Healthier than Pepsi…

Her pussy did not taste like Pepsi Cola.


It was more of a margarita with salt on the rim and intoxication close behind. Her pussy was a dirty martini with an olive that demanded to be savoured. It was strong coffee late at night.


Her pussy was not sweet. In fact, at the end of the day–or in this case the early morning–her pussy mostly tasted like pussy.


Which is much healthier than Pepsi anyway.

-gny

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.”

-gny

Do You Remember?

“Do you remember when you fingered me in church during the talky part?”


She was nestled between my legs with a blanket over her and a dress that was so short it was indecent. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the back of her neck.


“Do you remember blowing me on the Megabus to Boston?”


She leaned back and grabbed my hand that was resting on her stomach. She slid it down her body, over her right thigh, and then finally between her legs to her very smooth and very bare pussy.


“That’s better,” she moaned as I brushed her gently with my fingertips. “Do you remember fucking on New Years while everyone else was sleeping around us? My brother was on the couch, but you slid inside me so slowly and quietly that no one woke up.”


She pushed back against me and I was hard against her ass in seconds. I pulled her to me and she a let out a gasp as I pushed two fingers deep inside her. She was soaking wet, and wiggling between my hand on one side and my cock on the other.


“I remember fucking your ass for the first time. You arched your back and bit your lip, and when I was all the way inside you told me never to stop. And then you fucked me back.”


She was moaning now and I moved between her clit and her pussy with quicker and harder attention. Her own hand joined mine, touching herself where she wanted it as I kissed her neck and mouth. My left hand was wrapped in her hair as she moaned between my legs and I could tell she was close.


“The first time you came inside me. And when you slapped my face in front of everyone, and the time you tied me to your bed and brought home a friend.” She was nearly panting.


“When you called your ex while I fucked you, or maybe the time you licked Steph’s clit while my cock was inside her. Or all the times you came around me, clenching and crying as we pretended it wasn’t going to ever happen again?”


Her body let go beneath my hand, and I pulled her back and kissed her mouth as she started to come. She arched up against my hand, her legs shaking and her muscles tight as she shook and screamed, my hand never once stopping. I pulled her hair harder and sucked her tongue into my mouth as she moaned, and her coming lasted for hours.


When she finally took my hand and brought it up to her chest it was all either of us could to do speak. I kissed her hair and she pressed my hand against her skin.


“Why did we break up, again?” she whispered.

-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.)

I Like Watching

“You don’t have to lean back,” she said. “It’s not a Hitachi.”


I was fucking her on her bed, and she had a small toy in one hand that she was pressing against her clit. I could feel the vibrations against the base of my cock, but they were weak and not especially inspiring.


“I like watching,” I said, my eyes glued to the mechanical side of our fucking.


“Oh,” she said, as I leaned down and kissed her. I wrapped my arms around her, and thrust deeper and harder. Our skin touched, our lips opened, and then there was no room left between us.


Suddenly the toy was strong and alive, and my whole body shook as it entered my bones. I pulled her head to me, my hand in her hair, and I closed my eyes as I felt the vibrations move through all of me.


“Oh fuck,” she said, as I moved faster and she pressed harder.


Seconds later I was shaking from the inside out and there was nothing left to do but let go.

 

—GNY

The City Is Yours

If I had tattoos like Gibson, a vest like Jack, and boots like the Dirty Gentleman I’d never need to shave.


I’d drink bourbon for breakfast, write seven thousand words before getting out of bed, and go home with a different woman each night. The New York Times would compile my tweets as a matter of historical record, and the Campbell Apartment would only open the balcony when I walked in the door.


A private elevator in the Chrysler Building would take me up to sit on the head of a gargoyle where I’d be fed sushi flown in from Miyako with perfectly chilled glasses of Sake Hitosuji. On my birthday, Christo would bring back the gates, and I’d walk the city streets beneath banners of orange.


If I had tattoos like Gibson, cabs would stop in the rain at five o’clock on a Friday afternoon and the drivers would open the door. In my Jack Stratton vest, models would trip on the runway trying to catch my eye. And if I had boots like The Dirty Gentleman, the mayor would hand me the keys to the city saying “we like your version of New York so much better than our own. Do with it as you will.”

 

—GNY

Come For Daddy

“I want you to come visit me at school. And I’ll call you Daddy.”


I was quiet on the other end of the phone. I had avoided the visit, and so far it was working out well. She came down to the city on the weekends and we mostly went out with my friends. My college days were long enough behind me that I didn’t feel comfortable sitting on the lawn and playing hacky sack with a bunch of eighteen-year-old philosophy majors.


“People might believe it,” I finally said. It would have been biologically difficult, but I could pass. And the thought of her jumping into my arms as I walked onto campus in a three piece suit, and having her calling me Daddy was enough to make me burst.


“Does that make make you nervous?” she asked in her little girl voice. I swallowed. And then I swallowed again, even as I felt my cock getting hard.


“And when you kiss me? Then what?” I asked. Her breathing grew shallow. “What happens when I meet your friends and then you climb onto my lap? What happens when I tell you to be a good girl and pour me a scotch as they stare at you wondering? And if, as you stand up, I absentmindedly reach one hand up the back of your thigh and pat your perfect little ass, then what?”


I could hear her holding back. Just by the sound of her voice I knew two fingers were inside her cunt, and she was clenching around them as she struggled not to come.


“I’ll just smile,” she whispered. “I’ll smile at them as I scold you, and I’ll look them in the eye and tell them you’re a dirty old man. And then, when they’re drunk and close to sleep, I’ll leave them wondering what they saw. When they wake in the morning their first thought will be, ‘did we really see Sarah suck her Daddy’s cock?’”


My hand was now working harder than my mind, and both of us held the phones to our ears as we grew louder and louder. I pictured it all—her friends watching, questioning, confused and excited—and it was nearly enough.


“Babygirl,” I moaned as I grew closer. “Come for Daddy.”


And at the very first sigh that escaped her lips I was finished. She came and I came, and we screamed it all into the phone. When I finally caught my breath, my mind was made up. There was no other choice at all.


“I’ll take the train up Friday afternoon.”


—GNY

What Love Means

Sometimes when I tell you I loved her, what I really mean is I wanted to fuck her so badly it entered my heart.


The two are easily confused, especially when I can hardly tell the difference between the thing beating in my chest and the thing pulsing between my legs, except to know that neither of them have anything at all to do with the grey matter inside my head. So when I want her the most, when I can no longer think and my body takes over, it’s often hard to distinguish between them. One pumps blood to the other, but both swell just the same.


There are a million ways to tear love and lust from the grasp of each other’s embrace, and each one sits on a higher horse than the last. But when I am between her legs, and both our hearts are beating and swelling as they pump blood to where they know it belongs, there is no separation.


When we come there is no one to ask what love means.

-GNY

Precariously In Her Arms

She walked into the party holding a watermelon precariously in her arms.


“Hey Baby,” I said with a stupid grin.


She gave me an odd look that I couldn’t figure out, but an hour later she sat on my lap and I kissed her lips without another word. We were hot and sweaty but it was a kiss that made most of that feel irrelevant. We had both been stripped down to one article of clothing each, but when she slipped down onto her knees at my feet we lost those as well.


She sucked my cock just long enough for me to get hard, but it was clear we both had other thoughts. She tore a condom wrapper open with her teeth and rolled it down onto me without sound. By the time our mouths met again I was inside her and we were a new kind of sweaty.


“I’ve been close to coming all night,” she whispered as I pulled her hard against me. I was only hanging on by a thread, and when she bit my lip and clenched it was over. I lifted her up, turned around, and threw her down onto the couch with less ease than I had planned. I was back inside her seconds later, this time with her hands pinned above her head. I didn’t stop or slow down as she started to scream. I pushed as far inside her as I could go while my body shook, and I muffled her voice with a crushing kiss.


When I finally pulled out and rolled next to her she sat up and looked at me with the same expression as when she walked in the door.


“Why did you call me Baby? You didn’t even know me.”


“You were carrying a watermelon,” I explained.

 

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.)

Her Name


Little Siblings Week was not the best time to pick up girls.


But Blue’s sister was smart and hot, and she knew I wanted her the second she met me. She was seventeen-years-old to my twenty-two but it may as well have been two decades. She was young and in high school, and she was Blue’s fucking sister.


And yet somehow the two of us ended up on a bench outside while Blue went back to the dorm to visit her boyfriend. Maybe it was trust or some other misplaced sentiment, but she left us alone and we instantly found a spot devoid of human life. It took us an entire three minutes to talk about how we probably shouldn’t make out. Correction, it took us three minutes for me to tell her we shouldn’t make out, and her to tell me not to be so fucking condescending. She could make her own choices and it was none of her sister’s business or anyone else’s for that matter. I managed to fight off her anger because I actually was being condescending. I knew better. I was older. I was moral. I was right and she was wrong.


And then she climbed onto my lap, looked me in the eyes and said with calculated honesty, “What I can I say? I ‘m just a sexually frustrated seventeen-year-old.”


That’s seriously what she said. It’s stuck with me for too long to be comfortable, but those were her words and I remember them. They were honest, they were desperate, and five minutes later she was lying on my bed with her shirt off as I kissed my way from her lips to her breasts. I was moaning as loudly as she was, and our knees were doing things to each other’s genitals that our mouths wanted to do. We kissed frantically, and I didn’t stop to worry how far it would go.


There was a pounding on the door minutes later, and instead of opening it wide with a grin I said, “um, hold on a minute” as we scrambled to pull our clothes back on. Blue was furious when I finally let her in, and I hid behind the goddamn door like a child. I wish I could change that memory, but I cowered, fled, and tried as hard as I could to disappear, letting all her anger fly right at her sister.


Not that she didn’t save some for me too. She yelled at us both, asking what the hell we were thinking, and she dragged the poor girl back to her room across the hall before slamming the door shut.


When I finally sat down again I felt at least two things: I was upset that I had to stop kissing a girl I suddenly wanted more than I thought possible, and also I was an asshole. The second part was more complicated than the first. I was an asshole for hiding, for kissing her in the first place, and the fact that I had made out with Blue a few weeks earlier counted for something as well. I was an asshole for being too old, for second guessing a girl who clearly knew what she wanted, and for letting her talk me into doing what I wanted.


Blue’s sister and I wrote letters after she returned home. They were funny and sweet, and we wrote them by hand on real paper. Blue didn’t talk to me again, other than a few nasty glares, and by the end of the year it was a story I told about that time I hooked up during Little Siblings Weekend.


Her name is still one of my favorites.

 

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.)

A Trick of the Light

I could see her eyes in the mirror across the room, and she reminded me of someone else.

We were fucking slowly as we tend to do on lazy afternoons. Our bodies were awake, but our minds were sleepy and all I could do was stare. They looked green from across the room, although I know that they’re blue. They were wide and lost somewhere else.

It hit me all at once that I was right. It wasn’t a trick of the light or simply the distance. As we lay there hours ago, our bodies just barely connected, I had absolutely no idea who she was.


-GNY

©2013 by The Dirty Gentleman (#640)
I used to count the freckles on her back. 
It was on hot days as we lay in bed with melted ice cubes and lazy libidos. We set the fan on our bodies and prayed for a cool night, and it was always the same. I’d start on her left shoulder and move up to her neck. I kissed the ones I liked best and by the time I was at the center of her back she grew impatient with me.
She only had seven on her ass, and I named it a new constellation each time: Grabbus The Monkey, Carla the Whore, and The Sleeping Cat.  She laughed when I touched her thighs, and when the ice was all gone we’d see if we could fuck without touching. 
We’d arch our backs and position ourselves so the only skin that touched was cock and cunt. We moved slowly, careful to avoid hands and feet, and if we managed to work ourself close to coming the struggle grew almost impossible.
In the end it was always me who pulled her close and kissed her mouth, no longer minding the heat. It was me who wrapped my arms around her and tasted the sweat on breasts and neck, and it was me who wouldn’t let her go even after we stopped trembling. When she finally pulled away, finding a cooler place on the messy sheets, I’d start all over again.
One. Two. Kiss.

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.)

©2013 by The Dirty Gentleman (#640)

I used to count the freckles on her back. 

It was on hot days as we lay in bed with melted ice cubes and lazy libidos. We set the fan on our bodies and prayed for a cool night, and it was always the same. I’d start on her left shoulder and move up to her neck. I kissed the ones I liked best and by the time I was at the center of her back she grew impatient with me.

She only had seven on her ass, and I named it a new constellation each time: Grabbus The Monkey, Carla the Whore, and The Sleeping Cat.  She laughed when I touched her thighs, and when the ice was all gone we’d see if we could fuck without touching. 

We’d arch our backs and position ourselves so the only skin that touched was cock and cunt. We moved slowly, careful to avoid hands and feet, and if we managed to work ourself close to coming the struggle grew almost impossible.

In the end it was always me who pulled her close and kissed her mouth, no longer minding the heat. It was me who wrapped my arms around her and tasted the sweat on breasts and neck, and it was me who wouldn’t let her go even after we stopped trembling. When she finally pulled away, finding a cooler place on the messy sheets, I’d start all over again.

One. Two. Kiss.



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.)

Her Words Instead of Her Ass

Sometimes I wonder how many ways there are to say I want to fuck her.


I’ve already talked about her body parts; as if I could separate them from everything else and still find desire. I wrote about her skirts, her perfume, and her laughter, because they were perfect excuses to avoid writing about her cunt. I can daydream about her words instead of her ass, and I can remember the taste of fingers if nothing else.


It’s possible, and even likely, that if we had fucked years ago none of this would matter. We’d be old friends with sweet memories, and I wouldn’t find myself getting hard when she stands too close to me. If we had undressed in a drunken disaster one evening, or let ourselves get lost in penetrating each other for a few stupid hours, then I wouldn’t find her existence arousing. I wouldn’t feel the need to hold back when she answers the phone, and there would be no urge to kiss her neck when she leans across me.


If we had fucked one morning in a sober fit of pragmatism, maybe none of this would have happened.

Guy New York

(If you enjoy my writing you can buy my novel, or one of my dirty e-books on Amazon here.)

 

After He Leaves

She sends me pictures after he leaves.


She’s still swollen and red as she holds the camera between her legs and she stares at them for a long time before deciding which ones to send. Some of them are so close that they’re blurry, and others show her face in the background, out of focus and far away. Her messages always include a short note with the photo that is sometimes related to what happened but just as often it isn’t.


“I came twice, miss ya,” is just as likely as, “let’s get Mexican tomorrow and drink mojitos.”


The only times I jerk off to them is when she sends me two or three pictures hours apart from one another.

-Guy New York

Snarky Bi Boys

“How did you meet your boyfriend?”


“We are at a party. We were each fucking these girls who turned out to be identical twins only we didn’t know it. I mean, we didn’t know each other either, but we also didn’t know the girls had a twin until we got them confused at the end of the night. We got slapped before we worked it all out, but then all four of us had a good laugh about it. We went out for coffee when the party ended and it turned out that he and I had more in common than the twins. We never saw them again, but we started getting together once a week and things just sort of fell into place. Like a puzzle.”


“You know what? Fuck you.”


“I love him.”

Guy New York

Don’t Give Me a Choice

“I’m not going to want to do it,” I said. She was on top of me, and I was buried inside her for the first time in a month. Life had gotten in the way, and eventually we had to get out of the city to get out of our heads. We rented a car and drove to the closest Inn we could find with a fireplace and a hot tub, but even then it took us a night to calm down. It took us a night to let go enough to remember why we had fallen in love.


“You don’t have to do it,” she replied, her hips moving over me and her eyes partway open. I closed mine and imagined it, and I could feel my cock get even harder. I pulled her hips down to me and thrust up just hard enough for her to let out a moan.


“Now I want to,” I said. “But I won’t soon. You have to make me. Don’t give me a choice.”


It was her turn to fuck me harder, and I wasn’t sure if it was because it was also her turn-on or simply that she was enjoying watching me struggle. She scratched my chest and clenched her cunt until I couldn’t stand it. I arched my back and bit my lip as I started to come, and I could instantly feel my desire leaving my body. I tried to hold on, and I tried to keep it alive, but it slipped away from me.


And then she had my hair in her hand. She reached the other between her legs as she sat up on her knees, and just like I asked she didn’t let me think. She moved quickly up my body, opened her legs, and then pulled my mouth up to her cunt. She pushed down onto me, and I opened my mouth instantly. I grabbed her ass and then shoved my tongue deep inside her.


“That’s right,” she whispered. “Eat your cum from my pussy. Lick me clean. Taste your own jizz.”


I stopped thinking altogether as I did exactly what she told me to do. I opened my mouth wide, and lapped at her, tasting her body as well as mine, and I moved from joy to revulsion and back again. I had tasted my own cum before, but this was somehow different. This was no tentative touch or sticky kiss. This was me eating my cum from her cunt because she was making me do it. This was me finally accepting the reality of what it means for her to get fucked.


She thrust down around me and rubbed her clit with two fingers,as I continued to fuck her. She grew wetter with each second, and I found myself more ravenous the harder she fucked my face. She screamed as she came, and her hand in my hair never once relaxed. In the last minutes of her orgasm she held me so tightly to her that I nearly stopped breathing.


When she finally collapsed onto the bed next to me, she kissed me once. She stared down in amazement as my still-hard cock twitched against my stomach.


“I think you liked it,” she whispered.


“I think you did too,” I replied.


And then she kissed me again, and our month long retreat from our own desires finally left our bodies in long, deep sighs of release.

 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.)