“How come you don’t sit naked in the window drinking coffee while you watch the snow fall? Like in the pictures.”

“How come you don’t drink scotch in a suit and tie while sitting on a leather chair with your big cock hanging out? You know. Like in the pictures.”

We stared at each other from opposite ends of the couch, and neither one of us blinked. Her flannel pajamas had kittens on them, and my fuzzy red bathrobe was frayed on the bottom.  We drank coffee from chipped mugs and our toes touched in the middle as we stared each other down.

“Are we getting old?” I asked.

“Is it the kittens?”

“I was thinking because we’re up at 8am drinking coffee on the couch.”

She put her mug down before leaning over and crawling up onto my lap. She pushed my knees open, and I pulled her into my arms.  

“Would you feel better if we turned on cartoons and made hot chocolate?” 

Her hand slipped beneath the elastic of my pajamas and pressed against my cock. She rolled her palm over me, squeezing and teasing as I grew harder; I pushed her own pajamas down to her knees before digging my fingers into her ass.  She kicked them off as she moved up my body and seconds later we both watched as she rubbed against me.

“I think the coffee might be okay.”

With just a twist of her hips I was inside her, and she kissed my mouth as I sat up. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her closer. I opened the buttons to her top one at a time, and I would have sworn it was the first time I saw her breasts.  My mouth was instantly between them and on them as she rolled her hips faster, and I wanted to come inside her and fuck her forever at the same time.

“Take me back to bed.” 

She was standing before I could stop her, and we left my robe and her kittens on the couch.  She fell down on to her back with a laugh, and I growled as I pried her knees apart.  She gasped when I slid back inside her, but she was still smiling when she kissed me.

“Do you feel old now?” she whispered.

“I feel like the cutest fucking couple in the world. You know. Like in the pictures.”

Guy New York

I was too drunk to fuck by the time she told me to call her Hermione.

We had stumbled out of the bar a half hour earlier, and I thought the cab ride home might have cleared my sense. I hoped that back at my place—with her shirt lying on the ground and my hand wrapped around her wrists—it would all fall into place. Hope, I realized very quickly, is for the sober.

“I thought you picked me up ‘cause of my scarf. If you don’t want to fuck a Gryffindor then what the hell do you want? Come on, say her name again.”

She was trying to jerk me off as she said it and there was bitterness mixed in with desperation. She tugged and yanked as she touched herself with her other hand, and she whispered something incomprehensible into my ear.

“Look, let’s step back for a second,” I said. The room was spinning and stepping anywhere was out of the question, but if she tugged any harder she was going to hurt me.

“Oh, fuck! I knew those shots were a bad idea.”

She leaned down and whispered directly to my penis.

“Come on big boy. You can do it. Get hard for Hermie. Get nice and big for cute little me so I can bury you so far up my cooch I forget your name.”

“You don’t even know my name,” I mumbled as I watched with an almost smile.

“Shut up. I’m not talking to you.”

“Oh fuck,” I moaned. I grabbed the basket next to my nightstand and I started puking the second it was beneath me. She was off the bed so quickly I nearly fell. I closed my eyes before I realized that was a mistake; the room spun once more as I emptied my stomach into the trash can.

“Oh Christ,” she groaned as she gathered her clothes up. When I finally sat back up she was standing next to me shaking her head. Her gold and red scarf was hanging around her neck, and it was only then I noticed the lion tattoo on her arm.

“Obliviate,” she said, waving her hand at me before walking to the door. “Not that you need any help with that.”

I was holding the basket again seconds later, and I didn’t even hear the door close. I tried to steady myself as I coughed and shook, but it was a long time before I could sit up again.

I looked down at my feet and my unbuttoned jeans around my knees. My dick was rock hard and standing straight up.

“What the fuck is a Hermione?” I mumbled.

Guy New York

His cock reminded her of Paris in the rain.  It reminded her of Machu Picchu 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; she called him a name that was almost his.

“Get the fuck out.”  

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

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

Guy New York

I call it “Her List.”

I see her once or twice a year and we go through the same ritual each time. We give ourselves an hour to say hello, have a drink, kiss faces, and remember. We check in about our lives and we try to go slowly, knowing that we’ll fail.

Once we leave the restaurant, we no longer need to say anything until we’re in her room. The first two years required communication, but now?  Now she walks into the room, strips down to her underthings and takes out a blindfold.  She ties it around her eyes and lays down on her back.  I watch from the foot of the bed, and I say one word: Begin.

The list starts the same way each time.  It begins with Marcus, moves to Tasha, Josh, and then Michael.  She says each name clearly as I crawl between her legs and pull off the last bit of her clothing. She slows down when she feels my mouth on her, and she grips my hand as I kiss her.

Years ago our ritual lasted a moment, but now?  She’s added more names to the list than I can remember, despite the number of times I’ve heard it. I push my tongue inside her as she continues, and she says each name with a moan. I slide fingers into her as I hold her thighs wide open; I nibble and pinch, sending her squirming on the bed as she struggles to focus.

When she gets to the last name I’ve heard before I’m always hard.  I have a condom on and my cock against her lips when she pauses, and I wonder how many new names I’ll hear.  Each lover has taught her something.  Each one has shown her something new about herself, and there’s love in her voice as she speaks. I go back and forth between jealousy and gratitude, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t sometimes just marvel at the number of cocks that have been inside her.

I fuck her as she says each new name.  She thanks them out loud as I push deeply inside her, and with her eyes covered, her mind can be anywhere. Five, six, seven new names since I’ve seen her last.  Seven lovers and one night stands.  Seven people―men and women―have kissed her lips and pinched her nipples.  Seven people have shown her something new. 

For me.

She says my name at the end. She whispers it into my ear and by then we’re both coming. I bite her lips and she pulls me to her.  She scratches my shoulders, and I thrust so hard I have to hold her still. Our mouths take each other in, and our bodies shake in fits of release. We sigh and we moan.  We come and we scream. We forget everything.

Guy New York

“Tell me again why I’m special?”

She was nestled in against my shoulder as I ran fingers through her hair. She smelled of cinnamon and red wine, and she fit perfectly.  He soft fingers touched my arm, moving on their own free will. Her voice sounded like water.

“Do you remember the ninth time we had sex?”

“No,” came her soft reply.

I closed my eyes and instantly saw her white summer dress clinging loosely to her skin.  Her golden hair covered one eye before falling over her shoulders and down her back, but she made no effort to move it. She lifted her hips and dropped them down again as I tried to breathe slower and last longer. It was only when I closed my eyes that I could hear her quietly singing.

“We were on your couch in the summer. It was so hot out we missed winter.  Your dress clung to you in all the right places and…”

“Lots of girls have dresses that cling to them in all the right places.”

“And you moved over me so slowly it felt like a dream caused by fever and drought. You barely touched me as we made love, and just before you came you started to sing.”

“I did not.”

“You did too. Something about summer and wine, and you sang it over and over in a whisper before you let out tiny whimpers and moans.”

She slipped her fingers into mine and nuzzled my shoulder once more. I kissed the top of her head.  We both closed our eyes.

“Maybe that means you’re special too,” she said.

Guy New York

There’s a window at the end of the hall on the 46th floor of her building. 

It’s a quiet corner with a view of hidden rooftop gardens and ancient water towers. I can see birds flying below me, the Hudson River flowing in the distance, and on occasion, I catch a glimpse of human life in another building as tall and still as hers. 

“Can we move there?” she asked as I pressed my body against hers. She pointed to a cabin nestled amongst tall swaying strands of bamboo. It sat on a far off  roof as out of place as we were, and it looked like everything she could ever want.

My hands moved up beneath her dress to find she was naked beneath it, and she sighed as my fingers touched her skin. 

“I could write in the garden as you paint the skyline from our bedroom. We could eat breakfast as we watched the flowers come up in spring and we could still order in every single meal.”

She pressed back against me as my fingers opened her, and I was hard against her ass as we whispered back and forth. She moaned when she felt my cock between her thighs and she pushed against me, rubbing her skin against mine. 

“We could raise children who could name trees and ride the subway with equal skill.”

I groaned as I slid into her and she leaned over further allowing me to thrust deeply inside her. 

“We could watch stars and people through a telescope, and I could sleep in a hammock when it’s too hot outside to move. We could fuck in the open air.”

A few snow flurries were falling outside as our bodies rocked slowly together, and we each got lost in our own fantasies as we fucked there at the end of the long hall on the 46th floor.  We moaned louder and breathed quicker with each thrust, and within minutes I was coming inside her and she was pressing her hands against the cold glass as she trembled and shook. 

“I didn’t expect to come that quickly,” I said as I zipped up my jeans and kissed the back of her head.

“We always come when we fantasize about domestic bliss.”

“Nothing like a hot apartment to drive us wild.”

“Well, also the fucking.”

“Yeah, I like that part too.”

Guy New York

The bar was completely packed, and I was sandwiched between Owen Wilson and Scarlett Johansson. All three of our elbows kept bumping every time one of us tried to take a drink.

“Hey Owen,” I said.

“How you doing Guy? You look like you have a question for me.”

“Yeah, I was just wondering, if you could fuck any celebrity, who would it be?”

“You know, I never really thought about it. I might have to sit on that for a while, because it’s just not the sort of thing that goes through my mind.”

He leaned over me and tapped Scarlett on the shoulder.

“Hey Scarlett, Guy was just asking if I had a celebrity crush. How about you? Do you think about that sort of thing? I mean is there like a famous person you would sleep with if you had the chance, because I haven’t really given it much thought.”

“All mine are dead,” she said.

“I can see that.” I actually couldn’t see it, but I didn’t want to argue with her in public again.

“I don’t think I’d want to have sex with a dead person.”

“Owen, don’t be ridiculous. I meant while they were alive. A young Marlon Brando or maybe Paul Newman in that pool movie. What was that called?”

“Is Paul dead? I love his salad dressing. It’s so creamy.” Owen always says the right thing.

“So, no crushes?” I asked him. “You don’t go to the movies and get turned on by anyone?”

He took a long sip of his drink as Scarlett went back to her phone. She was texting someone in Chinese, and I could only make out every other word.

“I’d kinda like to make out with Martha Plimpton, but probably not sex. Like maybe just a little kissing. You know what I mean? Goonies was really important to me.”

“So Paul Newman and Martha, huh? Those are good choices.”

“What about you, Guy?” Scarlett asked me.

“Oh, I don’t really like famous people. It just seems like too much work, you know? I’d rather sleep with the bartender or the guy at the door.”

She just nodded her head without looking up again, but Owen leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Well, you know what they say…”

I smiled and put my drink down. 

“Yup, I sure do Owen. I sure do.”

I stood up and put on my coat.  I polished off the last of my drink, dropped some money on the bar and turned to head out.

“Hey, Guy, do you mind if I take your chair?”

“Sure thing, Uma.  Have a good night,” I said, waving to them as I headed towards the door.

Guy New York

I read Neruda to her in Spanish and her panties fell off.  Which was only slightly uncomfortable because we were sitting in Union Square Park just as the sun was going down. When I got to the end, her hand was in my jeans, and I was whispering the lines in her ear.

“Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos.”  The words were slow and deliberate, and she squeezed my cock so hard I almost started over again at the beginning.

I kissed her as people walked by, hopefully unaware of what was going on beneath the jacket on my lap, and her mouth was wet.  Her tongue was warm, her lips soft, and it was a kiss that made me wish I wrote my own poetry.

Her hand moved faster as our kiss grew slower, and she growled into my ear as she slowly began to pull an orgasm out of my body starting at my toes. She drew it up through my calves, over my knees and into my thighs.  I started saying the last line over and over again as she worked it up to my stomach, around my navel, and positioned it right at the base of my cock.

She grabbed my head and thrust her tongue so deeply inside me I nearly choked. As she fucked my mouth, she called down my release those last inches until I came hard enough to scare the pigeons.  Without so much as a pause, she licked her fingers clean before zipping up my jeans and slouching down on the bench.

I stared at her, wondering what she’d look like naked in my bed.

“So, yeah,” I said.  “About that last line…”

“Darling,” she said, taking my chin in her hand, “thanks for the offer, but someone did that to my cherry tree a very long time ago.”