0 comments/  46611 views/  0 favorites

Plastic

By: azwildkitty



I've got to tell you about THE most incredible woman to enter my life. 

The first time I lay eyes on her, I thought, "She's stunning!" Her green eyes and full lips accented her pretty face. He body language and demeanor testified to her confident sensuality. I wanted to get to know her, and I did.

I asked her to move in with me. She is a sensational lover. She caters to me. Let me brag about her latest and greatest….

I'd been bugging Maria to bring another woman to our bed for a threesome. I knew she didn't really like the idea of not being "THE ONLY ONE" but I was too turned on by my fantasy, I couldn't help it. I was obsessed. I had the feeling she'd pack her bags if I mentioned it one more time, so I laid off.

It was the 4th of July weekend so I took off from work a little early on Friday. We weren't going anywhere until Sunday, but I was ready for some R and R. Maria was making my favorite dinner, wearing nothing but an apron, when I walked in the door.

I went into the bedroom to change and lo and behold, there's a woman in our bed!!! Stuck to her vinyl forehead was a note, which read, "Hi! I'm Suzie, the bimbo your woman chose to fulfill your fantasy. All you have to do is learn the magic words and perform the ritual…then your long awaited night of ecstasy shall begin. A word of caution, you must make sure you pronounce the words properly and in the correct order while performing the ritual or I will remain just a blow-up sex toy." You can't imagine how hard my dick was – pure delight!

I ran and asked Maria for the spell and ritual instructions. She said she had no idea what I was talking about. She denied all knowledge!

Dubious, I went to the bathroom. Written on the mirror, in bright red lipstick, were the words "Getting closer!" I took a leak and thought about this mystery.

I noticed the shower door was ajar so I took a peek. Hanging in the shower was a poster of a scantily clad, blonde, bombshell. Another note! "Be careful what you wish for, patience is key." I was getting frustrated but I was too aroused to give up.

I found the next note in my closet along with a magic wand, which, by the way, greatly resembled a dildo. The note said, "Plastic for plastic, flesh for me, two women, one night only." So now I had the words! Maria called me for dinner.

The instructions for the ritual were written on my napkin. After dinner, I was to take my magic wand to the bedroom and get undressed. Then, while saying the magic words, I had to insert my magic wand into each of Suzie's orifices. This was to be repeated ten times before I could begin my night with two women.

Maria acted like she had no clue, so I tried to behave as if it was any other night. While she cleared the table, I headed to the bedroom and began the ritual. My dick was pointing to my chin as I stick the dildo in the doll's mouth, pussy and ass while I said the words. I could hear Maria giggling in the living room. I was tempted but I didn't dare move until the ritual was complete.

Once I finished it, I walked to the living room. There, I saw Maria lying in the middle of what appeared to be the interior of a harem tent. Between her long legs, I saw the blow up doll come to life. "Come here," Maria gasped as the stranger ran her hands up and down Maria's legs, teasing her pussy.

"This is Suzie and this night is to fulfill your fantasy. We are all yours," said my wonderful woman then she kissed me. Suzie leaned over and brushed her lips across mine. The she asked, "What is your desire?" I could've blown my load then but I held it.

Those two women were fantastic. They ate each other. They ate me. While I slid my dick in Maria's pussy, Suzie played with her clit and sucked my balls. We played for a few hours. I came a few times before we called it a night.

We've never repeated it and I haven't asked to. We have the hot memories and share them. It's damn near doing it again.

Oh, and Maria found out she is the only woman for me. That night, hers ended up being the only pussy I wanted. Suzie got plastic.

Plastic Becomes Real



It was so strangely sexy, this new toy David had brought home. I'd secretly always wanted one, but never knew how to ask him for it. It's as if he knew that deep down inside, I did. Now, it was real; a real life-like strap on penis. It gave me the shivers the first time I put it on and I didn't get it fastened very well. I almost shook with nervousness. But that melted away as David sat on the bed and helped tighten it. Then I realized how much I liked the feeling of having a cock between my legs. And even though I was still unsure of the powerful feeling it gave me, David reinforced the strength that surged through me. 

Once he finished adjusting the straps a final time, he looked up at me as I stood there. His eyes told me that he was on fire inside and as he began to caress me and then lick me, I too felt the fire burn in me. With such marvelous passion, David began to lick my newly acquired tool and as he slowly began to suck on it, I began to feel enormously powerful. It was such a magnificent feeling as I began to slowly pump my cock into his mouth and was rewarded with the delightful sounds of my husband slurping and sucking. It was like a dream world and I soon caved in to my pleasure and I came and came again. We soon ended up on the bed together in a sixty-nine with David still sucking my dong with wild abandon and I was sucking him deeply into my mouth and this we did for what seemed like an eternity until we both had mind-shuddering orgasms.

And the strange sexiness didn't wear off at all for me. It fueled intense fantasies for me. I began to dream about watching David suck a real cock for me. That I really wanted to find a man that would stick his cock into my husband's mouth at my bidding. Eventually, in a moment of passion, I told David about this fantasy and it made him hotter than ever. After a torrid lovemaking session, David, in a moment of frankness, admitted that he too had wanted this. That he too had wanted to be mildly humiliated in front of me and that to suck a guys cock as I watched and did the bidding was an embarrassing but very real desire for him.

We played out this fantasy many more times and I became bolder and more demanding of David's oral attention to my 'cock'. The fantasy became more and more real for both of us. But, fortunately for some friends of ours, it didn't remain in the realm of fantasy.

Tom and Kristen are friends of ours that we see very little of. Recently, they were stayed with us for a few days while Tom was working part time. I'd spent the weekdays with Kristen while both David and Tom worked. This gave me an opportunity to get to know her better and we soon were good friends. It was on Saturday, that again, both the guys were putting in overtime that Kristen and I laid out on the deck and were drinking margaritas. The combination of the sun and the drinks must have lowered our inhibitions because soon the conversation turned to sex. Somehow, in a moment of frankness, I revealed to Kristen the story of our little friend. I even showed it to her and she blushingly tried it on. We were both so horny, that I knelt down and sucked on her 'penis'. Kristen's reaction was to say, "Oh god, I'd love to watch your husband do that. It's such a kinky turn on."

I smiled up at her and said, "Secretly, just between you and me, I'd love to watch David suck on a real guys cock." Then I went back to sucking her 'cock'. It wasn't long before Kristen got so turned on that she had an orgasm. Then, both of us giggling, she had me put it on and she returned the favor. It didn't take me long to have an orgasm of my own.

After we came down from our horny highs, I put the dildo away and we both continued to giggle at one another all afternoon every time we just thought about it. 

When the guys came home, Kristen and I were blushingly quiet. After barbequeing, we all settled in to the living room to watch TV. We had drinks and the conversation got a little randy after awhile when, the guys sensing some sexual tension in the air, suggested a game of cards. It started out innocent enough, but soon we were playing strip poker. Once the game got to the point where everyone was naked was when things got really exciting. 

Now Tom is a very good-looking guy and with his slim build, I was surprised to see he was pretty well equipped. His cock was about seven inches when it was hard. My husband has a slightly larger build and his cock is slightly smaller. Both guys were having a hard time from getting hard as they were both staring at Kristen and I in the nude. Finally, Kristen suggested that the winner of the next hand could ask for a favor. It turned out to be quite fun and we did all kinds of mildly erotic things to one another.

Then, Kristen, upon winning, challenged the boys to wrestle with the winner having any wish he desired. Now, Tom was a wrestler in high school and my husband a football player. I guess David figured that he could use his size to out muscle Tom even though Tom had the finesse of knowing more moves. Finally, Kristen got the guys to reluctantly agree to her challenge.

It was really quite a turn on for Kristen and I to watch the boys wrestling in the nude. In the beginning, David was able to control Tom by using his size. This, at times, got Tom pretty frustrated. But after about ten minutes, David was beginning to get worn out. He made one last gasp effort to pin Tom and I thought it might be getting out of hand because Tom seemed to get pretty pissed off about it. One thing that surprised me was that both of them had raging hard ons and I'm sure Kristen had noticed it too. We both kind of giggled at each other as we eyed both their hard penises.

Tom then pulled some kind of trick move at the last minute and reversed on David. My husband was so weary, that he was having trouble and I could sense that if Tom had any stamina left, he would probably pin David. After another minute or so, David finally pooped out and Tom had the advantage and pinned David. Tom asked David to say 'uncle', but David just shook his head no. Sensing Tom's victory, Kristen knelt down on the floor and began stroking David's cock. Not feeling that it was fair and also not wanting to miss out, I got down on the floor and began rubbing up and down Tom's backside as he was laying face down on the floor with his chest pinning David's back and arms on the floor. 

I reached underneath and stroked Tom's cock. This caught him by surprise and he move up and sat on David's stomach still holding his arms on the floor. Both were breathing heavily. Tom asked David to concede again. David again shook his head no. This made Tom pretty mad and Kristen then leaned over and whispered in his ear. Tom just grinned and I knew then that Kristen had put him up to something. Tom then shimmied his butt up and placed his knees so that he had David's arms pinned under them and as he did so, Kristen went to work really stroking David's cock. David was now staring at Tom's hard penis just inches from his face. His face turned red as I think he knew Tom was going to force the issue. At the same time, Kristen's stroking had my husband's penis sticking up hard as I think I've ever seen it.

Tom lowered his hips again asking David to give up. I watched excitedly as David squirmed and shook his head no and then turning his head away from Tom's crotch. Then Kristen broke the tension, "Tom, if he's so stubborn, just give it to him in the mouth."

David's face again turned red as Tom began to arch his hips downward as he again told David to give up. David, hearing Tom, went to shake his head no and was greeted with a face full of Tom's penis. The head of Tom's penis touched my husband's lips and I couldn't help but let out a moan. Hearing me, David's face again blushed and I knelt down next to his head and stroked his cheek with my hand. He knew as he looked in my eyes what I wanted him to do. That's when I noticed his neck muscles relax and his eyes had a dazed lustful look. He knew this was the chance to live out our long time fantasy. Tom must have sensed David's resignation, because as he grinned he rubbed his penis around David's chin and then pointed it just an inch from David's mouth. I continued to stroke David's cheek and to my amazement, David closed his eyes and his lips parted as I watched the tip of his tongue roll over his lips. Kristen, still stroking David but now leaning over so she could watch, must have sensed it was going to happen because she moaned quietly, but enough for all to hear, "Oh Tom, put it in his mouth."

As Tom lowered his penis toward my husband's mouth, David's tongue, still sliding around his lips, finally touched the head of Tom's cock. David swirled his tongue around the head as he sensed the initial contact. He bathed the head of Tom's cock with his tongue and as Tom groaned from the pleasure he felt, he lowered his hips further and his hardness slid between my husband's lips. David sucked him in, slowly at first, and I was hot as ever between my legs as I watched Tom's smooth shaft disappear between my husband's lips. Soon, more than half of Tom's penis was in David's mouth and then Tom started pumping back and forth. David was too far gone now to stop and so was Tom, so I started playing with myself and sat back to watch it happen. My god, it was better than I'd ever fantasized. My husband was sucking Tom's cock. 

As the pace increased, Tom moved his knees off of my husband's arms and was now in a push up position above David's face. He started to pump harder as I could tell he was really getting off on the blowjob my husband was giving him. It was so hot watching Tom fuck David's mouth. Kristen was just as hot as I because she now had her fingers in her own pussy and was moaning with the pleasure of watching my husband suck her husband's hot cock.

Pretty soon, Tom's pace really quickened and David's mouth was being stuffed deep with hard cock. Tom rammed down real hard and I heard David choke slightly and Tom let up only to shoot out a long stringy wad of cum into David's open mouth. David gagged a little, but then took his hand and guided Tom's spurting head into his mouth. Tom continued to groan loudly as he finished popping off into David's mouth and I came myself as I saw cum oozing out from the corners of David's lips. Tom's final gasp was followed by Kristen's climaxing moan as Tom pulled back. I relished the sight of David's cum-coated tongue swirling around Tom's exposed head.

We all collapsed in a heap with Tom embracing Kristen and I smothering David with kisses. It was such a turn on to taste Tom's semen on my husband's lips and I lovingly licked and sucked the excess into my mouth.

We all aroused about five minutes later and I could tell David was kind of embarrassed about what had happened. I stroked him and then sucked him into my mouth to reassure him. He was still hard as ever so I pulled him up and telling Kristen and Tom to join us, we headed for the bedroom. As I flopped on the bed, I whispered to David to go and get our friend. As he came out of the bathroom with it, Kristen and Tom appeared at the door. Tom headed for the bedside chair as he was still pretty spent. I told David to put our friend on Kristen. Kristen's eyes smiled lustfully as she heard me and I got hot as I watched David place the straps around Kristen. Her 'penis' protruded out lustily and as David finished, he lovingly sucked her 'cock' into his mouth. This had Kristen moaning and I noticed Tom was now stroking himself in the chair as he watched. 

My hands were again rubbing my pussy as I watched. But what happened next really surprised me. Kristen pulled David up and then with her arm around him, she guided him with her over to the bed. To my real surprise but very real joy, she knelt between my legs and proceeded to rub her 'penis' over my hot pussy. Then, as she lay over me and guided her 'cock' into me, she raised her ass high in the air invited David to take her from behind. My mind raced with the pleasure I was feeling as Kristen buried her 'cock' into me and I could feel her body on me. It was so soft and her hands began playing with my tits. Soon, her mouth met mine and we kissed deeply and passionately. I could now feel David's thrusts into her as she thrust into me. As she lowered her lips to caress my nipples, I noticed Tom in the chair, his cock now back to a fully erect state. I motioned at him and then pointed up to my husband's face. His lustful grin told me that he knew what I wanted. He immediately got up and standing on the side of the bed, he began to rub his cock on Kristen's backside. Then, pointing it towards my husband's mouth, I swooned as I saw David take Tom's hard cock into his mouth again.

It wasn't long before Kristen, feeling the stimulation of her 'cock' against her clitoris gave out a huge moan and I followed her with another rousing climax of my own. Just then, David let out his familiar groan as he came inside Kristen. As Kristen collapsed on the bed next to me, we embraced as we watched Tom pumping his cock into my husband's mouth. This time, David just let Tom jerk it in and out of his mouth and finally, Kristen and I were treated with the sight of Tom jerking off and shooting his cum all over David's open mouth. I had another climax without anyone or me touching myself as I watched rope after stringy rope of cum fly out of Tom's cock and land on David's lips and chin.

Do other women get off in the idea of their husband's or boyfriends sucking off another guy? I'd love to hear all about it.



Plastic Cups



I had had so many Friday nights like this one, the parties were getting monotonous, like an obligation, one of the motions a college student goes through. Holding the requisite red plastic cup, this night it was more apparent than usual how even in the slightly marginal circles I frequented, these events were somehow universal, bland, and everyone pretended they enjoyed it. Tonight I had gone to a new house, people didn't know me as much, they had probably heard a bit, but I guessed that I would still get at least a few men coming on to me. I expected this, and to some extent enjoyed it. 

The blond downing drink after drink and sitting alone was no doubt going to be targeted, after a few drinks even those who knew I was gay tried their best moves. Each time they were surprised when no matter how many drink I had I could turn to them when I was fed up with it and say in an even tone, "I have no interest in any penis, let alone yours." I enjoyed their reactions when I said that. It didn't look like I would have anyone to shock tonight, however, they were all occupied with something or other or staring into their plastic cups or the tv like it would give them some relief from the mess of their lives.

People filtered in and out of the house, I looked up just as a petite brunette walked in on the arm of some scruffy, probably nice, but totally passionless man. She was in my history class and we had talked a few times, laughing at the way our professor couldn't pronounce the french cities he was supposed to be teaching us about. After filling their cups at the keg, she saw me and come over to sit on the empty half of the sofa I was on. She sat and her mini skirt rode up her thighs, exposing her legs even more, and I thought I caught a glimpse of her pink panties before she crossed her legs. 

I knew I had to find a way to see those panties up close. 

We chatted, talking about this and that while her boyfriend watched alton brown on the television with the other brainless partiers. I knew she had never been with a woman before and I didn't think she picked up on my orientation, even though my bookbag was adorned with rainbows. Pleasant to talk to, I could sense some sadness in her voice, it made me even more resolved to get her upstairs to the bedroom of whoever's house I was in. I flirted casually and she smiled and became more playful, telling me that she might go skydiving next summer. 

I reached in my purse to find my papers, "I'm going outside for a moment, want to come with?" I asked, glaring at anyone else who noticed what I had in my purse. 

She looked over next to her, where her boyfriend had got up to get another drink. "Sure."

We got outside and I rolled up my joint. I didn't smoke very much, this was the last of the stash I had from my friend who had gone to Jamaica last November and somehow managed to bring it back. I inhaled deeply, savoring the taste and feel of the drug. She watched my actions, sitting next to me on the porch steps. 

"You smoke?" She shook her head. 

"You want to?" 

A worried look came over her face and she shrugged, "I don't know, I never have before."

I hope smoking isn't the only thing she tries for the first time tonight I thought as I inhaled, held the smoke in my mouth then turned her towards me to give her the smoke from my mouth. She exhaled, a bit awkwardly, and smiled. 

"Like it? Here," I handed what was left to her and she tried to smoke it herself. 

We laughed as she coughed and handed it back so I could finish it and then press it under my foot on the ground. we both stared ahead into the night sky, it was beautifully clear, we sat in silence for a moment, neither one of us wanting to go back inside. 

"Hey I like your skirt," I said and touched the edge of it on her thigh. 

She turned towards me and looked in my eyes, "Thank you, I'm definitely not as beautiful as you, I bet you could get any boy you wanted." 

That made me smile and pull her close to kiss her full on. She didn't resist, I could feel her body heating as mine was. 

"I don't want a boy," I replied after we had separated. We both giggled.

"Here," I took her hand and led her up the stairs. 

People in eyesight stared at us, the one who knew me were used to the sight of me hand in hand with a girl, but to others they had no idea a feminine, blond confident woman such a myself would not be walking up those stairs with a man. I held her hand tight to give her strength, I knew it wasn't easy for her to feel the eyes of everyone on her. After we got up the stairs and entered the room, I shut the door and sat her on the bed. Leaning over and kissing her neck, the top of her breasts I could hear her breath getting harder. I reached my hand up and down her thigh, he silky skirt easily slid upward and I could see her pink panties, just like I thought. And they were wet too, good. The drinks and slightly altered state of mind of the drugs were just enough that we both were in the moment, not caring about anything else. 

I pulled up her skirt and took off her panties. I massaged her pussy and she moaned. She kissed me and reached to pull up the skirt of my dress like I had done with hers. I slipped out of my panties and sat straddling her, her fingers feeling their way down to my wetness. Back and forth my hand stroked her clit and slid in and out of her slightly, just barely entering her. She copied my movements, surprising me with the ease of her movements. Soon I had my fingers in her, stroking and curling them, and hers were in me. We kissed and our bodies moved together, as we gave each other pleasure. I forcefully pushed my slim fingers in and out of her beautiful shaved smooth pussy, soon she could not keep up in me which is what I was aiming for. I let her lean back and increased my speed and movement. I used both hands, one rubbing on her small cute clit. Soon, she orgasmed hard, screaming out as she came, breathing deeply, it lasted a few seconds then she came back down, my fingers still working inside her. 

"Oh my gosh.." she breathed. 

Still riding the afterglow she managed to sit up and finger me again. Seeing her come and her sweet pussy I was so close already, my juices flowing out, I still had my fingers in her, and it didn't take her much work before she and I both came together. Someone downstairs most likely heard us, but I didn't care, all that mattered was her body and my body. My breath hot against her moist skin I kissed her, our skirts were soiled, it was pure chance that we both had on skirts that day, most women wore jeans at school and at parties, skirts were reserved for special occasions. Perhaps we both knew that this was going to be a special occasion. We hugged each others bodies close and snuggled into the bed. I picked a good room, it was clean and the sheets smelled of lavender. 

"Lets do this again." she said. 

I smiled, and could hear her scruffy boy talking about snowy owls with some hippie downstairs. They both sounded like they were drunk but trying to appear sober. 

"Lets do this many more times," I said. 

And she curled up tighter in my arms, apparently happy with that response.



Plastic Love



Knowing each drug that numbs, alerts another nerve to pain.
       – Robert Lowell
 
 
 
 
In short: yes, it could have been no more than a dream. Acetylcholine neurons bombarding his fore- and midbrain with electrical impulses and random images during REM sleep.

It could have been a hallucination caused by physical exhaustion, by mental fatigue, or even by something he had eaten. Between his regular research assignments at GSK Pharmaceutics and his furtive off-hours project, it had been months since Alex last had a proper meal.

The bottom line is, working for such an extended period with experimental, highly concentrated pheromone cocktails and illegal, highly unstable manipulations of ibogaine compounds using the company's laboratories in secrecy would always be expected to have some sort of effect on anyone's psyche.

On anyone's brilliant, socially inept and sex-deprived psyche.

A psyche on the verge of isolating the active principles that would justify over seven years of intensive research, after which it would be only a matter of time until, by means of a calculated application of a perfume-like elixir, all women fell desperately in love with him the second the fragrance reached their delicate nostrils.

A psyche completely obsessed with visions of the endless debauchery to come.

Stroboscopic close-ups of female bodies: blood-red fleshy lips, the delicate curve of a firm breast, the soft cushion of a buttock, the curl of a well-shaped hip, the toned skin of a thigh, the arch of a damp perineum, smooth slender hands, legs, ankles, shoulder blades, navels, calves, nipples, droplets of sweat.

Dozens, hundreds of entangled, lithe bodies, dancing, slithering around him, undulating, as perfectly synchronised as if it were a single sexual entity trapped between two gigantic mirrors, multiplied to infinity, an ocean of carnal pleasure overloading his senses, slow- but steadily submerging, drowning, trapping him inside a vortex of lust, until all he could hear was the beating of his own heart, faster and faster, louder. Louder. Thump. Thump. Thump.





Plastic Love



Their penetrating gazes seemed to mock the visual X-ray capabilities of any Kryptonian pariah. Their senses were programmed to detect the slightest variation in the behaviour of members of the opposite sex.

Alex could hear, through the demoniac barrier of decibels, some of the overlapping dialogues:

'Look at that chick over by the booth. The redhead with the green dress, talking to that other one! Did you see that?'

'Eh?'

'That girl, man! Are you blind? She's talking about us!'

'You're just having a laugh, ain't ya? What are you on about? Which one?

'There. Over there!' He pointed the potential prey. 'She's...'

'Tasty!'

'And just take a look at her friend...'

The boy smiled approvingly; his friend's bright teeth, catching in the beam of the purple UV lights, gave a silent reply.

As the scientist he was, Alex thought it possible to anticipate their moves and the impending events, quickly developing an empiric but rigorous model. He turned his attention to them, as U2 turned into Roots Manuva's "Witness".

Instinctively, on queue with the seamless shift in music, torsos set themselves straight and shoulders recoiled to their proper place.

Facial procedures followed the pre-established algorithm for such occasions. They didn't look their targets in the face, but from a four-fifths position, slightly tilted to the right.

Bodies stiffened at approximately three-quarters.

Mouths subtly shifted downward.

A practised seen-it-all-and-found-it-too-dull-for-words look, ornamented with an expression that should render the formula:

       x = y·(A+B2) + z·[(C+D3)·E4] - rn·(F+G2)

       where

       x = Probability of getting some;
       A = I've noticed you and I like it;
       B = I've noticed you've noticed me and I know you like it;
       y = Doubt: Do you like me as much as I like you?
       C = I don't need you at all;
       D = I want you now!
       E = I know you want me now!
       z = Doubt: Do you want me as much as I want you?
       F = You're making the first move;
       G = I'm making the first move;
       r = Doubt: Are you ever going to make a move?
       n = Relative importance of r.

Small gestures, looks, details: Alex strained to take it all in, through the noise, through the smoke.

The techniques used to lift cigarettes to their mouths, for example, could be of the utmost importance, due to its influence on the marker signals of A, B, F and G.

If these motions were to be imperfectly executed, the result would be an aggravating cloud of smoke left hovering about their eyes; the instinctive movement to wave it off alone could seriously compromise the aforementioned variables, as well as reinforce z in an uncontrollably exponential way.

'That's it! They're definitely looking this way!'

'Nah...' (Extremely high value of y)

'Look! Just take a good fucking look at them! Man, I'm telling you: this is it!' (Impressive control over E)

'Keep dreaming. They'll be with someone. There's no way women like that would look twice at you.' (Introduction of an endogenous variable, due to the increasing value of n; were it to reach any value above 2, the entire performance would be irreparably jeopardised)

'Fucking hell! They're coming this way!'

'What?' (Escalating value of F)

'Come on, let's go over.'

'Eh?'

'They're gagging for it!'

'Hang on!' he cried, gaze shifting nervously from the girls to his friend. 'Listen! Not tonight. I came in to get wasted, not to get laid. You go, if you want.' (Dramatic situation, in which n tended to plus-infinity, y and z to minus-infinity, and all other variables were pulverised)

'Fuck off, you homo! Always waiting for me to make the first move! Every time it's the same fucking shit...' (Given the soaring values of A and D, one would have to agree...)

'I don't speak French...'

'Ah, for fuck sake! Who gives a rat's ass? You wait here, if you want. Watch and learn, mate. Watch and learn.'

Witness the fitness, the cruffiton liveth...

Alex's disciplined mind absorbed with scientific glee the data fluxing all around him, collecting the variables at stake and correlating them in analytic models. He gulped down his drink and beamed one way and the other, in search of a witness for his own fitness, a friendly face and/or body to which to put his algorithm into practise.

He pushed past the group of people frantically dancing on the edge of the catwalk and stumbled down the metallic winding stairs that led to the main dance floor.

On the other side of the room, he spotted a devastatingly beautiful blue-eyed brunette in a blue-hue tie-dyed t-shirt and black miniskirt, leaning against the bar. He inhaled deeply, decisively.

He waded his way over to the bar and ordered a refill of his drink, along with a flute of champagne. The woman looked vaguely in his direction with her head tilted to one side, running her fingers along the tanned skin of her shapely neck. Oh, he wanted her.

He smiled, and had barely taken a step toward her when a tall African man came and wrapped his arms around her from behind, kissing the side of her neck. She giggled, melted back into his embrace.

Boyfriend. It figures...

Alex tried to play it cool and turned around, holding both drinks in his hands, and immediately saw a model-type black-haired young woman flashing him an intense smile, her figure backlit by a multitude of video monitors flashing an endless reel of fashion shows. High on N-methyl-3-hydroxydopamine, he scurried over to her, cutting right through the middle of the dancing crowd.

Witness the fitness–

Wham! Coming out of nowhere, a rogue elbow slammed against his chest, projecting his body backwards through the air. On contact, the entire content of his lungs rushed out. Both glasses audibly smashed against the ground, spilling shards and spraying alcohol in all directions.

A roar erupted through the floor and both overlooking mezzanines as, high above them, a timer mechanism kicked in and down came a spiralling rain of red and black confetti, the signal the DJ was waiting for to morph into Primal Scream.

Lying with his back on the cold dance floor, Alex closed his eyes, defeated. The woman had disappeared amongst the revitalised dancers.

The next two hours wasted away, slouching in a black leather armchair in a corner, sipping his drinks out of paper cups.

Submersed in the inebriant atmosphere of the crowded club, Alex was a spectator, an assortment of scientific knowledge, useless in the real world. Being in contact with something he thought he knew so well but could not manipulate was an endless source of frustration. It was as if he was surrounded by preschool toddlers able to solve university level equations on intuition alone. They operated within the practical world of knowledge, whilst he but touched its intangible essence.

Sadly, what he sought was extremely tangible.

Finally decided to put an end to the miserable outing, Alex pushed his way out the back to the alley that led to rue d'Antibes and his hotel.

The sudden rush of fresh air hit his intoxicated brain and threw him out of balance. For a moment, he felt disoriented and, after risking three uneasy steps, Alex stumbled into the nearest wall. With his back against the jagged red bricks, he tried to calculate exactly how much he had had to drink. His mind was a blank.

For the first time in his life, he thought simple arithmetic was way beyond a normal human being's conceptualisation range.

'Yes! That's it...'

Alex held his breath and tried to listen closely above the buzz-crackle-buzzing sound of the defective neon sign of the club. The low female voice had come wrapped in soft moans, from somewhere very near down the alley.

Stricken by momentary lucidity, he treaded cautiously in the direction of the hushed sounds. Along both walls of the alley, stacked wooden crates and steel dumpsters were ill lit by much too distant sodium lights and the flickering pink neon. Receding into their shadows, Alex felt confident he could get closer without being spotted.

The first thing he saw was the bare back of one of the boys he had observed inside. The redhead girl he had been eyeing was prompted up with her back against the wall and had him tightly locked between her naked thighs, his hands squeezing her full breasts through the thin fabric of her green dress, his pelvis meeting hers with vigorous thrusts.

'Fuck me!' she whimpered at his ear. 'Faster, now. Harder.'

Her hands were wrapped around his back, her metallic-varnished nails leaving a visible trail across his skin. Her body thrashed uncontrollably. Her moans, progressively louder, were cut off by strings of whispered profanities dripping from her partially chewed silver lipcoat lacquer and promptly silenced by a forceful kiss.

Alex made himself breathe, gasp the night air that carried the potent scent of uninhibited teenage hormones. For the second time that night, he felt his cock stir, his scrotum grip his testicles like a fist. His eyes widened, trying to take in the scene. In a daze, he felt his hand settling of its own accord over his crotch and slowly unzipping his fly.

With sweat coating his muscled back and reflecting the distant lights in patterns as irregular as his breath, the boy placed his hands on the wall on each side of the girl and increased the pace and strength behind each thrust, impaling her deeper and deeper.

'Fuck! Me!'

Never averting his eyes from the tangled bodies in front of him, Alex reached inside his trousers and freed his semi-rigid cock.

Each of his thrusts was accompanied by a build-up of hungry, loud, lustful cries.

'Fuck me harder! Fuck my cunt, you bastard.'

Completely rapt in the moment, Alex jerked his cock with abandonment.

With one final plunge, the boy tensed up and burst into orgasm. The girl cried out, her nails breaking the skin of his back like claws, drawing out blood.

A group of inebriated young men and women stormed out of the nightclub in a cloud of smoke, confetti, and loud voices.

Startled, Alex lost his balance and stumbled crashing into a stack of crates.

All eyes turned to him. With his cock still buried to the hilt in the redhead girl's cunt, the boy first looked at him stunned, and then burst into laughter. The girl smiled tartly.

Awkwardly trying to put his rapidly shrivelling member back into his trousers, Alex turned around and desperately ran towards rue d'Antibes and out of his own very special nightmare.

Welcome to the City of Dreams, was announced in the gargantuan Ville de Cannes billboard, golden lithe bodies sunbathing in a Mediterranean beach across the street from his hotel. Pacing about beneath it, a lacklustre fifteen-year old prostitute.

'Two-hundred,' she said coolly has he passed by, her dry voice coming from a great distance.

Alex stopped and looked at her, something in his brain straining to process this bit of information.

She moistened her lips. Yawned.

He staggered to the gutter and vomited, fallen on his knees.

Back in his room, the dull silver surface of the large Victorian mirror that greeted him resembled a lost pool, clouded by time. Alex leaned into it and stared at the livid image reflected back for several minutes, trying to remember exactly when had he fallen through.

When Alex finally collapsed onto bed, he sunk into this pool of dreams, pulled down by the massive block of frustration and resentment shackled to his feet.





Plastic Love



A gust of fresh air swept the dining room as Alex mused on his defeat.

'Your coffee...'

Offering an apologetic little smile, she leaned over Alex's shoulder to place the espresso on the table in front of him and returned to the kitchen with quick, anxious little steps.

Alex, in autopilot, tore the sugar sachet, poured it into the coffee, stirred and bestirred it, put the spoon down on the saucer, raised the dark brown liquid to his lips.

'Hot!'

He abruptly let go of the cup, and it fell on its porcelain base with a crash. Miraculously, it didn't spill a drop.

'Oh! Are you all right, sir? Did you burn yourself?'

Before he could have even realised it, the waitress was again at his side, displaying enormous concern.

'Well... Yes, I suppose. It was a bit hot...'

'I can bring you another one, sir.'

'No, it's fine. I'm fine, thank you.'

'Zoé.'

'Hmm... Excuse me?'

'My name. It's Zoé.'

'Ah...' Alex looked up, bewildered, to the anxious, brown-eyed girl. 'Well... I'm fine, Zoé. Thank you.'

'Are you sure?' she asked in a soft, tremulous voice.

'Yes, nothing to worry about. It's no big deal. Really.'

'If there's anything I can do for you...'

'Thank you.'

The girl hesitated, hesitated again, and slowly walked to the kitchen. Reaching the threshold, she turned back to Alex once more, and gave him yet another careful, inspecting gaze.

He looked away. The whole situation was beginning to embarrass him. He could feel his cheeks flush. Look busy. Concentrate on something else.

The burning sensation on his lips was fading, so Alex gave his espresso a second chance.

A nice, strong blend, he thought. Caribbean Arabica beans for sure, maybe some Sumatra for extra flavour. The water pressure was off, though. Not enough foam, or the sugar would have floated for a few seconds as it slowly absorbed the...

Zoé's face appeared again at the kitchen door, her eyes sparkling with uncontained excitement.

Uh...

He glanced at the two young women at the table to his left.

He glanced right into their huge, beautiful, celestial blue eyes. And their smiles, their devastatingly wide, cheerful smiles, unquestionably directed at him, filled with recognition, admiration, and a feeling of never-ending sweetness.

His heart skipped a beat.

They were flirting with him, their expressions shifting every second, until finally unable to hide their ever-mounting sexual desire.

The revelation was overwhelming. The formula worked. It was working! His labour had not been in vain. In his hands lay the key to any woman he wanted. Models, actresses, any of the countless anonymous stunners that passed him on the street, they were all within his grasp. They would all be no more than slaves to his hyperactive libido, and he would be the absolute master of their fate, sanity, will, and decency – or lack thereof. The bitter exile that female gender had confined him to would be avenged with refinements before which partisans of de Sade would grow pale and Nietzsche's theories considered puerile. The human race was under his yoke, dependent of his whim–

Slow down, you need to focus. Breathe.

The shock of finding himself holder of such an absolute power broke the harness of his imagination and, for a second, led Alex into a frenetic race for misogynous vindication.

He was starting to scare himself.

Breathe.

He opened his eyes, calmness washing over him, and jumped when he found the blonde girl sitting next to him.

She asked for a light in a language that sounded like Swedish. The intensity of her gaze stunned Alex. She chewed on her luscious bottom lip as he dug the white plastic lighter out of his pocket, more frightened than pleased, unable to enjoy this long awaited moment. He hurried lighting the king-sized cigarette that she held between trembling fingers, trying to quickly steal her excuse for being so near.

Slowly, she returned to her table, but was soon engaged, along with her friend and the waitress, in a crossfire attack of devastatingly flirtatious looks.

Alex was starting to feel a completely unforeseen sense of embarrassment. He was burning, and tiny droplets of sweat forming on his forehead moved him to open the top button of his shirt.

No sooner had he done it, than he realised the thought never should have even crossed his mind. His gesture caused an instant commotion amongst the assault troops, who blushed so rapidly and intensely that he feared a cerebral embolism would be eminent.

The teenaged waitress had left the safety of the kitchen doorsill and sauntered timidly in his direction. The headwaiter, a tall Maghrebi man with dark skin and dry efficient manners, could tell something strange was going on, but he was busy waiting on the patrons who were calling, to no avail, his bewitched colleague.

Was there no way to control the effects of the potion? Could he have made a mistake in calculating the dosage? Alex could feel panic rising. He needed to retreat and rethink his strategy. He needed to get the hell out of there before the whole thing spun out of control.

'The bill,' he started to say, but ended up whispering, 'please.'

The slightest motion of his right hand to call the attention of the waitress was enough to set the girl running across the room. By the time he opened his mouth to speak, she was already in front of him, ready to drink his every word.

'You're leaving already?' she asked with a mix of terror and anxiety.

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'I want the bill,' he said bluntly. 'I want to leave. I ate, and now I'm leaving.'

She looked at him with huge brown eyes that instantly grew tearful. Her bottom lip quivered as she sorrowfully murmured something unintelligible and walked slowly away.

The two foreign girls appeared to realise what was happening and looked at each other with unspeakable horror. They shared an absolute desire for the same man, a numbing pain for the eminent loss, and a decision to fight to the death for him, against each other, if that was what it took.

Suddenly, their eyes sparkled with a new urgency, and before Alex had time to move a muscle, they were surrounding him, no longer shielding their intentions. The fear of losing him shook off any remnants of modesty they had, and made them launch a full-blown attack while he was still within range.

One sat on his left; the other kneeled on his right. They whispered words he couldn't translate, but there was no doubting their meaning. Their hands swarmed up his arms and chest, teasingly unbuttoned his shirt, the rugged skin of his face softened by the touch of more and more confident fingers.

The young waitress, seeing this, dropped all her fears and inhibitions, and ran back to Alex. She threw her arms around him; her hands glided across his shoulders, her lips brushed his neck.

Alex struggled to maintain awareness and control over his own body, but his decision mechanisms seemed blocked, his heart rate kept increasing, and the growing bulge of his cock was starting to strain the fabric of his pants.

The women were out of control, and he realised he didn't have much time left before they ripped all his clothes off him. Buttons on his shirt had been opened, and firmly intended hands already traced labyrinthine trajectories across his chest and down his stomach.

He looked up and, from where he was sitting, he met the stunned stares of the headwaiter and the two couples in the room.

Impious hands tore the last button off his shirt and deftly unbuckled his belt.

It was too much.

In a display of determination, Alex pushed himself up on his feet and attempted a few uneasy steps, hampered by the weight of the three women on his shoulders.

Stammering excuses to whoever wanted to hear them, he pushed chairs out of his way, moved with weightlifter steps in the opposite direction, and stumbled against the young couple's table with a crash. The collision threw an emerald earring that was on the table to the carpeted floor, and the young brunette moved to catch it with an exasperated look on her face.

Alex was faster, though. Still apologising, he bent down on his knee and grabbed the earring. With an enormous effort, the three women still clinging to him, he managed to stand up straight, and hand it to the girl who stared at him, completely transfixed. It took him only one look into those huge green eyes to realise that the pack of ravagers had won another element.

Desperation took over him. As she grabbed the earring, the young girl let her touch linger, holding his hand. Under the astonished look of her companion, her face visibly blushed, and she struggled with the impulse to join the other three women.

Alex felt hands pulling his shirt open, clawing at his bare chest, squeezing his buttocks, tousling his hair, grabbing his shoulders. He strained to resist, to set himself free from a scene that could have been born of the warped mind of a neorealist director whose idea of a masterpiece was the blending of "9 ½ Weeks" with "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly". Alex did little more than follow his survival instincts, but soon he woke up to the pressing need to escape the restaurant.

The green-eyed brunette's boyfriend, his bewilderment morphing into anger, seemed suddenly ready to land a right hook to Alex's face.

The headwaiter indubitably saw the entire episode as a severe assault on the establishment's good name, and in his eyes could be read the resolve to put a quick stop to it, by whatever means necessary.

The other couple, a few tables away, was paralysed by shock. The man had turned the camcorder to the group of women brazenly attacking Alex, and it was guaranteed that, to them, Cannes would forever be a synonym of sexual freedom and liberation, a place where anything could and would happen.

When Alex felt a hand slide into his trousers, he saw himself on the verge of public exposure and, judging by the licentious behaviour of the ravenous women, on the threshold of a spectacle that would make any incubi of Sodom and Gomorrah blush.

'No!' his shout echoed through the room.

In a fit of panic, fearing for the little control he still had over the situation, Alex violently shook off his assailers. The blood-riddled nail marks across his arms and torso bore witness to the women's determination in not letting go.

Another attempt to drive back the crazed nymphos, desperately twist- and turning, and the scientist managed to get enough distance between himself and them to turn and run to the exit door.

And he ran.

He broke out the door, and as the cool Mediterranean night air hit him, it gave him a burst of unknown strength. He rushed around corners and across streets, cars swirled in front of him. He ran along the old harbour, avoided the crowds outside the Palais, and sought refuge in the shadows of side streets, between la Croisette and rue d'Antibes.

His heart raced, and he felt as if his chest was ready to burst open. Again, the sensation of vertigo.

He stumbled, leaned against a red brick wall, clutching his chest, panting, and fell on his knees.

He closed his eyes, feeling himself faint.

The effects of his elixir, he thought, were nothing short of spectacular: fast, potent, and uncontrollable. A true lethal weapon that in the wrong hands would be worse than a nuclear warhead.

The discovery of the true extent of the formidable power he now held with absolute impunity made him tremble.

Suddenly, his eyes shot open in realisation.

The buzz-crackle-buzzing and the flickering pink neon glow told him exactly where he was. Told him, even thought he had escaped the possessed women from the restaurant, that he needed to get out of that alley immediately and back to the safety of his hotel room, where he could reinvigorate his body, and set his mind in order.

'Get up,' he said, as if he needed external encouragement.

He grabbed the jagged brick wall with his left hand, searching for support, and was halfway up on his feet and ready for that final ascending thrust, when the weight of the world fell upon his shoulders and projected him crashing against a steel dumpster. 

'What the...'

He turned around as he fell.

For a fraction of a second, the scene flashed in front of his stunned eyes: blood-red fleshy lips, the curl of a well-shaped hip, the toned skin of a thigh, smooth slender hands, legs, ravenous eyes.

The four girls dove toward him, blazing, without any reminiscence of hesitation or inner conflict.

Alex screamed in terror.

They had caught up with him, driven by pure animal lust.

He scrambled hurriedly on his hands and knees, but it was too late. The full weight of one of the girls landed on his back and he crashed face first onto the bed of red and black confetti that made up the ground of the alley.

They grabbed his legs, flipped him over, and tore his shirt off. One of them straddled his chest and held him down, kissing his lips hungrily, driving her tongue into his mouth. She breathed him in, like a panther, her long nails grazing the skin of his neck. Suffocating.

The other women held his arms, ripped his trousers down, tore his boxers to his ankles. They scratched, grabbed, slapped, and squeezed every piece of flesh in his body.

Hands scraped, nails scratched, tongues swam across his skin. One of the women wrapped her fingers around his cock, another's teeth sunk in his neck.

He arched his back in pain, and with it felt a surge of blood to his growing erection, which was promptly met with the lash of a tongue and the warmth of a mouth.

Alex gasped for air. The woman on his chest immediately shifted her position and lowered herself onto his mouth. Her smooth thighs tightened around Alex's face and she rode him and smeared her juices across his mouth and chin. He struggled to breathe, and each time he took another mouthful of her.

He fought, yanked his arms out of the restraining grip, and pushed the girl off him. He tried to sit up, but only managed to see the young brunette waitress, kneeling between his legs and with her parted lips hovering over the head of his cock. Before he could feel her mouth engulfing him, another girl rammed him down and kissed him.

Alex felt paralysed by the turn of events he had knowingly precipitated. He was the one responsible. He was the one in control. And still he struggled, unable to control even his own overstimulated body.

The delicate curve of a firm breast, the soft cushion of a buttock, the arch of a damp perineum, shoulder blades, legs, navels, calves, nipples.

He looked up to see the Nordic blonde straddle him.

His eyes glazed, his breath was ragged.

The saline scents of sea and sex overloaded his senses. 

He felt his cock gliding into her wet folds, armouring within her tight cunt. His body tensed. He felt his arms and legs trembling.

His fists closed around handfuls of confetti. His heart violently drummed in his chest.

The sweat, thick and musky, soaked the five bodies, gliding, slithering across each other, undulating, in an animalistic, frenzied dance. A maelstrom of carnal pleasure, submerging, trapping him inside a vortex of lust.

Alex felt himself drown, powerless to express the universal horror of his fate, and summoned the last of his strength to release the primeval cry that incinerated his vocal cords at the moment of climax, until all he could hear was the beating of his own heart, faster and faster, louder. Louder. Thump. Thump. Thump



Plastic Sheeting



She dressed as he had directed. Black latex corset, which cupped her breasts accentuating their firmness, short latex skirt, stockings and ballet shoes each piece carefully chosen and worn to please him. 

She crawled to him, her ass and legs high, showing the line of the pointed boots. She had yet to master walking in them, but he enjoyed the slow progress she made across the floor, her slow measured crawl, an obvious effort; knowing she did this for him and him alone. 

The plastic matting stuck to her with each move forward, the sticking of it forced her skirt upwards showing the tops of her stockings and hinted at the delights of her sex.

She looked up at him, as she knelt, waiting for his instructions. Calmly he pulled her into a kneeling position between his legs and cupped her face in his hands. His eyes roamed over her face studying her carefully, slowly, as if there was no other moment but this. Slowly, so slowly, eyes never leaving her face he opened her mouth. Eyes and mouth open, she was trapped in his gaze, her mind and body held firm by his look alone. He leaned into her and carefully spat deep in her mouth. She remained still, his spit pooling on her tongue. His fingers reached into her, spreading his spit over her tongue and teeth until it fill every part of her. 

"Now swallow" 

She did as he bid, her pulse racing but knowing he wanted calm obedience not frantic racing to please. She felt his spit in her throat swallowing it down inside her, feeling him within her and yet he had only begun. 

She knew she was wet, wet with excitement, nerves and wanting him to possess her completely. She craved his cock in her mouth; as much as she tried she could not help but a swift glance to his crotch.

He missed nothing, he saw her submission and her craving but this was for his pleasure, he knew what she wanted and knew she would want it hard, fast, and immediate and then she would still crave more. He wanted a slower pace, a pace to drive her to the edge and then maybe, just maybe, he would her allow her to go over it. 

He cupped her chin back up to look at him before standing upright, his cock still enclosed in his clothing and yet so close to her face she could not help but let a small moan escape her lips as she thought about how it would feel in her mouth.

"My cock sucking little whore, you will not have it in your mouth yet, maybe not at all. I know you, I know all you desire; but this is for my pleasure, understand"

"Yes Sir," 

her voice a soft whisper, the one syllable full of her need for him. 

She was his, she wanted to be his, she wanted so much to please him; but God she wanted his cock, the texture, the feel, and the way it moved in her mouth. She was distracted by thoughts of his beautiful cock and worked to bring her full attention back to his voice and his desires.

He withdrew his body slightly away from her, and she watched, barely breathing, at how he brought out his cock and held it in his hands. It was hard, rock hard; the tip of it glistened with pre-cum. As she stared at it the strands dripped in a long line from the tip.

"Open" 

She opened her mouth and put out her tongue. The strands fell directly onto her tongue; she could feel the wetness of it hanging there. He did not direct her to swallow and so she sat, begging him with her eyes, waiting to taste him. 

He moved his cock and the strands sticky and attached to her tongue moved over her upper lip, upwards to her nose, across her cheek and into her hair. She felt denied of the pleasure of tasting him and yet the feel of his pre-cum covering her face was so erotic she once again moaned a little at the thought of being covered in all he wished to give.

She was aware he was playing with his cock, she watched fascinated as his hand worked up and down the shaft, covering the head and back again. He reached down and dug his hand into her corset, drawing out her breast. As one hand worked his cock the other squeezed and pulled on her nipple his fingers digging into her flesh. She pushed forward into him, her breath was hard and fast; the pain radiated deep into her cunt and she eyes closed with the pleasure the pain gave.

"Look at me slut"

She looked up at him, the intensity of the pain making her rock as she craved release.

"Please, please Sir, please can I...."

Her voice drifted off as she tried to control the building orgasm, her cunt was so wet strings of wetness clung to her skirt and stockings. She continued to beg as she watched his hand and cock flying faster and faster, felt his fingers hard on her nipple, hurting her to a point of almost no return.

"My pleasure slut, No, you may not. Show me you can control your needs in order to please me"

With shuddering breath, those were there words that brought her back from the edge. She needed to please him, to show him she would do all he asked.

As she mentally calmed herself and tried to ignore the desperate need his hand and actions gave her, she saw he was close to the edge himself.

His cum flew forward splashing her face, she opened her mouth and the next spurt landed in her hair, sticky and wet she loved it. Another spurt landed on her breasts, she felt it rolling down them and instinctively brought her hand up to smear it across them fully. The final spurt landed in her mouth, the salty taste made her pitch forward and moan with an intensity of pleasure. 

He allowed her to swallow it, and she did so with care savouring all of it. As she knelt eyes closed enjoying him she could feel his hands in her hair rubbing his cum into it. His fingers rubbed hard against her scalp as if ensuring it would never wash out. His hands moved down over her breasts, his fingers becoming sticky with is own cum.

He raised his hand to her mouth and she eagerly licked the palm cleaning completely. 

"Slowly, enjoy, take your time my greedy little cum slut" he gently admonished.

She slowed, taking each finger in her mouth, sucking it as if they were the finest of cocks to be worshipped.

His cock had become limp and once again she hungered for it, hoping he would allow it to become hard in her mouth.

"Now my little cum bag, sit back head down and do not move"

She did as directed, her eyes to the plastic sheeting.

She felt the warm liquid on her hair first, then running down the back of her neck and over the ties of her corset. She could feel it running between her skin and the latex over her bottom and pooling on the backs of her legs. 

He sighed with pleasure as he said

"Look at me"

She raised her head, his piss dripping down her face filling her ears, running over her cheeks and chin.

Without being asked she straightened her back, pushing her breasts out and opened her mouth. His piss poured over her breasts, drenching the latex until it gleamed, ran down her stomach, over her pubic bone and directly onto her cunt.

The warm wetness filled her cunt and mind with a longing to serve him.

He played his piss over her tongue, it ran down her throat, he did not ask her to swallow; but aimed it at the back of her throat; she swallowed his bitter nectar, thinking of it mixing with his pre-cum and cum deep within her.

She was covered; her clothes, skin, stockings and boots all had his beautiful piss on them. Piss dripped from her eyelashes as she watched the final droplets on his cock. She wanted to put her tongue out and lick them off, but she did not dare to without permission.

He shook them onto the plastic, and pointed downwards to them. 

She knelt as if a dog, lapping them from the plastic sheeting. She could taste the mix of plastic and piss on her tongue. It did not matter that it tasted terrible, it was his desire and his need that's he did so. 

"Lay in my piss my beautiful, depraved, filthy little slut, cover yourself in all of it"

She briefly felt awkward, as she lay down and rolled over the sheeting, ensuring every part of her had him on it. Her skirt had ridden up and her cunt was hot, wet and swollen with the need to cum and be satisfied.

After a few moments he called her to him. He had his long narrow cane in his hand.

As she lay on her back, rubbing her cunt over his foot, his cane flicked out over her breasts. At looked down at his slut covered in him and aching from the pain and pleasure only he could give and finally allowed her to cum.



Plasticman



He hadn't always been. Plastic I mean. Static. Absent in the sense when there's no movement, no one notices you. Or worse, they do notice and wish they hadn't, preferring the company of others, more human like them, more companionable. He couldn't remember when he wasn't Plasticman most of the time. Pre adolescence probably. And those infrequent moments when he wasn't plastic, moments of charm which might not have surprised others, those being charmed, surprised the shit out of him. But lately it seemed as if he might not be so plastic anymore.

When are you old enough to know enough to know enough is enough? 

"How old are you?" she asked him. A rude question, especially if the shoe were on the other foot, you know, petite and delicate being asked by massive and ungainly. But she being young and he being decades older, well, it had a purpose that made it not rude.

"Old," he answered.

"Not that old," she objected.

They smiled.

"How old?" she insisted.

"I could be your father."

"I hope not," she said.

Another smile shared, this one much more complicated. Hers revealed the verb she used, "hope," had been appropriate. His revealed his confusion. And hope as well, though guilt twisted it, contorted it, made it misshapen, unattractive.

He had long experience with the unattractive. Not physically, at least not until recently where age began transforming him from the inside out. Like Dorian Gray's portrait or that Twilight Zone where a gift of a mask turns out to distort the face revealing the truth of ugliness in a person's character. 

No, physically he couldn't be described as unattractive. When he was her age, he had looks that, while not conventionally handsome, too soft bordering on pretty, it attracted the opposite sex. The bit of prettiness actually attracted the same sex, but he never wanted that. Though his shyness and a lack of awareness of his attractiveness kept him limited in sex partners, it didn't limit hopeful eyes from trying to catch his attention, especially since his height made him stand out. I suppose for the sluttier of the girls, it also promised a more substantial cock to fuck. Another factor in gaining more sexual experiences he had never really considered.

No, being unattractive had more to do with his character or lack thereof and his clueless understanding of dress and even hygiene and, probably worst of all, his knack for turning conversations into exercises in discomfort. His plastic aspect. 

Sure, he had friends in high school and then colleges. But, while many of his friends drew friendship as easily as drawing breath, he had to work at it. To sustain friendship, he had to do all the work. No one called him, he called them. No one stopped by, he intruded on their spaces. And when the social environments of schools ended, so did friendships. Oh, he had made an occasional friend in his work environments, but that dried up as well when he moved from the more social climes of record stores to the closed in solitary spaces of a print shop.

Which made the situation of the young woman sitting beside him both unique and peculiar. A situation that had lasted nearly a year and had grown into as strong a friendship as either one of them had known, even if it remained exclusive to work, to breaks and brief after work conversations. Perhaps it had something to do with her being unique and peculiar. In a way they were two peas in a pod, a pod he had figured would be a strictly solo vehicle.

"Uhm, you want to see some movies?" he asked her, his eyes shying away. It was a huge step for him.

"Movies as in plural?" she smirked.

"Uhm, yeah. This weekend there's an international film festival, and I..."

"Cool," she said.

Her smile was infectious. So pretty. Features on her deep brown face, long and lean like the rest of her, just so pretty. Twice her age and as pale as she was dark, they did share long and lean and pretty, though that last aspect of him had all but faded, and hers positively glowed.

Much later that day, after seeing a movie set in and made by people from her homeland, Somalia, they strolled hand in hand through the cool early spring night, traipsing around one of his alma maters, lost in thought, silent, but together.

"Let's sit," he said, gesturing towards a bench in the Quad, the center of the university.

"Sure," she smiled.

"How old were you when you left?" he asked her, settling close to her, touching knees as he shifted his torso and head to attend to her response.

"Five, barely cognizant," she replied.

"Cognizant," he chuckled.

"Don't do that," she muttered.

"What?"

"Don't condescend. I get enough of that from my family."

"Sorry. I just find it remarkable. I mean I find you remarkable. Just a year out of high school and you talk better than me, and me with my masters degree."

"That's because I'm smarter than you."

"That you are," he chuckled.

"Take me home," she said.

Hand in hand, silently, they walked to his car that had nothing special about it like nothing special about him; a four door Japanese compact, even with a silver skin, the most popular color.

He twisted the embedded key twice, unlocking the passenger side. They climbed in.

"Where to?" he asked her.

They had not separated. After leaving work, they had eaten dinner at a nice vegetarian restaurant, and headed to the first of three movies. So he hadn't picked her up. He had no idea where she lived.

"Home," she reiterated.

"I don't know..."

"You don't know your own home?"

"You sure?" he asked her, beginning the drive.

"Take me home." Her eyes gazed steadily at his. At least every time he glanced at her, her eyes gazed back as he drove them silently north to his small house just past the border of the city. Her large, lovely eyes had a slight shine to them made of unshed tears.

He parked in his garage, a one car one, wooden and old and small like his house. Shutting off the ignition, he asked her, "Why?"

"Make love to me," she said matter-of-factly. "After you make love to me, I'll tell you."

With a confused smile, he said, "I suppose I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"I suppose I have a horse face, long and lean..."

"It's a..."

"I know what it is," she finally smiled. "Come on."

They traipsed single file over the cracked stones that made up the narrow pathway to his back door. He unlocked it and opened it for her.

"I can see what they mean about a bachelor pad," she sighed.

"I'm a bit of a slob," he shrugged.

"Just a bit," she chuckled, looking at clutter everywhere. Everywhere a surface stood higher than the floor, there was clutter. And even the floor wasn't completely exempt from it.

"Something to drink? I could make tea?"

"Take me to bed," she replied. "Perhaps bring a bottle of water."

The bed wasn't just unmade, it was a mess. Two blankets and a sheet created three tangled rolls, long and narrow like stretched out taffy, mostly independent of each other. "King size?" she asked him.

"Queen. It looks bigger because the bedroom's so small. I don't think a king would fit."

"Grab the blankets," she ordered him, taking hold of the sheet and popping it to flatten it out to its full dimensions. Particles hung in the air, but not an inordinate amount. The sheet had been freshly washed a couple days before.

Once it settled gracefully on the bed, he flung out the blankets similarly though with much less finesse so they lay unevenly, but good enough in his mind. She straightened them.

Then she stripped.

He wondered if he should too, but he decided not to. It would distract from her unveiling.

She hid well what she had been blessed with. Even in the warmth of an unusually warm early spring day, she wore a shirt long enough to cover her wrists and high enough to cover her up to her neck, and a skirt that covered her ankles. She had worn a head scarf that morning as she always did when she went outdoors, but he hadn't even noticed she had not worn it when they left work or anytime afterwards. 

He never really understood the point of Moslems covering their women so completely. I mean, he understood the need to discourage temptation and all that, but in the end he found it not only ridiculous, but disrespectful to both women and men. Women were forced to be encumbered to the point that many even covered their faces. Taking away such freedom, the freedom to dress as they wished (he figured they couldn't possibly wish to be so stifled, especially in the heat of summer), disrespected their ability to express their uniqueness, at least at the physical level. And for the men to be so forcefully removed from temptation, it spoke of a lack of restraint, like they were all innately mad with lust, all rapists at heart or something.

Her unveiling didn't make him mad with lust, but it definitely perked up his libido, physically displayed as his pants expanded at the groin bringing a tightness there that bordered on discomfort, but more the pressure brought greater pleasure. Inside him, his heart sped up, throbbing out excitement that spread from his brain out towards his extremities and especially in that tight area where his balls seemed to throb in counterpoint.

She was exquisite. So perfectly formed. Her breasts stood out full and resilient, like two dark melons, except much softer. Her torso curved in below the chest, her waist high and subtle yet sublimely narrow, before expanding to lovely hips, not quite what might be called birthing hips, but the contrast with the narrowness of her waist made them stand out. 

When she turned away from him to remove her skirt and the matronly white panties, the ovals of dark flesh she brought to his eyes excited him even more than her incredible breasts. They had the same kind of fullness and the same kind of resilience, even more so. Firm and perfectly shaped, they had some length to them, looking more like avocados, rather large avocados, the kind with the smooth skins not the pebbly ones, than say apples or even pears. He was an ass man, and found himself gazing at the perfect ass.

A leg man, too, though a distant second to asses, the length and suppleness of those two limbs, with thighs that shouted power but were too long and not nearly thick enough to be called thunder thighs. Like her waist, the thinning to knees and calves had subtlety to them. Absolutely lovely.

"Shower?" she asked, turning to him. When he finally looked up, reluctantly because her dark bush of curly hair on her prominent mound, and the exquisite frame of pelvis, thighs and abdomen, the last a miracle of tautness and softness with just enough convexity to look appropriate and healthy, had caught his attention most profoundly, he saw her lovely face showed amusement. "I think I need one," she said.

"Okay," he barely croaked, causing her to giggle most delightfully.

"I'll be quick so you can too," she grinned.

"Let me get you a fresh towel," he offered, sliding by her to enter the hallway and the linen closet. The intimate touch of flesh, so soft and smooth, added more fuel to his inflamed libido.

"I'll just be a few minutes," she said. "Why don't you relax and maybe find some sexy music?" 

He watched, transfixed, as her naked flesh moved. "Yep," he thought. "A perfect ass."

It took him nearly the entire time she showered trying to decide on the music. At first he thought of Al Green, but decided such a high voice wasn't quite sensuous enough. Barry White, just the opposite, tempted him, but he couldn't help feeling that would be too obvious and a little silly. Surprisingly he considered Leonard Cohen but the rough voice and the cleverness of his lyrics might distract. Leonard Cohen led him to Jeff Buckley and Grace. "Grace," he murmured to himself, smiling loosely.

By the time she emerged from the bathroom, warm and damp and naked, he managed to remove all but his t-shirt and boxers. He hadn't gone soft really, about halfway hard, but as soon as he saw her emerging from the steam, a goddess emerging from a cloud, the tent pole became obvious.

"No music?" she pouted, leaning against him, grabbing the hem of the t-shirt and lifting. His move to separate his body from the heat and sleek sensuality of hers in order for her to complete the motion was a reluctant one. But as soon as she tossed aside the shirt, their flesh met again, fully, in a hug, naked to naked this time, and he wondered how he could have thought anything else could be better.

And they kissed. For the first time. Her lips. More perfection. 

Lips barely touched, just brushing against each other. And yet even with the slight contact, they both felt a spark. A series of kisses followed, with each kiss becoming firmer, leading to a final one, lips pressed together powerfully while shifting as if massaging the other's lips. His tongue tip touched her mouth, surprising her, almost ending the kiss, but she opened to it and let it in. His tongue met teeth, which he explored rather than fought against, until she opened the gate to her interior and greeted the invader with her own tongue tip. They both hummed at the intensity of the spark, far and away greater than the first.

The lingual meeting, like a sparkplug exploding petroleum sending a piston into violent motion, sent the two lovers from revving neutral to top speed instantaneously. While tongues swirled and lunged and retreated, his tongue luring hers inside his mouth, hands moved all over backs, rubbing and pulling and exploring everywhere. His moved in opposite directions eventually. One took hold of her scalp pulling her into an even deeper kiss, while the other went exploring the exquisite flesh of her bottom. Her hands kept moving ever lower until they grabbed both cheeks of his small butt and squeezed. This brought genitals to meeting with intensity. For the first time she felt what a cock felt like against her cunt, sliding along the slit and pressing against her clit. The fabric of his boxers which tightly surrounded his cock became sodden from her pussy's juiciness.

"Joe," she murmured when their lips finally separated, hers guiding her breath just below his ear.

"Syrie," he moaned back.

"Where's the music?"

He chuckled breathlessly. "I wanted to share it with you. I wanted to wait until after I showered."

She pulled his head back so she could look into his eyes. Her eyes danced with desire. "Then you better hurry up and shower," she said. They shared a chuckle, not so much from the words, except maybe the hurry up part, but more from the horniness they saw in each other's faces, and the impatience that provoked.

He had to have one more kiss before leaving her for even a little while. It was short but intense.

In the shower, he masturbated. He knew he'd have cum way too soon otherwise. And though age had lessened his ability to recharge, he wasn't that old that he wouldn't recover, and with her, even if he were old, he'd probably have no trouble. It didn't take long. All he had to do was contemplate her amazing ass, which he had seen move and felt in his hands. He imagined holding those incredible hills of flesh while stroking deep and hard into her deepest depths. His moan hid beneath the cascading water. 

Only the sheet covered her when he returned to her, and the way her dark nipples peeked from the top made it even sexier than seeing her sprawled out naked.

The way she had kissed, the shock she felt when his tongue entered the fray, told him of her lack of experience. He figured everything about this night, from hanging out with him on the unplanned date, to holding hands and walking through the night, to stripping naked for him, and of course the kiss and everything that was about to happen, had never happened to her. She was as virgin as anyone could possibly be. He knew he had to make love to her as carefully and thoroughly as he ever had before. He knew he could never be selfish like he'd been so often in his youth, letting the demand of his balls take command of him. He knew he couldn't cum until he made her cum as many times as possible.

"You are so beautiful," he told her, "you take my breath away."

She smiled shyly. Something else new for her, praise from the heart for her beauty.

He pressed the "play" button on the small box, a Bose so it sounded good. Jeff Buckley's sweet voice entered the room, welcomed. She opened the sheet for him to get in beside her and for him to see her body again in all its glory and grace.

As he nestled beside her with a kiss, she pouted. "I thought it would be hard for me, your..."

"Cock?"

"Yes," she grinned. "Your cock." He could see the amusement she found talking dirty.

"It will be, sweetie. I masturbated."

"Really," she kept grinning. "How come?"

"I would have cum to quick."

"You should have invited me in the shower. I would have loved to see it, even more that I made it happen." She reached for the rod of flesh, already hardening. He very gently slapped her hand away.

"Later, lover," he told her. "For now I do all the work."

And he began. Between kisses, he asked her, "Tell me what you like and what doesn't make you squirm with pleasure. Can you do that for me?"

"Okay."

"Nervous?"

"Why should I be? This is exactly what I want. This is what I wanted for quite a while. I know you'll be good to me. Why worry?"

"Good," he chuckled and kissed her deeply, his hands beginning their caresses, beginning with her face and scalp and ears. Fingers combed through surprisingly soft hair. 

But her breasts called to him, sturdy, prominent hills of flesh topped by deeply dark tips as black as her wavy tresses.

He resisted squeezing her breasts too harshly, having done so with his infrequent lovers far too often. Instead he weighed them and fondled them, measuring their give and resilience, his fingers gentle in their curiosity. It didn't take long for them to reach her nipples, again resisting hard squeezes and giving her easy caresses which resulted in the tightening and erecting of those tips made of flesh and nerve endings. Her sighs filled his mouth which lifted off hers to give her access to air while also allowing his lips and tongue to move to the accentuating of what his fingers had begun.

He loved the texture of her areolas and her nubs against his tongue. He loved her moans and her quiet wriggles. He might have stayed longer to see how close nipple play could bring her to orgasm, but she had other ideas.

Gently he felt her hand take his off her nipple and bring it between her thighs. Placing it, her hand remained as guide; the narrow and long fingers, just an inch shorter than his own lengthy digits, spread above his hand as if attached and in control. And the pressure on his middle digit guided him to the crest of her pussy, warm but not quite wet enough.

Slowly, with her hand still piggy-backing, he brought the middle and pointing finger of both his and her hands into his mouth to bring saliva lubricant to them. Withdrawing his damp fingers with a surprising jerk left her fingers in place, and he sucked on them giving her an extra, unexpected thrill.

Left to their own devices, his fingers circled her vagina, several stirring strokes delaying the inevitable clit caress. Even when they reached the top of her cunt, he pressed his middle digit inside her instead of rubbing above. It sought and found the roughened texture behind her pubic mound making her squirm and arch a bit and moan extra loud. She relaxed and sent out a complaining mewl when the touch ended, but he realized a mistake. He needed to dampen his thumb as well. Though getting ever wetter, her pussy hadn't made enough juices to do the job, so back into his mouth went his fingers.

"Delicious," he told her, which made her grin.

"I'm glad you approve," she said.

After sucking his thumb, his fingers returned to play at her pussy, going through the same preparatory motions he'd gone through before. She didn't mind, especially with a more aggressive sucking of one nipple and then the other accompanying the return.




Plasticman



When fingertips returned to her g-spot, his thumb became the added feature, circling her clit. That made all the difference in the world, obvious from her longest moan and her squirming hips. As he suckled her taut nipples, another addition to his lovemaking brought even more intensity to her verbal and physical reactions when he added a careful scraping of his teeth against them.

He kept this up for a while, but he sensed, though he got her close, it wasn't quite enough to send her into ecstasy. So he eased back, his caresses of her pussy continuing, but slower and lighter, and his mouth moved off her breasts and journeyed across her delicious belly, soft flesh covering a tight core of muscles. His tongue swirled around her lengthy navel for a moment causing a delightful giggle, before his lips renewed their southerly journey.

She tightened a little when they reached her crinkly pubic hair, but if had been fear, it passed quickly, because after a teasing kiss of her clit, when his lips missed the rest of her sexual center and recommenced their attention at her inner thigh, her mewl of disappointment returned.

He chuckled and winked up at her pout and began making love to her inner thigh and lower, to the sensitive place behind her knee and to her calf, sucking and kissing and licking. His fingers kept their caresses going on her g-spot and clit to keep her pleasure sustained.

When he reached her feet, he began suckling each toe, lingering on the big one which surprised her with its pleasure. He repeated on the other foot before heading back north, a quicker journey than the southern one, but still teasing.

Finally his mouth approached the center of her sexual need, wet with anticipation. His hands opened her thighs and pulled them upwards. Her eyes went wide when, with one last detour, he shoved his tongue into her anus. He was exploring all her mysteries, even ones she never thought he'd explore.

"Ooh God," she moaned soon after when his tongue swept along her right labia and across the tip of her erect clit poking out from its cloak, its size as long as he'd ever seen, easier to find than most women he'd enjoyed. "Mmm," she hummed when a second lick swept across her left labia. "Ooh," she moaned when his mouth stayed to play at her clit, his fingers returning to the fray, circling her pussy before the middle finger once more found her g-spot. It got more aggressive there while his tongue swirled around her clit and plucked at it like plucking at a thumb piano tong, with far greater reverberations.

Again he finally learned from his past and didn't subject her clit to a relentless tonguing, but listened to her moans and the squirming of her body, and steered her towards ecstasy as carefully as possible. Only when she stiffened and arched did he go on full attack, sucking her clit and whipping it with a frenzy.

"Oh fuck you fucking fucker!" she growled through a tightened throat, her arched body trembling, her eyes and mouth wide. He waited until she relaxed and her spend stopped filling his mouth (the g-spot stimulation creating spurts like a man's ejaculation with more volume and much tastier) before he eased off the abuse, kissing the trembling clit before lifting his girl-cum covered mouth and chin and showing her his proud smile.

"Fuck me, Joe," she murmured, her grin soft and relaxed, her cheeks tinted red, obvious despite the darkness of her skin.

He crawled up across her torso until his cock rested against her sodden pussy. His journey continued, bending away from her as he stretched his hand towards the small chest of drawers he used as a bedside table.

"What are you doing?" she asked him.

"Condom," he explained.

"Do you have any STDs?" she asked him.

"No. I haven't...been with a woman in years. To tell you the truth, it's a pretty old condom."

"I've never been with a man."

"I figured."

"I want you naked inside me."

"I could make you pregnant."

"Please?"

"Please what?" he wondered briefly, silently, before feeling her hand grasp his cock, a cock as hard as it had ever been, and guiding the tip where she wanted it.

"Push," she said.

He did, sending his glans inside the greatest place it had ever let him feel. It was as if her labia minora took over for her hand in pulling him in. They clung, but they didn't resist.

Both newly minted lovers watched him slowly disappear inside her. Stroke after stroke, more of him disappeared, until his seven inches of impossibly hard flesh became completely contained inside her. Only then did he feel any wall of resistance, just a hint of her cervix.

"You are so tight," he moaned at last, the first words to emerge from their mouths since he entered her. Sounds there'd been, but none contained words. "Are you okay?"

"Mmm," she answered, the sentiment clear. She was much more than okay.

They remained conjoined at his full length, and her full depth, awed by the occasion.

"I did it myself," she finally said. "A cucumber covered in oil. I almost couldn't it was so slippery."

"You wanted the first time not to hurt."

"Mmm," she replied affirmatively.

"When?"

"Years ago. When I decided I would find my mate on my own, not at my family's whims. When the time came, I wanted it perfect, no pain, no blood."

"Your mate?" he asked, and for some reason it triggered motion. He pulled back until his glans threatened to escape and returned slowly to complete emersion.

Not until he was fully in did she answer. "You." And as he withdrew, she pulled his lips to hers for a passionate kiss. And as he thrust, the hands that pulled his head to bring about that kiss moved swiftly until they took hold of his ass cheeks and helped the thrust.

Balancing on his elbows, his hands grasped her breasts, kneading them more vigorously than before, fingers sliding into her beautiful flesh until reaching the top and squeezing and twisting her nipples. He somehow managed to resist squeezing too hard.

Soon, from suggestions given to his butt by her hands along with her hips shifting into his thrusts, and his ever building need, long and slow became long and fast, the impact of flesh on flesh becoming louder and wetter.

Lips finally separated, allowing the heavier breaths to gain air. It also allowed her to tell him, "Harder. Fuck me harder. Squeeze harder."

"Rub your clit, Syrie," he suggested before bringing his mouth and teeth to a nipple to help his fingers bring her closer to ecstasy.

One less hand gripped his ass. He felt the back of her fingers when he thrust deep. He could feel them move, rubbing his pubic bone for brief moments as they rubbed her clit.

"Cum for me, Syrie," he told her. 

"Cum for me, Joe."

Both demands came from tightened throats. Both lovers had reached the door of ecstasy and were about to bust it open.

The fuck became chaotic, fast and unpredictable, in tempo and in angle, as he slid within her pussy in all sorts of different ways, ways that always seemed to scrape her depths just where she wanted them to be scraped.

She sensed his need to escape, to cum outside her pussy.

"I'm almost there, Joe. I'm almost there," she exclaimed loudly within her loud moans. Her hand held him tighter than ever. And a finger snaked into his asshole. And it found his prostate. And he came.

"Syrie!" he yelled.

"Joseph!" she screamed.

They undulated against each other as wave upon wave of ecstasy overcame their bodies. As his balls throbbed out his essence, each ejaculation reverberated within him, giant waves that reached to his extremities like a series of boulders not just splashing on impact but exploding a small pool of water about Joe sized.

For her, the impacts and reverberations came from multiple places, from her clit and much deeper inside her pussy where she could feel his cock expanding with every pump of semen, and the semen impacting her cervix with its heat and even its very spray. And both nipples sent ripples mostly directed towards her pussy, amplifying the already overwhelming waves that spread out to her extremities from there, washing everything in ecstasy. And her heart, too. Her heart sent out waves of pure joy.

Jeff Buckley softly crooned, "Hallelujah."

Though weakened by the tremendous orgasm she had experienced, she managed to enclose his body within her legs crossed over his thighs, and her arms, one across his lower back and the other his upper back so her hand via the back of his head could again bring his lips to hers.

Hot lips met softly, and yet with greater passion than even their hardest kisses. One sustained kiss, it lasted until his cock went flaccid and slipped from her sodden pussy.

She mewled her disappointment at not being joined with him even with the last jolt of pleasure the emptying of her pussy caused. 

He chuckled. She was adorable when she mewled.

With her clinging to him, turning them until he lay on his back and she lay on him was especially easy. Once accomplished, she relaxed, her head resting against his shoulder. "Mmm," she purred.

He went the other way with his emotions. "You're not on the pill," he asked her, actually more a statement.

"I'm not."

"Period?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Syrie."

"I love you, Joe."

"Why?"

"You mean what's to love about you, don't you? Because really, love is pretty undefinable when it's between lovers. I mean loving family and even pets is a lot easier to find the cause than the love between mates.

"Joe, you're a lovely man. I know you don't think so, but you are. I mean physically, you're pretty handsome, cute actually, and you've managed to keep in pretty good shape. But it's deeper than that. You have a lovely mind and a lovely heart.

"I know you're a lonely man. You told me how uncomfortable you make people, that you don't play the social game well or even know the rules. Well, I never found that. That first time I met you and you smiled at me, that was it for me. That smile was so honest, so pure. I don't get that much, especially amongst strangers, amongst Minnesotans, either whites or the Hmong we work with. It's not just my skin, it's my culture. It's like an automatic wall.

"I know the wall loses its integrity, gets perforated once people get to know me and we're just humans, you know? I'm pretty friendly, so people are put at ease. But it never quite disappears. None of the people we work with are going to be my friends. Except you of course."

"I guess I build my own wall," he said.

"In that way we're alike. We both got walls." She chuckled. "But I'll tell you I never saw yours."

"I never really saw yours either."

"Exactly."

"That first time our eyes connected," he told her, "I could tell you were intelligent, and curious and interesting. I sensed you had an openness about you that I'm afraid I don't see all that much in the people around here. I wanted to get to know you, to the point that I didn't feel an ounce of shyness or self-consciousness when we got to talking. Of course you still had to instigate that."

"That's the result of our characters. I'm outgoing and you're introverted."

"Well, I'm glad you could break the ice."

"You mean crack the plastic."

"Yeah. Plasticman. That's me. If you come at me with your plastic conceits, I double it in an instant. It's my superpowers."

"And if you don't, if you smile honestly and purely and wear your heart on your sleeve..."

"You get me, flesh and blood."

"The warm and sexy you. The gentle man. The thoughtful man. The sensitive man. The brilliant man."

"Syrie, it's true that I never felt so comfortable with anyone than I have with you. You're so interested and so interesting."

"You are too. You seduced me by being interested in me, I mean what I had to say, and by being interesting. I know there's a technique in seduction. A man is supposed to let the woman talk to get her in bed."

"I never..."

"I know."

"It's like, if that had ever been my intention, I would never have become your friend. It would be...plastic."

She kissed him. "I know."

"Maybe even more so because I never thought I had a chance in hell to be...well...in this very position..."

She giggled. "I know."

He sighed. "I...I love you, too."

"I could see you falling, how open you became to me, how excited you looked when you'd catch my eye in the morning. I felt exactly the same."

"But Syrie..."

"I don't care. I don't care if you're so much older. I actually like that about you. Men take a hell of a long time to grow up, if they ever do. And I don't care that you're self-conscious or shy or introverted or anti-social. Actually I've never really seen that in you, but even if I did, it wouldn't matter. Or it would just be a part of you, and you I like. I don't even care if you're a slob, which I have to admit is definitely on view. I'm not, so we'll take care of that."

"Syrie..."

She sighed. "I'm going to put my cards on the table. I promised, after we fucked..."

"Made love," he corrected.

"That too," she chuckled and then sighed again. "I need you Joe. In a way I'm as ostracized as you feel you are. It's like I was born into the wrong family or the wrong culture. My people just don't feel like my people. And for me, being brought up strictly Moslem, that's a problem."

"I can imagine."

"Yeah. A big problem. I learned early to be careful with my rebellion. Fortunately Allah gifted me with intelligence. Unfortunately too, I guess, but I'm embracing it. But after finding myself punished, rather brutally..." She felt him stiffen. "It was...well...a couple times. I can be stubborn. But it was a long time ago, around the time I found the usefulness of a phallic vegetable. I hid my doubts, my differentness I guess, and played the game as my family and community demanded.

"But the dream remained, of independence, of being allowed to be me. A scholarship could take me away from my family and my community, to a place where Somalis weren't quite so prevalent as they are here. But even a scholarship didn't mean running off to there. Money would be provided for tuition and even housing, but little else."

"So you took a year off to make money."

"Of course I'm making shit where we work. And I still have to eat and pay rent."

"So you're not living at home?"

"I just couldn't stand to stay any longer once I graduated high school. I saw that metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel. I couldn't resist the temptation any longer."

"So...you ran away?"

"Sort of. I have a friend. She's a year older than me. I met her at the 'Loft'."

"At a writer's workshop?"

"Yeah. It was steered towards young people like us. She was quiet, kind of like you I guess, and seemed to want to hide in the corner. But me being garrulous, I wouldn't allow that. Luckily, she's quite talented, and I could lead with a genuine complement. My writing's good, not as good as hers, but good enough, so we stood on equal footing. 

"Our differences, her being an Upper Midwestern blonde and me being me, conversation came easily. She was curious about my culture and I was almost as much about hers, her being from a fairly wealthy suburban WASP family, quite a contrast from my poor, urban, immigrant, Muslim family.

"But the closer we got, the more we found similarities, mostly in terms of men. Though mousy, she has managed to score a couple of boyfriends already and was well past being a virgin, so when we compared notes on which boys, or more, at least for me, men, caught our fancy, and we discovered similar tastes, she had a much more visceral understanding of what it would mean to fulfill our fantasies. We giggled quite a lot on the topic. And I got her to be quite explicit. Learned some things," she grinned mischievously.

"Being from the sort of wealthy family whose parents give their daughters a car for a sixteenth birthday present," she continued, "if they did good in school, which of course she did, she became my chauffeur so to speak. Car rides led to more privacy, and led her to meet my folks. Being a quiet girl who tended to dress as quietly as she acted, and being bright as well, my parents accepted my friendship with her.

"She'd stay for dinner sometimes, and I had dinner with her folks. They even let me stay in her sister's room overnight, her being the youngest and her sister off to college. And I got along with her folks almost as well as I did with her. Her father was quiet like her, but her mother was refreshingly open and honest, a clean breath of air in my experience with basically repressed older people.

"Anyway, she remained with her folks when she started school at the University of Minnesota, so we continued our friendship and my staying over occasionally. Less so when she met her latest boyfriend, a graduate student several years older than her and quite a lot more experienced sexually than her high school sweetheart. She was positively rapturous describing sex with him.

"So you and your friend's interest in older men seems to have paid off," he grinned.

"I think you're an even better lover," she grinned back, adding a kiss. "But the point is, with her mother acting like one of the girls with us, I shared with her my frustrations and dreams. It was just the two of us, me basically inviting myself over a few days before I graduated because I needed to talk to her. I knew I could tell her things I could never tell her daughter, and I knew it would just be us, her husband at some sort of convention and her daughter on a date that she intended to last the night. 

"I told her how much I envied her daughter growing up with such open minded parents. I told her I couldn't stand living my well hidden lie much longer, and how I planned to get work as soon as school ended and get money together as quickly as possible so I could move out."

"She offered you the sister's room."

"She did. I was hoping she would, but I had to let her offer it. She told me I could move in as soon as school ended. I insisted I would pay her some rent, as much as I could afford, but not as much as I would need in a normal renting situation. At first she refused any rent, but my parents actually made it part of the arrangement as well, and every rent check I gave her, and it had to be a check even if it could have just as easily be cash, I would make a copy of it and send it to my parents, and with a letter as well telling them how I was doing. All parties accepted, and thus I live just two blocks from work."

"I'd like to meet your friend and her mother," he said.

"I don't know about my friend. She's basically living with her boyfriend now. But I'd like you to meet Patty, Mrs. Lofgren. After freaking her out, I think she'll like you."

"I hope so."

"I know you'll meet her, because not only will you be helping me pack, but she'll want to know the man I will be living with, the man I will marry, the man who will be willing to move with me to California to start new lives together."

"Syrie," he sighed.

She chuckled and then, more seriously, said, "Look into my eyes, Joe. I've been looking for you all my life. I didn't think I'd find you for a while, especially at a little print shop. But there you were, needing me as much as I needed you. We've both been stuck here too long. I don't even know why you stay stuck, living through cold winter after cold winter when the rest of your family moved west. Of course I'm glad you did.

"But you told me yourself that your mom wants you there. Maybe she said it to get you out of the cold, but I think she'd like you close for once. With your oldest brother dying and your father not doing all that well, she needs you to help her get through this tough life. I know your sister is helping your folks, and your youngest brother isn't all that far, but I know you are like your dead brother more than your other siblings, and I know how much your mother loved him, loved their conversations. And you don't even call her all that often! Being near her will mean the world to her. She'll even help you out, I'm sure of it. She wants to, even if it's just a loan, because she can, because your dad did well to set up his retirement.




Plasticman



"And even more important, you can move there for us. I can go to school from our home. And I can put a flame under your butt."

"You mean my screenplays."

"Of course I mean your screenplays. Screenplays, Joe. Not just one little screenplay like any untalented hopeful might write."

"I tried selling them."

"You tried selling one. Your first. And how hard did you try? Face it Joe, you're not what one might call the most ambitious fellow in the world. In fact I'd have to say you're a lazy slob."

He chuckled. "You're probably right about that."

"I thought you might be and now I know for sure. But you're stuck with me, and I am ambitious. You're going to have plenty of scorch marks on your backside, but you are going to sell those screenplays."

"But it's fucking competitive as hell out there. How do you know I can sell them? How do you know they're any good?"

"I know how talented you are. We exchanged stories if you recall. Our Hmong coworkers, and especially the good little white Minnesotans, looked cross eyed at us reciting to each other."

"Yeah," he chuckled. "That was fun. And you're really good, Syrie. Great even."

"Thanks. And that's yours, too, just like your skills will be mine. We'll be each other's editors."

"There are a lot of good writers who never get their feet in the door. There's got to be something...something extra I guess to accomplish that. Or a mighty good connection."

"You told me the stories of your screenplays. They are so unique and interesting, someone's going to grab hold if they know what's good for them. And like I said, I'll be your editor, so anything not working, I'll have a view of it that will find it and we can fix it together. And the whole school thing, I'm looking at LA. I have a full scholarship at USC available to me. They were keen enough to allow me a year off."

"You're that brilliant?" he asked her.

"Along with a near 4.0 GPA, my SATs were high, especially the literature side of things, which was nearly perfect, and I wrote them the best story I ever wrote, the true story of my life. But with USC..."

"Connections."

"Exactly. And you have that second cousin..."

"My dad's cousin's son. He's some kind of property lawyer in LA, but knows some people."

"And why didn't you send him the screenplays?"

"I don't know him that well. Just met him a couple times at family reunions. He's a really nice guy, and energetic to a fault despite being in his sixties. I didn't want to bother him."

"We'll get to know him better, Joe. The quicker the better if he's nearing retirement. There'll be no more excuses, not with me around."

He laughed loudly, and she giggled at its ending. He shook his head and gazed at her in awe. She broke through his amazement with a kiss. Lingering on it, she caressed his torso, moving ever lower. He in turn caressed her back and moved his hand in a similar direction. By the time she reached her destination, his penis had begun to revive. It still felt soft enough for her to break the kiss to comment, "Again you're not hard."

"You keep that up and I will be."

"How about if I encourage it with my lips as well, and my tongue?" she said. Kisses stopped at his nipples briefly before traversing his abdomen, reaching the tip of his penis within seconds.

"Ooh," he approved. And when she gripped his glans within her warm lips, he repeated himself with an even deeper and longer appreciation.

"My friend Laura kind of showed me, but let me know what works," she said, her hand fisting his shaft during the brief pause.

She sucked and licked the crown, then went further down, lapping along his shaft before pulling his cock deeper into her mouth. Within there, her tongue swirled around his glans. The lips moved back and forth across the edges. His cock hardened fast under her attention. He had nothing to teach her. It was the best cock sucking he had ever known in his limited experience.

Lifting her mouth off his cock with a wet slurp, she smiled up at him. Her tongue scooped the bead of precum off his little slit.

"Mmm," she commented. "Not so bad."

"It's a lot more intense, the flavor, when I cum," he told her. "That's like your juices, making it slick for my penis inside you."

"I've heard," she smiled, returning to her blowjob.

"I want to taste you, too," he asked.

With another slurping sound she released his cock and reminded him, "Your cum is still inside me."

"I won't mind," he smiled, and coaxed her thighs to surround his head and pulled her pussy to his mouth.

He could taste the unpleasant tartness, but the sweetness of her natural lubricant and the beauty of her pussy more than made up for it. And best of all, he could pleasure her.

The sixty-nine helped to distract him from her intentions to draw out the next and probably last orgasm he would be capable of that evening. But his intentions, bringing her back to her earlier heights, he achieved with great success, to the point he felt he needed to remind her, "Try not to bite me when you orgasm."

"I won't," she promised, a brief reprieve from her heavenly mouth on his cock.

She did cum, most vociferously, and he felt the barest scrape of her teeth. He didn't mind. Though it lessened his need to cum, the vibrations of her moan more than made up for it.

But it was enough oral for him. He gently guided her to turn her body around, and greeted the sight of her excited face with a deep and loving kiss, tongues included.

When it broke, she looked between their torsos, taking hold of his cock and placing the glans at her wet center. They both groaned with pleasure as she lowered herself onto him, sending him deep with one motion.

"So good," she murmured at the end of it. He could only nod in agreement. 

They kept it deep for a couple minutes, kissing in various ways, gently or intensely, tongues touching and sliding within mouths or outside them. Meanwhile they kept it interesting at their interlocked genitals, rubbing pubic bones together, clutching muscles affecting his cock or her pussy walls, or shifting angles of pressure.

Eventually lips broke apart and the fucking truly began. She sat up and gazed down into his eyes, enjoying the sight of his pleasure reflected on his face, and just enjoying the handsomeness she found there. And his gaze gave him exactly the same enjoyment of her.

She kept it slow at first, savoring the full length of his shaft to the point that she had to return his cock back to its newest and best sheathe a couple of times. They both giggled that second time.

His hands reached up to still her beautifully bouncing breasts, to caress her nipples gently. He knew he could squeeze harder later, and he would. The attention triggered her to hurry her bounces which added further to her excitement. That in turn sped her up even more.

As her bouncing became faster and more intense, she began shifting, experimenting with different angles. Experiments found the ideal result when she lowered the angle between them so that her nipples grazed his chest. He had let one free, at least one at a time. A hand had grasped her wondrous ass, pulling her loins against his while fingers explored the crease between her cheeks. They lowered to the point where he could feel his shaft slip inside her and her labia gripping it and the heat there and the wetness.

As he began lifting into her downwards thrusts, intensifying the meeting of flesh, his middle finger found its way to her anus, circling around before sliding in and out, pressing along the bottom so that his knuckle felt his shaft moving beneath them through thin walls. It was a counterpoint motion, much slower than the fuck had become. This addition to her pleasuring brought her near the pinnacle.

Moments later, more additions, her own rubbing of her clit, along with his teeth scraping a nipple, the other one twisted by his fingers, got her there. She exploded in ecstasy, both physically and verbally.

"Fuck! Joe!" she shouted as her body writhed tightly above his. He kept the fuck going, thrusting upwards into her stilled yet lively pussy, with one last bite and one last twist of her nipples and his anally lodged digit pressed deep and downwards, the rest of his hand gripping her around his shaft.

Seconds later she went limp while he continued his rapid upward thrusts, both hands gripping her magnificent ass, the digit having exited its hole, until he finally found release, sending seed deep inside her, through her cervix, into her womb, her climactic trembles that had surrounded him vibrantly had abated to quiet echoes that still seemed to beckon the seed to her ovulating egg.

"If nothing else," he said, as the two lovers calmed, "I can mix inks anywhere."

She may have been subdued by a gland secreting calmness. Her orgasm may have taken everything out of her with the immensity of its pleasure. But the squeal she released and the kiss she banged down on him and the embrace she gave him using both arms and legs, young, healthy, strong limbs, couldn't have been more powerful without causing damage to his eardrum and lips and torso and thighs.

Later, after she called the mother of the friend whom she stayed with to let her know she'd be staying at his house, a surprisingly cheerful and giggly conversation, the polar opposite of what such a conversation would be, if it happened at all, with her parents, and which put her in a better mood than she already was, he found the need for confession. Perhaps Plasticman reared his ugly head as unpleasantly as he ever had, transforming comfort into discomfort. But she had put her cards on the table, and he had cards too that needed to be placed before taking that giant step West to a new life with her indivisibly attached to his side.

"Syrie," he sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed in his old terry cloth robe.

After setting down his years out of date cell phone (she didn't have one, costing too much) she slipped back under the sheet, her head propped up on three pillows, and a nipple sensually peeking out the edge of the flannel shirt she borrowed to keep the chill of the evening away but had never buttoned. He took her hand. She could see his seriousness.

"Hmm?" she responded.

"I have done terrible things...to women. Shameful things. I have let impulse override morality, like cracking the plastic skin and letting the monster out. Or the heat of the moment melts me, turning me into molten liquid that burns their heart, turning it hard when it thaws, or worse, destroying it."

"Rape?" she asked him.

He nodded. "I didn't even know it was when it happened. I was all selfish impulse, thinking only it was fun and not realizing, for her, for them, it was anything but. I don't know for sure, but one beautiful woman may have committed suicide because of me, because I hurt her, and I mean physically as well as mentally. I don't know if it's true. It might be. It feels like it is. And another, a girlfriend, wrote me years later telling me she had become an ice queen, frigid I suppose, and untrusting of men. My sad, cracked or melted moment had me ignore her pleas, thinking we were playing when she was completely serious with her 'no'. And I fucked a drunken woman, completely incoherent, to the shock of my much nobler friend, losing his friendship forever and causing more havoc to my karma. And there have been other selfish, stupidly impulsive moments. Perhaps it's why I have remained alone. I am not worthy of love."

"When?" she asked him.

"The last was in my early twenties, but even later, maybe mid-twenties, a couple women...I might have charged into them like a rhino. We had plenty of foreplay, heavy kissing and some fondling, and I thought both of us had reached the place of need, to consummate our desire. But now I can't help thinking I may have broke open or melted before they wanted what I wanted. I've been a stupid man, dense and stupid. It took years before I could look back in shame. I am not such a gentle man, nor a good man, nor all that brilliant."

"And this karma you speak of, it manifested itself in your loneliness?"

"And my relationships for the past dozen years, none in the past couple or more. One night stands mostly where I ended up not all that upstanding. At least it was clear they wanted to get fucked, more than me actually. But I ended up losing my erection at the worst time, if not the first night, by the second. I just didn't have the attraction I needed, I guess. I seemed to see the worst of them physically. And of course no love was involved to stimulate my heart."

"You seem to be upstanding for me," she smiled wryly, "even now." She grabbed his rigid dick which poked out from the gap in his robe and squeezed gently. 

"You do that to me."

"And tomorrow? Will it be hard for me tomorrow?"

"I can't ever imagine it not reacting to you. You are the most exquisite and the sexiest woman I have ever known."

"So maybe your karma has been resolved."

"It must have to have you in my life. And how I made love to you, I have never been so unselfish, so patient, so careful. I don't know why I couldn't be before. I love seeing a woman in the throes of passion. And yet, before you, I got lost in my own pleasure, never learning the way to give her hers. But I remembered. I remembered pulling too hard on a nipple, or being too strong and too fast on a clit. This time I finally learned from my mistakes. I had to."

"Because you wanted to prove yourself?"

"No. Because you were a virgin. I wanted your first time to be great."

"And the second time?" she murmured, continuing to harden his cock with her strokes, gentle but encouraging.

"Even greater," he smiled. "And every time after. Greater and greater."

"Do you have any lubricant?" she asked him.

"You mean sexual lubricant? Just the hand cream," he gestured to the pump bottle resting on the bedside table. "Or cooking oil."

"Do you use that to masturbate?" she asked him, gesturing towards the hand cream.

Instead of being embarrassed, he chuckled. "I do. Years of abstaining."

"I hear men, even with mates, still masturbate."

"Probably, although with you, I won't find it necessary."

"We'll see," she smirked.

"And you?"

Unlike him, she blushed. "Yes."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I know, but my religion says otherwise. There's rebelliousness in that private moment." She leans over and grabs the lubricant, pressing out a dab and slickening his cock with it. "I want you to fuck my ass."

"I figured," he replied with a chuckle. "I'd love to. I love your ass. I am an ass man to tell you the truth and yours is magnificent."

"I know you like it. I've caught you staring."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm happy you find it so attractive. It's a complement, especially since it's pretty well hidden."

"It deserves to be complemented."

"It shows you have some imagination, adding to the little information my loose skirts provide."

"It's much better than I ever imagined."

"And do you imagine me when you masturbate?"

"Lately I have. I usually use the internet, or remember earlier sex. But when you recently revealed a bit of cleavage, it added to your lovely face and your sexy lips just enough to bring the image of you into focus."

"I felt I needed to be a little daring, Joe. I needed to give you a taste of sexiness. I wanted you to take that step, to ask me out. And I end up dressed as prim as ever when you finally do."

"It wasn't necessary, not that I minded. Just seeing you and talking to you, being close and intimate if only in conversation, turned me on."

"In a way it was a test. I wanted to see the gentleman in action. And I saw it. I mean it's not like you didn't notice. You definitely glanced down. But mostly you stayed focused on my face."

"Who wouldn't? You're beautiful."

They kissed, soft and lingering with just a touch of tongue.

"Do you forgive me?" he asked her.

"It's not for me to forgive," she replied, looking into his eyes, her hand still rubbing his hardness.

"I suppose."

"You have to forgive yourself. No, it would be the woman and I'm sure they're somewhere faraway both in time and place. You have to let go of it. Let it be what it was, youth, stupidity, everything you said it was. I can see it makes you sad, and that may be the way to forgiveness, or at least to move past it, to learn from it. I know you'll hear me if I ever say no."

"Slug me if I don't."

"I will," she chuckled. "Though I can't imagine why I ever would, I mean, not want your loving."

"Same here," he smiled. 

"I want to see you masturbate," she said, taking his hand and placing it on his cock.

"Only of I get to see you. I want to see what turns you on."

"Me too." Her hand remained with his, covering his as he fisted his cock.

"How do you usually do it?" he asked. "I mean, what position are you in?"

"Lying in bed."

"I'm usually sitting. Lay back on the pillows again."

She did, spreading her legs. He sat between them with his legs loosely crossed. She leaned over and pressed out some hand cream, slicking her fingers before they began caressing her nipples. They watched their lover's hands work pleasuring themselves.

"I usually wet my fingers with spit," she explained. "But the hand cream is better."

"What do you think about?"

"Lately? You. I imagine your lips caressing my tits, smiling around them as your blue eyes stare into mine, wanting to see the result of your pleasuring. And your fingers, so strong and long and somehow so expressive, playing there." A hand lowers, rubbing across her sleek skin, across her soft abdomen. "And feel me here, at my core. It's in between the main attractions so to speak, and yet it has a powerful sensuality. It's also a bit of a tease, coaxing my juices, teasing them out, creating a tension in feeling you on me, feeling you feel me, without feeling you in me, not just yet.

"But I can't resist long, and," she slides her fingers down, tapping at her clit before sliding a finger within the edges of her cunt, caressing the rim. Her other hand, still playing with her nipples, gets rougher on them, pulling on one, then the other. "My fingers on my tits become your lips, pulling on them, sucking on them, while your fingers take care of my pussy. You push them inside me, deeply, almost as deep as a cock. Then you fuck me with them, right along the top where I can feel them best. Then you finally include my clit, sliding across it as you slide ever deeper and faster inside me. And stroke it, at first along each side, for a while switching from one side to the other, before I need it a little rougher, a little more direct.

"It's then that you hold me, pressing just inside my mound as your thumb grips and rubs right over my clit. You hold me hard because you know I want it like that. It's like you could lift me up by my cunt, and carry me around like a piece of luggage or something. 

"Then...Two fingers. Three fingers. Thick. Long. Hard. Your cock. Pierces me. Fucks me. Your fingers twist and pull. My nipples. You could carry me with them. Your thumb. Pushes. Presses. Rubs. Your mouth. Bites. Chews. My nipples. 'Cum for me,' I hear you plead in your warm, deep voice. 'Cum for me, Syrie. Cum!'"

Her fingers, all of them, plunged inside her, fast and hard while her thumb pressed and subtly rubbed her clit. Her nipples get pulled out, stretching her breasts in what he would have thought would be painful. Her face grimaced expressing the full force of her orgasm which her body expressed with tight trembles. 

But her eyes remained open, focused on his cock, at the ferocious strokes he'd been giving it, until, amazing her, he slowed to intense jerks, and each jerk sent forth a tightly formed spray of cum, like milky white strings really, but without the texture. Wire maybe, that revealed their true liquid form as they splashed down. The first reached the wrist of the hand she had mostly buried in her quim, stilled at that moment while pressing into her g-spot, the thumb squishing her clit.




Plastophillian Desperation



plas-to-phile – (noun) - a woman due to very unfortunate and isolated circumstances, is reduced to an intimate relationship with a long thin, buzzy, though properly curved, piece of plastic. 

I never imagined that I'd meet my long anticipated sexual peak and be living alone. Finally, the desire to have sex multiple times in a single day, as creatively and emphatically as would be physically possible, and the energy to indulge myself. And what happens? I am met by frustration and the ordinary and every day set of responsibilities of single motherhood. An appropriate partner with the same frame of reference, drive and the same desires is not readily available, and patience is mine....too much of the time. Hope springs eternal anyway, and occasionally I do find relief in the form of a real live man, but it doesn't happen often enough, and I'm still working on my long term relationship skills. I might have laughed at this once upon a time but I heard this comment about women over forty that went something like this, "They never swell. They never tell, and they are grateful as hell." Sigh, that so sucks, or doesn't as they case may be.

Shortly after I left my ex-husband is when it happened. The relief of being away from him, the joy of having self determination without his constant negativity, the utter joy at finding another man who found a woman as overweight as I felt I was - stunningly beautiful. I mean never mind he was completely unavailable, he was hot for me twice a month until my nerves chilled out and I could breathe freely again...with the bonus of absolutely no pressure whatsoever.

Every morning as I would drive into town I passed this super stocked adult toy store called The Loveshack. This woman perched on a gigantic billboard with a tongue the size of a two story building, and who must have only been slightly more amorous than me, beckoned me to get the nerve to walk into that building and buy myself some relief. I just didn't really know if I ought to do that. I mean, what if someone saw me?????

In my early thirties I had a good friend get married. She was probably the only virgin I knew who was over 30 and actually waited until marriage to have sex. She was so curious. I mean she asked me everything in the world about my experiences and I told her every freaking detail. By her estimation I was practically brazen about my desires, and she never would have called me shy. So one afternoon about a month after her wedding, she calls me and asks me if I will accompany her to a store in downtown Atlanta to help her choose a vibrator. She wants to know what an orgasm is, and they haven't figured it out yet. She's totally unashamed; as she's married, it's allowed, and she's having a ball. I practically fall out of my seat at the "honor", but anything for a friend. We go to the store. We go inside. She looks at everything. You know I actually got embarrassed in there. She laughed at me in total surprise. 

I had a few toys while I was married. One in particular my ex-husband had gotten for me as a special gift, it was a very special Peter North collectors edition device. It cost like a hundred dollars, and was supposedly modeled after the real thing. I'd always felt guilty about using it, like it diminished my husband in some way. When I left him I thought I'd never need or want it, and frankly, forgot it and left it behind. Though I knew where it was in our home. 

Regretting my haste in abandoning Perfect Peter, and thinking that I was oh so very smart, I send my friend Diana, general partner in crime, to my marital home to fetch the appropriate boxes for me and have my ex-husband ship them to me. Weeks later, upon receipt of my salvation in a box, in great anticipation that I'm finally going to get some relief, I open the box. I fly through ninety pairs of panties and thongs of every shape and color and size imaginable to discover that my ex-husband also knew where this toy was and like the couch, the stained glass panels, and my kitchen appliances had gotten rid of it just to spite me. I couldn't believe it. Even so, I sat down and giggled because it really was a great "gotcha" even if overall I really hated his guts for all we'd been through.

Thwarted, I continue my daily grind for a few more weeks driving past The Loveshack billboard, staring down the two story tongue in utter horror at the prospect of walking in that building. Clearly, it must be done as my awkwardness around men is so great that I have no hope of ever getting laid in a timely fashion. Finally, having lost my lover, I get the nerve and go in. I mean this place is unbelievably garish and every time I look on a shelf I am absolutely stunned at the devices they've developed. There are remote control items; there are prosthetic devices to emulate every conceivable orifice. They have hypoallergenic silicone. There are gels, and creams and books, videos, games, and bottles and leather outfits and everything in there is labeled a novelty. Yeah, I'd say it was novel alright.

I'm broke, determined to find out if this whole g-spot talk is nothing more than mythology and I find what seems to be an appropriate device. It's long, thin, has an egg shaped end, up turned to locate the proverbial sweet spot, and it doesn't LOOK like a penis. So I figure if anyone sees it, maybe it isn't so obvious what the heck it is. The price is right, $12.95. It comes in about nine different fashion colors, pearlescent and jewel tone, your choice. I must have stood there deciding the right color for a long time because that only meant I'd have to get the nerve up to actually buy it. Any time another human being came in proximity to me, I'd turn approximately 9000 shades of red. 

I do go up to the counter to pay for the thing and in a booming voice the woman asks me "WOULD YOU LIKE BATTERIES IN THAT M'AMM?" Oh Gawd, shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, yes, of course I want batteries. She opens the package, tests the thing and waves it around in the air, slaps it a bit to make sure it's going to do the job. She wants to see my driver's license. Can I PLEASE just die here? Finally I get out of there, to the car, and drive away and as I actually begin to breathe again, I'm pretty happy I got the nerve to go through with it all. 

The device becomes my new best friend in very short order. 

I think in the last two years I've bought one in almost every color, to date about seven of them. They don't last that long really. Either they aren't very well made, the motors aren't that strong, or I'm very very rough on them. I've tried other models and they just aren't the same. I even got a remote control egg once for "research" on this erotic scene I was developing for my book. I try it out for a few days and it's interesting, but it breaks after only two days. 

I've made a friend on my favorite website and I say, "Tina, you worked in one of these joints. What's up with that? Are they made to die in two days?" 

She's quiet a few seconds. I suspect she is smiling at my question, but not laughing at me yet. She says, "Not really. What'd you do? Turn it on and leave it on a long time until the damned motor burned out?" I'm trying to maintain my conventional demeanor, and I say, "Uhmmm. Well how long is a long time?" 

She answers quickly, "Oh an hour and a half." 

I'm forced to sheepishly admit, "Well yeah, I guess I did then."

To my horror one afternoon, a few months into my first device, my kids come back from visiting their father early one Sunday afternoon. My middle son discovers the purple device and says, "Mommy what's this?????" I'm shitting. 

I try not to over react or snatch it out of his hands and say, "Oh, uhmmmm, that's a back massager." 

He looks at it quizzically as I gently take it from him and says, "COOL, can I try it?!?" I'm horrified at the prospect....tell him it's only for adults and to run and play while Mommy cleans up her room. This has happened a few times actually. He saw the purple one. He saw the white one. He saw the turquoise one. Each time, I thought I'd had it out of his reach or view; I'd have to recover and put it away (again).

A few days ago, I'd errantly left the hot pink one out, as now I guess I'm damned brazen about the color. My kids come back from their grandmother's house. My son meanders into my bedroom again, and spots it. I think the only thing I miss more than regular sex is my privacy. He casually says, "Oh you have a pink one now? Can I have the blue one?" 

Exasperated to be out-ed once again, but standing there about to choke on my own scream of laughter I could not help but smile. I swear, I tried to hide it. I secret away the damned thing again, this time high out of reach and in the closet. I tell him no that they are only for adults. I shake my head, sit down on the floor, put my head in my hand, and then I start laughing. He looks strangely at me. I just shake my head and say, "Oh you are going to give me SUCH a hard time about this when you are grown up."

I have this vision of my son going through The Loveshack at the tender age of 21 and seeing the array of Mommy's Favorite Toy hung on the wall in 12 New and Improved Day-Glo Colors...and he's just going to know, right then and there...all those years ago that those were not back massagers....Mommy is a freak between the sheets. Somehow I imagine this will be a traumatic event and I don't think I am going to be able to put quite enough money into the therapy fund to cover this one.