I’ve been pole dancing for almost two years now.  My two year anniversary will be in March of 2016.  Five months into it I was certified by Elevated Education to teach Level 1 Pole.  Then two months after that I went to Vertical Joe’s in Atlanta to get my XPert - XPole certification to teach pole.  I hope to get an advanced teaching certification in Feb and I hope to advance to the next level with my dancing.  The hard part is finding a place to practice.  It is expensive to train so I need to find a way to have some pole sponsors.  When I think of it I will present it. But these are just a few images that were taken in March of this year (2015).  This pole was short so I was limited in what I could do but this was a lil taste.  

PLEASE NOTE that these are all RAW, untouched images.

Photographer: Steve Selman of Brooklyn

Third Wheel Derrick is an asshole. He’s my best friend but he’s also an asshole. We played professional basketball in Barcelona for three seasons together. We won one championship and fucked half of Europe together. I love him like a brother but he’s an asshole. When I met Colette she had just finished her law degree at Lycée Condorcet. The first thing I noticed was how perfectly put together she was. Nothing extravagant but I could tell she was a professional something or other. From her minimal makeup and pristine dark skin to her unbranded luxury handbag and skirt, she was straight off a Vogue cover. There was no twinkle in her eye or girlish smile when I approached her. She was all business. We were both just looking for sex in a cafe that afternoon. But our love for sci-fi got us into a post-fuck conversation that led to real dates and living together and an engagement and a wedding. Derrick’s bachelor party activities were legendary to the point where Colette’s Senegalese brothers had to carry him back to his hotel suite. We’d found out that he was ready for round two when the strippers finally found his room. Derrick was insatiable. However when Derrick finally convinced himself to settle down he tried to use Colette and I as a reference. Unfortunately Derrick was trying too hard to find a wife instead of finding a best friend. That’s what Colette and I had found in each other. Everything else was icing on the cake. At first Colette would introduce him to some of her friends but those connections were always a nightmare. I think two ended with mutual restraining orders. When Derrick visited us in Phoenix he and one of Colette’s coworkers, Alice, looked like a cute couple until we watched them hurling expletives at each other in our driveway before a dinner party. Colette gave up trying to help Derrick that night. When we were in Miami Derrick had chilled a ton but he still wasn’t ready to settle down He appeared to be like less of an asshole. He was crashing in our pool house when he met Josephine. She was a friendly woman but nothing special. They were on-again off-again for a couple of years but he wasn’t ready. Colette and I thought they’d end up together if he ever figured out his shit. And then came Justine. Colette’s firm had us in Montreal for six months. We loved it there. Colette loved speaking French to everyone all of the time and I found myself working part-time at a sci-fi bookstore. One day I get a text from Derrick saying he was in town and had someone that he wanted Colette and I to meet. This sounded huge so Colette and I ordered a meal from our favorite Moroccan restaurant L’Olive Noire. I waited patiently for Colette to get home from work and for our guests to arrive. Derrick and Justine’s car dropped them at our house around 6:30PM. Derrick looked amazingly fit thanks to his new position at a fitness facility headquarters in Phoenix. He’d bought a house and got a dog but I didn’t think he’d truly settled down. Justine was beautiful and smart. She was taller than Derrick usually went for but her bronze complexion, unapologetic Afro and glasses were right on brand for Derrick. In our living room she darted right for the television because I was watching an episode of Deep Space 9. “Avery Brooks is my favorite!” she announced to no one in particular. “Get me a sparkling water, please,” she said before planting herself on our couch like a ten year old. So Derrick and I headed to the kitchen. My first thought was that she’d put a spell on Derrick and I was impressed with her level of witchcraft. As I pulled out a bottle of sparkling water I turned to him to ask how long he and Justine had been together. But before I could talk I was caught off guard by what looked like the biggest and brightest wedding ring I’d ever seen. Only my shocked eyes were bigger than that diamond. At that point I heard the doorbell ring and went to grab the food. The delivery lady wanted to chat for an extra tip, but I had no time for her. I almost dropped everything as I rushed to get back to the kitchen. By then I’d found Derrick buried in a text message and could hear Justine and Colette. Colette must have pulled into the garage while I was grabbing the food. They were in the living room speaking French and laughing up a storm. As I unpacked the food I started loading up the thousand questions I had for Derrick. This was big news. Derrick then took a phone call and started pacing in the hallway talking about exercise equipment and leasing space. So I headed in to check on Colette and Justine. Their conversation in French stopped as I walked in the room. They both turned to me from their huddled position on the couch and then back at each other with the laugh of two old friends. I knew when I was the butt of a joke so I excused myself to get the food ready. I got back to the kitchen just in time to see Derrick headed out the front door to take his call on the front porch. As I starting preparing the food Justine walked into the room with a gigantic smile as the aromas of Mediterranean food filled the air. “Colette went to change,” Justine said as she tasted each dish with a smile. “This new assignment has been a lot of work,” I explained as I opened the red wine we’d been saving for a special occasion. “So, how’d did you and Derrick meet?” I asked. “The modern way,” Justine laughed. “A dating site. We chatted a lot and then he said he was coming here.” What? Derrick met a woman on a website, is just now meeting her for the first time and is now about to propose? What a fucking idiot? Still a fucking asshole! “You’re spilling the wine!” Colette announces as she grabs the glasses from my hands. “You must be hearing the story.” I was almost too shocked to notice the t-shirt and sweatpants that my wife had changed into. The look was a sophisticated casual as always, but it was more casual than I’d ever seen her when we had company. This was her look when she pretended that the outside world didn’t exist. The explanation point of this relaxed look was there was clearly no bra between her nipples and her cotton T. I wanted to protest but their were big priorities. I inhaled a full glass of that wine so I could get my bearings. Colette and Justine continued in French while they nibbled on our dinner in the kitchen. I drowned out the next thousand questions in my head with another glass of wine. I headed to the front door to get some answers from Derrick and found no one there. I stepped outside to see if he was pacing in front of our house. Then my phone buzzed. “Thanks brother!” the text from Derrick read. He was gone. That asshole. A thousand more fucking questions! I needed more wine. When I got back to the kitchen I found Justine standing behind Colette on the opposite side of the island. Justine was giving Colette a shoulder massage and they were speaking in French. “Is Derrick off to propose?” Colette asked once she noticed I was in the room. “Propose?” I asked back to Colette because I wanted to know what she knew. Justine starts speaking in French and Colette smiles from the words and the massage. “To Alice and Josephine,” Colette interprets. “To who and who?” I ask. Clearly I’m a couple of pages behind everyone else in the room and by the look of it, this massage that’s happening in my kitchen is in a chapter I need to catch up to. “Derrick is going to propose to both Alice and Josephine in Phoenix,” Colette begins to explain with her eyes closed. “They are a throuple. I hear the rings are huge.” “Yeah,” I answered slowly. Justine was still massaging Colette’s neck and shoulders but she was practically whispering in Colette’s ear. I could barely hear the French that was being carefully poured into my wife’s ear as she exposed her neck in a way that gave me a twinge of jealousy. “Derrick met Justine in an online chat group because they were both trying to understand their feelings on being with multiple people,” Colette continued to translate. “Derrick was already involved with two women he loved and Justine was looking to test the waters.” At this point I could only see one of Justine hands caressing my wife’s shoulders, neck and hair. The mint green nails in Colette’s beautiful nappy locs were a sight of perfection. But I was more interested in where her other hand had disappeared to as the French whispering continued to spill. “Justine encouraged Derrick to follow his heart and Derrick proposed a way for Justine to explore her new interest,” Colette explained as her head wilted forward. As I began to catch up to the chapter Justine and Colette were in, Colette pulled away from Justine and headed toward the living room. Colette grabbed Justine by the hand and lead her slowly. Justine bit her lip as she followed in her steps but kept her eyes on me with an apologetic look. When they cleared the island I could see that the sweatpants had disappeared just like Derrick. I wondered if I had too many glasses of wine. I wondered if I hadn’t had enough wine. I thought to myself how quickly I was supposed to chase them into the living room. I thought to myself how betrayed I could have felt. Then I thought to myself how much I loved Colette so I said a prayer and followed the party. In the living room Deep Space Nine was still playing softly in the background. Our oversized winter blanket was spread out on the floor in front of the couch. Justine was still in her dress and Colette was still in her T as they laid next to each other. Justine was still whispering in French. Colette’s eyes were still closed. “Derrick couldn’t stop talking about the perfect couple that he knew that lived in Montreal so Justine had to meet us,” Collette continued as I sat to rub her feet. “Our relationship was a model for what he thought he wanted, but there was something missing for him.” I listened as I began to rub both Colette and Justine’s feet simultaneously. “Between the loving friendship and sci-fi Justine knew she had to meet us,” Colette continued. I watched as Justine’s manicured fingers crept under Colette’s sweatshirt. “Justine asked Derrick if he would introduce us and he said that it would have to be in person. So he flew in for the day to make sure Justine was the right match and then he sent a text... to me.” Momentum is a funny thing. It was at that very moment I froze in what I was doing. I continued to rub their feet and I kept my head down. But I was frozen. I couldn’t undo the movement that I was in. But I wasn’t actively engaged. “Derrick texted me a couple of months ago and told me about Alice and Josephine and the rings,” Colette spoke softly as I continued to rub their feet. “I was happy for him but I truly thought the throuple thing was a way for him to sabotage everything. So he asked me to learn more and meet with Justine for coffee.” There was a pause that was filled by our slow caresses and a soft rumbling of the television. “Justine and I met last month at a cafe near my office,” Colette continued as she opened her eyes and stared at me. “She was beautiful.” I looked at Justine and she blushed. “And as I listened to her tell me about the talks she had with Derrick,” Colette said, “I realized three things. First off, Derrick was making a good, thought out decision. Second, I would be so jealous if you even looked at Justine. And third, I wanted nothing more than to see Justine fucking you.” I gulped. Colette flipped her body toward me and gave me the biggest kiss. It wasn’t a hot kiss. It was love. “I don’t know that I want to want to see her fucking you,” Colette explained. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” I then flashed back to the last few weeks of orgasms. I knew something was different. I knew something was more intense. Colette then pulled down my pants. I was far from hard because there was too much going on. I was nervous like it was my first time. Because it was my first time. “Maybe it was her French,” Colette said as she began caressing my thigh. “Maybe it was because I missed my next appointment because we were talking about Captain Marvel. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And us.” Then Colette reached back for Justine’s hand and pulled her toward us. Her eyes were seeking approval and my smile was what she needed. “Am I all caught up now?” I asked. “No ones going to jump out of the closet?” Our laughter lightened the room. Then Colette and I gave each other a knowing look. “Qu'est-ce que j'ai raté?” Justine asked. Colette then eases Justine onto her back and straddles her. While she’s lightly pinned down, I gently remove Justine’s underwear. They are very wet. I begin kissing Justine’s ankles and slowly work my way up. Her calves. Her knees. Her thighs. As I listen to a soft conversation in French I am three inches away from two beautiful pussies. My wife is smooth and freshly waxed. Justine is neatly trimmed. In one motion I lick from one pussy to another. Up and down. My tongue zig-zags as their juices press into my face. I’m literally drowning in pussy and I’m loving it. From clit to clit I make myself known until I feel the tension and squirming I’m looking for. Justine’s thighs are wrapped around my neck like she’s holding me down while it feels like she’s trying to escape at the same time. Her writhing sends my wife into convulsions until they are both shaking uncontrollably against my face. When I finally come up for air I’m drenched. The two women quickly recover and push me to my back. I feel their hands working to remove my belt and my socks and my pants and my underwear. I stare at the ceiling as my semi-hard dick finds its way into a mouth and my balls are being licked up and down. It feels like there are 20 hands below my waist. That’s when I feel the liquid hit me. My eyes widen as I look to my side and see a stack of condoms and our jar of coconut oil. I’m not certain whose mouth my dick is in or whose finger is exploring my asshole, but a manicured, mint green finger is gently placed on my lips to shush any concerns I might have. As they tag teamed to ravage my groin area I wonder how much they’ve shared about each other. I am turned on just thinking about them chatting about this moment while they are enjoying green tea and a croissant. And then I start to come. And we all begin to freeze. My wife doesn’t like come in her mouth so I can only assume the back of the throat I’m melting into belongs to Justine. From the looks on their faces, I could see that they hadn’t discussed that particular occurrence. Colette looked as though she was in shock as my come continued to fill Justine’s mouth. The look was of jealousy and fear and concern until Justine apologetically pulled away. The room once again was frozen as their eyes locked with a question of what to do next. From somewhere in the depth of my core I summoned the energy to say, “Avale le.” Without breaking eye contact, Justine swallowed my come and Colette simply gasped. She was still in shock but I could see her pelvis trembling. She was having an orgasm and she was a little scared. I immediately sat up and pulled her into me, sucking on her hardened nipples. Justine immediately threw her face into Colette’s pussy and performed CPR. Colette shook and moaned and begged and gyrated for five minutes. We tried to pull away a couple of times but she begged us not to stop so loud that the neighbors could have heard us. She screamed for God at least a dozen times. Eventually the tremors resided and we found ourselves lumped together as I caressed Colette’s sweaty brow. Justine went to the kitchen and brought back three waters. She sat near us but there was a distance as she focused on the television. Though she caressed Colette’s leg, she wanted terribly to disappear. Swallowing my come must have been off the menu and now they didn’t know what to do next. After an eternity of silence, Colette sat up and spoke softly to Justine in French. The tone was light though I couldn’t understand the meaning. Justine laughed quietly and apologized softly. Colette gave her a kiss on the forehead and Justine headed out of the living room. “What did you tell her?” I asked. “I told her that I didn’t know if I wanted her to swallow your come but I understood that it was your request,” Colette explained. “I told her that I am happy that everything happened but I still don’t know how I feel about her doing something to you that I myself won’t do. And I told her that I felt a need to punish her for her action.” I waited patiently while my wife began to kiss me. “Sweet husband,” she whispered into my ear, “I’m going to need you to take a quick shower before meeting Justine and I in the bedroom. She will be on all fours and I’m going to need you to fuck her like she stole something from me. And I expect this won’t be the last time.” With that, my wife rose to her feet and grabbed two condoms before heading back to our bedroom. I went to the kitchen for a quick glass of water and saw my phone had a message. It was from Derrick. “See you ALL at the wedding!”

Colour Theory, Connor Singh

I saw the fear in his eyes when I confessed to him that something was missing. The reflection of my cracking voice in his face was exactly what I expected. The best thing that ever happened in my life had started to unravel and I couldn’t explain why. We had been best friends for a year in grad school. An inseparable pair in our first study group, we made each other laugh uncontrollably on day one. We found ourselves innocently sharing our life stories in the library three nights a week. I was amazed at how intelligently he told the simplest of stories. Our classmates clearly saw where we were headed before we did. We were both in dead end relationships until the day of graduation when we both found enough strength to face the fact that we had grown to be more than friends in that small college town. We were perfect for each other and we knew it. And then we moved. Me to Boston and him to San Diego. For 27 months and 2 weeks we had the strongest long distance relationship imaginable. While I counted every day & night that we were physically apart - the longest drought was 54 days - I never really missed him. Honestly I was either at work or we were on the phone. Always. We talked about work, travel, our future house, sex, the economy, his football team, my basketball team, sex, my clothes, his car, our mothers, politics and sex. We fucking completed each other. And then we’d finally meet in person and, well, fuck each other silly. Not a lot of verbal activity. Condoms, lubrication and energy drinks. Very little talking when we in person. We just fit perfectly. And as soon as we were dressed and in front of the airport - yes, sometimes there was fuckery en route to the airport - we’d be back to talking nonstop. So I couldn’t understand how I found myself telling the man I loved so deeply that there was something missing. And that something I could not explain. The first two years in the same house were hectic because of outside reasons. We moved three times because of work, my mother got sick, there was that hurricane and we started planning a wedding. But I remembered the night that he proposed that I had a twinge of fear that something was missing. I brushed it off as nerves, but I distinctly remember that piece of doubt. I would describe that piece of doubt as the missing puzzle piece in a 10,000 piece puzzle that seemed meaningless when you had 100 pieces put together. But as we reached 2000 pieces the thought of that one missing piece started to annoy me. And there we were at 8,000 pieces and all I could imagine was that big fucking empty space in our perfect puzzle. And I had no idea what that piece was. So I kept it to myself until we were down to our last 50 pieces. Along the way, of course, I tried everything. From dance classes to making sex tapes, from quitting a job and finding a new one to getting a cat we didn’t need. And he happily went along for the ride because I was his best friend. But I saw that the last few pieces were on the table and that piece was nowhere in sight. So I told him. I saw the hurt in his eyes as clear as the glasses on his face. But I also saw that he’d known all along that there was a missing piece. So there was this brief comfort of knowing I wasn’t alone. But that comfort ended when he kissed me on my forehead and grabbed his car keys. Without as much as a word he walked out of our front door with a pace that begged me to stop him. But I didn’t. A week later, I stopped crying. Unsurprisingly we didn’t try to contact each other. For four years we had talked constantly and now we completely understood that we needed space. Space to find that missing piece. Or come to terms with the fact that the missing piece had never really existed. After another week I was ready to give up hope. We knew we were safe because he could see that I’d paid the bills online and I knew that he’d come by the house while I was at work to take out the trash, feed the cat and get fresh clothes. We weren’t avoiding each other but we were avoiding the missing piece. And just as I had come to the realization that we would simply remain ghosts in each other’s lives, there he was. In our kitchen. Making dinner. I simply took off my heels and sat down to what was an amazingly curated meal of lemon roasted chicken, steamed broccoli & carrots and my favorite red wine. I tasted every delicious bite as though it was our last meal as a couple. The pepper in the chicken and the garlic in the vegetables lingered with every breath I engaged while I could hear his fork fall gently against his plate. These senses were heightened because I couldn’t dare look him in the eye as we quietly filled our house. I knew that if we made eye contact we would know if that missing piece was found. Or if it ever really existed. But I couldn’t let this silence go on forever. So I promised myself to take one last sip of wine to help me face my future. Shaking the entire time I slowly sipped my wine until my glass was empty. And so was his chair. I watched him slowly walk up the stairs to our bedroom. So I took the hint and followed. All of the upstairs lights were off and it was pitch black. I could hear him walk into our bedroom so I followed, but I added my own twist. By the time I reached our bedroom door, the light from the downstairs kitchen was gone. And so were my clothes. I stepped into our bedroom without worrying whether this was going to be our last night as a couple or whether there was even a stupid fucking puzzle. I simply got in my bed naked and found my best friend. Naked. His thigh brushed up against mine as it had a thousand times before and I felt a tear roll down my cheek. But before I could decide whether or not I could go through with this, I was given something most unexpected. Headphones? A pair of oversized, noise canceling headphones were gently placed on my head while my head rested gently upon my satin covered pillow. I laid motionless with a naked thigh against my thigh and headphones on my head. “The Asian markets have traded favorably over the last couple of months and US interests have been better for it,” his voice declared. “It should come as no surprise that volatility in EU continues to send Americans east.” The headphones were gently thumping my eardrums with his reading of some random economic news that I knew little about just as his hands gently found themselves caressing my arms. Every word and every stroke got me wet. I melted as I heard his voice easily transition from economic turmoil in Germany to “an unforgiving workout routine for your triceps”. All the while his hands gently massaged my naked skin from my neck to my calves. He gently squeezed my breasts as I listened to him read the horoscope page. Fuck! When his warm tongue circled my nipples I was listening to the baseball scores. By the time he reached the second theater review that tongue of his was dancing on my clit and his hands were firmly holding my breasts. As he sucked the dripping juices from my pussy I began to erupt into a fury of orgasms that made me miss every word flowing into my ears. My thighs squeezed his head as he held onto me for dear life - as though my orgasms were his sustenance. I began to rub my own breast as I felt his right hand slip away to stroke his dick. Fuck! “These homes usually don’t attract,” was all I heard before I came against his face like I’d always imagined during our long distance relationship conversations. Sometimes I just got horny while he told me about San Diego weather, so I tried to rub one out before he noticed. I guess he noticed. I didn’t even care if he was breathing at that moment because I was fucking his face like there was no tomorrow. I could only assume that he was going to survive based on how tightly he was grabbing my breasts and how vigorously he was pumping his own dick. “With mortgages rates dipping,” I heard as I rotated my pussy around his face and impaled my mouth on his dick just in time to catch a load of cum that I swallowed before he’d known what hit him. Fuck! “The paintings in this exhibition,” his voice clearly began to explain as the smell of sweaty balls and sex began to compete for space in my brain. Unfortunately I couldn’t get my body to remove my face from his dick and my pussy from his mouth. We simply laid there motionless in a puddle of our own filthy love juices as I joyfully listened to that last puzzle piece fall into place before drifting off to sleep.

I was busy. Really busy. I heard her car pull into the driveway while I was on the conference call in the office next to the kitchen. She was home early because her yoga studio was having some repairs done that evening. It was a forced vacation for a workaholic. Zen, my ass. Between her growing studio clientele, my consulting firm and three teenagers, we didn’t have enough hours in the day. Somehow we got it all in and had time to ourselves. The flexibility of my work usually balanced the rigid hours of her studio and the kids’ schedules. But this week was packed for me. So I hadn’t touched my wife in three days. Never a good thing. She waved her hand as she walked by the office door, but I was too busy jotting notes on the details of the new merger to wave back. I could hear her pouring a glass of water before returning to the office door. She was glowing from head to toe in her tights and t-shirt. She must have taught the last class before she left. She simply stood there enjoying her water and scrolling through her phone. Admittedly I lost a little focus seeing her ass and her Afro taking up most of the doorway. But somebody would ask me a question and I would gather my thoughts appropriately. When she finished her glass of water she returned to the kitchen. I was trying to figure out what the time difference would be on my next call when she strolled back into the office - sans waterbottle and yoga pants. She was still scrolling through her phone as she sat elegantly on our antique desk - legs crossed, back straight, head tilted. Her chocolate thighs almost distracted me from finishing my thought on tax inequities over the last two fiscal years, but I powered through. “Sun Le, I know you want to wait another quarter to do the deal, but timing is everything,” I griped as I turned my attention toward some financial charts on my screen to help keep me focused. After about five minutes she stood up and quietly exited the office, eyes still focused on her phone. She turned the corner and headed up the stairs as I caught her reflection from the hallway mirror. As I wrapped up my call and checked to see who was on my calendar for 4PM, I was surprised by a meeting invite for 3:50PM that popped up. It was already 3:55PM when I opened the message to find out the meeting was scheduled for our shower. That’s when I noticed the shower running. I hastily headed up the stairs to our bedroom and saw her phone on the freshly made bed. Before I could make my way through the bedroom to the onsuite I could hear the phone playing a distinct sound. I went over to grab it and found she’d been looping the video I sent to her that morning of me rubbing my dick and talking shit about fucking her when she got home. With her phone in one hand and my phone in the other, I nudged the bathroom door open. While the shower glass was steamed over from the heat, she was clearly on the other side. She was leaning against the wall with one hand and what can only be described as vigorously massaging her clit with the other. Her pose was as unladylike as her sitting on my desk was demure. Knees slightly bent, heels slightly raised, shoulders hunched, head down. Should I join in, should I record it, should I just enjoy it? Before I had an answer we heard, “I want to cum all over your face.” My video on her phone was still playing. “I want my cum to roll down your cheeks tonight.” She threw her head back, still rubbing away at full speed. Her curls were getting wet from the shower behind her. I stepped closer to the shower door and held the phone speaker up to the glass. “Or would you like it better if I came on your breasts?” She began to moan as her chin fell back to her clavicle and her heels raised higher off the ground. “Or maybe I should simply come on your ass?” Her pace became erratic and her heels hit the floor as she moaned evenly, turning her face away from me. “Or I can simply melt inside you,” the video finished. She began to tremble and her body was wrapped into itself. She let go of the wall and placed both hands between her legs as she shook. Had it not been for the steam in the room you’d think her shivering was from an arctic blast. Then she gathered herself and stepped backwards into the water, tilting her head back until the warm water washed over her glistening brown skin. “Call,” she said evenly as she spun face-first into the fresh stream of water. “Sorry?” I replied in confusion. “I think you’re phone is ringing,” she stated as she stretched into the spray of steam. My phone was ringing with my 4PM meeting. I contemplated not answering when I heard, “Can Jacob and Ahmad stay for dinner?” from downstairs. Timing is everything.

The sunshine that rested gently against the leather couch of my office signaled the halfway point of my day. April clearly intended to erase the pain and torture that January unleashed after an unrelenting November and December. Spring was in the air and my patients were clearly enjoying the season. I’d decided the previous summer that I’d give up the pace of the city that kept me awake 23 hours a day so that winter was an approval from above that I was headed in the right direction. And maybe I’d finally say yes to the not-so-subtle advances of my temptress spin-class instructor. That winter’s blanket of snow forced all of my couples to spend more time together and that made my job easier. As Erin and Jack gave me a goodbye hug, I wondered if they’d be okay without my counseling. “We owe you so much,” Erin tearfully exclaimed as she squeezed Jack’s hand. “We don’t want you to go, but I feel like you’ve taught us all that we needed to know about ourselves. We get each other now. We do.” That sentiment was repeated over and over that April. I was relieved that I could leave every relationship moving in a positive direction. My methods proved meaningful. My theories had been validated. And no couple had prospered more on that couch than my 2PM appointment, Tanya and Franklin. Honestly I didn’t have much hope for their relationship in the beginning. I wasn’t taking any new patients after my wife’s accident, but they simply wouldn’t take no for an answer. They touched a nerve with my assistant Melissa and she booked them an introductory appointment without telling me. From the outside they appeared to be a perfectly happy, normal couple, but they were complete opposites from my vantage point. And they always fought about sex. Tanya was the free spirit artist and Franklin was the bean-counting realist. Opposites attract but they have to understand their differences. Tanya and Franklin spent every minute of their relationship attempting to change themselves for each other. They had mastered this give and take so well that it took me 6 months to realize who they really were. Tanya was the manager at a bank and Franklin taught jazz piano at a prestigious university. Their previous counselors never realized who they really were because Tanya and Franklin were too busy being what the other wanted them to be. Tanya was an imposing woman at 5'10". Though she was the warm-hearted and bubbly life of the party, I was not surprised that she found herself intimidating to most people. Especially men. She totally accepted her character and flaunted her stature with fashionable heels and skirts that demanded attention. Franklin, on the other hand, had little idea that he would be considered intimidating by anyone. As a 6'1" health junky, professional athlete would be the first guess anyone would make against his chiseled physique. But once you learned that his body was the result of a battle with overeating as a youth, you could see that the book didn’t match the cover. My theories about relationships revolved around defining stereotypes and moving away from them until people understand what made them happy. Men are men and women are women. Until they’re not. Complexities in relationships occur when men and women don’t fit into neat stereotypes, outside expectations or simple biology. I landed on this simple premise when I realized that my same sex couples were used to figuring out ‘who believed what’ in the relationship. Every step of their relationship required negotiation with no default. With a man and a woman there are presumed beliefs that often go unspoken and thus unsettled. This was clearly the case with Tanya and Franklin. Their problem was that they were living the mirror of what they actually wanted. Tanya was a meticulous bean-counter in real-life, but wanted the spontaneity and whimsy that she saw in Franklin’s life. Franklin had very little guarantee that any day would ever be the same and longed for the consistency that Tanya appeared to be wrapped into at the bank. So my fix started with a simple assignment. Tanya would plan every aspect about their dates for a month except for one detail: the restaurant. Tanya would consult with her husband on every aspect along the way as she made here decisions - from what they’d wear to how they’d get there. Tanya would offer up two possible restaurants and leave it at that. Franklin’s only responsibility would be to choose which place and keep it as a surprise until they arrived. “That’s it,” Tanya complained nervously. For over six months they complained primarily about their intimacy concerns and I had them planning date nights. “My husband just told you that he’s jacking off to porn and ashamed to tell me and you want us to choose between Italian and Japanese!” “I don’t really like Japanese food,” Jack sheepishly joked. “Not the fucking point,” Tanya bit back. “Try it for a month,” I quietly prescribed as I closed my notebook. “We’ll check back in and see how it’s going.” Fuming, Tanya grabbed her bag while Franklin followed her out of my office. Melissa recognized the tension as they passed through the office to the elevator. “Date night?” she asked already knowing the answer. A month later, Tanya and Franklin returned. “So what’s up?” I eagerly questioned them once they settled onto the couch. For forty-five minutes Tanya and Franklin described their dates along with their prescribed planning. Tanya was a force of nature with respect to organization as she left no detail unresolved. From what shoes Franklin wore to where they might sit in any given restaurant. They openly discussed their likes and dislikes until the day of the date. The surprise of the restaurant or concert or event would remain until they arrived. Of their nine planned dates, two had to be postponed because of some emergency or another. On one date Franklin gave away the surprise by asking too many questions about the chef at one restaurant. But in all, the assignment proved fruitful. As they spoke I kept an overly upbeat demeanor that probably confused them. “Excellent!” I bounded after they completed their recap. “We’ve had 9 really amazing date nights,” Tanya opened, “but that’s not really why we’re here.” “Don’t get us wrong,” Franklin chimed in. “We definitely talked more and enjoyed being out, but that spark didn’t translate at home. You know. In the bedroom.” “Interesting,” I replied in confusion. “Tanya, did you enjoy planning every detail of your dates?” “Not really, but I would do anything to make this work,” Tanya answered. “Honestly, it wasn’t that big of a deal because I do it every day, all day at work.” “Was it a problem for you to not know where you’d ultimately end up?” I asked as I leaned into Tanya. “Actually, that was the exciting part,” Tanya responded with a flicker of understanding. “He even blindfolded me so I …” “Franklin,” I interrupted as Tanya trailed off, “did you like having the evening fully planned out?” “I guess,” Franklin answered as though I had asked something deeper. “As we planned each date I thought more about it before the day arrive.” “Did that anticipation make the food taste better?” I asked as I stared at my notebook. “Yes,” Franklin acknowledged. “Tanya,” I volleyed, “how was the food at the restaurant when you figured out where he was taking you 3 days before?” “It was okay,” she replied. “I didn’t love it.” “Franklin,” I jumped again, “how was your day at work after those nights when your plans were cancelled.” “Terrible!” Franklin happily exclaimed as he recognized the pattern. “So our next assignment will be …” Tanya pushed me as they clasped hands like many clients before them. “For the next month, Tanya will schedule every sexual activity that you two discuss with two potential … executions,” I offered. “The discussion, build-up and anticipation of your interaction will drive Franklin mad while the surprise of what actually happens will boil Tanya’s blood.” Tanya and Franklin sat on my couch with their mouths wide open. “Just remember,” I added as I stared deeply into Tanya’s eyes while speaking to Franklin. “Tanya needs spontaneity and surprise to make this work. You may need to bring a few unrequested surprises to the party to keep her entertained.” “And Tanya,” I continued, “you must understand that Franklin’s anticipation must ultimately be quenched or the tease will be answered with resentment instead of joy.” Tanya nodded, but I wanted to make sure she understood when I added, “Don’t leave him hanging.” As they exited my office I was satisfied with where they were headed, but they would overachieve like no other couple I’ve encountered. “We fucked on our patio this morning,” Tanya joyously exclaimed just as my office door closed. Franklin simply smiled with content. “I gave him the choice of a blowjob in the shower or fucking me on the patio two days ago. We texted about it nonstop until he simply pulled me out of bed this morning and propped me against our patio window. FUCK!!” “So all is well,” I acknowledged. For months our sessions were filled with the most explicit acts of lust that my office would ever hear. On the days when one of them would come to the office solo because the other was traveling, they would feel the need to raise their level of detail. “Anal plug or ball gag?” Franklin quizzed me on a Friday afternoon. Where most couples would have shared how things were better, Tanya and Franklin bolstered about how they were now planning sexual escapades out by months in advance. Other couples I found more challenging, but there was definitely a magnetic chemistry between these two that was blossoming now. They understood what made the other tick. Honestly, their breakthrough, along with their openness of constant stories of desire and pleasure, gave me the strength to plan my move out west. “Six months? We have to do something BIG!” Tanya exclaimed when I shared with them my plans to close my office. “You have done so much for us.” “How about Barista vs Bartender?” Franklin offered up with a devious look on his face. “Are you sure?” Tanya answered with an equal sense of menace. “Barista vs Bartender?” I asked, no longer wanting to be an outsider to the conversation. “Before we came to you,” Franklin started, “Tanya and I discussed opening up our marriage. We knew we weren’t strong enough as a couple to handle it but we were out of ideas. Now that we’ve been enjoying this magical ride we’ve been putting all sorts of crazy ideas back on the table. We’ve always had options like threesomes on the table, but they sat next to two more conservative ideas.” “That way we’d have a way out if we got cold feet,” Tanya explained. “But we’ve been dancing around the idea of Tanya giving a blowjob to either the barista near my office that flirts with her when she comes to visit me or the bartender near her office that flirts with her when I visit her,” Franklin glowingly recalled as he shifted his pants to disguise the hard-on that was growing from their description. “Quite a big step,” I commended them knowing that the anticipation was really what drove them. Should they actually act on the idea or not, their talking about it was giving both of them indescribable pleasure. “Next April. Barista vs Bartender,” Tanya and Franklin quietly spoke to each other as if I weren’t in the room. I was a little nervous that they were going to fuck right there in front of me. Wouldn’t have shocked me one bit. And then winter came and life got back to normal. All of my couples were forced to spend time together discussing their issues and enjoying solutions - dressed or naked. When the snow finally melted and spring arrived, a sense of romance captured everyone’s hearts. I was finally building up the nerve to go out with my spin-class instructor even though I’d be leaving in two months. Better late than never. Though we hadn’t discussed 'Barista vs Bartender’ in several months, the thought had always been in the background. I knew they hadn’t forgotten about it, but the topic hadn’t been raised in front of me. Until March. “I have a surprise for Tanya,” Franklin announced after Tanya detailed their plans for this summer in South America. “I asked some of my students to do some recon for me. Tanya, please check your email.” Tanya pulled out her phone and opened her personal email. She had a puzzled look on her face and then she bit her upper lip. “Oh my,” she melted. “I asked two of my attractive female students to request dic-pics from the Barista and the Bartender,” Franklin explained. “Appears that the two young men were happy to oblige. Tanya, any thoughts?” I had never felt more uncomfortable in my life. I had always heard about these conversations after the episode. Never before the act. This was definitely new territory. “Well, I have to say,” Tanya thought aloud, “I’m still not sure if I want you to watch me sucking one of these dicks or if I’d prefer to tell you about it after. Either way, I’d definitely swallow either one of them. I also don’t know if I’d make it a show - ya know, get naked, lap dance, etc - or just unzip and start squeezing.” “How about we talk about it on the ride home?” Franklin said as he saw how uncomfortable I was becoming. “We’ve got a couple of weeks to decide.” As they left my office this time, Melissa scheduled their last appointment. I definitely needed to take my spin-class that afternoon. While I did a pretty decent job keeping focus for the next couple of weeks, I must admit that the couple before Tanya and Franklin had very little of my mindspace. I was anxious to know what happened with the Barista or the Bartender or both. Had they already finished the act? Did they even go through with it? I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Then Tanya entered my office alone. “Franklin had to go to London for a week,” Tanya explained as she settled into the couch for one last session. My face must have been full of disappointment to see her solo, so she began to share more. “So, I told Franklin that I wasn’t really sure if I wanted to go through with this Barista vs Bartender thing. The anticipation was unbelievable over this last six months. But the reality of it all is a different vibe.” I nodded my head as I understood her dilemma. “He told me he wasn’t exactly certain how he felt when I dropped him off at the airport,” Tanya continued. “I feel like we discussed every possibility of this scenario and I’m not sure why we are still on the fence. I’ve dreamed of sucking off both the Bartender and the Barista. Sometimes when I’m sucking Franklin’s dick I imagine it’s either one of theirs. I just can’t decide what to do anymore,” Tanya proclaimed. “Maybe the anticipation is really all that you two needed,” I said in hopes of settling her confusion. “You two have come a long way in …” I began to explain when her phone began to vibrate. “It’s Franklin,” Tanya exhaled as she opened her text. I was trying not to be nosy but I felt like I had as much right to know as she did. The air in the room was being baked by the midafternoon sun and I began to sweat until a big smile and a sigh of relief came from Tanya. As she typed back her response, I could see her mouth the question, “Are you sure?” while she bit her upper lip. She then looked up at me in silence as she awaited his response. We smiled nervously at each other. In seconds, her phone buzzed and she sighed, “I can’t believe we’re doing this.” “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I offered, when I really wanted to know whether it was the Barista or the Bartender. But before I could ask, Tanya cleared her throat and said, “Franklin wants me to do it naked but with heels on while he’s in London. He wants to hear all about it when he gets home.” I then attempted to unravel here statement to decipher whether her act would involve the Barista or the Bartender. That’s when Tanya walked towards me and dropped her skirt to the floor. Her purple lace thong concealed very little as she stopped just in front of me. With little hesitation, Tanya dropped to her knees in front of my chair and released my hardening dick from my pants with her blue and white manicured nails. “Thank you for everything,” Tanya smiled up at me just before pushing my dick deep into her mouth as Melissa opened the door and watched. Surprise.

I didn’t expect to be propositioned as soon as I sat down at the hotel bar with the DJ traveling from Shalamar to Biggie. This Amazonian princess was 6 feet tall, natural curls to the ceiling, titanium glasses, hips to keep her Celine maxi dress from touching her Jimmy Choo heels and sculpted arms that limply dangled her Balenciaga wristlet. She was whispering in my ear at the bar with her hand innocently resting on my knee when her drink arrived. “I would love to take you upstairs and suck your dick,” she breathed into my neck because Thursday nights at the hotel bar got loud. “But I’m pretty sure you can’t afford me.” My eyebrows indicated my surprise to anyone watching our dance. I hadn’t even ordered my drink and I was already being told what I couldn’t have. Was I turned on because I was challenged or was I challenged because I was turned on? “I’ll fuck you because I want to, but I’m not giving head away. Sorry,” she casually confessed as she pulled away to tend to her red wine. My dick started to reciprocate her words while her aroma lingered in my thoughts. She had turned away to watch the rest of establishment enjoy their evening while I was left to ponder a deal that had no specific terms. Her freshly manicured green-apple digits resting on my knee was her way keeping the negotiation table attentive. I pretended to ignore the solicitation and ordered a rum & Coke over her shoulder as the DJ seamlessly transitioned from Biggie to Chaka. Yet her hand on my knee probably felt the tug of my slacks from the tension she was building in between my legs. She spun torward me with a serious look and leaned into my shoulder. “I’ll let you talk to my clit until she’s visibly shaken and I’ll let you fuck me from behind if you can take my hips uncontrollably grinding back into your dick,” she spoke loud enough to catch the attention of the couple in front of us. “But finishing in my mouth will cost you.” Our neighbors were clearly attempting to assess the situation. Between my wedding ring and her proposal, they were as intrigued about where this sales pitch was headed as I was. “What if I’m content dicking you down 10 minutes and calling it a night?” I finally responded while I reached over to grab my drink, hoping the alcohol would enhance my bargaining skills. After another sip of her red wine she turned to the couple listening to our auditory foreplay and smiled as she pulled on the material of my pants enough to let my dick know she was well on her way to sealing the deal. The DJ blends from Chaka to Toto. That couple, I’ve since named Heidi & Richard, were as eager to hear her next words as I was. But she turned back toward me and leaned in so I could clearly hear her say, “When we walk out of here to the elevator, you’ll be thinking about coming on my tongue without losing a drop on my cheeks. When I’m holding onto your dick as you fumble with the room key, you’ll be thinking about frosting my lips with your disgustingly warm cum. When you’re ripping away my green-apple thong so you can bury your nose in my dripping wet pussy, you’ll be thinking about your cum dripping down my throat. When you’re holding onto my brown hips as my pussy continuously bangs the shit out of your nuts, you’ll be thinking about my tongue swirling your dick until you explode into my fucking mouth.” She answered knowingly as her empty wine glass found it’s way to the bar. “So unless you want to be thinking about your dick in my mouth until the sun rises, you’ll be paying up, Mister.” At first I thought those words only splashed my ears and on my dick, but as I my other senses started to resume normal activity I could see Heidi’s fingers were digging into Richard’s triceps and Richard’s face flush with embarrassment. I attempted to remain steady, as though I’d had her right where I wanted her. I swung my legs toward the bar as she finally let go of my knee to pay for her red wine. I swiftly downed my rum & Coke as she closed her wristlet and smiled at Heidi & Richard. “I’ll meet you and your $1000 at the elevator when your dick relaxes,” she confidently punctuated her final offer to me. As she strolled across the dance floor toward the glass doorway every pair of eyes were on her - especially Heidi and Richard. My head was in my hands while I waited for my dick to relax when I felt another hand on my knee with a much firmer touch than earlier. It was Heidi. “My wife is about to suck my dick for free,” Richard started as Heidi continued to stare toward the glass doors, hand moving further up my thigh, dick still throbbing. “So enjoy this one on us,” he finished as Heidi’s hand reached into my pocket and took a couple of gentle strokes against my manhood. They quietly turned and left the bar as the DJ left Toto for Mary J Blige. My eyes were the only pair focused on their haste as they turned the corner to leave. As I weighed my options about that evenings proposition I reached into my pocket to pay for my rum & Coke when I noticed Heidi’s & Richard’s gift in my pocket: five $100 bills. I quietly laughed to myself, paid for my drink and slowly headed for the elevators as Mary J was replaced by the Roots. My proposal was talking on the phone as I approached her with a calm look. My dick began to throb and as she glanced mid-conversation.   “Hold for one second, please,” she politely paused her conversation to give me her attention. I reached out and placed the $500 in her hands as I pushed the elevator button. She curled up her lips in frustration and mouthed “just once” as the elevator arrived at the lobby. As she placed the money in her wristlet and the elevator doors opened she took my hand and went back to her conversation. “Okay, we will pick up the kids after breakfast tomorrow. And we have the money for your charity. Well, half of it anyway. You raised your son to be cheap, but I’ll see what I can squeeze out of him by tomorrow morning.”

My husband is a man. That means he’s as bright as his dick allows him to be. The fact that I trained him early has a lot to do with it. Not to mention he’s got three brothers. I was handed a clean slate that had only learned how to buy pads at the drug store from the girls he dated long enough to see through a period or two. Frustrating at times, for sure, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. But at the time I introduced the three day bonding ritual we’d celebrate every month I had no idea we’d still be doing it 23 years later. It all started when Quentin started pushing for kids. He was clearly ready. We’d only been together two years so I was pushing for starting at 32. That would give us some time to get to know each other before we dove into the family deep end. But Quentin was persistent. Our weekends always included one of our friend’s gatherings as long as there were kids present. And I loved every moment of hanging out with somebody else’s kids. Those were the best kids ever. The temporary ones. So Quentin asked if we could leave it all to fate. 32 was a nice number but he thought we could just leave things in God’s hands. I had been on the pill as long as I could remember and we stopped using condoms after we moved in together. Give up the pill and roll the dice. Honestly I wasn’t that opposed to the idea. At least that’s what I thought. Sometimes reality gets a little too real. The first couple of months off of the pill Quentin gave me space. He didn’t want to crowd me like he was only trying to get me pregnant. In fact he was traveling so circumstances weren’t ideal. But in that third month his travel schedule was about to loosen up. All I could think about was being knocked up and I really wasn’t ready for it. I had all but assumed I’d be pregnant before the summer was over but I still wasn’t sure if that’s what I wanted. And that’s when we started bonding. Against my will I was incredibly horny for Quentin one morning. Morning sex isn’t really my thing so I knew it was bad. Then I realized I was ovulating. Shit! For the next 3 days I’d be super horny and perfectly ready to get pregnant. Stupid evolution. Quentin’s thighs were so warm that morning that I was soaking my panties. So before he woke up I threw my pussy on his face while I rubbed my fingers over his balls. In true fashion, I came immediately just as he was coming to his senses. I was ready for more as he pulled my hips down to his. But I thought quickly and kept sliding until his brown dick was in my mouth. I was still horny but I wasn’t putting that babymaker near my egg. With some intense strokes he came in my mouth and we collapsed for another hour of sleep. I was snuggled so deep into him that we were one. Cheesy, I know. The next morning brought the exact same formula. Thigh. Face. Mouth. Swallow. “Anything you want to tell me?” Quentin asked after we came to our senses. “Well,” I said feeling guilty, but not ready to blow my cover. “I was reading online about how couples were trying things three days in a row to build a bond.” I totally made that shit up on the spot but as soon as he heard it was something I read he wasn’t about to argue. My man gets his news from the sports channel. If I had some psychobabble that got him morning head, he was not about to question it. “Theory goes that doing the same repetitive thing builds a couples bond,” I added, sounding as textbook as I could. “I just decided that our thing should be…” I started to explain before batting my brown eyes at him. “Do you think we need to bond more?” he said, confusing me because I thought he’d be completely focused on the AM blowjob he was getting. Instead, my amazing husband was more concerned that I was concerned that we lacked a connection. And like the selfish young woman I was, I responded, “Let’s just try this for a few months and see what we feel.” So for 25 days out of the month we were putting this pregnancy thing in God’s hands. The other three days - my mouth. I thought that next day would be difficult to repeat, but his concern for my feelings and his thighs helped me finish off our threepeat. And that became our thing. I told him that I would surprise him every month so he didn’t need to keep track. And he didn’t have time to put the puzzle together because six months later I was pregnant - three years ahead of schedule. But my bullshit psychobabble actually worked. We only took oral sex to the climax on those three days a month. We knew it. We saved for it. We juice cleansed for it. We lived for it. We scheduled travel and work around it. Three kids later and I was on the pill. God’s hands and my mouth were no longer reputable barriers. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell Quentin that our most beloved ritual was a scam. I was pretty safe knowing that he couldn’t have someone else piece together the ritual because it was too personal. He’d have to figure out a lot of lady mechanics and remember something from 20 years ago to figure it out for himself. And it was hard to feel guilty with his come on my tongue three days in a row. And then Junior and his wife Lisa got chatty. “No wine for me, Dad,” Junior said to his father as we prepared for my homemade carrot cake. “Trying to make you some grandkids.” Lisa blushed but pointed to the calendar on her phone. Our other two sons made quick excuses to clear the table and do the dishes as their girlfriends looked on with questions of their own. Lisa grabbed Junior’s hand and they smiled at each other for the next ten minutes. It was innocent enough but we were all thinking “just get a room”. I noticed that Quentin was quiet for the rest of the evening. After the boys and their significant others left I asked him what was bothering him. “Lisa’s calendar,” Quentin started. “It reminded me of yours from before the boys were born.” Confession time. I looked at Quentin with my big brown eyes and hoped he could forgive me. “I hope they bond as close as we did before they have kids,” Quentin softly explained as he took a mammoth bite of his carrot cake. My heart melted. My secret was safe. But we bonded ahead of schedule that evening.

Business in San Francisco was perfect, but I had to get to Philly before the next fire started. Our west coast team was doing a phenomenal job since we moved Eric out there, but the void he left in Philadelphia was coming to a head. So I told Angela and the kids I’d be out an extra day, rerouting my flight home to Philly instead of Baltimore the night before. I could drive a rental home in the afternoon. Home in time for dinner. Angela was upset because she didn’t think my team appreciated everything I did to make their worlds run smoothly. We fought about it and barely spoke or texted during our trips. She was right, but I had a job to do. The flight landed in Philly at 10PM, so I didn’t make it downtown until 11. The chilly fall air was enough to wake me from my cross-country slumber, but I really just wanted to head home. Angela had left for a conference in Italy the night before I left for San Francisco. Because the kids were still with her parent’s, I’d thought about heading home for the night for a quick apology fuck, but I had a full morning planned. I needed a rested body and a clear head. Promoting DawnLee over Augustus in Philly was going to divide the studio nobody how we rolled it out, but we had no other choice. Augustus was a popular guy in the office, but he wouldn’t have been effective in a leadership position. He greased the wheels but was not the engine. DawnLee has gotten shit done in every roll she’s had. I’d groomed her in Baltimore to run that office but she followed some idiot boyfriend to Philly. Now she was focused at work and we could take advantage of her newfound dedication. That would let Augustus continue to keep up that wild bachelor life he was living. He was everybody’s Best Man because he had a black book of talent that was ready to fuck anyone at all times. I don’t know why he didn’t just become a pimp. As I pulled the vehicle up to the valet, I tried to clear my head of the politics. “Positive thoughts,” I greeted Steven, the late shift valet, as I handed him the keys to rental. I’d made this trip before, but this stay was going to be different. I was greeted by Antoine when I entered the lobby. “Should not have sent my boy west,” he smiled as he shook his head. Eric had mentored Antoine when he was the misguided teen vandalizing the Philly studio’s brick walls. Now Antoine is the misguided Assistant Manager at the boutique hotel we use for clients. “E’s text said you’d be in and out so I took care of everything. 1803. Enjoy your ‘Thank You’ gift,” he pronounced with pride when he handed me my key card. “Thanks, Ant,” I replied with what little energy I had left. “Wake up call for 6?” I followed knowing that the time change was about to play havoc on this trip. “No problem,” was the reply for every request I could remember. “And room service will follow at 6:15,” he rushed as the elevator doors began to close. I began to mentally unpack the contents of my bag in order to efficiently get through the night. I knew I’d instinctively read a few emails before I fell asleep, but I planned out the rest of my collapse - from taking my shower and brushing my teeth to laying out tomorrow’s clothes and prepping notes for the meeting. Once I entered the room I was in attack mode. I immediately turned the heat on blast so I’d fall asleep once I got out of the shower. I emptied my bag and repacked it while I watched the news naked. I only needed clothes tomorrow so was sleeping in my birthday suit. I took a $10 bill from my wallet and left it for the maid and readied my clothes, keys and glasses for the next day. As I headed to the bathroom I noticed a brown paper bag on the desk for the first time. There was a note attached with a roughly hand written note. “Enjoy the Delassandros” The aroma of my favorite Philly cheesesteak hugged me when I opened the bag. I knew I couldn’t eat the whole sandwich at that hour, but I had to take a bite. Heaven. Then I quickly wrapped it up and tossed it in the fridge hoping I’d remember it in the morning. I showered as my phone read my last 10 emails aloud. I laughed as the app I used had a default female voice and most of my messages were from guys (mental note: diversify the office!). Of course Eric warned me about the office vibe before telling me to enjoy the gift he’d sent to the hotel to lighten the mood. There was nothing pressing in my Inbox so I brushed, flossed, dried off, hit the lights and hit the pillow. The room was toasty so I was out. Or so I thought. I vaguely remember hearing a door key swipe, but assumed it was to the room across the hall. I didn’t have the energy to check so I nodded back off. Or so I thought. Strangely I got whiff of my wife’s favorite perfume and thought I was dreaming. I must have really wanted to go home and make up. The scent was faint but I remember wanting to open my eyes. I was so tired. I was obviously dreaming. I just dozed off. Then I remembered feeling kisses on my neck and I smiled. This dream was becoming lifelike but I was too tired to really enjoy it. So I mumbled something about needing to wake up early. I assumed I was dreaming about my wife until I felt a hand travel down my chest and a bosom dance just above my mouth. My first reaction was to reach for a breast even though my eyes were still closed. I was either having a dream about Angela or Angela had made the trip up to Philly to see her man. Either way I was about to enjoy her. But as I began to reach for her body I felt a tug on my wrist. My wrist was wrapped loosely by some sort of scarf and I couldn’t bring my hand towards the breast above me. But before I could panic and wake, I heard a 'shhhhh’ as I tugged harder. The scarf that was wrapped around my arm fell loose, but a hand pushed me back just as I started to pull on my other arm. It had been loosely tied as well, but it quickly occurred to me that I wasn’t really tied up tightly. I could break free if I wanted. This was just a game. Foreplay. So I figured I’d play along. I laid still while soft kisses were being painted from my neck to my ankles. Then I felt Angela use two more scarves to tie my legs to the foot of the bed. I briefly opened my eyes to try and catch a glimpse of my Angela’s gorgeous ass but the room was pitch black. I closed my eyes as a new coat of kisses were applied from my ankles to my neck. Unfortunately the entire experience was too calming. By now my arm was retied - still loosely - and the aroma of Angela’s perfume was relaxing. I was supposed to be excited to have her make the trip to see me but I knew I couldn’t stay awake. “Maybe in the morning?” I offered. “I missed you, too.” I could feel myself fading and I knew my dick wasn’t hard. Her plan was backfiring and I couldn’t help her. She’d never tied me up before, but I was simply too tired to enjoy it. The only reason I hadn’t completely dozed off was the suspense of her not touching me. I knew that once her warm skin hit mine I’d be horny as hell or out like a light. But I could only feel her crawling around the bed as she continued painting my freshly showered body. I succumbed to sleep just as her warm breath covered my forearm. I was out. I’m not sure how long I was out, but I remember dreaming about being in the office and then in a mall and then at the beach when it swallowed me like a warm bath. My dick was in Angela’s mouth and she was sucking it so slow I was about to cum. I had no idea how long it had been in her mouth but I was damn certain that I was about fill her mouth. But I was still in the fog of slumber so I never warned her that I was about to erupt. Of course she already knew, but I’d always thought myself a gentleman in these situations, especially when I had a couple of days worth of cum stored up. And as I feared, the load she received was quite ample. Angela wasn’t typically a swallower, but she had her moments. This was one of those moments. Her lips never released from my dick and I could feel her throat swallow as the second and third shots fired. Immediately the stress of my world left my body and I mouthed the words 'thank you’ as I dozed off for good. I felt terrible about it, but I knew that Angela understood. RING RING RING With superheroic reaction I snatched the hotel phone from beside the bed and heard the pleasant receptionist offer me a pleasant 'good morning, Mr. Black’ before I immediately hung up the phone. I jumped to my feet, threw on my boxers, jeans and Uniqlo T before racing to the bathroom to piss and brush my teeth. I was so charged up that I almost knocked over the glass on the counter as I hit the bathroom light switch. In the split second I flipped the switch and caught the glass I noticed a reflection in the mirror of an envelope that had been slipped under the door. I never saw a paper bill from the hotel before so I was intrigued. But it was going to have to wait because I needed to check my emails, grab my luggage and throw on my shoes. So with one last survey of the room, I grabbed the envelope from the floor and headed out the door. As I read the 'Thanks’ printed on the envelope I made certain that the door didn’t slam as it closed. That’s when I noticed the black scarf tied to the outside handle. Holy Shit!!! Last night. I’d completely forgotten. It wasn’t a dream. Honestly I wasn’t 100% sure that anything had really happened. In my rush to get out of the door I forgot about being bound and there was no sticky DNA to remind me. Holy Shit!!! My wife was like a fucking spy! I thought about grabbing the scarf but I thought it would be funny to leave it for Antoine to find. I grudgingly opened the envelope as I headed toward the elevator. I should have been using that time to read my email. I immediately noticed it was a Starbucks card with 'BLACK’ sharpied on the front. As I began to shove it in my front pocket I watched the glass elevator doors close. And on the other side of the those doors I saw two hotel room doors with black scarves tied to their handles. Mind. Blown. As I headed past the front desk I scanned for Antoine but I knew he had left right after I arrived. My car was already waiting with engine running when I walked outside. As I tossed my luggage in the trunk I realized I’d forgotten my cheesesteak in the refrigerator. 'Too late’ I thought to myself, but I probably would have eaten it for breakfast. Not good. I handed another $10 bill to the morning valet and jumped into the drivers seat to notice yet another surprise in the passengers seat: a blueberry muffin with a gold foil note that read 'Good Luck!’ My birthday wasn’t for 4 months, so I was officially freaked the fuck out. Luckily the bluetooth sync on my phone immediately began to read my new email over the car speakers as I drove away. My only distractions for the next 25 minutes was driving, the Singapore and Paris office updates and the most amazing blueberry muffin I could imagine. Pulling up to our office I remembered the Starbucks in the lobby and pulled out my new gift card. In line and way before it was my turn to order, an astute barista recognized the card in my hand and asked me “Are you Mr. Black?” Puzzled, I answered, “Yeah…” “The card, sir,” he replied, letting me know how he knew who I was. Though there were 10 people ahead of me, he rushed me my peppermint tea and sent me on my way. Service with a smile. In the elevator I finished the last bite of my blueberry muffin while my tea cooled. I prepared myself for the awkward arrival and office tension. Greeting me at the elevator was DawnLee with an energetic smile. “Great to see you, Black!” she sang as I swallowed the last bite of my muffin. But before I could form a response, she had already turned toward the hallway and headed toward the large conference room where I would greet the 30 folks wondering about the new office dynamic. DawnLee was crisp, sharp, blunt and to-the-point. We entered the room and headed for the front window area. “Hope everything was perfect,” she offered before turning me loose on the crowd. But before I could open my mouth her eyes widened and she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe my face. “Muffin?” she asked. I gave her a thank you smile as I watched her put the handkerchief back in her pocket. It wasn’t a handkerchief. It was a scarf. A black scarf. My eyes widened with confusion as I recalled the intensity of last evening. DawnLee’s lips were now front and center. Did she swallow me last night? What the FUCK!? “Uh, Mr. Black will now share with us what’s going on with the new global restructure,” DawnLee explained as I gathered myself. She then headed to the back of the room where Augustus had just arrived. They greeted each other with a warm smile and a laugh. I quickly read the room and realized that there was no angst over the new changes. Everyone seemed particularly at ease, so I simply kept the overview of our upcoming projects positive. The questions that popped up were inquisitive, but there was no sign of any internal bullshit. So I was left with 'who the fuck sucked my dick last night!’ After a few closing questions everyone went back to work and I stayed in the conference room to make a few phone calls before I made the drive home. I wanted to grab DawnLee but she had snatched the team headed to Paris to brief them before their trip. As I danced through each call I kept replaying the memory of last night, trying to fill in the blanks with DawnLee instead of Angela. How could I not know who was in my room? How was I going to explain this to my wife? WAS I even going to explain this to my wife? We’d known DawnLee since she finished grad school. What the fuck?! My calls were finished and I needed to get on the road soon if I wanted to beat the evening rush hour. Frustrated, I packed my backpack and shot toward the elevator. I’d see DawnLee next week at our quarterly review so I decided I’d try to forget about it until then. As I waited on the elevator Augustus walked up with a sly smile and a hug. “I just wanted to tell you that everything is good here in the office,” Augustus explained with a sense of pride. “I know I was pissed at first - sorry for the emails - but I realized I didn’t want to deal with the bullshit DawnLee has on her plate now and I’m good with it.” “Glad to hear,” I replied knowing he was sincere. “Just make sure you keep the clients happy.” “That’s my specialty, right?” Augustus agreed as the elevator doors opened. “Headed down,” I asked as I let the young lady step out as I stepped on. “No, thanks,” Augustus answered as he engulfed the young lady with a mighty bear hug and a peck on the cheek. “My delivery just arrived.” No surprise, the young lady was tall, curvy and a bit inappropriate for the office, but that was Augustus. I couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of her well defined assets in her fitted black dress and heels when another of my five senses kicked in. The elevator had the slight aroma of my wife’s perfume. I might not have noticed it if not for last night’s escapade, but it was as clear as Augustus’s palm on that young lady’s ass. So my mind naturally skipped to the scandalous alternative of my blow job mystery. My eyes lit up as I saw Augustus grinning from ear to ear. “Hope you liked my gift,” he rushed as the door began to seal me and the perfume for our awkward ride downward. What the fuck, again?! Did Augustus send some girl into my hotel room to tie me up and blow me? Was she a hooker? Was that just one of his girls? How did he know Angela’s favorite perfume? Do I need to go straight to the doctor to get checked out? What the fuck?! The elevator stopped and I started my walk of shame and confusion to the parking lot. Before I knew it I was stuck in I-95 traffic trying to figure out what I was going to tell Angela. I wasn’t even certain if it was DawnLee or Augustus who executed the plan. I was a mess. The company was firing on all cylinders and I was in the twilight zone. But I had to tell Angela. That’s how we roll. Period. No matter what. When I got home I found Angela in the kitchen. Her suitcase from her trip to Italy was by the stairs and she was making lasagna. “I was inspired by my trip!” she announced as I looked over her preparations. “And I trust you were as well,” she added as she placed the pan in the oven and set the timer. “Ang,” I started with a heavy knot in my throat, “we gotta talk. I think…” “I think you need to save your tongue,” Angela harshly interrupted me, “for the pussy you’re about feast upon because that’s what’s about to happen right now.” Then she grabbed my hand and walked me to the couch where she shed her jeans and underwear before shoving me down. I was full of apology but my dick was still getting hard. Before I knew it, the curly hair above her clit was tickling my nose as she ground herself into my face. “You’ve had long, hard trip, love,” she grunted as her hips ferociously whipped back and forth. Her pussy was fucking my face from my chin to my forehead. I tried to maneuver my tongue but she was about to erase all of my facial features and she was enjoying the fuck out of herself. “DawnLee and Augustus,” she spoke between thrusts of her ass onto my confused face. “And Eric and Antoine,” she continued as her pace quickened. “I’m sure they appreciate all of the shit you do to keep the ball rolling,” she said as she tried to keep her rhythm steady. By now I had my hands up her shirt and could feel her firm nipples sweating. “But no one,” she demanded as she was full-on fucking my face, “knows how… to say… thank… you like… me.” And just like that she collapsed into a heap of brown legs and a slightly torn t-shirt. Her sweat and cum covered my face. While she recovered I realized that I was never going to find out who sucked my dick last night and if Angela had anything to do with it all. I was convinced that she knew what had happened, but maybe she had buyer’s remorse. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it was her all along. But we never spoke about it afterwards. And the lasagna was amazing.

Two weeks in Europe was unnecessary. I’m sorry that my clients drag me around the world at the spur of the moment. You deserve better and I plan to make it up to you. I know you think it’s par for the course but I don’t like being away from you for this long. Yes, we talk on the phone and text and email but I’m a bit more selfish about our time. As always I appreciate the tastefully erotic photos and naughty thoughts you send but hotel lotion and your photo are good for that first week. But by the second week every ass that passes by me has me wanting to get on a plane immediately. I can barely have a conversation with the female staff at the venues without wondering if they knew how to suck dick as well as you. Horribly sexist, I know. But ten days into the trip I devolve into a pig. Of course it doesn’t help that you knowingly push my buttons by asking which lawyers have the softest calves or which models are the height I like. You’re such a bitch. You should be guilting me into believing that my deviant sexual thoughts have no place in modern society. Instead you ask me if Parisian accents would be sexier than Italian accents if you they were muffled by my dick. Not cool. I’m guessing most folks would assume your line of innuendo was meant as an invitation to act on those random perverted thoughts. I’m pretty that you would view an episode on the road fair as long as I was totally honest about it and we discussed it beforehand. Maybe you’d really be okay with it. Or maybe it’s your coping mechanism in case I actually I do decide to fuck that Ethiopian photographer at the London studio. On the other side of the coin you might get turned on by hearing about the handjob the matronly VP gave me in the Berlin limo. Maybe you want to open the door for both of us to get our beaks wet during those long trips. But I’m not a mind reader so I don’t really know what to do with how your fucking mind works. I don’t think you know either. Swallowing me while my driver waits at the corner is a wonderful goodbye but we know that memory will fade in 3 days. Okay 5 days. So I will do what I do after every long business trip where every curve is intended to get my dick hard. I’ll get to our house around 9PM to find you unimpressed by my return. You’ll talk to me about the bills and the car and our upcoming vacation while I drag my bags up stairs. The stench of last nights closing party that finished in the airport lounge means I’ll need a shower. You’ll keep talking about tomorrow’s brunch plans and how nice the weather was while I wash away Europe, but I know you just want a glimpse of me as I disrobe. Unconsciously you’ll continue the one-sided conversation as my monosyllabic answers convey my interest and apathy at the same time because I know you’re pretending that the warmth of my skin against yours isn’t what you’re waiting for. By the time I finish scrubbing my body you’ll have left for the bedroom to get your pajamas on and wrap your hair for tomorrow’s busy day. But after I dry off I won’t bother with deodorant or lotion or pajamas. I’ll simply climb into the bed with the freshly laundered sheets and plant a loving kiss on you while you faintly protest as if you’re surprised by my nakedness. “Did you miss me or something?” you’ll jokingly ask as I pull down your pajama bottoms. Your pussy will be freshly groomed but you know it wouldn’t really matter. You’ll fake a protest as you turn off the lights and enjoy my mouth discovering already moist pussy. You’ll shudder shudder because you forgot to touch yourself during my trip. But there will be no time for foreplay because you’ll purposefully push my buttons by poking at the lack of control over my animal instincts. “All this for me?” you’ll ask as I spin you over to your knees in front of me so your round ass rubs against my rock hard dick. “There must have been some beautiful women at last night’s party.” I’ll be turned on and offended by your assertion as I glide my dick into your dripping pussy. Every feminine curve and voice and aroma from the past two weeks will fly through my brain as I begin to thrust into you. The smacking from your cheeks against my thugs will be deafening as the thrust go from me fucking you to you bucking me. If you were as tired and disinterested as you’ll pretend to be you’d be on your stomach talking dirty hoping I’d come quickly on your ass. But you’ll be on your hands and knees grinding that pussy against the dick you missed while my hands grip your hips and ass. You’ll be fucking me like a champ until I push deeper into you while I reach around to grab your breast. Then it will be over. You’ll buck uncontrollably and my dick will drown in your movement until we both come with a shaking violence indicative of how pent up our kink had been. I’ll sit behind you while you remain on all fours unable to come down from your high. Slowly rocking to and fro you’ll finally sink into the freshly dampened sheets. You won’t be able to see me smile as I stare lovingly at the only ass that occupies my brain when I’m about to come. But you know I’ll be staring so you’ll welcome me home with “I missed you, too.”

The Cabulco volcano in southern Chile erupted on Wednesday spewing a huge cloud of ash into the sky.

Two weeks in Europe was unnecessary. I’m sorry that my clients drag me around the world at the spur of the moment. You deserve better and I plan to make it up to you. I know you think it’s par for the course but I don’t like being away from you for this long. Yes, we talk on the phone and text and email but I’m a bit more selfish about our time. As always I appreciate the tastefully erotic photos and naughty thoughts you send but hotel lotion and your photo are good for that first week. But by the second week every ass that passes by me has me wanting to get on a plane immediately. I can barely have a conversation with the female staff at the venues without wondering if they knew how to suck dick as well as you. Horribly sexist, I know. But ten days into the trip I devolve into a pig. Of course it doesn’t help that you knowingly push my buttons by asking which lawyers have the softest calves or which models are the height I like. You’re such a bitch. You should be guilting me into believing that my deviant sexual thoughts have no place in modern society. Instead you ask me if Parisian accents would be sexier than Italian accents if you they were muffled by my dick. Not cool. I’m guessing most folks would assume your line of innuendo was meant as an invitation to act on those random perverted thoughts. I’m pretty that you would view an episode on the road fair as long as I was totally honest about it and we discussed it beforehand. Maybe you’d really be okay with it. Or maybe it’s your coping mechanism in case I actually I do decide to fuck that Ethiopian photographer at the London studio. On the other side of the coin you might get turned on by hearing about the handjob the matronly VP gave me in the Berlin limo. Maybe you want to open the door for both of us to get our beaks wet during those long trips. But I’m not a mind reader so I don’t really know what to do with how your fucking mind works. I don’t think you know either. Swallowing me while my driver waits at the corner is a wonderful goodbye but we know that memory will fade in 3 days. Okay 5 days. So I will do what I do after every long business trip where every curve is intended to get my dick hard. I’ll get to our house around 9PM to find you unimpressed by my return. You’ll talk to me about the bills and the car and our upcoming vacation while I drag my bags up stairs. The stench of last nights closing party that finished in the airport lounge means I’ll need a shower. You’ll keep talking about tomorrow’s brunch plans and how nice the weather was while I wash away Europe, but I know you just want a glimpse of me as I disrobe. Unconsciously you’ll continue the one-sided conversation as my monosyllabic answers convey my interest and apathy at the same time because I know you’re pretending that the warmth of my skin against yours isn’t what you’re waiting for. By the time I finish scrubbing my body you’ll have left for the bedroom to get your pajamas on and wrap your hair for tomorrow’s busy day. But after I dry off I won’t bother with deodorant or lotion or pajamas. I’ll simply climb into the bed with the freshly laundered sheets and plant a loving kiss on you while you faintly protest as if you’re surprised by my nakedness. “Did you miss me or something?” you’ll jokingly ask as I pull down your pajama bottoms. Your pussy will be freshly groomed but you know it wouldn’t really matter. You’ll fake a protest as you turn off the lights and enjoy my mouth discovering already moist pussy. You’ll shudder shudder because you forgot to touch yourself during my trip. But there will be no time for foreplay because you’ll purposefully push my buttons by poking at the lack of control over my animal instincts. “All this for me?” you’ll ask as I spin you over to your knees in front of me so your round ass rubs against my rock hard dick. “There must have been some beautiful women at last night’s party.” I’ll be turned on and offended by your assertion as I glide my dick into your dripping pussy. Every feminine curve and voice and aroma from the past two weeks will fly through my brain as I begin to thrust into you. The smacking from your cheeks against my thugs will be deafening as the thrust go from me fucking you to you bucking me. If you were as tired and disinterested as you’ll pretend to be you’d be on your stomach talking dirty hoping I’d come quickly on your ass. But you’ll be on your hands and knees grinding that pussy against the dick you missed while my hands grip your hips and ass. You’ll be fucking me like a champ until I push deeper into you while I reach around to grab your breast. Then it will be over. You’ll buck uncontrollably and my dick will drown in your movement until we both come with a shaking violence indicative of how pent up our kink had been. I’ll sit behind you while you remain on all fours unable to come down from your high. Slowly rocking to and fro you’ll finally sink into the freshly dampened sheets. You won’t be able to see me smile as I stare lovingly at the only ass that occupies my brain when I’m about to come. But you know I’ll be staring so you’ll welcome me home with “I missed you, too.”

The clouds were suspended over the church as we found our car in the light spring rain. The cooler temperature matched Tara’s mood. Her exit from the parking lot matched her anger. “Please slow down,” I calmly begged, knowing full well that Tara wouldn’t. I’d given up hope after she ran the second red light in as many intersections. “Killing us both won’t bring her back,” I said as I watched her tighten her grip on the black leather steering wheel. Tara and Stephanie had been best friends since college. Last week’s bicycle accident was as unexpected a tragedy as any of us could have imagined. They’d ridden through those woods for 15 years with the occasional bumps and bruises, but the fall that took Stephanie’s life was a shock to Tara’s core. As Tara pulled over to the side of the winding highway, I unbuckled my seat built. She was in no condition to drive after the funeral. For a week she was a rock for everyone because she was the closest person to Stephanie in the world. She executed everything from funeral arrangements to financial specifics. Tara was everybody’s rock, but I wasn’t sure if she had sustained her own head trauma during her wipeout. “Can you pull over more?” I asked as I looked over the back window at the traffic hurdling through the mist. “Why the fuck didn’t she listen?” Tara whispered, hands still fixed to the wheel. “She could have stopped. Why didn’t she fucking stop?” She gripped the steering with all her might. I just closed my eyes. Tara’s pain was exploding while my guilt was eating away at me. Stephanie may have been Tara’s college roommate and best friend, but three years ago Stephanie and I developed a closer relationship. *********** Tara was in Montreal for a conference when Stephanie built up enough courage to make her move. For years it was obvious that Stephanie had a crush on me. She’d always deny it, but Tara and I knew that she was infatuated with me. It was a joke for five years. And then it wasn’t a joke. From practically the beginning of our relationship Tara and I weren’t on the same page sexually. We were more than in love, but Tara grew less and less interested in sex as her career took off. My dick was a minor distraction in her world and she had no trouble telling me. “Please take care of that elsewhere,” she’d tell me, but I didn’t think that was what she really wanted. Every other week or month she’d apologize and we’d fumble through an intimate act that only frustrated both of us. We were making it work, somehow. The rest of our relationship was actually amazing, but the tension around our sex life made for some terrible fights. Truth be told, I found her career and personality both too intimidating and important to bother with my petty needs. One particular week she practically laughed at my needs. “If your dick was in that much need,” she sneered, “you’d have bent me over and simply fucked me.” That was her special kiss goodbye as she got into the limousine on her way to yet another speaking engagement in Paris. Humiliated and emasculated, I spent the better part of the week buried in work. I hit the gym at 6AM, at the office by 8AM and didn’t get home until 10PM. Tara’s apology texts went unanswered as I feared her return Saturday morning. When I pulled into the garage Friday evening, I found Stephanie’s car in the third section of the three car garage. I could hear the vacuum cleaner in the family room, but I chose to keep to the kitchen. As I made myself a sandwich I heard the vacuum turn off and the worst version of Sade’s ‘Smooth Operator’ take it’s place. Stephanie obviously had her headphones on and hadn’t realized anyone else was in the house. As she danced into the family room, I was greeted by a Raiders t-shirt and an orange thong that was not quite the typical maid’s uniform. Tara and Stephanie were best friends in the same way that Tara and I were married. Tara made the rules and Stephanie willingly followed. From job choices to boyfriend breakups, Stephanie was dependent on Tara’s advice. Their relationship was so close that I wondered if Tara’s lack of sexual interest in me was related to her connection with Stephanie. Of course I didn’t have the courage to ask Tara so I brought it up to Stephanie. “Not our thing,” Stephanie simply denied. I was kind of hoping it was, but that was the last of that conversation. “Oh, Jesus!” Stephanie screamed as she finally realized I was behind the island watching her one woman show. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were home, asshole?” she shouted as she caught her breath and fell to the couch. “Didn’t think I had to announce myself in my own house,” I replied. I tried to focus on my turkey on whole wheat, but my dick was captivated by what that orange thong was trying unsuccessfully to contain. “Tara asked me to straighten up the house before you she got home because she said you were MIA,” Stephanie explained as she tried to wiggle her thighs into her t-shirt. “Where have you been?” she questioned accusingly. “Working,” I answered flatly. “Working so hard you can’t text your wife?” Stephanie barked back. “At least I can wear pants,” I snickered in return. “Shut up!” Stephanie laughed. “They’re in your wash,” she said as she bounced up from the couch and scuttled up to the island so I couldn’t see below her waist. “Barbecue stain,” she sighed. “I bet,” I continued to snicker. Stephanie was an amazingly beautiful woman, but she never felt comfortable about her shapely curves. She hit the gym constantly to keep fit but no amount CrossFit could contain what God bestowed upon her. In contrast, Tara could eat anything and stay supermodel thin. “Fuck you,” Stephanie laughed. My not-so-subtle jab at her weight was clearly a reminder of what Tara had been punching since they were freshmen in college. “At least you’ll have something new to think about when you’re jacking off tomorrow night!” “Why don’t you give me a little show to remember?” I pushed back. “I don’t get that much eye candy around here.” Stephanie stepped back from the granite island with a stubborn defiance. Her muscular frame held up her round dimensions and my eyes recorded every inch. “Is this what you’d like to see?” Stephanie softly spoke, her typically high pitched voice turning sultry. In that moment the joke was over. We were no longer mimicking Tara’s cruel treatment of our faults. We were two adults alone with a clear need for a connection. A connection that involved positive vibes. “You know that your body is what Tara wishes she had,” I said I stared with an appreciation and sincerity typically reserved for exquisite works of beautiful art. “I don’t think I care what Tara wants right now,” Stephanie responded as she shyly pulled her black & silver t-shirt over her head. Her near naked body was something I’d imagined for years as a simple curiosity. As she walked toward the kitchen I forgot about all of the mean jokes we’d told each other over the years. Those jokes that amplified Tara’s dominance of us were what kept us from noticing each other. Those jokes kept my dick from throbbing in Stephanie’s majestic presence. But Stephanie traded those shallow swipes at my dignity for a validation of her womanly beauty. There were no more mean words in Stephanie’s mouth that evening. Just my dick. ********* “You’re driving isn’t that much better,” Tara sneered as I turned our SUV into our serene neighborhood. I slowed the truck as I navigated the puddles before turning into our driveway. While I waited for the garage door to open, Tara unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the truck in the pouring rain. She couldn’t spend another second in my presence and she needed to cool off. A week ago she watched her best friend fall 1000 feet and she hadn’t said a word about it. I didn’t know what to do. So I sat in the truck. In the rain. In the driveway. With the garage door up. ********* For two years Stephanie and I took quiet advantage of Tara’s frequent business trips. Our foreplay consisted of mean-spirited daggers at our personal insecurities in Tara’s presence and then radio silence until the last day of Tara’s trip. The tension of openly sparring in front of Tara and potentially getting busted made for an amazing two years of happiness. Even Tara seemed content knowing her two closest people were twistedly enjoying each other’s company and I was a lot less horny when she got home. Of course I faked it a little, but I was less cranky when her answer to my requests was 'handle it yourself, pervert’. Then, as expected, everything changed. For two years Stephanie and I had kept our encounters playful. Oral and handjob were the menu’s only choices. We were naughty but the thrill was easy and freeing. My face between her thighs or her hands in my boxers were therapeutic releases. No condoms or lube or preparation. What was clearly planned had the feeling of spontaneity. We had a secret instead of an affair. We were like teenagers full of nervous energy and bound hormones. Unfortunately that playfulness ended when Stephanie showed up at our house one day into Tara’s weeklong trip to Sydney. I was working on my laptop on the back porch when I heard the garage door open. I was in my boxers because it was a warm evening and our backyard faced the dense woods. As I kept working an hour passed and I assumed that Stephanie was just in the neighborhood and needed a place to crash. She was the only other person with a key to our house. Maybe she was watching TV and enjoying a free meal. As the sun dropped into the crowd of trees behind our house, I heard the patio door slide open. Before I saw Stephanie’s naked body I smelled the wine. I was thoroughly confused. Without a word or eye contact she took me by the hand and led me to the couch placed in the middle of the deck. There was no witty banter or laughter on her lips - just a tinge of red wine. This was heavy because I realized my face had never been this close to hers. While her hands were clearly wrapped around my growing dick, her mouth was someplace new - my neck. Soft kisses were piling onto my clavicle as I questioned where to put my hands. They’d only ever been in her afro, in her pussy or on her breasts. But they remained to my side because the only obvious choice was wrapped around her waist as she began to straddle me. This was no longer playful. This was intimacy. She never kissed my lips but I knew what was next. The taste of the red wine couldn’t mask the sense of passion that accompanied her wet kiss. I could feel her easing my growing dick into her warm pussy, but I was too engulfed in her quiet kiss to really notice. I sat like a statue trying not to place my hands on her waist as her teeth gently bit my upper lip. As Stephanie rested her hands on my shoulders I realized that she no longer saw me as a fun release but rather a partner in joy. Her hips barely moved but I could feel her pussy squeezing my dick with gentle hugs. And with each passing minute, the hugs got tighter and the pressure of her biting intensified. For two years we laughed at the guttural moans we shared under each other’s stimulation, but this was thunderously silent. As her thighs tightened around my waist I fought the urge to wrap my hands around her waist the way the dark sky clinched our scene. A slow tremble melted over my nervous dick as her legs shivered and her nipples pierced my chest. The exaggerated writhing of her hips and boisterous swearing of her mouth that accompanied my tongue between her legs had been replaced by a blissful silence that brought focus to the rhythmic contraction of her pussy that slowly drew the life out of me. And lastly I could feel her nails gracefully trace into my back shoulders with the precision of a caligrapher’s pen. The sting I felt from those intense scratches as the humid air rested within the shallow wound woke me from my trance. We had shared more than 100 moments of cum soaked laughter over the previous 700 days, but our math was inverted that warm evening. And before I could make rhyme or reason of our situation, she had exited as quietly as she entered. I could have held her there to stay. But in truth I never held her. ************ I finally entered our house with the sole intent of taking care of my wife in her time of need. My steps were calculated and my breath was deliberate. I knew she was cold and wet in the living room, but I stopped in the kitchen to make her favorite tea. The house could feel the unbalance as Tara was losing control and I was looking to steady the ship. “She wasn’t supposed to…” Tara tearfully started as I placed her Brazilian tea on the table in front of her crossed legs. I patiently waited for her to finish her thought because in the last week she only spoke in cold facts about how she’d lost her best friend. She was being her usual strong and controlling self around friends and family, but from the time we left the cemetery I could feel her beginning to unravel. Then Tara broke down in sobbing tears. I was as frozen as I was when Stephanie decided to join me on the back patio a year prior. I clearly sucked at these situations, but I had to be better this go round. After that evening on the back patio, Stephanie and I never connected again. We only saw each other in the presence of Tara. Our time alone during Tara’s trips were never discussed. Even our ongoing jabs that acted as foreplay in front Tara ceased. We had nothing. “She couldn’t stay on the fucking path!” Tara grunted as she reached for her tea. “I told her ass to stay focused, but she didn’t listen. Stupid girl!” I’d heard her explain the accident 20 times over that last week. To the police. To Stephanie’s parents. To everyone. I could retell every moment as if I’d been there. In vivid detail I could describe beautiful morning air that sung with spring lyrics. I knew the dewy green grass that lined the path below the three evergreen trees. I could see the spokes cave as Stephanie’s tire hit a patch of rocks scattered on the right edge of the path. I could hear Stephanie’s nervous laughter shift to frightened swearing as she lost control of her front wheel near the sharp turn at the bottom of the path along the hill. I felt the momentum that carried Stephanie over the edge of the rocky terrain. I could identify every thorny shrub that scarred Tara’s legs as she climbed down the hill to find the remains of her closest friend. I could hear Tara dialing 911 while she held Stephanie in her arms as the sun glowed bright. Tara needed a 911 call now. For herself. I could see the hurt in her eyes, so I kissed her on her forehead and ran upstairs to run her a warm bath. Warm tea and warm bath were the best answers I could think of to drown her tears. As I ran the water and took off my tie I could feel her presence enter our bathroom. She’d heard the water and disrobed. Inside I might have been confused as to what to do, but on the outside I was becoming her rock. “I don’t deserve you,” Tara spoke softly as she walked up to me. I gently placed my hands upon her waists. With a slow focus she helped me removed my clothes until we both stood naked under the sunlight that began to break through the clouds outside of our window. Her thin brown frame then began to lean into my chest as she steadied herself with my arms. Only one part of my body was prepared for her eventual position as my eyes fixated on her ass moving further from me as her mouth wrapped itself onto my dick. She sucked me with an intensity that was as pointed as her neglect had been awash in our marriage. I found myself frozen again, but this time I held on to my instigator with a love that felt rewarded for enduring the unrequited passion that coated my every inch. And in an instant I released every ounce of love that I had on reserve into Tara’s welcoming mouth. As I slowly regained my composure, she led me to the tub. We carefully climbed in and I sat behind her while she sank into my chest. The hot water cooled to the perfect temperature. For ten minutes we sat in silence until I asked if she was “going to be okay?” Tara arched her head backward toward me and grabbed my hand, gently resting my palm against her neck. I could still feel the tears falling onto my wrists when I felt her tense up. Then with a subtle nod I could feel her swallow. Swallow me. As my brain processed her actions I couldn’t control my smile. And I could feel her smile as well. Relaxed. Then with a ballerina’s deft Tara stood up and turned toward me. The warm water trickled down from her hardened nipples onto my bald head. She then threw her legs over my shoulders and leaned back. Her hands gripped the sides of the tub while her pussy began to grind the smile off of my face. With my tongue I wrote 'I love you’ over and over. Her hips thrashed as her ass splashed heaps of water onto our bathroom floor. I gripped Tara’s waists like I planned to hold her there until the end of time. I wasn’t going to ever let go. Her wet pussy was engorged and she began to convulse as though she was about to cum. Tara released her death grip from the tub and leaned on my knees while her pelvis worked her pussy onto my face. Worried that she might fall I reached behind me and gripped her ankles to anchor the intense whipping her pussy was dishing out. “Oh fuck!” Tara shouted as I tightened my grip on her ankles. I could feel the scars from the shrubs. Most of the scabs had fallen away, but I could feel the patterns. “Fuck!!” Tara shouted as her thighs nearly squeezed the life out of me. She was fucking my face with too much enthusiasm to realize my mind was now focused on the scratches on her legs. The deep scratches on her legs that felt as though they were written by a skilled caligrapher. As though the signature included the pain of an unrequited love. “Fuck!!” Tara gasped as she held one last squeeze against my face. As her ass sank into the water and she collapsed onto my legs, she saw the look of understanding in my eyes. “Stupid girl,” Tara snarled at me as she closed her eyes to hold back the tears or to enjoy the afterglow. “I told her to stay on the path.”

As I eagerly stroked my throbbing dick I started to forget why I was so upset. My eyes began to shut as I took one last glimpse at your unmoved stare and forgot the path that brought us here. That path started with you brushing your teeth and complaining about Stan, the idiot in accounting. For 6 months your role as the CFO for this small, but heavily bankrolled startup occupied every ounce of your presence. Stan in Accounting, Erica in IT, Fin in Design, Gennie in Operations. They all wanted a check to validate their existence and you wrote the checks. At first I tried to follow the politics of it all, but my own world as a writer kept me on other people’s puppet strings. A meeting in Dallas, a party in Berlin, an interview in Toronto. All good, but my focus was watered down. So I’d try to visualize the bouts between Gennie & Stan so I could help wrestle the politics of the situation with you, but I’d miss too many episodes to try figure out each plot twist. Plot twist that you were always ten steps ahead of. So I’d simply enjoy watching your chocolate ass shake as you tried to explain yesterday’s near implosion over the toothpaste and running water. And for the first few months we were okay. I’d laugh while you griped about your situation and you would raise an ‘I told you so’ eyebrow when I complained about my schedule. But we always knew that the mental duress our brains were under could be eased by a tickle here, a rub there, and happy endings for both us would ease the tension enough for us to energize our batteries. We always found a way to slow down the outside world by caressing our inner one. That’s just we kept each other ready for battle. Then we moved to San Francisco. We never thought that the change of scenery from Atlanta would bring much of a wrinkle considering we’d uprooted our lives twice before without a hitch. Yet somehow every little facet about our new life had a small crack that was quietly having an effect on the next facet. Going from two cars to one made sense, but it threw us off. Grocery shopping on the weekend threw off our meal planning. Doing our laundry in the basement instead of the top floor was somehow catastrophic. Every little alteration in our fabric was another stitch ready to unravel. You’d think a move from DC to Barcelona or Barcelona to Atlanta would have caused us more headaches than these shifts in lifestyle. Yet we ran through those hurdles without lifting our head up. This was different. And we knew it. So we lost our rhythm. My meetings would run a day over in Detroit and conference would start a day early in Austin. My lunch plans would be open but your quarterly audit would be worse than expected. My revisions would get edited the night your office party would be the toast of the Bay. So our toothpaste conversations wouldn’t lead to a tickle or a rub or a happy ending. Just inaudible static that we would let pass, simply worried about our individual toils. And so came the descent. Without having a tactical partner to diagram success we each found trouble at work. And trouble at work meant more work. And more work meant less time to diagram success. So more trouble. And less tickles, rubs, and happy endings. Now when we shared time together there was tension. There was silence. Not the kind you get when you’ve grown apart. The kind you get when you’re closer than you think. Without our minds or bodies working together we were both in personal tailspins. For 2 months we only discussed meaningless bullshit. I stopped hearing about Stan & Erica. I didn’t care. You didn’t hear about Athens. You didn’t care. Your team was starting to write their own checks and my writing was stale and contrived. Until you ate my salad. That salad was leftover from last night’s meeting at the museum and it was going to see me through that days lunch. But when I came home from my run I saw it was missing. Sure, there were a dozen other edible items that would have been more satisfying than that salad. But I was planning on having that salad. You should have known that. You would have known that. I send you a sarcastic text about taking my salad. Ten minutes go by. No response. Now I’m heated that you have taken my salad AND are too busy to given at least a half-ass apology. So now I’m going to get my salad. Already sweaty from my run, I add on another layer of sweat as I run to your building. The security guard passes me through and the elevator music starts to calm me. But five floors of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” must have been three stories too short. Off the elevator I realize I’m lost. The staff has grown double and I only recognize the old receptionist who appears to be in an office. “She’s in the back, corner office,” Gennise De La Ricoles, Director of Operations points out. I may have said thanks but I’m not sure. I wanted my salad. In that long walk down the hallway I noticed that all of the tempered glass offices were getting new treatments. The purple and blue logo was being replaced by a new shiny red one. But they weren’t green so they weren’t my damn salad. When I turned the corner to your office, your assistant said you’d need a minute. He probably recognized me from the photo on your desk from us in Vegas. The one where we had too much wine and not enough sense. I was just about to sit down when I saw the silhouette of you putting your feet up and reaching for a small box. My fucking salad. Without hesitation I walk in as Mitch - I assume that’s his name - tries to stop me and then warn you. “He’s fine,” you tell him. “What’s up? Is the marathon today?” “You took my salad,” I point out, starting to realize that all of this for a salad is a bit much. “Okay…” you pause. “I told you I was taking it this morning.” The office door clicked as Mitch completed his 'I’m not needed here so I’ll just let myself out’ closing of the door. You’re sitting along the window about open the box when you notice my attitude. “Do you want this salad? That you gave me? Really?” “Yes. Yes, I do?” I question. “Okay. Strip!” You exclaim with a self-assured easiness that I hadn’t seen in months. “Excuse me…” I respond clearly. “I said strip, bitch,” you nod as a joke to our more relaxed days. “Here?” I ask, forgetting about the salad altogether. “In your office?” “Yes. Here. I’ve just completed the sale of this thorn in my side and my share is $28 million. So if you want any of this salad or any future salads, I suggest you get to strippin’,” you explain without a smile. “Bitch.” “Wow. Congratulations!” I start. “Maybe you didn’t hear me. I’ve spent the last 6 months telling fools that don’t listen what they should do in order to enjoy this moment. Those that listened are about to enjoy themselves. Those that didn’t, won’t. I just need people to fucking listen. Now strip,” you finish. Ordinarily I would have looked around for some sort of sign from the real world that this was unreasonable. I was standing in the middle of an office building being told to undress. I wanted to look out the window to the building across the parking lot to see who was watching. I wanted to look at the tempered windows of the office to make sure I couldn’t see out, so no one could see in. But I didn’t take my eyes off of your eyes. You weren’t smiling. You weren’t budging. You just wanted someone to listen. So I kicked off my shoes and pulled off my shorts. You just stared at me staring at you. Then I took off my shirt and tossed it to the floor. I could feel my dick getting stiff in my underwear. We just stood there staring at each other for 2 minutes. Then I pulled down my briefs, never breaking eye contact. I wasn’t sure, but could here movement just outside of your office. You sat up straight in your chair and I walked closer. You looked up at me and then placed your hand on my thigh. Instinctively I grabbed my dick and started stroking it. I stroked it while I stared into your eyes, and you into mine. You never broke your stare. Never smiled. Never moved. But I could feel the light in the room dimming from the bodies lined up outside of your office. I could feel every wrinkle in our relationship being settled with every stroke of my growing erection. I knew that every time I felt the precum on the tip my dick that I was going to find a relaxation that has avoided me for months. Then, without breaking eye contact, you licked your lips and spit on my dick. It was raw and cleansing. And I stroked harder. Faster. I could feel the frustration begin to buckle my knees as I continued to pull all of our ills from within. And as I began to forget about what I had made me so upset, my eyes started to lose connection with yours. Just as my eyelids began to close I saw your eyes look down and your lips begin to part. Ten more strokes with only your hand touching my thigh and I erupted, seeing a rainbow of colors behind my eyelids. I trembled with ease with only your hand to give me a sense of physical direction. My body was released of a tightness that I didn’t know was there until it was gone. I was between some other world and your office, until you called me back. Not by calling my name, but by the unforgettable tone of a swallow. My eyes immediately opened wider than they’ve ever opened before. You were still staring at my dick and I nearly collapsed. You slowly pushed my thigh back so I could stand on my own and awaken from the trance. That’s when I noticed the room get brighter from the bodies removing themselves from the perimeter of your office. I slowly stepped back while I recovered from the physical act itself. I never recover from each swallow. “Now get dressed while I enjoy my salad,” you tell me, never breaking a smile. “I’ll see you at home, babe. I have a couple of other things I need you to do after I quit.”