by Jorja Tabu
“Do you think I’m a pornstar?” I’d been confused, at first. “I’m a writer. That’s it.”
“Do you do anal or not?” He continued as if I’d said nothing. And that was when I realized it was really over. No man could take me seriously as an emotional partner when he was too intimidated, frightened, or fucked up to see me as a person just because I’d had a lot of sex. And written about it. I would never have a real boyfriend. I’d never have the kind of love where you talked about everything, forgave anything, gave everything. I hadn’t known it, that five years before, signing up for my risqué internship, my professor raising his eyebrows. I hadn’t known it, and wouldn’t have believed it if you’d told me.
“Not with you,” I snapped, and that was the end of that relationship.
No love. Just sex. That way you skipped the heartbreak and the humiliation.
Who needed those anyway.
“You are such a great writer,” my best friend said, but I heard the worry in her voice, worse now than when we were young and the novelty was still there. Now she knew what I didn’t have to say.
No love.
“Thanks,” I whispered, and put my head on her shoulder, and cried.
2.
Your intrepid reporter here, the lawless and land roving Lucy Landers , panty-less pathfinder, primo pervert. Go ahead and alliterate some more if you wish, I’m so very spent.
Don’t fret—that has everything to do with my latest adventure. As your sexplorer correspondent, I feel it is my duty to report that Seattle, Washington, is probably the place most likely to fill your days (and nights) with irrepressible, kinky, care-free sex. And lots of delicious salmon, gorgeous views of Mt. Rainer, and spectacular views of the Puget Sound. But I digress. I’m sure you can read about all of those other things in some other magazine; here, we want to get to the nitty gritty and leave the sight-seeing to National Geographic.
Unless, of course, it’s the backdrop to an incredibly sexy encounter. Which, in my case, it certainly was.
First, I should tell you that I almost got laid just getting off the airplane at Sea-Tac. Two devilishly grinning local boys working the rental car counter recognized me from the very flattering byline photo and wanted to offer me a place to stay; unfortunately, I’d already made arrangements that weren’t to be matched, so I gave them a charming grin, a good shot of my cleavage, and a rain check. Once ensconced in my luxurious accommodations in downtown Seattle, complete with a marvelous view of the Space Needle, I arranged to meet my dinner date in the quaint neighborhood of Ballard.
Seattle’s surrounding boroughs are all reachable over the vast bridges spanning the Bay’s tributaries by public transportation; however, I was going to want a car of my own so I could escape if necessary to visit my back-up booty-call (the delicious pair from the rental agency). Arriving at the quiet side street, I found parking and wandered past two bookshops, both with wonderful displays of both used and new editions, and found my dinner partner smiling through a window, seated at a perfect people watching spot.
After sitting down and exchanging pleasantries, which involved a friendly, casual grin and pulling out my seat for me, I took him in.
And I did this once again every five minutes or so.
In the changing light during the interminable twilight before the sudden drop of the sun behind the huge trees, his eyes sparkled and changed from hazel to warm brown to gold-laced green. The dimples he had in each cheek flashed every time he smiled, his perfect mouth bowed in the center, and the strong, five o’clock shadow all worked together to frame what was doubtlessly the best smile I’d ever seen.
Well, that was a bold lie. He had nothing on Mike.
Mike’s smile always made me wonder if there was actual electricity generated by the heat and brightness of it. If he was sending literal shockwaves through me every time he hit me with one of those million kilowatt smiles.
But I digress.
He had luxurious black hair, just a hint of light brown sparking in the sun’s last rays, broad shoulders on a slender hiker’s frame, and ease and grace were in his every movement. He was a man utterly content with the world.
It was almost too low key to pull me in.
But I kept remembering his e-mail: “Would love to teach your asshole how to sing. Would love to work you over in my midnight garden, giving you the best bottoms-up view of my hometown there is. Stay with me—I promise you’ll love it.”
He was the friend of a good friend, so I didn’t even have to work to find him. How could I say no? Romance, anal, and now these dimples…I thought, what the hell. If this is boring, I’ve always got a three-way waiting for me back at Sea-Tac.
But it wasn’t boring. He was a software engineer, money meant nothing to him, and the wine flowed like, well, wine. The quiet bistro knew him well, and his every wish was granted without delay, including a bottle to take with us once he knew what I liked. As we left, the owner reminded him of the neighborhood block party happening in a few weeks, and they waved goodnight to each other. We left my car on the street and walked the single block to his big, restored duplex, surrounded by ancient trees and with a charming privacy fence that just allowed the blackberry bushes to peek over it.
“Welcome to my home,” he said, grinning broadly. There was a newly wolfish glimmer in his eye as he held the gate open for me. “I hope you like it.”
“It’s gorgeous,” I said, and it was. But I was ready to get out of my traveling clothes and make myself a little more…comfortable. If you get my meaning.
He certainly did. “Did you enjoy dinner?” His eyes were now an entrancing shade of emerald, the dark brows pulling a little low and the dimples making everything he said seem lighter and sillier than it really was. That’s how he gets away with those cheesy lines, I guess.
“I did,” I said, and took a step into his foyer. He angled around me and took both my hands in his, a sweet gesture I hadn’t expected. “But now I have a different appetite.”
“Still hungry?” He raised an eyebrow at me, that sexy smile shining at me in the half light. He began walking backwards, leading me down a hallway towards a brighter room in the back. I couldn’t help but smile back at him.
“In a manner of speaking,” I said slowly, taking in the view. The room we walked into was entirely paneled in glass, and because it was August, all the window panes were in a half open position. Ambient light gave the room a celestial glow, and I could see the shapes and shadows of a hundred orchids everywhere throughout the entire space. The delicate aroma of night jasmine flowed in through the open windows, doubtlessly cultivated by master gardeners. The effect was stunning. Magical.
“Take your clothes off,” he whispered, and let go of my hands. I couldn’t help but obey. “This is my midnight garden,” he continued, and even in the darkness I could see his teeth flashing his constant sexy smile. “I sleep here sometimes, and sometimes…I don’t sleep here.” Another flash in the dark.
I unbuttoned my blouse as he watched me. “So if you don’t sleep here…What do you do here?” I smiled back.
“Let me show you,” he whispered again, and then reached out his hand and touched a hidden panel that immediately threw the room into a brighter light, allowing me to see the spectrum of color in the room, the flowers on full display. They arched into high alcoves, the glass panels continuing into the ceiling, creating a canopy of stars. On the floor behind him was an elegant chaise lounge, covered in chemise. He watched me take it in, then walked behind me and lightly rested his hands on my shoulders.
“You stopped working on these,” he whispered, his breath close to my ear. I shivered. Feeling my body sway with the current, his hands slid lower, the movement ending at my waist. “Let me help you,” he said, and gently nipped my neck. His fingertips crept into the hem of my skirt, tugging downward. The silk skirt parted with my silk panties almost effortlessly, landing on the floor by my feet.
I was wearing thigh high stockings, heels, and a matching
silk bra and panty set. All of which he saw within seconds, as he finished unbuttoning my blouse from behind. I realized there was a full length mirror ensconced in the glass panels opposite us, and met his eyes there as he gazed at me over my shoulder. His hands teased their way back up my torso, skimming my ribs, and then he cupped my breasts and moved closer to me. I felt his hardness on my ass and he put his leg between mine, opening them up. In the mirror, I saw my mouth open, my nipples hard beneath the sheet of silk between them and his strong hands. His eyes locked on my face as his mouth moved near my throat again. “I’m going to show you something new. Are you ready?”
“Oh, yes,” I breathed, and his fingers parted and expertly found my nipples, squeezing them. He placed his other leg between mine, moving mine further open, creating a v where I stood. His cock dug into me as he nibbled my throat, and shoulders, squeezing my nipples between his fingers. Slowly, he kissed his way down my spine, eliciting shivers as he went. He made it difficult to continue standing, and as soon as his cock was lower than my pussy, I missed it.
“Oh please,” I said, “put it back.”
“What?” He stood up, his sexy smile flashing at me from the mirror once again. “This?” He rubbed his cock across my ass, the layers of fabric between not nearly enough to keep me from sensing the heat there.
“Yes,” I gasped, shivering. I was having trouble standing in the v position, legs open, for very long, but I managed. He smiled at me over my shoulder.
“Not yet,” he said, then lowered himself to his knees. I could no longer see his face, as it was behind my body in the view from the mirror. Instead, I felt his teeth lightly nibble my ass cheeks where they met my thighs. The soft overhang of flesh fit neatly in his mouth, and he bit me, just a little, before I felt his nose in the crack of my ass.
“Oh no,” I said, trying to stand upright, but his strong hands came up to my waist, pinning me as I felt him burrow there. The heat from his mouth sank through the delicate fabric and electrified my pussy.
“Yes,” he said, longing in his voice, and then I felt him lap the fabric just over my asshole. I had been traveling all day, and I knew it was a sweaty mess down there…I hadn’t expected any oral attention. But the heat and the sensation made me gasp, and he knew I liked it, even if I’d felt obligated to protest. His tongue probed deeper, mashing the fabric into my wet crack, and I groaned.
Gingerly, he pushed me by my hips towards the lounge, and I happily bent at the waist and clasped it for support with my arms, putting my weight on my hands. My ass was now the highest point on my body, and he eagerly began licking it, biting my cheeks, as he used his nimble fingers on my nipples once again before finally idling back down along my belly and hooking my panties, sliding them over my hips and down to the floor.
Then I was bent over before him, faced with my reflection as I was. My ass cheeks were above my head, and I could see his hands on my hips, feel his tongue finally burrowing in my forbidden hole. I wasn’t expecting to orgasm. I wasn’t expecting to feel my tongue clenched between my teeth, the hiss of air rushing out of my mouth, as I felt my body climbing towards ecstasy. As if he’d read my mind, one of his hands crept down from my hip and ducked between my legs, burying itself in my wet slit all at once. Three fingers? Couldn’t be. But it must’ve been, because I was suddenly entered in both holes and then felt a hot thumb glide over my throbbing clit. Just as suddenly, I erupted.
“Oh my god,” I gasped, feeling his tongue pushing deeper inside of me, opening my tight bud as his fingers plundered my pussy. He urged me on with his busy attention, and I came harder and harder, ripping through my body so strongly my knees shook and threatened to give way. Finally, feeling the wave retreat, his fingers receded but his thumb remained, his tongue gently lapping my now flushed flesh, tender from penetration but alive with a new knowledge of itself. I wanted it again.
“When can I have it?” I asked, looking at my face in the mirror. I had never seen myself like this—desperate for the forbidden, unfamiliar pleasure of oral contact with my ass. Would his cock prove just as pleasurable as his tongue had? I wanted to know.
“Are you ready?” He stood up behind me and looked at me squarely in the mirror, his sexy smile ever present. His cheeks were wet, and he licked his lips. I realized his cock was free from his pants when I felt it, once again pressing against me, but this time with no subtle sheath between. Just the red hot tip of a primed cock, knocking at my asshole. Gently probing the unused flesh, while his hands squeezed my ample ass cheeks.
“Give it to me,” I whispered, his eyes opening wide, the green beautiful in the low light. The wetness he’d bestowed there gave his cock some help as he pushed a little harder on my entrance, the first layer of resistance giving way. He groaned as he felt the tip of his cock probing the hard ring of muscle inside me, and my body instinctively clenched. His hands held me by my hips and I folded over, allowing my weight to rest on my elbows, my ass high in the air. I felt his balls slapping my pussy as he worked himself in and out, shallowly, not yet penetrating me deeper than an inch or so.
“Rub your pussy,” he instructed me, and his fingers dug into my ass cheeks. “Rub it now.” I lifted my head to watch his expression as he began to work his way deeper into me. My fingers obediently began to slide over my hot clit, slick with juice. I saw his eyes open wide, his dimples flashing as his mouth puckered, pushing, pushing, gently, so gently, past my hard muscle…There. Inside.
I had never felt so full. So opened, so exposed. He lingered inside of me, stretching me, and the scent of the flowers around us mingled with the scents of pussy and need. Our eyes locked in the mirror as he pulled out, achingly slow, watching my face for any sign of distress, of denial…And then he thrust back into my asshole, fully opening me. I cried out, the pain mingled with a pleasure I’d never known, the scent of jasmine and mellow orchid in my head like a dream.
He bent over me, reaching for my nipples, and seizing them beneath the flimsy silk material as he buried his cock in my ass. Grunting, he then began to rhythnmically fill and empty me, over and over, kissing my spine and working my nipples, as I worked my hungry clit. My pussy wanted what my asshole had, so I stuffed my fingers inside of it with my other hand, using my face and shoulders to support my weight, leaning back against him, letting him fill me utterly. “Oh god,” he said, and I felt him shiver as he grew closer to cumming, pounding me, opening my forbidden door wider and wider, the mild spikes of strange pleasure mixing with spikes of overwhelming ecstasy as I too grew closer and closer.
“Do it,” I cried out, finally the pioneering one. I found I wanted to claim this for myself, claim his orgasm with my asshole. Cross that border. “Give me your cum!” He yielded completely, abandoning any last restraint, and pounded into me hard for his final thrusts. As I felt him widening, hardening, cumming, I felt my own inner volcanic rupture and pleasures unknown before crept over my body, sweeping my torso and tingling my spine. We both gasped and heaved as he bucked his last thrust into me, cradling my breasts, anchoring me as my knees finally buckled.
“Did you like it?” His dimples reappeared, and I knew he was sure I had, but politeness demanded he be sure.
“Seattle is a beautiful city,” I said in response, and we both laughed. I slept in his arms on the chaise lounge until it was time for coffee in Pike Place Market.
Sea-Tac was nice too. But that entry’s for next time. Suffice it to say, kinky sexy fun is abundant in Seattle, growing wild and waiting for the picking just like the blackberries that are everywhere.
It didn’t say anywhere in the article that the friend who’d recommended my anal enthusiast was another fuck of mine, in Phoenix , Arizona, or that they both wrote about me on their personal blogs afterwards, comparing notes on my sex life. It got me a lot of new viewers; my editor loved it. “She fucks like a racehorse,” Phoenix said in his blog, and Seattle commented, “and gets fucked like a champ. She took my whole cock deep in her asshole the first time we tried, and then
took it again in the morning. Delightful company, beautiful to to look at, and loves to have her ass fucked. If I believed in marriage, I’d ask her.” But he wouldn’t. I knew it, because both of their entries had the word ‘slut’ in the title. They meant it affectionately, even. Because they’d read about Waikiki, you understand. But again. No love, not really. Just fucking. Just the endless expanse of sexual freedom my body allowed me, for as long as it would allow me.
I’d called them sluts in my headline, too. Affectionately, of course.
Trish had asked how that felt and I’d shrugged it off. We were talking on the phone; she read my column regularly, but didn’t comment on it. Too many loaded feelings there. Her own curiosity and desire for freedom, mixed with worry and fear that I could never gain the security and love she had. And frankly, she saw her side was better, and so did I, but only now, after years. After it was too late. But the slut thing was too much, so she asked.
“Well, it’s because of my column on Waikiki,” I’d said. I then picked up a brochure and thought of my latest destination; I had a doctor’s appointment the next day—routine stuff, mammogram, Pap smear, the works. The kind of thing you have to do pretty regularly if you lead a life like mine, and want to keep living it.
