April 2007


And so it began.

We gravitated toward the sofa as naturally as if we’d known each other years, not merely a few short hours. I initially sat in my customary pose — curled up at the opposite end of the couch, with my feet close enough to his thigh that they could wriggle under for warmth. Obviously Joshua was a little more time-oriented than myself, as he made a point of wasting none.

“Are you sure you’re comfortable like that?” he asked. I could practically hear his sub-textual cry of “Get that sexy bod over here and wind it around me…” over the strains of Bono’s lament “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for”.

From the way his eyes met mine as he moved towards me to kiss me, i could tell that he, for now at least, certainly had. Such a sweet kiss. A little stiff at first, but since I knew that I was his first sexual experience that involved an actual real, live, passionate woman in a hellishly long time, I presumed that this was something to be expected. He quickly thawed out though, as he got into his stride, and pretty soon was expertly removing my outer and underwear until i lay naked in his arms. On Greg’s sofa.

All this while kissing me. Now that’s talented.

I broke from the kiss and whispered into his neck.

“Do you think that perhaps we’d be more comfortable in the bedroom?”

He stood up, took me by the hand and pulled me to my feet.

“This way,” he said.

“I know,” I murmured. (Greg had recently moved into a new place, and it was the first time Joshua had been to visit.)

He laughed, as we walked into Greg’s bedroom, and he once again took me in his arms.

“Yes, I suppose you probably do. I haven’t seen Greg in months — that’s what our friendship is like. We don’t see each other for ages, and then we meet up again and it’s as if we only spoke the previous day. It’s great. He’s a great guy.”

“He is,” I agreed. “And that’s a real friendship — what you described. But not to change the subject or anything… why is it that am I standing here completely naked and yet you are still clothed?”

Joshua blushed, and quickly shed his jeans and t-shirt. At least, I presume he blushed. It was dark in the room, and i didn’t know where the switch for the bedside lights were. The overhead was a strong, fluorescent bulb, and while i have absolutely no issue fucking when it’s light, i do object to being blinded by something that might well kill the mood, as an additional side-effect to temporarily blinding me.

I looked at him, and i confess, I believe I even leered a little. (Thank heavens for said darkness.)

“Mmmm. Nice shoulders, baby.”

“C’mere, you,” he said thickly and grabbed me again, pushing me unsubtly backwards onto the bed. We lay for a couple of minutes, continuing the kiss, as his hands began to roam across my body. It was almost as though he was rediscovering the female form — which I suppose, in essence, was exactly what he was doing. He’d revealed to me earlier that he hadn’t had sex in six years, and my jaw had hit the floor.

The conversation flashed through my mind as his ran his hand over my soft and curvy body, in what seemed to be a mixture of hushed awe and appreciation.

“Six years? No. Fucking. Way.”

“Way.”

“Jesus, man, how did you cope? I mean, before i rediscovered myself and my sex drive, I also went years in-between having sex. But at risk of angering the gender stereotype police, isn’t it more of an issue for guys? I mean, my sex drive died eventually, as a result of my husband’s sex drive not being up to much, but he was clinically depressed. He had a reason.”

“Well, my wife wasn’t clinically depressed… she just wasn’t into sex a great deal. And you’re right, it was more of an “issue”, as you put it. I did masturbate a lot. A LOT. And i distracted myself. Avoided the issue like crazy. I took up a ton of hobbies and I read like mad. I learned a fucking fortune of stuff, I tell you.”

He reverently kissed my breast and sighed happily, bringing my focus back to the here and now.

“Goddamn, Juno, you have the most glorious body. It’s just so much fun to hold and to touch. I love it.”

He continued to kiss my breasts and fondle them.

“Pinch it, baby” I breathed as his hand stroked back and forth over my upstanding nipple. He obliged, and chuckled as i moaned incoherently.

“I’ve never been with a woman who likes a bit of rough before. I’m not really used to it.”

Gently, I bit his earlobe, as his hands wandered lower to where i was primed, slick and ready for them.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Greg knows all about it. We can leave that to him, if you like. If he ever gets back here.”

“I wish he would come back,” Joshua murmured into the valley between my breasts. “I have no idea where he keeps his fucking condoms.”

He began to move backwards on the bed as his mouth descended down my body. Idly I wondered if i could send a telepathic SMS to Greg.

“Come back home. Now! And bring condoms!!”

Then Joshua’s mouth found my engorged and already sopping labia, and I ceased to think rationally.

“I guess he’ll be back soon,” was the last thought that floated through my mind before my head lay back and I abandoned myself to the sensations being elicited from my cunt by Joshua’s tongue. It seemed to continue for weeks, and I lay there absolutely entranced.

At one point, i did have the presence of mind to ask if he was OK. To which he raised his head, murmuring an enthusiastic “Yes… god yes, oh my god…” before lowering it again and continuing with his task.

Then i heard the key turn in the latch and the front door opened. And moments later, there stood Greg in the doorway, grinning like a very tipsy loon, and smelling of beer and Cuban cigars. (Fabulous and enormously sexy, in other words.)

“Well, well,” he said. “What have we here?”

I raised my head and looked him in the eye.

“Get naked, and get your ass over here pronto. And for the love of god, where do you keep the fucking condoms?”

To be continued. Yes, there’s more. Threesome, remember?

Updated: Continued here.

Part Two of Joshua Three is in the works. Contain your perverted souls in patience. In the meantime, here is an interim post to keep you ticking over. (And you know who you are.)

*********************************

It’s not often i get the chance to examine my ceiling. It’s not really a task that I feel needs doing all that much.

My ceiling is white, a couple of random cracks here and there from where the neighbors on the floor above have stomped the night away for one reason or another (I hope they had fun while they did), and a few cobwebs that i chase away only to have return in exactly the same place.

Apparently, i house spiders who are creatures of habit.

This morning I found myself with my eyes cast ceiling-wards, but i will freely admit to you — it wasn’t for want of something better to do. It was because the man whose face was buried between my legs had captured my attention so thoroughly that all i could do was throw my head back in all-consuming ecstasy as i moaned aloud.

I have to confess to an alarmingly small number of times in my life when I’ve actually come fully from oral stimulation. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to lie there and be licked and fondled for hours, even without achieving orgasm. Not all men are capable of distinguishing that the fact that every woman is different in the way they look, act, speak, think and behave might also indicate that there is no ideal route to orgasmsville using a tongue through a pussy.

Sometimes i get close, but then the focus changes and i miss it. Sometimes it’s a mini-orgasm. Sometimes it’s just a puss-valet service.

Today was the full-blown, thrashing around on my back, sighing, moaning and finally screaming my climax as I grabbed handfuls of his hair, and the flesh on his beautifully sculpted shoulder while he sucked on my clit, as he finger-fucked my cunt and my ass simultaneously.

In other words, a doozie. And several hours later, I’m still smiling. And exhaling. And calming down.

Naturally, he also got a chance to examine my ceiling. For some reason, he presented himself to my willing lips and tongue in a less-than-aroused state. I wondered how much work I’d have cut out for me. Not that I’m afraid of a challenge or anything, but it’s always interesting to make a mental bet with myself as to how quickly i’ll be able to gauge the level of enjoyment of the person attached to a was-flaccid-but-now-expanding cock according to the noises he makes — as measured on the equivalent Richter scale of Boredom-to-Orgasm.

It never takes too long, unless it’s late in the evening after a fuck and too much beer.

This guy did not disappoint. His first audible sigh was exhaled as i smoothed lube onto my palm and applied it to his ass. His second could be heard as my inquisitive finger slid inside his anus, and crooked forward to tease his prostate. Actually, it was less of a sigh, and more of a joyous moan. The sighs and moans increased and intensified as i lapped at his cock, tickling and stimulating the rim and the shaft with my teeth and tongue. I loved how it grew harder in my mouth with each stroke of my finger inside him, and how he soon filled my mouth and throat, causing me to gag slightly until i remembered about breathing through my nose and was able to continue. (Why do I always forget that? Why?)

“Jesus, you’re as good at that as you said you were, Juno!” he gasped.

“Fank moof,” I mumbled, through a mouthful of cock.

“I’m don’t know how long i can hold out,” he warned me. “Do you want to fuck? As in, actual intercourse?”

I withdrew my mouth from his, although my hands stayed where they were, intent on continuing their respective tasks.

“I guess so” I said, pondering on how this was undoubtedly the first time I’d been asked this question when naked — prior to this, said inquiry had been made before the panties hit the deck.

“Oh no, forget it.. I can’t.. oh, god… yes! Here it comes..!

Quick as a flash I returned my mouth to its mission, in time to catch a long and creamy mouthful. I continued to lap at him, cleaning him, teasing his by-now overly sensitive glans very very gently, as he stretched and purred with appreciation.

“Oh well,” he said, as we lay side-by-side, catching our breath.

“Oh well,” I echoed.

“I guess this means we’ll have to meet again, then.’

“Guess so.”

He kissed me and we both grinned as our tongues danced. A guarantee of a repeat performance was definitely something to smile about. Even if there were cracks in the ceiling.

Bono’s voice is arguably iconic, from within the perspective of music appreciation. However, since he was the backdrop for one of the most exciting and fun experiences of my sexually unconventional life, he’ll always symbolize one thing, and one thing alone for me.

The delight of lying in between two men, their hands caressing my body, and mine caressing theirs in return, was incomparable. The haunting and melodic strains of “Bullet the Blue Sky” only accentuated the sensation.

As I believe I have documented here, a threesome is my ultimate fantasy. I hadn’t done one without Henry, and i was concerned about what his reaction would be. Not that I was going to let that stop me.

However, it was not I who arranged the tryst. I received a cryptic text message from a friend, early in the morning, implying that a threesome might be on the cards, and was I up for it. Since said friend (Greg) and I had plans to meet and talk geek that evening, and he’s always baiting me with lewd and perverted suggestions of one variety or another, i thought little of it. He wasn’t into the whole threesome thing. He once described himself to me as a homophobe.

“Nonsense,” I told him. “You’re far too intelligent to be a homophobe. You’re just conditioned. Anyway, an MFM threesome doesn’t have to involve any MM action, if you’d rather not. I mean, MM action is hot stuff to watch, not to mention my porn of choice, but it’s not a deal breaker.”

But still he demurred.

As you can imagine, I didn’t take the whole thing terribly seriously. If it was a hoax — it was a hoax. If the evening ended up involving wild and debauched sex — well, honestly, have you ever heard me complain?

So it was all good, whichever way it swung.

Fast forward to that evening, to find me standing on his doorstep, laptop under my arm, and cute low-cut sweater showing just enough cleavage. (Dude appreciates the cleavage, so i like to throw him a bone once in a while.)

Answering the door, however, was not Greg, but Joshua. Joshua, whom I’d never met before. Joshua the cute one with the shyly sexy smile, and the solid, attractive body.

Joshua the potential number three of said threesome. Yeah baby.

As we sat over coffee, five minutes later, Joshua also revealed the charmingly intelligent, open and sexy side to his personality. Greg’s absence had been established (“How dare he set me up like this? Sneaky git, i’ll have him,” I thought to myself, meaning it quite literally) and we were deep in the throes of a highly interesting share-fest.

Ain’t nothing better than talking to a man who can hold a conversation and studiously avoid gawping at your cleavage. I could see he was making the effort not to ogle, which I appreciated. We covered so many topics and so many levels — it was the nicest blind date I’d had in a long, long while. But at the back of my mind I was wondering just what the fuck Greg had in his head, and what his ultimate plan was.

Greg always has an ultimate plan. He’s one of those people.

So there we are, and it’s perfectly pleasant. Idly I wondered how such pleasantries could or would translate themselves into hot, nasty ugly-bumping, but I was having such a good time talking that I wasn’t bothered. I’m almost as sexually active as I can be loquacious, especially when intrinsically motivated by the topic on the table. And intelligent conversation — oh, how I crave it. It’s the most effective aphrodisiac I can think of. He had it. He had it. And he had it in spades.

Eventually, the door opens and Greg looks around the kitchen doorway with a roguish twinkle in his eye, and an “I know what you two are up to” look on his face.

“Am I interrupting anything?” he asked, as he weaved into the room. “Do excuse me, I’m a little bit drunk.” He walked, somewhat akimbo, around the flat, trying desperately to be unobtrusive in his slightly obsessive compulsive tidying, and moving fixtures and knick-knacks slightly to the left.

“Music,” he said. “Ambiance. Yes. ‘Scuse I.” And disappeared again.

“Dear god, ” i laughed to Joshua, “He’s probably had three sips of wine again.”

Greg emerged from the bedroom, where the strains of U2’s “The Joshua Tree” had begun to play. I love that album. Haven’t heard it in years.

“I heard that. And I had a whole enormous wine glass that the guy kept refilling,” he retorted. “And anyway, if we’re talking inability to hold alcohol, why don’t you try some of this.” (The “Ms Smartass” at the end of that sentence wasn’t verbalized, but it was strongly implied.)

He brandished a bottle of clear liquid at me, produced a shot glass with a flourish and poured. I sipped, coughed, flushed and tried unsuccessfully to speak.

“What is it?” I gasped.

Joshua looked on, highly amused at our banter.

“It’s home-made grappa.”

“Grappa?” I spluttered, “You mean paint-stripper, surely.”

“Whatever,” he said, as he walked away, still weaving ever so slightly. “I’m off out to the cash machine. Won’t be long. Be good, you two. Or… not.”

Aמd off he went. Joshua and I looked at each other and giggled.

“Subtle, isn’t he?” he said.

I nodded, but my mind was racing ahead. “So you know what he’s done now, don’t you?” I asked Joshua. He nodded, and his eyes twinkled sexily at me. “But do you… I mean, will he… um… when he… you know… um…”

“What will happen when he gets back?” Joshua grinned at me.

“Well… um… yeah.” I articulated sheepishly.

“He’ll come and join us, of course.”

And there it was. The implication as loud and clear as if it had been inscribed in six-foot high neon letters. We’re going to fuck, and then later the “we” in the fuck will go from being a two to a three.

Fabulous. My ultimate fantasy was about to be realized. I listened for the fanfare and drum roll that i thought might sound in the far off distance, but i couldn’t hear anything but U2. Which was good enough for me. I mean, if a drum-roll is to be sounded to herald such an event, I’d be honored to have Larry Mullen Jr play it.

Joshua watched me squirm uncomfortably on the hard kitchen seat, and reached over to touch my arm.

“Would you be more comfortable on the sofa?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. My eyes met his, and I felt that familiar shiver of excitement run down my spine.

And so it began.

To be continued. And I mean it, i promise you, there is a whole lot more of this story on its way, and none of it is SFW. So stay tuned.

Updated: Continued here.

I keep thinking about you at inopportune moments, and getting wet. TMI? I don’t care. You should know about these things. You’re all the way over there across the other side of the world, and I’m here. The weather is getting hotter, and frankly — so am I. And i don’t see why i should have to go through this alone. In fact, a bit of sympathy arousal is what I’m after — at the very least.

So when my body is doing something mundane like shopping at the grocery store for a present for a long-unseen relative (flowers or chocolates, despite my offspring’s best efforts to convince me to buy them marshmallows, because they adore them), and i’m standing waiting patiently in line, my mind is off on flights of fancy, thinking about you, and me, and that date we have planned. What you’d see physically is the following.

You’d see me rifle through my purse for my credit card, simultaneously grab my two kids by the scruff of the neck and hold them down and still, converse amiably if vacantly with the person behind me that yes, it is a complete pain in the ass that the shop won’t sell us beer because of stupid fucking licensing laws, although to be honest it’s a wee bit early in the day for me for beer.

Mentally, it’s a different story. In my mind, i’m standing in front of you, as you hold me in your arms, and you kiss me, and i kiss you back, and i can feel your large, thick cock with its magnificent hard-on pushing into my thigh, and i can feel you grinding your hips against mine, and your hand in the small of my back pulling me closer than close and I feel your palm on my cheek as your lips explore my own and your breath on my cheek as our lips almost part and you whisper my name and my hand runs over your well-defined shoulder, and up your neck pulling your head closer to me and your hand gravitates from my cheek to my nipple and pinches it, eliciting a sigh and a wail of arousal from me and we kiss and our bodies fuck through our clothes, each feeling the passion of the other, as we lean against the wall, knowing that there is so much more to come.

Amazing how erotic the mental images are that can be conjured up while standing in the line at the grocery store.

Don’t you think?