The Wild Girls

They come down from the roof at night, the Wild Girls, chasing each other through the open doorway of my building, down the stairs, and out onto the street for their brief visit to the ground.

I hear them most often in the early morning, waking from a dream to the sounds of laughter, and I open my eyes wide as I jump to the window hoping to get a glimpse of one. Their feet make almost no sound, their bodies used to the wide open spaces above. In the late hours it can look like they’re flying, leaping from building to building, the water towers and hidden gardens more their homes than any place else. Even as they pass by my door, their colored skirts trailing behind them as the glide through the inside, I can only guess at their nature. I can only guess at where they come from and why my building is the one they use to reach the ground.

Just before sunrise one morning, I awoke to the sound of nothing. I rubbed my eyes, listening to the noises in the night, before I saw a glimmer of color in the window. Without turning I trained my eyes towards the fire escape, and for just a moment I saw her face. Young and old at the same time, her eyes glowed with a brightness I had never seen. Her hair was silver and blue, trailing down her back around her crimson rags. With a smile she pressed her small hand against the window before leaping up into the darkness.

It was just a dream, I told myself. This Wild Girl, pausing for just a moment to see how we live. To see who we are with as much curiosity as we hold for them. And maybe it’s for the best. Maybe some mysteries are better left unseen and better let unknown. There are reasons some people choose not live on the ground.

But in the morning, coffee bringing back the memory in a flash, I looked closely at the glass, only to see fingerprints pressed into the pane. I smiled, wondering what truth it held. It would be a month before their return, but there’s no harm in trying.

Weeks later, I tied the small bag to the rusted iron outside of the fire escape. It was a weak offering, gathered from guessing more than any real understanding, but I closed the shade before I slept, knowing I had already seen enough.

In the morning when I opened the blinds to the bright sun, there was nothing left at all.


Moot Chuck

Chuck’s mother sent him to college with two rubber stamps. One read “obtuse” and the other read “moot.”

He carried them with him throughout his freshman year, sneaking by professor’s desks and stamping papers or tests without anyone looking. He laughed about it later, saying it was probably true anyway. Most everything we did as college kids was one or the other. And how strange to not have an argument about it. It’s not wrong. It’s not missing the point. Your entire exam was simply moot.

His nose was as sharp as his stamping hand, and his brown hair was a mess as only white boys in a liberal arts college can get away with. It curled around his ears, stuck out in a million different directions, and it’s possible there were birds. His worn leather jacked added a hint of mystery to his otherwise nervous persona, and he smoked rolled cigarettes one after the other until his fingers stained yellow.

One morning in the dining hall we couldn’t help stare at him, the black mark on his forehead as crisp and clear as if he was a blank sheet of paper. The word “moot” sat on his skin, his hair somehow managing to highlight it rather than hide it. Seemingly unaware, he smiled as he sat down, and opened his mouth for a swallow of black coffee.

“Did you have a date last night?” I asked him.

“Uh-huh,” he said, with a grin. “She left sometime in the night, but it doesn’t matter. She was everywhere all at once, and I couldn’t understand her at all. Philosophy majors are so damn obtuse.”

“Did you tell her that?” I asked, following up gently.

“Of course I did. I told her I wanted to stamp it on her forehead as a constant reminder to talk like a normal person. None of this transcendental meaning of life bullshit.”

“I’m sure she appreciated it,” I said. “In fact, I think it really left an impression on her.”

“I sure hope so,” he said, leaning back and smiling once more. “I sure hope so.”


Wanting What He Wants

“He wants to fuck me up the ass,” she said, lying in my bed. We had fucked for a half hour and were staring out at the city with smiles on our faces.

“Don’t tell me that,” I moaned, my hand sliding down her back. “Are you going to let him?”

“Why shouldn’t I tell you that? What do you care what my husband wants?” 

Her ass was smooth and hard at the same time, and I pressed my fingers into her skin. Her hair lay down her back, splayed out like an autumn afternoon, decorating her in red. God, please let her say she’s going to do it. Please let her tell me she’s going to let him.

“Are you going to?” I finally asked, choking on the words as they slipped out, trying to give nothing away.

“Probably not. It just doesn’t feel like our thing,” she said.

“Oh fuck,” I said, rolling onto my back and looking up at the ceiling.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked, poking me in the chest with a long finger.

“This,” I said, turning back and grabbing her left ass cheek in one hand. “This perfect little tush is what’s wrong with me.”

“Fuck, does that mean…” She said, recognition splashed across her face. She nestled her head down into the pillow, her mouth covered as she wiggled on the bed.

“Yes,” I said, rolling on top of her, my cock hard once more and pressed between the cheeks of her ass. I pushed harder against her as I pulled her hair and kissed her neck.

“What do you want? What does it mean?” she moaned, arching her back up to me.

“You know what I want. You knew it before you said a word. And you knew that you wouldn’t say no to me, didn’t you? Maybe him, but never me.”

“Yes,” she moaned again. “Just say it. Please say it.”

“I’m going to fuck you,” I growled, pushing harder against her. “I’m going to fuck your ass so goddamned hard you won’t be able to think. I’m going to make you beg for it, and cry for it until you can’t stand it any longer, and then I’m going to fuck you again. You’re going to come so hard with my cock inside you, with my cock buried in your tight little ass, and when we’re done you’ll make me promise to do it again.”

“Oh fuck,” she screamed, opening her legs wider with each moan. “I hate you.”

"Do you want me to stop?" I whispered, my lips just brushing her ear.

"No," she moaned, lifting her hips off the bed. "Please God, no."


Orange and Blue

Last night I dreamed of you again.


You were wearing old jeans, and your head was shaved once more. Your tank top hung loosely off your shoulders, leaving your breasts completely unconcerned with their exposure. I could smell your father’s cologne as I kissed your neck and ran my fingers over your prickly scalp.


You walked me through a park, the sky orange and blue above us, without letting go of my hand. I struggled to follow, my feet unsure of how to move or walk as we glided through the trees and flowers to a pond in the exact center. You turned and kissed me at its edge, pulling your shirt and jeans off in slow motion as I floated inches off the ground.


Naked you walked backwards, the water covering your feet and turning your skin gold. Your calves and knees followed, and I fell forward watching the waver cover your cunt and stomach, my hand reaching out for you. When the water was up to your neck you began to cry, and I leaned further out over the edge, terrified of what might happen if I touched the surface.


You reached out one hand, and where we touched my fingers turned instantly, the gold shooting up into my hand until I coulnd’t look away. I held it to my face, the longing in my body flowing up through my lungs, into my mouth, and into the world in a cloud of bright smoke. I closed my eyes for just a moment, and when I opened them once more the pool was empty, and you were no longer there.


I lay back, staring up at the sky, as the world shifted once more to somewhere more and less familiar. I felt myself let go, and I felt the each open beneath me, pulling me down into its warm embrace.


I dreamed of you last night. And in the morning you were still there.

The Lucky One

The three of us lay in bed afterwards, our hands intertwined and the sweat drying on our skin.

I occasionally looked back and forth between them: eyes, breasts, hips, and all the rest. I took them in with a sigh, wondering who was the lucky one? Was it me, with two beautiful women so close to me? Was it her, finally getting the chance to watch and let go? Getting the chance to taste pussy on my cock, and reveling in the power she felt as she pushed our friend to the bed and closed her thighs around her?

Or was it the third? Her body sore and exhausted from too much attention. Her lips bruised, her ass red, and her cunt still throbbing?

But of course, she has to work at seven am, and won’t be home until she’s finished an exhausting day with a boss who takes her for granted. The other needs to go home in the morning to a husband who may or may not be excited that she fucked me while getting her face slapped by a pretty red head with a filthy mouth. And I have to pretend I can sleep, pretend I don’t feel guilt or even worry. I have to spend the night trying not to think of someone who isn’t there.

Too many thoughts swirled in my head as I stared up at the white ceiling, wishing I had the energy to paint it red. Wishing I had the nerve to cover it in color.

I could hear them breathing, and when I moved my hands there was soft skin along with parting thighs and someone’s fingers. The fan in the window did little to cool us off, and the room smelled like the ocean in summer.

I leaned this way and that, kissing one’s cheek and the other’s lips as I nestled down between them, my thoughts mostly forgotten. A thigh slid between my own, and the blood flowed instantly, followed by a gentle hand. Someone moaned, and someone bit my collar bone. I closed my eyes, my hands and arms pulling closer. Pulling harder in the warm dark, until my mouth was full of hair while warm, soft, willing lips, kissed down my chest to my stomach showing no signs of stopping.



It’s Okay

“It’s okay if you lie about me,” I whispered. “In fact, I like it.”

“You like it?”

I pulled her closer and kissed her hair once more, still marveling at the fact that she was in bed next to me at all. We had moved from exaltation to exhaustion more times than I could count and our bodies were sore and battered. Each time I thought we might slow down or sleep there was a whispered word or the movement of a thigh. Something as simple as a breath would draw us back into each other’s sticky embrace and once again time would forget what it was supposed to do.

“You’re so honest and kind,” I said, pausing to kiss her lips and look into her eyes. “So I like anything at all that makes you go against your values.”

She buried her head in the crook of my neck and shook it back and forth, her hair in my mouth in an instant. I squeezed her hand, wondering if for just a moment I had said the wrong thing. When she finally looked up at me again she was grinning.

“I think this might work out well,” she said before kissing me once more.



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.”


Paris in The Rain

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


“Get the fuck out,” she said as her body began to return to itself.


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


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


Pickled Skoovers

“I’ll have a gill of the McMary’s and two mutchkins of the Dark Wary Stout. Three orders of pickled skoovers, a side of the orange pigsweed, and one bowl of cummin roasted turnovers.”

“Just a typical Monday night’s meal?” I asked, my eyebrow raised at my own clever jest.

“Yah, it’s about like that. You never had the skoovers here? They’ll about take the skin off your tongue if you’re not careful.”

I stared at her, hoping I might see some hint in her eyes of whatever the fuck she was talking about, but her radical sincerity was overpowering. When I turned to laugh at the bartender, hoping he’d get the joke, he was busy writing down the order and pouring her whisky from a bottle I’ve never seen.

“How did you find this place?” she asked, leaning in until her nose was pressed solidly against my own. I didn’t dare move, but as I tried to remember my mind was a complete blank.

“I, ah, was walking home past Moonbys when I had to stop and use their bathroom. When I came out, I decided to sneak out the back, and then…”

“And then you stumbled in here when the light was on, eh?”

“I guess,” I said, finding it odd to talk to someone who had their nose pressed against my face.

She finally stepped back and looked me up and down. She touched my arm and then my shoulder, her hand strangely invasive in its exploration. And then before I could say another word she picked up her drinks and smiled at me.

“Well, try the skoovers if you want to get at it. It’ll change the light in your hair.”

And then she was gone and I was sitting there alone wondering if somehow my wrong turn out of Moonbys left me further from home than expected.


-GNY (who has probably had too many gills of McMary’s tonight)

Sometimes It’s Easier

One time while I was fucking her, she started to tell me a story about having sex in the back of a taxi with a college professor who always called her by the wrong name. She wasn’t sure if he was just absentminded or if he really thought she was someone else, but she was worried that he would give her A to someone else, and all the fucking in the back of taxis wouldn’t matter.

“Why are you telling me this?” I said, lighting a cigarette before rolling her over and sliding back inside her. I picked up the ashtray from her nightstand and placed it on her back. She held still as I fucked her, and I was amazed by what a good table she made.

“I was just thinking that your cock is kinda like his, and also I wanted to make sure you knew my name and give me the promotion and not that other girl who’s always lurking around your desk with her shirt unbuttoned.”

I took a long drag and thought about it. She had freckles on her ass that reminded me of someone, but the ashtray was the exact opposite color of her skin. I hadn’t planned on promoting anyone, especially not for sex (totally unethical in my opinion) but now that she mentioned it, I did often confuse her with that girl who’s always lurking around my desk with her shirt unbuttoned. Not that they look anything alike.

I crushed out the cigarette and moved the ashtray back to the table. Together we fell to the bed, and she pressed her soft ass into me while I kissed the back of her neck.

“I didn’t realize you wanted a promotion. You always say that responsibility is for assholes.”

She reached down and started to rub her clit faster. Her thighs were closed tightly and she was squeezing me almost to the point of pain. She didn’t say anything, but suddenly she was coming and it was all I could do to keep from falling off the bed. Her moans were loud and incoherent, but I know she said something about our holiday party.

“Let me come on you,” I said, rolling her onto her back and throwing the condom on the floor. I knelt as I watched her breathing slow down, and my hand was a blur. I stared at her, and thought about the other girl with the shirt unbuttoned, but it was no use. She mumbled something about her tits or neck, and I finally stopped and just lay back down next to her.

“I thought you wanted to come.”

“I do, but it’s not going to happen. I almost came earlier when you were sucking my cock, but now it’s too late. I shouldn’t smoke while we’re fucking. It messes me up.”

“You can always come on me while I’m sleeping,” she whispered. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed my mouth sloppily. “Sometimes it’s easier when you’re alone.”


(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 Mirror Lies

The bathroom at the bar has a mirror in front of the sink that is large enough to watch ourselves fuck.

It isn’t always important, but I feel that for a first time, being able to see each other’s faces is a good thing. Just a few minutes earlier I had leaned in and told her that if she wanted to fuck she should meet me in the bathroom. There was no need to say a thing. She raised an eyebrow, but seconds later she opened the door to let me in behind her.

We kissed for only seconds. She sucked my cock for a heartbeat. I knelt as I pulled off the pink cotton that covered her cunt and tasted her for not nearly enough time.

But then she bent over the sink with her dress around her waist and her ass thrusting. I looked into her eyes as I rolled a condom down over my cock. and when I rubbed against the lips of her pussy I saw an expression I had never seen before. After four years she made a face that was brand new, and I couldn’t help but push so deeply into her cunt that she reached back to keep me still.

Our fucking didn’t last much longer than our kissing or sucking. But as she leaned over the sink, her dress somehow looking perfect from her hips up, I had a moment where what we were doing felt very far away. Her lips were perfect and pink, and her smile was calm and alive. Her hair was unbothered, and my glasses sat on my face like the Times on a Sunday morning.

We moved and fucked, but all I could see was our bodies pressed against one another and the sweet looks of joy that moved across our faces over and over again. By the time she came I was kissing her neck while still straining to watch.

Later that night, as I noticed the empty space in my bed where she wasn’t, I wondered if the mirror might not have told the whole truth.


The Nature of Our Friendship

She was sleeping on the floor next to me because we were being good. For some reason the floor felt safer and offered some plausible deniability should anyone question the nature of our friendship. There were at least four reasons nothing should happen.

But the morning was hot and we woke up to lost sheets and little clothing. Her tank top barely covered her, and the thin boxers she had on were bunched up around her ass. She rolled over with sleep still in her eyes and we stared at each other for too long. I watched as her nipples hardened through the thin fabric and her eyes moved to the twitching between my legs. By the time she climbed up onto the bed we had given up.

“It’s hot,” I whispered, my hand touching her hip in a sudden burst of daring.

“I like it,” she said, laying down on her back. My hand stayed where it was, but suddenly her belly was beneath it, and our bodies were too close. I tried to stop myself from running my fingers beneath the elastic, but I failed instantly. Her hair was in my face, and her breath was shallow and quick.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

I swallowed and rolled closer. She turned on her side and reached a hand around me until my now painfully hard cock was pressed against her. Her lips were inches from mine and her breasts were soft against my bare chest. I tightened my grip on her ass and pulled her to me.

“I’m going to fuck you,” I whispered.


Stamps Her Feet

In the morning I can watch her through the window. Her legs are too long and her hair goes from blue to black as the sun rises, but what matters most is the way she stamps her feet. Maybe there’s a drum I can’t hear or music blasting into her ears through some form of wireless transmission, but she stamps and stamps in time to something I don’t hear.

One morning she peeled the skin off her face to reveal a slightly different woman. The woman beneath was smiling and relaxed. Her hair was long and wrapped around her shoulders, covering a dusting of freckles that hadn’t been there before. She stared naked in the mirror for a long time before putting her old face back on. She combed out her hair, pulled on black boots and didn’t smile again for a week.

Some days she taller and on some she’s stronger. Her shoulders explode with muscle most thursdays, and her breasts shrink into her chest as everything tightens. She ties her hair back and pulls on leather gloves that leave her hands sinewy and rough. When she stamps her feet the building shakes and nothing is safe on a shelf.

On Sunday mornings she’s smaller, and I can barely hear her at all.



Fuck Peter

She has a real slide carousel in her apartment full of photos of old partners and one night stands. When she turns it on the fan kicks in, the light splashes against her bare white wall, and the humming of the machine echoes throughout the room.

“This one could only get hard if he blindfolded me,” she said one night as she held the wired remote. Click. “And this one used to cry in the morning and tell me he was going to return to his wife.”

The photos were taken on her old Nikon 35mm, but she took just one shot of each. It came out the way it came out, and she said it was like memory. Always imperfect.

“This one had the biggest cock I’ve ever seen,” she told us. The photo was slightly blurry, but the outline beneath the sheet was impressive nonetheless. “We could only fuck for a few minutes at a time before I had to stop, and he used to beg me to keep going. He was so insecure that he would only let me photograph him covered up.”

Click, click, click. She moved through them in a blur, the men and women plastered against her wall as the projector buzzed and our glasses of wine made dull sounds against the floor. Some of them grew familiar as we move closer to the present, and her commentary grew less and less nostalgic.

“Everyone knows Peter,” she said as she neared the end. “Peter moved to Portland. Fuck Peter.”



Kitty and Cat

When I awoke, the two of them were clearly in a silly mood. They were poking each other and pulling the covers back and forth pretending they were quiet enough to let me sleep. Both of them had lost what little they came to bed in, and when they giggled the most, they wrapped their arms around each other and stared at me.

“I’m awake,” I whispered, rolling over to watch.

Kitty was on top, with her head between Cat’s breasts, and four sets of fingers were entwined in tangles of hair.

“We want to play,” Kitty whispered. Still watching me, she moved one hand down the side the other girls’ body before making a show of putting two fingers inside her. Cat arched her back and opened her legs with a grin that made it impossible for me not to kiss her. I pulled her head to me as Kitty moved down her body, her lips lingering on collar bone, breast, and stomach, before opening her with her tongue.

I lay next to them for a long while, listening to the moans and sighs that escaped both their lips. I kissed Cat over and over again and let my hands linger on her soft skin, only occasionally rubbing her clit. When Kitty reached over and wrapped her fingers around me I kissed harder, and when she moved her mouth to me as well I starting talking about love.

“I want to watch you fuck Cat,” she finally said, letting my cock go with a slippery pop. I pulled her up and kissed her even as she pushed me towards her friend. Cat’s legs opened wide as I crawled between them and for the first time since I’d known her she looked shy. She bit her lip and covered her eyes with one hand, and I didn’t give either of us enough time to think.

Her pussy was indescribable. By the time I was fully inside her, she wrapped her legs around me and we kissed until we could no longer breathe. Next to us Kitty rubbed her own cunt as she stared at us, and when she let us taste her fingers the laughter returned.

“Does she feel good?” she whispered to me as I moved faster.

“I’m in love,” was all I could say before Cat kissed me again, clenched, and started to come in delicious waves of easy pleasure. I followed almost instantly, my hands on her face, as I pushed as deeply inside her as I could go. I tried not to look away, hoping the mental image would sear itself onto my mind’s eye and stay with me forever. I kissed her harder as my body shook and trembled, and I whispered the words over and over again in her ear.

By the time we were done all three of us were crying with smiles on our faces.