I’m pretty happy, because I am so new to this game. I was voted #71 in the 2008 Sexy Bloggers poll. Fun.
The top five are all awesome people, by the way. Congratulations to them all, especially Sinclair and Ellie!
I’m pretty happy, because I am so new to this game. I was voted #71 in the 2008 Sexy Bloggers poll. Fun.
The top five are all awesome people, by the way. Congratulations to them all, especially Sinclair and Ellie!
Don’t worry kids, the angsty self analysis will be short lived and Mister McIntyre’s Secret Part 9 is on it’s way.
I’ve been on this wild dating and sexing roller coaster for about 14 months now. Roughly since the day I ended the six year relationship I was in from 25-31 with… let’s call her The Girl Professor. Not that before that relationship I was a prude by any means, I had some interesting times and I got around, but you know something is different when in the last year you have slept with as many women as all the years before combined. I’d say that’s a change in the status quo.
So many dates, some with new people, some second or third dates, some with the sort of long term friends you make when you are in this kind of run. It’s certainly not all sex, to be sure, but it is all interesting. The constant state of arousal, the flirting from so many directions. New people all the time and new kisses. New bodies and new secrets. I fell into two relationships in that time, each lasting a few months. Both were wildly intense and full of amazing conversation, fun and probably some of the best sex of our lives.
I read stories of emotionless sex, zipless fucks, random group play and in most cases it leaves me cold. I like intense connections. I like learning someone’s secrets and knowing their bodies and kissing and touching for hours. If it isn’t intense then why bother. If it doesn’t make me happy then I’d rather skip it. At the same time I can imagine a plaything, someone to be a pet and to just have fun with. So many relationships seem to move so quickly. People wanting different things. Sometimes I wish for something completely superficial. Someone I can try out all my fun toys on and make moan and cry. A pet. I am ambivalent about the whole thing, no one ever seems to stay emotionally where they say they will, including me.
Lately I have been entering new terrain. I am seeing people whose sex lives are much more public. I mean obviously I am dating on NYC, I know we all have lives and I never presume monogamy, but you don’t ask don’t tell and are completely for each other when you are together. Sex bloggers and other internet savvy loud mouths (I mean this is the nicest way since I am both) make their sex lives much more public, this means one is forced to read and think about things he doesn’t necessarily want to read and think about.
A friend said something that has been rumbling in my head for a while now. When talking to her about the various dramas going on and what I am doing to belay them she told me that I was learning how to “process jealousy”. Now I tend to take phrases like that and roll my eyes, but I realize more and more that it is exactly what I am learning to do.
I’ve never been a particularly jealous person, that is until I was cheated on. When my long relationship with The Girl Professor ended suddenly and very violently. I’m a grownup, I know infidelity (when in agreed monogamy) is a symptom of a relationship that is already over, not the cause of that ending. It wasn’t the sex either, I am a sexual person and I can understand passion even inappropriate passion, it was the love. She fell in love with someone else (or at least convinced herself of such) and that ruined me for a long time.
This was the first time I was cheated on and my reaction was not what I expected. First of all I became repulsed by her. I’d never been into any cuckold type fantasies, but as much as I couldn’t understand them before now they confuse the shit out of me. I didn’t even want to be in the same room as her. Actually I sort of made she we wouldn’t be in the same time zone, which is working out for the best for everyone involved.
I also became uncontrollably angry at the guy, which is very unlike me. I was dreaming of hunting him down and beating him. Literally I would have dreams I was hitting him with a bat. These are the two reactions jealousy has on me, rage and disgust. Not conducive to an ongoing relationship.
Now I find myself trying to work through these feelings, even find to positive aspects of them. I see people I like and trust and watch how they play as a couple and apart. I think about my feeling and why I want to see other people and then thing about my partners and how their intentions are probably similar. It seems like a majority of the feelings are fear that your lover will leave you and when you realize that if that person left it would mean a whole lot about them and where your relationship was… it makes taking the chance seem brave rather than foolish.
But I am rambling. All I know is that for the last year I have woken up happier. Food tastes better and book make more sense. I feel like I am in love all the time, even while I walk around in mortal fear of that word and all of its inky implications. I feel like an adventurer and I feel like I am alive. I don’t see that changing any time soon.
I do feel myself moving in certain directions. Favoring certain people. I don’t know what that will mean or what I am willing to do for that. I don’t know how long I am willing to keep certain people at a distance so that I can keep up this lifestyle. I’m not really worried anymore though. As long as everyone is honest things seem to work out. You just have to ask for what you want and it is almost shocking how often you get it.
Subway intimacies are wonderful little amusements when you are living a life that is amplified. The little accidental meetings of eyes or occidental faux pas. Reading each others newspapers or coming face to face with ample cleavage. The bump and grind of start and stop trains and the forced sardine meetings of strangers. Innocent intimacies must go unacknowledged by most but not to me.
I am helpless to record the ceremonial reactions of the morning after couple in the little two seat bench at the end of the car. She is slightly embarrassed by her somewhat messy hair. He is both proud of himself and sort of straining to get away. Still his hand finds her knee and her eyes close briefly.
The voyeur doesn’t have to stand in the closet or peek through the curtains. Dodging eyes and stolen kisses can be as breathtaking as watching wicked acts.
I am looking for ideas for erotic short stories. If you have a senario, a situation, a character, a kink, a scene or just a concept or image you would like me to write about then please either comment here or send me an email.
For the writing prompt “outdoors” though being a city boy this was as outdoors as I tend to get. I wrote this in bits and pieces. I do love my iPhone and the ability to write on the go. One more prompt that I think will be a continuation of this one.
The prompt was: A handsome European classical musician cornering a girl who works in his agent’s office.
And now for something completely different. I wrote bits of this a while ago, but it’s been floating around in my head lately so I put the finishing touches on it. This weekend I will have ample writing time, but no internet connect save my iPhone. Hopefully I can get some serious smut down.
Mister McIntyre’s Secret
I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know what I was wearing. I remember a flash of small white polka dots on a sea of black. Some little pill box hat. My face got flushed if I thought about Miss Peterson pulling up the stockings that clipped to the garters under the dress. Every thought in my head made me blush. Every memory of the past few hours and every expectation about what was to come in the future.
We were walking down the street and she hailed a taxi. It was something I was never able to do. People always seemed to walk in front of me and take mine. We were going to the train station. I sat, still wet under my dress and frilly underwear. I wanted to stop being wet desperately, but thoughts were attacking me like Miss Peterson’s fingers and having almost the same effect.
I followed behind Miss Peterson, the world a blur of men in suits and pretty women. She bought tickets, she bought magazines and cigarettes. I shook my head to coffee after she asked me the third time. She had a smile as she looked at my hazy confusion, like she’d just won a bet.
On the train she sat in front of me, legs crossed and reading the French Vogue. She smoked, she radiated sexiness and power. I wanted to radiate that. Apparently all I radiated was a signal that I was obedient.
As I watched the city fade into trees and water I realized I still didn’t know where we were going. Some of the landscape seemed familiar, but I was not very well travelled. As the stops shifted from odd Indian names to things that ended in Hampton I started to realized exactly how fancy the place I was going was. Then it was more people, more following Miss Peterson into crowds. Busy train station, a shiny black car waiting for us. Tinted windows and a quiet ride.
We arrived at the most unlikely of places; a stable. I followed Miss Peterson into the place, trying to walk on heels I was already clumsy in the hay and grass. Miss Peterson met a young woman who was my age with very large pouting lips and curly copper hair pulled back in a ponytail. The two exchanged a few words and the girl’s eyes narrowed on me.
She walked over to me and looked me up and down. She had pinkish white skin that was covered in freckles. She seemed to be constantly pouting and frowning and bratty. She said nothing, but started walking giving me a nod that said to follow her. We walked through this strange world of horses, which I’d never really been up close to but seem almost alarmingly large and powerful. I almost couldn’t look at the rippling muscles of the animals because they seemed so nakedly masculine.
We came to a huge wall that looked like an outdoor theater, but as we entered I realized it was some kind of track. I wondered if it was a horse race, but it seemed the wrong size. We walked past men in white suits and women in elaborate dresses with huge hats. These people were rich and probably famous. I hadn’t read enough of the gossip column to really know who was who. We walked and walked and then there he was sitting in a booth wearing a suit I had never seen and sunglasses of all things.
Mister McInytre in a blue stripped seersucker suit. He looked like a movie star. To his right was a younger man in a white suit who was very thin and had sharp almost feminine features. His blond hair was combed back dramatically and he wore a bright periwinkle ascot. The girl led me to there booth and the two men stood up to greet me, which made my face flush. Looking up at Mister McIntyre, who towered over me I had to squint in the sunlight.
“Abigail. I’m glad you made it.” he took my hand and held my arm out so he could look at my dress.
I squirmed as he looked me up and down. He was touching me. He was looking at me. He was showing me off. I looked down. I wanted to crawl out of the spotlight. Then as sudden as I thought that the vision of Marcy on top of me popped into my head for some reason and my knees almost buckled.
“Marcy did a lovely job.” he said looking at the man next to him who gave a begrudging shrug of approval.
“Abigail, this is Chase Daniels.” he fair bow smiled noncommittally and then took a pair of opera glasses from his pocket and looked at the field.
“And of course you’ve met Gertrude.” mister McIntyre said, and as he moved towards her the pout melted a bit and her eyes got larger.
“Say hello to Abigail, Trudy.”
Her snotty facade gone, the girls green eyes sparkled above her high freckled cheeks. “Hello, Abigail.”
I smiled. I tried to smile politely, but it may have came out as a little too happy at her change in attitude. I realized that Mister McIntyre had the same sway over her. It was strange to think of that. I watched their body language, how she teetered next to him, wanting to be at his side, but knowing her place at the moment.
“I… I’m going to get a pop. Would you care for one, Abigail?” she offered, her cheeks reddening at the forced kindness. Mister McIntyre smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. This caused her body to tense.
“Oh, yes. Thank you. A coke, please.” I said, politely.
She walked off, her eyes on mine communicating something, maybe ownership?
“Have a seat Abigail.” Mister McIntyre motioned to a chair beside him.
I sat down, I remembered Alice in Wonderland suddenly because that’s what I felt like. Looking out at the field I realized it wasn’t a race but some sort of jumping and riding competition.
“Dressage.” said Chase, pronouncing the word with a certain French flair.
“Pardon?” I said, wondering if he was telling me something or asking me something.
“Dressage; horse ballet. It’s expensive to learn, insufferably boring to watch and taxing on the animals. We all love it.” his dry sarcasm hanging in the air coldly.
“Marcy’s been doing it since she was a girl.” said Gertrude, suddenly startling me. She handed me a coke and her eyes were somewhat less aggressive. She looked at the seats and I realized I’d taken hers. She shrugged and sat down next to me.
Just then out on the field I saw her. Marcy Peterson in gray riding pants and a crisp white shirt with a vest. Her little hat and her tall black boot and her little whip. There was something about it that was so formal, so neat and tidy, so imposing. I wanted to see it up close, examine all the details of it. I wondered what it felt like to wear those tall heavy boots and to straddle a horse like that. Looking to my left I saw similar questions in Gertrude’s eyes.
“Have you ever done it?” I asked her.
Gertrude smiled. “Nope. But I tried the outfit on. The boots are a pain, but you feel wonderfully… constricted.” she give me a look then that made me bite my lip.
And so we all watched. Ladies sitting up tall rode their horses around, making them bow and dance and do all sorts of poses both graceful and unnatural. The first few minutes were interesting as Gertrude explained the scoring to me. Then we got to see Marcy go. She got a nine, which from what I was told means “very good”. After that things got a bit boring. I turned to see Gertrude nodding off. Chase took out a little book and was silently reading. Only Mister McIntyre watched from under his dark sunglasses. I was sort of glad I couldn’t see his steely blue eyes because I wouldn’t be able to relax at all if I could.
Then it was over. Polite clapping, someone won something. I’d stop being able to follow it as my eyes got heavy in the sunlight and boredom. Then we were up with the milling crowd, making our way out. At some point Mister McIntyre left our group and I was ushered by Chase and Gertrude to the car I’d been driven in. Then we were off.
Another long drive. Chase was deep in a book, I think I saw Oscar Wilde on the cover. Gertrude was pouting and watching me like a cat watches a canary.
“So you’re Jacob’s secretary.” she said flatly.
“Y… yes. I’ve been working for Mister McIntyre for a while now.” as I said his name the two of them looked at each other and smirked.
We arrived at a huge house and I followed the two through a huge wrought iron gate up a cobblestone path to the front door where a butler met us. If I was Alice in Wonderland before now I was little orphan Annie wide eyed at the lavish place.
We came to a large drawing room, complete with fainting couches and a fireplace. Books lined the walls and there was large globe in one corner. McMcIntyre was there, standing next to Marcy. It felt so strange to see the two of them. I can’t remember ever seeing them together before, but there they were. He towered over her as they spoke, just out of ear shot.
My hands felt cold, I wondered what they were talking about. Marcy’s strong eyes and confident sarcastic grin were gone. She looked down when he spoke to her, just like I did.
Mister McIntyre didn’t look pleased, he was asking her a series of questions and she was answering with meek yeses and noes. She looked so much younger like this, with her riding unifom and her hair pulled back. She fidgeted under his gaze and fingered her riding crop.
As I watched I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Chase, smiling at me.
“Jacob told me that you were here to record the proceedings of our little meeting. I know you are used to a typewritter, but I couldn’t carry one all the way out here so just use this.” he handed me a five by seven black moleskin notebook and a heavy expensive looking silver pen.
“What am I supposed to write?”
Chase moved in and whispered conspirotorally. “Well, ‘Mistre McIntyre’ is going to…” he searched for the words “fuck Marcy and probably Gertrude” he smiled “and possibly me.”
My eyes grew wide. I stopped breathing. Was be kidding? I was young and inexperienced and innocent, he was probably playing a joke on me. A sharp crack brough my attention back to Mister McIntyre. He’d taken Marcy’s riding crop and was flexing of in his large hands. Her eyes were saucers as he gave the thing a practise smack against his hand.
Chase continued. “You should start now. I think Mister McIntyre is about to do something interesting with Marcy’s riding crop. Just write everything down as you see it, as if you were recalling a dream in your diary.”
I blushed as I opened the book. He knew, this stranger knew. All of them knew my every secret. As I looked up I saw Mister McIntyre move in on Marcy. She backed up against the wall and he was on her. I gasped and covered my mouth. I knew I should be quiet. They didn’t notice me. He was pressed against her and she squirmed. My legs closed tightly. I felt the weight of Chase sitting next to me on the couch. I saw Gertrude sitting on a chair watching Marcy and Mister McIntyre the same was I was.
My hands shook as I opened the notebook. I put the pen to the paper as I watch and wrote down every dirty detail.
Well, I’ve been working on this new project for a few days now. It seems like there are so many NYC sex bloggers and in looking around for them I realized there is no real list of them, so I am making one. Thus nycsexblogs.com was born.
I’m pretty excited about the whole thing, if for no other reason than I think I made it look pretty. Plus I get to make lists, which is always a nice thing. Also it will help in people meeting people and all of us NY people getting even cozier.
Speaking of which, I think I am going to In the Flesh @ Happy Endings tomorrow. Having just listened to Rachel Kramer Bussel‘s interview on Bedroom Radio and having just finished three stories in RKB’s anthology Tasting Her: Oral Sex Stories, I am very curious to hear what will be read. Plus I’m sure there will be all sorts of interesting people in the audience.
As for stories on this webpage, Mister McIntyre Eight is almost done. I had to figure out where to go from the last part, I wanted to introduce a few new people as we take Abigail deeper into her merciless boss’s life. Plus I want to get the first scene with both Mister M and Marcy just right. Should be up soon. Plus some more stories on the way, ones that are actually being edited! (I know you will miss my charming spelling and grammar errors.)
And with that, back to work. No more link dropping for this morning.
I was talking with a friend the other day about secrets and how I tend to be obsessed with them. I like to know secrets, I like to be told secrets and I like to find out secrets, for better or worse. Most of my life has seen the better, though certainly the worse arrived a while back and curiosity killed the cat. Still, knowing is always better than not knowing because let’s face it even when you don’t have proof you always know.
Still secrets are always floating around in my head and they are always tickling my fascination. Looking over the things I’ve written, stories and fragments and smut and so on, I see that the common thread is people finding out things about other people. People eavesdropping or finding diaries, people following people, people spying on people, the skeletons in the closets being revealed. It is a climactic moment and it makes for a good story, I think.
The conclusion of the conversation was that the desire to learn other people’s secrets is the desire to find evidence that the things I think and the things I do are not deviant or unique. To find evidence that perversions, both sexual and emotional are not isolated. More so the feeling that my thoughts and emotions are somehow “not right” is because of my upbringing where people didn’t talk about their emotions ever, so I never got any validation that the things I felt were “normal.”
I also realize that when I am in a relationship I long for my partner to find out things about me. I have this need for my partner to dig and to investigate because if they don’t then they don’t want it enough. Love and passion should always have at least a touch of obsession.
The thought of a partner writing something or creating something and not wanting to read it seems foreign to me. Does that make sense?
I think my goal should be to write stories like secrets so that when someone reads them they are filled with the excitement of finding something out.
Anyhow, tell me some secrets. Comment anonymously. Tell me something.
Sometimes a chaste kiss is all you need.
At the movie your arm brushes against hers. In the dark her lingering perfume is a constant reminder of her proximity. You think about how your body is positioned and how hers is, what it all means. Is she moving closer? Are her legs positioned away? She she trying to give you a sign?
After the movie you make small talk. Funny movie! Serious movie. Scary, sweet, political. I remember this movie once… That happened to my cousin.
A bite to eat? Sure. Eyes become bolder over a table. No dark I hide behind. You can make look right into her eyes while you talk and when she looks back and your gazes linger your heart starts to pound. You can make jokes that are a little more pointed. You can flirt.
You loiter at your table after the check has came and went and the waitress is getting annoyed. Out in the street walking down a quite block, you pause. She looks at you, then down, plays with her hair. You move in and she meets you. A kiss. Center kiss, upper lip, bottom lip. Bolder, you move in. She smells like fruity body spray. She sighs onto you as she pulls away.
“We should go, it’s getting late.” one of you say.
You get to the train. She moves in now before you can. She is pulling away will half her body and pulling you in with the other half. The kiss is hungrier, sucking each lip. Open mouths for a second but then she is away.
“I should go.”
“We don’t have to. We could get a drink.” but it is half hearted. You don’t have the strength or really even the desire.
She is blushing she looks up through her bangs. She doesn’t trust herself. She had rules she can’t afford to break. You like making girls not trust themselves.
“You kiss really well.” she mumbles, again her hand in her hair, twisting and playing.
You move in but she moves back.
“I got to go, thanks. I had fun.” and then she is gone.
You smile because it is nice to just have that, just a chaste kiss in the middle of the sidewalk. You don’t want any more and you probably couldn’t handle anymore. She is just a good girl and it is lovely to make a good girl blush. She knows you’re not going to be her boyfriend. She knows what one more kiss could do.
She is a lovely flower but you have roses on my mind. Oh the roses you have in mind.
I have a lot to say, but I’m going to keep things inside for a while. I’m greedy and I want the memories all to myself.
I will say, cherries are sweet and they make kisses so much better. Frozen grapes stir up all kinds of things. The world is a delicious place.
Kissing is amazing. Laughing is the best. Three writers in a bed is almost overwhelming. Actually it is overwhelming. Sometimes you can strap yourself in and be overwhelmed. Ride the waves of over-stimulation and come out on the other side panting and changed.
It is an interesting thing to be so smitten with two women at once. One for all the ways we are the same and one for all the ways we are different. Pale skin and darker skin. Youth and experience. One desire is lean, hungry, patient. It makes my eyes narrow and my smile a little sinister. I want to be rough with her, play out things, a wrestling match of wits and sex. The other has no room to wait, it is just want and it is want now. I want to show her things and teach her tricks and just fuck her until she can’t take it any more. I want that so bad it makes me a little nervous.
Ellie and I have been chatting a lot lately. We have been talking about chemistry and the way some people evoke certain dynamics from the start. Some people you meet and you might want to date or be friends with, you can see where it goes. Other times the chemistry takes over and you need to top them hard or be topped by them or take care of them.
My emotions are certainly cyclical. For a while now I have been somewhat luke warm over people. It’s interesting to be so passionately intrigued all of the sudden.
And now back to work. Jack needs to stop thinking about… well just stop thinking.