Big Bad Ass Book of Sex

by Nancy Armstrong

  Since she knew that I was with her, I debated whether I should join her—perhaps take over control of the dildo, or pay loving attention to her chest, or just kneel beside the bed and stroke her reddened cheeks as I swallowed her screams. I chose the latter, inhaling her hot excited cries as wave after wave of primal pleasure surged through every cell of her being.

  When her hands at last fell limp upon the bed and the florescent green dildo slowly slid out of her thoroughly lubricated sex, I sat back on my heels. Knowing she was in no condition to move to a better position, I held her head so it was horizontal with the rest of her body, allowing for a more proper flow of blood. Slowly, the color drained from her face as I kissed her sweat-covered cheeks and forehead, my eyes riveted on the unsubtle rise and fall of her chest, my ears trained on her renewed heavy breathing.

  My wife never asked why I had come home early or how much of her frenzied display I had seen. She did blush profusely as she dressed, and she kept looking at me with an embarrassed expression throughout the evening. The only mention of the lewd scene occurred that night in bed as I held her snugly to me:

  “Did you enjoy the show?”

  I never answered verbally, but even in the darkness, I believe she heard my smile.

  LIBRARIAN

  J. M. Thompson

  I guess it all started when they extended the hours for the library. To be honest, I’m not sure why they did it. I mean, it wasn’t busy during the hours we originally were open. Perhaps they thought if we were open longer, people might be more apt to stop in at the new times. Well, it didn’t work, and all that happened was that Ms. Harrington and I simply had to look busy while doing practically nothing.

  Ms. Harrington was the librarian, a sometimes grumpy but normally somewhat pleasant middle-aged woman. Needless to say, as quiet as it was there, Ms. Harrington and I had the place looking better and running more efficiently than it ever had. The books were back on the stacks within fifteen minutes of being returned, new books usually were cataloged within an hour or two, and there wasn’t a bit of dust anywhere.

  Even after all the cleaning, stacking, and cataloging, there was still a lot of time when we were either waiting for someone to come in or waiting for one or two people to make their choices and check out. I usually spent those down times sitting at the checkout desk holding a book below the level of the upper counter so the customers couldn’t see me reading. Ms. Harrington would see me reading, but as long as everything was stacked, cataloged, and nicely dusted, she wouldn’t say anything about it.

  Today, for some reason, she walked around behind the desk and said, “Reading again?”

  Closing the book quickly, I said, “Ugh, yes, just until some customers come in.”

  “Relax. I mean you have all the books stacked …”

  I nodded.

  “… and all the new ones are cataloged …”

  I nodded again.

  “… and everything is dusted?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, then, it’s okay to read. It’s just that, well, what is it you’re reading?”

  “Oh, just something I found in the new releases, a thriller.”

  “Jerry, don’t you know there are some magnificent books in our stacks here that absolutely must be read, but everyone goes to the new releases as if everything else is outdated. That best seller may be popular, but what are you getting out of it but a few thrills?”

  “The critics seemed to have liked it.”

  “Critics? Have you read the full critique or just the blurbs?”

  “Just what’s here on the book.”

  “That is advertising, complete spin. Why not look up the actual reviews and see what was said? You might end up with a different outlook.”

  “But what books are you talking about?”

  “Here, I have a list I often pass out to people. These are some of the books we have that scream to be read, books that everyone should read in their lifetime. Look it over and see what you think,” she replied, handing me the list and then walking back toward her office.

  As I picked up the list, she paused and looked back at me and said, “And Jerry, one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Calling me Ms. Harrington is simply too stuffy. Just call me Denise, okay?”

  “Okay, Ms. Har … uh, Denise.”

  She disappeared into her office as I unfolded her list. Looking down the list, I saw Hemingway, Steinbeck, Tolstoy, but also a number of books by Anaïs Nin, D. H. Lawrence, Henry Miller, Marguerite Duras, and even Georges Bataille. I moved my book aside and wandered out into the stacks.

  Over the next few days, I started reading some of the books she had listed. Not sure I was ready to handle Hemingway or Tolstoy, I had grabbed Nin’s Delta of Venus. After reading a little, I was surprised it was available here at the library. I mean, it was pretty hot. Anyway, I often found myself needing to make adjustments to my pants as I got an erection reading the passages. I would look around, making sure no one was watching, and then, as nonchalantly as possible, reach down and adjust my cock.

  It was after one of those adjustments that I thought I heard something, a slight cry or moan, and I was worried Ms. Harr—Denise might have hurt herself or something. I got up and walked back toward the door to her office and saw it was slightly ajar. Quietly, I opened it a bit more and was about to call her name when I saw her.

  She was sitting on one of the cushioned chairs facing the one-way glass that looked out onto the checkout desk and book stacks. She was leaning back in the chair with her eyes closed, and I initially thought she was having a heart attack or something, but before I moved, I noticed she had one hand in her pants and was squeezing a breast with the other. I should have walked away, but I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t see much other than the outline of her hand moving in her pants, but her hips were moving up and down and she continued squeezing her breast. She moaned and began moving her hand and her hips faster. Quite shocked at seeing a woman her age going so wild, I felt my cock bulging in my pants. Finally, she lifted her hips off the chair and arched her back, supporting herself with her shoulders on the back of the door as she came.

  Her body quickly relaxed, and she settled back into the chair, breathing heavily. I immediately turned and headed straight to the men’s rest room, slipped into a stall, closed the door, and pulled out my erect cock. Standing there in front of the toilet, I began stroking myself wildly while images of Denise playing with herself spun through my mind.

  Almost immediately, I could feel the pleasure building inside me and moved my hand even faster. Looking down, I watched as the head of my cock appeared and then disappeared from my view. I came quickly and pointed my cock down at the toilet, watching it spurt once, twice, and a third time into the water. I dabbed up the rest with some toilet paper as it dribbled out of my cock.

  I then headed back to the checkout desk and picked up my book. Several minutes later, I noticed Denise emerge from her office and head to the ladies’ room. Her face seemed a bit flushed, and her hair was mussed up. After a few minutes, she came out of the rest room looking all prim and proper.

  As she walked past me, she looked at the book I was reading and said, “Ah, I’m glad you took my advice on looking into the book stacks for something good. You know, you’d be amazed what you will find here in the library.”

  Looking up at her face and remembering how it had contorted in pleasure as she made herself come, I replied, “I know what you mean, Denise. I know what you mean.”

  GOOD MORNING

  Anne Alexander

  I woke as I usually do, just before seven, when the alarm goes off. I lay under the duvet for a moment, dreading leaving the warmth of the bed for a cold winter morning of commuting and then work. I reached down and idly stroked my morning wood for a minute, and I thought of you, wishing you were here to stay in bed and play hooky with me.

  After a few moments, I realized I better get moving or I’d b
e late, so I hopped out of bed and, without bothering with a robe, ran quickly to the bathroom. I turned on the shower and let it steam up in there a bit as I relieved myself and rubbed my eyes, then stepped into the warm spray.

  Reaching down with the soap, I realized that my morning erection hadn’t gone away after I peed and that I was still thinking of you … the way you stroked me, the way you kissed me, the way your eyes looked when you took my hard flesh into your mouth and brought me to the height of pleasure, sometimes in this very shower. Oh, how I missed you at that moment and how I wished you were still with me.

  I washed the rest of my body, using the bar of soap to suds up my smooth chest and muscled arms, stopping to run a soapy finger around each nipple. Then I brought the soap to my ass, running it over each cheek and then into the crack. I felt myself open to my own finger, and I briefly became distracted and moved one digit inside, thrilling at how easily it slid in because of the lather. It feels so good that I moved it in and out a few times, thinking of you again and how much you loved to please me this way.

  Snapping back into reality, I tried to get back on track and finish up as I moved my hands down each leg, working the soap through the wiry hair there. I moved my hands back up again to my crotch, where my erection just would not go away. I gave in and stroked myself for a brief instant but then began to rinse off.

  As I picked up the shampoo, the alarm went off, and it was still set to that stupid soft rock station you hated. Of course this morning Air Supply was playing, making me think of that one year when you serenaded me so sweetly on my birthday: “All I need is the air that I breathe, and to love you.…”

  What a cheesy song! But yeah, it made me think of you anyway, and I started to laugh as I washed my hair, rubbing my scalp and feeling all the tension leave my body. That is, all the tension except what was concentrated there between my legs.

  “Oh, screw it,” I said out loud. I could just walk a little faster to work—it was only fourteen blocks, after all, and I’d rushed to make it on time before. There was that time you’d surprised me with breakfast in bed and we hadn’t eaten more than two bites before we were tasting each other. With syrup. Mmmm.

  I rinsed my hair, then gave myself fully up to the memory of that morning. It wasn’t even a year ago, and you’d just finished culinary school and had gotten a job at a great restaurant downtown—entry level, but a step in the right direction. You’d been cooking for me constantly, not that I was complaining, and you woke me up with fresh coffee and a plate of steaming challah French toast with real maple syrup and bacon. I wasn’t sure I could’ve ever loved you more than I did at that moment, but then you kissed me. I was still mostly asleep, but I kissed you back; it was like second nature, and I didn’t need to be fully cognizant to do it.

  “Look at this,” you said, pulling back the covers to reveal my morning wood, which was always in evidence in those days. Before I could respond, you’d put down the breakfast tray and begun playfully tugging my penis. Soon you got serious, though, and began a thorough hand job, until I stopped you.

  Still in the shower, I stopped fighting the urge and was stroking myself hard, moving my hand in a tight fist up and down the shaft, using the water to keep it wet and slippery. Shit, that felt good.

  I thought back to your questioning look as I moved your hand away from my cock that morning and pulled you down onto the bed with me, feeling your erection on my leg and wanting to feel it in my mouth. But I kissed you first, and our tongues danced a while with each other’s lips and teeth. Soon you reached down and tugged off your own pajama bottoms, and we were both naked, the smell of breakfast and sex all around us. Speaking of breakfast, I picked up the syrup and poured a tiny bit on your belly. It was warm, and you jumped a little, but I held you down and licked the syrup out of your navel, savoring the taste of it and you together. And then I kissed down your belly and found your hard cock with my lips and engulfed you in my warm, sweet mouth.

  I grunted in the shower, the hot spray and my hot body working together to get me off. As one hand furiously jerked my meat, the other reached behind me to my ass. I snaked one finger up there and nearly lost my balance it felt so great. “Oh yeah, oh yeah,” I said out loud. This was going to be good.

  You could never stand to be pleased and not do anything for me at the same time, so you sort of scooted around and took my cock in your hand as I sucked you. The feeling was so good. It was exquisite. I never wanted it to end. I felt the head of your cock hitting the roof of my mouth as I stroked your balls with my hands, wanting to taste your load on my tongue. I sucked faster as you started moving your hips, thrusting to meet me on the downstroke. I began thrusting too as you increased your stroke.

  In the shower, I was barely holding on, wanting to have my release with us in the memory of that morning, so I slowed my stroke down a bit and stopped wiggling the finger in my ass. I took a breath.

  But we were still going at it, and I looked up from your cock to see you swirling your finger around in the maple syrup. You tightened your grip on me with one hand as your other reached around my ass to my crack. All the while, I was licking the head of your dick as my fist moved up and down the shaft. When I felt your syrupy finger work its way into my ass, I couldn’t hold out any longer, and I let go, shooting jet after jet of thick fluid onto your chest and belly. You smiled at me but then closed your eyes. The sight of my climax was too much for you; you couldn’t hold out. You had to have your own. Even as the final spurts wracked my body, I closed my mouth over the head of your cock to catch your juice, swallowing every drop as you moaned and bucked. “I love you,” you sighed.

  “I love you!” I said in the shower, feverishly gripping my dick and coming into the bathtub. “I love you,” I said again as the last few drops of my orgasm trickled out and were washed away by the cascade of water. I rinsed off and turned off the water, remembering how we ate the cold French toast and drank the lukewarm coffee, thoroughly satisfied.

  I got dressed quickly for work then, thinking that wasn’t such a bad way to start the day.

  Part 2:

  Duets

  Sex is best when it’s one on one.

  —George Michael

  Most people like the idea of partnering with another person, at least for a little while. Some people like the idea of having sex with the same person for the rest of their lives—or as long as they’re able to maneuver it. Maybe you’re one of those, or maybe you’d rather play the field for as long as there is a field and you have play left in you. Either way, you will find yourself in bed (or on the floor, or on a table, or in an airplane rest room) with someone other than yourself, and it will behoove you to know what the heck to do with that person.

  Lots of folks seem to think being with just one other person day in and day out has to be boring or routine or even sexless—and you may be one of them. We’re here to tell you, though, that it’s just not true. Sexuality offers a cornucopia of delights that only grows richer and more varied the more experience you have—and the more you explore your partner’s body, turn-ons, desires, kinks, and pet peeves. But if you crave new, unexplored terrain and are not content to settle down for more than a month, a week, or heck, even a day with just one special someone, that’s fine too, as long as you’re safe and happy. There is certainly more to life than monogamy.

  BARE FACTS

  One-on-one sex can be fulfilling and exciting whether you’ve been with your partner for the last fifty years or just since the last subway stop.

  There aren’t any rules, and the only limits are your imagination and desires. Say sayonara to the standard missionary position and try doing it doggie-style in the shower or get a sex swing and string it up in the dining room. As long as your partner’s into it, who’s to say it’s not okay? Not The Big Bad Ass Book of Sex, that’s for certain.

  COMMUNICATION

  If you’re openly communicating with your partner and playing it safe, there’s no reason not to explore every facet of wh
at our weird and wonderful bodies are capable of doing.

  Whether you’re new at the sex thing or ten thousand orgasms in, there’s always more to learn about sharing sex with another person, and a refresher course never hurt anyone. Let’s start with the basics, shall we?

  LISTEN UP, THIS IS IMPORTANT

  You might prefer to start your sexual encounters with intercourse and then get to the kissing and touching later on (or avoid that altogether), but we think a majority of humans like the buildup, so flirt, hold hands, giggle, talk, and then … kiss.

  KISSING

  Some people like kissing, and some people love kissing. Others barely tolerate it. Some say they can get off on kissing alone. No matter where you fall on the kissing continuum, you ought to know how to do it well enough that you don’t asphyxiate or drown another person or yourself. It’s not hard, but it does take a certain amount of finesse to get the breathing correct.

  First of all, make sure the person you want to kiss wants to kiss you back. This might involve asking or following verbal and nonverbal clues.

  DON’T BE A JERK

  Unwanted kisses are never good kisses regardless of your technique.

  Once you’ve got a person to kiss who’ll kiss you back, start with light touches of your lips to his or hers. Kisses should be soft until the urgency grows and the pressure almost has to intensify. You’ll feel this happen. You might like to open your mouth and let your tongue join in on the fun, but don’t do this immediately. Like all things sexual and sensual, it’s best to work up to more intense kissing. Don’t plunge your tongue into your partner’s mouth, either; start with feathery, almost tentative licks. If your partner is more conservative tonguewise, take your cues from him or her.

  YOU’RE WELCOME FOR THE TIP