Tag Archives: East Village
Gentle readers, I am going to tell you a true story now. The story of when I had my first sex blogger date. In wonderful sex blog fashion, said date included three people.
Janie Blooms of The Late Bloomer Finally Blooms, who by the way is in full bloom and lovely in her geek chic glasses and buxom brashness. Then there was the ever so charming Mariella from In Media Res… who is exquisite. A coquettish little lolita.
We met at a bar, the three of us, after a little mix up. There were perfunctory conversations. We laughed at the awkwardness of it, even though that awkwardness didn’t seem to exist. We were quite comfortable in fact.
I didn’t know what to make of it all before I got there. Going in I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d spoken to each of them separately online. I loved both of their blogs. I already had crushes on both of them to tell the truth. I thought I would meet them, I would see what happened.
The thing is when you read about someone in the fashion you get to know very specific things about them. When you meet them in person all the little holes in the story get filled up very quickly. So to speak. I was expecting sexy people I was expecting flirting maybe. I wasn’t expecting two completely brilliant extremely interesting women.
I wasn’t expecting the chemistry.
In the dark bar we found a quiet corner. I wonder what wandering eyes did see, though. The three of us instantly slipped into private jokes and inside information. We were following each other’s lead, though somehow I ended up the ring leader.
Mariella is a very particular kind of girl. That clumsy giggly kind of girl who’s just figuring out that she is sexy. She’s walking around with a body like a loaded gun. She is falling out of her dress. She can’t stop fidgeting. She twirls her hair and bites her lips. She bends over you, not realizing or at least pretending not to realize that her breasts are in your face. She twists and turns and squirms, almost in your lap.
When you kiss her she gives it her all. She’s overtaken by it and she has to pull herself away from it when it’s over, though she sits there with her eyes closed trying to recover.
Her body is hot to the touch, her dress is tight. A hand on her side and she melts into your grip, pressing and wanting more. When your hand finds her naked leg she is biting her lip and she doesn’t know what to do with all the want. Every bit of her is trying to pull your hand up her thigh. Every sweet breath and kiss and flirting look is making you inch closer to slipping your finger into the spot you know is wet and hungy and burning hot.
Janie is a whole different animal. Janie is more like me.
She looks at you fearlessly through her glasses. Measuring and evaluating. Daring you to move in. Giving you signals, but still making sure you have the balls to move in.
The challenge in her eyes set me off a little. We were locking glases over beer, over Mariella who was at first sitting in the middle and then by the end of the night sandwiched between us.
The flirting was ridiculous. It wasn’t flirting as most people know it. We are, all three of us, obviously advanced. The entendre was four or five layers thick. Our eyes were locking and dodging and hungry and saying a million different things. Well, really only one thing. “I want to fuck”
There was literary conversation and anecdotes, stories about relationships and sex, but all of the pretty words only made us realize that we probably could have skipped it all and went to bed right then and there. But it was too late. It was a Tuesday. Maybe it was too amazing to move on. The flirting and the kissing and eventually the touching was a whole new kind of sex. My knee is still shaking 24 hours later.
It started when Mariella went to the lady’s room. I moved in and sat next to Janie. She has a cocky sort of grin. So I kissed her. Just a little kiss. Testing the waters. She didn’t budge much, but she kissed me back. We smiled. I think I passed the first test.
A bit later Janie went to the bathroom and I whispered in Mariella’s ear that we had kissed. She said we had some catching up to do.
Mariella’s kiss wasn’t a test. A kiss and she liquified. She turned into molten lava. Tongues and hands and I started getting dizzy.
We told Janie when she got back like two kids who spilled something on the sofa. She smiled wickedly and told us we should kiss again, this time in front of her. So we did. The next time I kissed Janie she let go a little, opening her mouth falling into the kiss.
I can only imagine what the waitress saw. Two bespectacled geeky people staring into each others eyes from both sides of a squirming sex pot. All I know is she came over and offered us a free round.
It continued like this. Climbing like a thermometer in July. Kissing one of them, then the other. Kissing leading to touching. Then the shock of naked air as we pulled ourselves apart. My hand on Mariella’s leg, his side, scratching her back, while Janie did the same from the other side. The best moment was fingers meeting someone else’s fingers under her skirt. Our eyes meeting as we explored the achingly smooth skin of the younger girl between us. Oh the plans our eyes communicated.
And so I am now the king of the East Village. Stalling before getting on the train we took turns kissing, sometimes looking into the eyes of one while kissing the other right in front of the subway entrance. I was embarrassed, but Janie told me how rock star I was.
And now? Every day will be torture until we pick up where we left off.
Delicious excruciating candy coated fucking torture.