like the original better though,” she whispered as she moved her panties to one side. 

“Now, fuck me with your big love hammer until I fall asleep.”

Guy New York