A Million Things

I can go from crying to coming in less than an hour. Maybe less than fifteen minutes if I put my mind to it, and if you suck my cock like you did last night.

I walked in with my face a mess and my body covered in slowly drying sweat. I smelled of smoke and lunch, and you wore nothing but black lace around your tiny hips and a smile on your face as you leaned back in the kitchen drinking wine. I poured it all out (not the wine), because you allow it and ask for it and let it be what it is. The tears slowed down, the wine sped up, and within ten minutes we lay on the bed, your head in my lap as I slowly grew hard.

We fucked slowly. Within seconds our bodies were once again covered in sweat, but we moved inside each other, feeling everything, and wanting nothing.

That’s not true, we wanted, but we lacked a goal. We lacked a future at all. Instead you held me where I was, I slid inside you when it felt best, and we moved exactly as we needed to pull the most pleasure out of a fucked up world. We whispered and nibbled, we pinched and slapped, but in the summer heat we mostly fucked, escaping everything and leaving nothing behind.

There are a million things that can make sex hot, but very few that make it easy. Love helps, but it’s not always enough. Kindness can do wonders, and a willingness to listen and try are life changing. But there’s nothing that changes sex more than complete and utter acceptance; a willingness to let everything be as it is and feel as it does. A trust that each desire will be met with love and each need will be matched by a similar honesty.

We came with fingers inside each other. We came with simple words and slow touch. We came without any fear at all, letting each other be where we needed to be: in tears, in love, in compassion, and in hope.


Shredding Our Memory

in the morning she lies between us

her lips parted and her body still bruised


the room smells of honeysuckle

and sex with a hint of coffee

just beginning to brew


he opens his eyes and smiles at me

our minds drifting back

to just hours before

as she writhed between us



needing us to

fuck her harder with each



I can see the mark he left on a shoulder

and her skin

is red from my come


when she rolls to her back

our eyes open wider

and we lose all restraint


our hands begin to move

and her thighs part

shredding our memory

and replacing it instantly

with now


when she stretches her limbs

her body waking from a dream

it’s with a whisper on her battered lips


more she says softly

I want more


Sunshine and Shadow

“I want to fuck you in the sunshine,” I whispered, pulling her closer to me. She was standing in front of me, my arms around her waist, in a dress that was so short even the squirrels were looking. She arched her neck and nibbled my ear, her voice teasing and firm.

“What’s stopping you?”

“People, the police, children, insecurity, whatever you have on under this dress. All the normal things,” I said, my hands on her thighs and moving up. The park was crowded, the sun was hot, and there was nowhere to hide. There was nowhere to slip off to and nowhere duck into.

“So, does this help?” she asked, easily wiggling her panties down beneath her dress and stuffing them into her purse. “I mean, that’s one of five. What were the other reasons?”

“I’m not sure I remember,” I whispered, my hand between her legs, feeling her warm and wet from more than just the sun. “And maybe that’s best. Would you stop me? Can I just fuck you right here on the grass, right here in the park, right here in front of the world?”

“You mean in the sunshine?” she asked, turning and facing me, her hand pressed firmly against my hardness. “Can you fuck me here without being afraid? Here without hiding? Here without caring about anything but how much you love and want me?”

“Yes,” I said, struggling to kiss her. Struggling to let the world go, and struggling to not care.

“Don’t be silly,” she said, stepping away. “There are children and cops, and people and stuff. And besides, who has the nerve? I don’t believe you. Trying to fuck me in the park.”

I watched her laugh as she ran off into the brambles, her short dress hiding nothing. I counted to three before following, and there was no turning back.

“Someone is in trouble,” I said, when I finally caught up with her. I was vaguely trying to hide my excitement as I chased her down the path, but it was the least of my worries.

“I certainly hope so,” she said, kissing me once more as we fell to the ground in the shadows.


We didn’t sleep all night.

It was hot, but we found our bodies touching over and over again, each time lasting longer than the time before. She pulled away when I caressed her arm, and I rolled over when her knee slid too high up my thigh. Early in the morning I watched, not feeling connected to my body or actions, as I leaned in and kissed her bare shoulder. When she turned to her back, her legs parted and her hand on her stomach, I didn’t look away.

When my hand replaced hers, neither of us moved it. When my fingers traced the edge of elastic neither of us said a word. Her leg pushed against mine, her hand felt my skin with intention, and I didn’t stop. She moaned when I touched hair, and she parted her thighs wider, seemingly holding her breath as I leaned forward until my hand was hovering above her wet skin. I kissed her cheek, my fingers barely tracing her, and she opened her eyes.

“Kiss me,” I whispered.

When her lips touched mine, my hand dropped, fingers opening her even as our tongues did the same. I pulled her to me, kissing her harder as she struggled with my boxers, pushing them down until her hand was around my cock. We moaned and squirmed, losing our few items of clothing until finally our sweaty bodies were just skin against skin and it was too much.

“I want you,” I said, climbing between her legs and pinning her arms above her head. “Now.”

“Yes,” she said, lifting her hips off the bed. “Yes, yes, yes.”

It took effort to penetrate her, and I finally had to reach between our legs and guide myself inside her. But when it was done, when we were as close as it was possible to be, time held still right along with us. I stared into her eyes, she slid her hands down to my ass, and then finally we kissed once more before we started to fuck.

She came within minutes, her legs wrapped around me body, her teeth pulling on my lip, and my cock buried inside her. I breathed her orgasm, never letting go of our kiss, even as she shuddered beneath me. I slowed down only enough to feel her around me, clenching and trembling as she came, and then I was fucking her once more, needing to join her in her release more than anything I had needed before.

When I came she was laughing, her body still in convulsions as I closed my eyes and arched my back, thrusting inside her over and over again as my orgasm ripped through me. My toes tingled, my hands went numb, and it felt like every ounce of life, soul, and heart filled her at the same time. I gave over completely, letting go of the world, and for a few glorious seconds I didn’t exist.

We kissed for a long time, my body growing soft inside her. Her giggles spread to me as I pushed her hair from her face and stared at her knowing eyes. She was prettier than should be allowed, and I loved her impossibly.

“Do you feel guilty?” I finally asked.

“No,” she whispered, touching my lips. “I feel stupid.”

“Why stupid?”

“Because, you silly boy. If we had done that earlier, we might have fucking slept.”


Messy Thoughts on Language and Sex

The time has come the walrus said to rethink the language of sex. Or maybe I should say the language of love, emotion, heartbreak and ciriosis, because Christ you don’t know the meaning of heartbreak. But the meaning of insert tab A into slot B is an old story, older than even that of Amaterasu, birthing the world from her fiery womb. So what does the moon say and how talks the sunset when blankets aren’t enough? And in the middle of the night, which shifts from decade to decade, how now do slippery limbs find entrance? If our oldest stories stop before the moment, because they might be too sticky to share in the light, then it’s up to us to write myths again that stop far beyond it. It’s only enough to to say ‘they lay with one another,’ if you don’t remember the three thousand-four-hundred-sixteen variations that comprise the universal book of how to fuck.

There’s a long history of language that describes a man doing something to a woman, and for maybe all of history it almost made sense. At least in the most mundane of instances, in the common and the mud, in the barns and the fields where rutting was the norm and slot B was indeed put upon over and over again, it might have made sense. But history is written by those who can write, and those who can write often avoid the squishy bits, because putting a thing down on a page is oh so different than doing it in the flesh.

And the winners are always uptight. Maybe there’s an ancient myth to tell this truth far clearer, but it’s a truth all the same. From the Pilgrims to the righteous commies throwing down the Czar, the winners are always uptight. So the story is written over and over again without the grunting and the thrusting, all which is left to the lower decks and the darkness. All of which is left to those with nothing to lose; those who can switch on nothing without blinking an eye. Between monks, priests, and politicians, the history of sex has been written by those with no experience of it, and the times it has broken through into the masses, it’s been snuck in like a horse at dusk.

But Lucretia didn’t ‘slip down between the sheets’ with her lover, and Marcus never felt the ‘rush of waves as pleasure was won and lost.’ They fucked and sucked, the overwhelming smell of human behavior lingering in their nostrils as they made a mess of everything in exactly the right way. Sampson didn’t ‘delight in the love nest’ of Delilah any more than Cuchulainn ‘spent his bliss upon the womb’ of his lover. There was come and sweat and tears, and for thousands of years we’ve drawn it, painted it, and then hidden the words in the dusty waterfront bars and brothels where no one has enough money to make up metaphors for something they do as easily as they breath.

But now the world has changed once more, and while our great literature still stops short of describing the divine with all it’s warts and blood, the light is brighter. We can write a million sounds and a million words, each one taking us closer to the truth, but we’ve lost the poets and the heartbroken. We’ve medicated our way out of romance and channeled emotion into anxiety that can be cured in so many different ways. We’ve abdicated our poetry to Bang Bros and Mandingo. We’ve let it go, as we’ve done so many times before, asking someone else to shine the light in the places we fear the most. And shine it they have, often too brightly to see a thing. They’ve shined it on piss and shit, on come and milk, and they’ve shined it on rape with a laugh and a nod. The light shows anger, fear, and guilt, and as small men watch while their wives are taken by big black fantasies, we pretend that it was never us at all. It was not what we meant at all.

But there are a million words for a million things and they change every day, allowing us to say new things that have never been said. Allowing us to say new things have that been said a million times again.

If the photographer shows us the reality of a thing in stark contrast, forcing us to see it for what it is without the comfort of a muddy imagination, than the poet talks around it, hoping that her language might be a finger pointing at the moon. This way lies bliss and exhaustion. This way lies exaltation.

This ways lies the things we do in the dark.



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.



(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.)

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.


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.



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.”


(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.)

Separating Love and Sex (or not)

I’ve never been good at separating love and sex.

It’s possible that I’m just not great at handling my brain chemistry, so when I’m buried inside someone, looking into their eyes as we fuck, I believe all those hormones that are pumped into my head telling me it’s love. I had a belief as a teenager that sex would fundamentally change any relationship—acquired god knows where—and it stuck with me for a long time. Combined with my physiology, it meant that not only did I accept it, but I expected it as well.

After saying I love you at just the wrong moment, I’ve had a lot of awkward conversations that didn’t always go over as I would have like. You know, when I said I loved you back then it was just as a friend. Obviously. Or maybe it was her who brought it up, often as a rejection formed in a question. You don’t really love me, do you? Why would you say that?

And worst of all, at least most of the time, was I love you too. After that we would both lie there silently wondering if we could take it back, or if we needed to double down on it and see where we ended up. Maybe it was love and maybe it was true. And now where do we go?

This might explain why I mostly fuck my friends now. With someone I’ve known for even just a year, chances are high I’ve been saying I love you for a long time before we ever crawl into bed. When it’s been even longer, when we’ve put off sex for whatever reasons we can imagine, it’s a different story altogether.

“I love you,” I’ll moan as we writhe on the bed, in the bathroom stall, or on the couch at a party.

“Aww,” she’ll whisper back to me with easy sincerity. “I love you too.”



(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.)

Always Perfect

“What do you want to do?” she whispered between kisses.

“I want to watch you undress,” I said, sure of my desire for the first time all evening. I set her down and sat on her bed, which was really just a thick mattress on the floor. I hardly noticed the rest of the room as she pulled off her light jacket. She was wearing a tank top and jeans, and her body swayed as if there was music. When she pulled off the her top – with her back to me – I suddenly realized she was naked beneath it. She turned to face me, her hands covering her breasts, and I stared at her with open awe.

The buttons of her jeans went slower, and she walked to me until she was only inches away. She pulled down the zipper and I could see a thin patch of brown hair beneath the denim.

“I fucking love Vassar,” I whispered.

She leaned forward and kissed me as her jeans came off, and when she stood up again she was completely naked in front of me. If I thought she was tiny with clothes on, this was something else. I had a moment of doubt wondering how old she actually was before she was on my lap pulling off my shirt, and I stopped caring about everything.

Kelly and I spent hours in bed that night. We licked, sucked, and fucked each other until the sun came up, and even then we had to tell ourselves that we needed to sleep. Each time one of us bit a little harder or kissed more gently the other was right there. If I held her arms above her head she moaned into my ear, and when she sank her teeth into my inner thigh with one hand wrapped around the base of my cock, I nearly screamed. When I was inside her the world vanished, and even when we waited for me to grow hard once more our bodies felt perfect.

We were far safer than Jane and I had been, and by the time morning came we had a garbage can full of used condoms, a beer bottle full of cigarette butts, and more than a few bruises covering our bodies. In spite of our scratching and pushing though, the sex was incredibly sweet. It was tender, powerful, and slow, and I fell in love over and over again.

When we finally fell asleep it was only after she managed to make me come one last time.

“You do like how tiny I am, don’t you,” she whispered, as she tried to get me hard.

“Of course,” I said, pushing her back and staring at her body.

“Do you want me to be your little girl?” she purred as she threw a leg over mine. Her cunt pressed into my thigh and somehow my cock twitched back awake. “You like that, don’t you? You want to fuck your little girl, I can feel it. How old do you want me to be?”

“I don’t even know how old you are,” I moaned as I rolled on top of her, my cock now hard against her stomach.

“I’ll be anything for you,” she whispered as she rolled our last condom down over me. “I’ll be as little as you like.”

And then I was inside her and she was kissing me. My eyes were open, amazed at the sight of her, and she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into her with everything she had.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, mumbling something else that I couldn’t make out.

“What did you say?” I asked, thrusting faster and harder.

“Fuck your little girl,” she moaned, and seconds later I was coming and so was she, bucking her hips off the ground as I thrust. Her face was against my neck and her breathing so loud it was musical. I kissed her everywhere as my body exploded, and I never wanted anything else ever again. I wanted to stay there, coming inside her, in spite of my utter exhaustion, but most of all I wanted it to always be perfect: sweet, hot, joyous, and easy.


-gny (from my new novel Disgusting, Beautiful, Immoral, which will be done one of these days.)

I’ll Always Be Here

She lay in bed when I walked in, the blankets around her waist and her hair a tangle on the pillow.

“I couldn’t sleep. I kept picturing you with her.”

“I’m home now,” I said, pulling off my tie and hanging my suit up in the closet. It was the most I could offer.

“I don’t like it. You shouldn’t leave me alone. Ever.”

“Should I just stay here in bed with you? For ever and ever?” I climbed naked beneath the covers and wrapped her in my arms. She backed up against me and clenched my fingers in her hand as she pulled me close.

“Yes. For ever and ever. Except when you go make coffee in the morning. Or order food. And maybe shower on occasion. No smelly boys allowed.”

“And what will you do with me all that time?” I asked, my body moving slowly against her. She reached one hand between us and took me firmly in hand, rubbing the head of my cock between her legs. I was barely hard, but she turned just enough to kiss me.

“I’ll make you fuck me. Just like this, with your arms around me as you promise to stay.”

And then I was inside her, and I would have promised anything. She sighed and pushed back against me as we moved slowly in the dark room. I kissed her neck and pulled on her hip bone, needing to be farther inside her than was ever possible.

“I promise,” I whispered, turning her head and kissing her lips once more. “We’ll never leave. We’ll never stop, and we’ll never get out of bed again.”

“And you have to make me come. A lot.”

My hand moved between her legs as she arched her back. Her thighs parted as my fingers found her, even as my other hand moved to her throat. I thrust faster and deeper, pulling her to me in so many ways. Her breath grew ragged and quick, and with each moan she moved closer and closer to the edge.

“When I get to five,” I whispered, letting go of her just long enough for her to catch her breath. “When I get to five you can come for me.”

She bit her lip and clenched around my hand and cock. I whispered the words in her ear, and by the time I reached three she was sobbing as her body shook and trembled. When I finally released her she screamed into the pillow; my privileged ears devoured every sound she made.

“I’ll always be here,” I whispered over and over again. “Always.”



Long and Aching

I followed Maddy into the shower without a word. She stared at me when I stepped in naked behind her and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“What the fuck are you doing? He’s sleeping in the other room.”

“Soundly,” I said as I stepped closer and wrapped her in my arms beneath the falling water. She opened hers to me as well and pressed her nose against my chest. Her sigh was long and aching and her lips wet on my neck. She fit perfectly beneath my chin.

“He’s sleeping soundly.”


A test, a Teacher, and a Blowjob

The first time I got tested we had to wait two weeks for the results.

When I finally went back, I went by myself because I didn’t have anyone to confide in, but as soon as I sat down there was a voice behind me saying my name. I turned to discover my senior year english teacher sitting right behind me.

“Are you getting tested or getting results?” he asked. Out of all the people I could have bumped into he was surprisingly the best. As the closest thing to an out gay teacher at my high school I had spent more time talking to him about my sexuality than any other person on the planet. In fact, seeing him next to me, with the same nervous look on his face that I had, was practically life saving.

“Results,” I said. “You?”

He nodded, and before we had time to say anything they called us each into separate rooms. The consultation was a blur, but I remember they pointed to a number on a page that I didn’t understand. It wasn’t until they told me to stay safe and healthy that I realized the page said I was negative. In less than five minutes I was standing in the parking lot with relief flooding my body.

“Good news?”

Without thinking I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him. He was a few inches taller than me and built like a tree; I took every advantage of comfort he had to offer. I needed something solid right then.

“Good news,” I whispered, stepping back with a flush on my cheeks.

“Me too,” he said with a smile.

An hour later, after coffee and a sandwich, I sat in the passenger seat of his car looking back and forth between him and my shoes. Graduation had been just weeks before, but suddenly it felt very far away. His smile was strangely shy, but his hand brushed mine just closely enough that everything was clear. I didn’t move away and neither of us said a word. I turned towards him, my seatbelt undone, and I leaned in closer.

Our kiss didn’t last long. It was big and sloppy with a touch of scruff to make sure I knew it was real, but within seconds my hand was on his cock and there was only one thing to do.

I’m not sure if I asked. Maybe I simply looked at him longingly, or opened my mouth in just the right way. Whatever it was I did, he understood. It was a silent question he answered without words.

He nodded and gently pushed my head down into his lap even as he undid his jeans. His head was thick and red, but I didn’t have time to look before opening my lips around it and tasting him. He grew harder in seconds as I wrapped my hand around him, and I tried to take more into my mouth than I ever could. His moans were instant and for a moment I wondered if what I did mattered at all. I licked up and down him, amazed at how different his cock was from my own, but I didn’t stop. I sucked him back into my mouth even though I gagged each time he thrust into me.

“Oh fuck I’ve wanted your mouth all year,” he moaned as I tightened my grip on him and went back to swirling my tongue around the head of his cock. “I’m gonna come,” he said just moments later, his fingers entwined in my hair.

I didn’t pull back, although part of me wanted to watch. I was determined to do it right, and so I took him in again, swallowing as much as I could before he started erupting into my mouth. It was thick and salty, and I couldn’t take all of it at all. I had to come up for air and I watched him spurt onto his jeans and boxers, even before I went back for more. I didn’t stop until his spasms slowed down, and his moaning finally turned into soft sighs of relief and release.

I sat up, wiping my face, and leaned back in my seat.

“Do you want me to get you off too?” he asked, his thick cock still standing up straight.

“I’m okay,” I said.

We were quiet as he adjusted his clothes. He drove me back to the clinic where I had left my car, and we kissed on the cheek when I got out. I drove for hours before finally going home, my brain constantly moving and never slowing down. Up in my bedroom later that night I jerked off thinking about sucking his cock once more.

A year later, he called me in college and told me he wanted to fuck me. I laughed and mumbled something friendly, but we never talked again. On occasion, I still get hard thinking about myself in the front of his car, my lips around his cock as he moaned my name.


©2013 by The Dirty Gentleman (#736)
It’s always difficult to say yes when someone opens a door. But say yes.

©2013 by The Dirty Gentleman (#736)

It’s always difficult to say yes when someone opens a door. But say yes.