OneLegUp – an intimate evening with Charlotte (part 2 – the good stuff)

You read part 1. If you didn’t, start there….

We were the first to arrive at OneLegUp this evening. A dapper man with a name tag identifying him as “Gordon Ulick” attended a coat rack in the lobby of the apartment building. He took our coats. And our phones. And gave us a shot of tequila. All after checking our names against his list. Palagia came out to greet us, and escorted us into the apartment. She introduced us to the bartender – Anita Handjob, said her nametag. I handed over our bottle for her to manage for us, and we had some small talk. The apartment was, indeed, sumptuous, if small. A one-bedroom with lots of erotic art and bordello lighting. An excellent setting for a small sex party. “How many are you expecting?” I asked Palagia.

“If everyone shows up? Fifteen,” she said. “But you know how it goes – it’s February.”

Charlotte and I sat down on a couch and pawed at each other, taking in the surroundings. After not too long, a threesome arrived – a tall couple and their short third. The tall couple were attractive, in their forties (I’d guess), or maybe fifties. The shorter third also was cute. None, though, was either of our “types” – inasmuch as either of us has a type.

Charlotte had been anxious about two things: 1) “No one will approach me” and 2) “I’ll be the youngest person there.” I told her (correctly, accurately) that the first was impossible, and the second, unlikely. In fact, the second ended up being true.

We continued chatting, Charlotte and I, and another couple arrived – this one, much more to our liking. A blond guy in his late thirties or early forties? with a man bun – good-looking in spite of it. And his wife, a slender brunette with short hair, also in her late thirties or early forties. They were, genuinely, hot. As the short third monopolized Charlotte’s attention (“When I woke up this morning, I had no voice, so I’ve been drinking tea all day long,” she confessed in what Charlotte and I mistook for a smoker’s rasp. Really? In a pandemic, when you’re sick, you go to a sex party?!? Both Charlotte and I took a metaphorical half-step back – physical half-steps not available on the tiny couch.) I struck up a conversation with man-bun. After some minutes, his wife joined the conversation, and then, so did Charlotte. And finally, I think, so did Palagia.

There was some awkward small talk – “How did you guys meet?” I answered. Explained. Stretching. Dating. For a while now. Some more awkward small talk: “How old are you?” one of them asked Charlotte. Discussion about how we all had found ourselves in the same city. It wasn’t great conversation. It wasn’t awful. It just was. Palagia provided great conversational lubricant though, bringing over two paddles – one, rectangular, with a fuzzy side and a leather side; the other, more ovoid, and leather on both sides. Unbidden, she gave us some instruction on paddling. I have been thinking I’m doing a good job at spanking Charlotte; Palagia definitely upped my game. She showed me how to target the fleshiest area, minimizing pain and maximizing shock sensation. Charlotte liked Palagia’s paddling of her. She liked my paddling of her. Achievement unlocked!

And then, Palagia announced, “It’s time to strip to your undies!”

At least initially, Charlotte and I wanted to stick to one another. I led Charlotte into the bedroom, threw her on the bed, and began feasting on her pussy. I had told her, earlier, that I wanted to make her come over and over for an audience, and it didn’t take long before man-bun and his wife were in the doorway, watching, as Charlotte writhed, delivering me orgasm after orgasm. And then, they were on the bed, next to us. Doing the same thing. The women’s heads were adjacent to one another as man-bun and I worked our ladies’ clits. I lifted my head up to Charlotte’s and whispered to her. In a brief, furtive conversation, we established that she and the woman might kiss.

The two women started making out, awkwardly, as Charlotte continued coming and coming and coming on my face. The woman? Not so much. It was hard to tell if we were learning about her, about her husband, or both, but what was happening between her legs didn’t seem to be giving her all that much pleasure.

At some point, Charlotte and I took a break, and repaired to the bathroom, so we could have a private conversation. My memory is a little hazy. Was it in this visit to the bathroom that I had Charlotte lower herself to her knees to suck my cock? Was that later? Regardless, in this visit, one thing did happen: we discussed granting one another permission to engage with the other member of the man-bun couple. We agreed we both were ok with it. Our rules, you’ll recall, were that neither of us would have sexual interactions with another without the other’s permission. We hadn’t ruled anything out, but forward movement required explicit discussion. Which we had. And then, I think, more cock-socking.

My cock deep in Charlotte’s mouth, there was banging on the door. “We’ll be out in a minute,” I said. “Sorry!”

We emerged to find a cheerful Palagia. We made our apologies, and returned to the bed, where man-bun and the brunette were still at it. I pushed Charlotte back down on the bed, and resumed kissing her clit. More of the women kissing. Man-bun and I watched and, as we watched, I asked him – “Are you interested in switching meals?” He looked like he’d won the lottery. (He had.)

I asked his wife – “May I?” She nodded, demurely. Man-bun secured Charlotte’s consent. And we all were off to a different set of races. This pussy was unfamiliar to me. It was sweet. Barely had a taste, or scent. And was inconveniently impeded by a black teddy that didn’t snap to provide easy access, so I had to yank the crotch to the side – and hold it there – to maintain access. I don’t know if it was my technique, or my newness, but my new partner had a response to my tongue and fingers that her earlier performance, with her husband, gave no indication of. She wasn’t Charlotte-responsive – she didn’t writhe, or scream. But she was vocal, and she did move – and, she did come. Twice? At least. I felt her cunt clench around my fingers, felt some juices flow, even as I heard her say “I’m coming.” So. I felt good about that. I kept looking up to see Charlotte, who didn’t look quite as happy as she had been looking just a few minutes earlier. She came, I think, once. But coming once for Charlotte is – well, it’s not much. And it’s not a victory. Ten times? That’s something. Once? Not so much.

After a bit, Charlotte gave me to understand we wanted the guy to stop. I tapped him out, and Charlotte and I walked into the other room. And returned.

Somewhere in there (was it here? Charlotte seems to think it was; I’m less certain), Charlotte began going down on the wife. The wife seemed a bit happier with Charlotte’s tongue on her clit than she had with her husband’s – maybe on par with mine. I stationed myself between Charlotte’s thighs, fingering her, licking her clit, as she worked the clit in her face. Man-bun, meanwhile, lowered his cock into his wife’s desultory mouth. Nothing all that exciting happening up there, I thought. And then, I came up to breathe.

We refreshed our drinks, ate some yummy chocolate pretzels, and watched as the threesome went at it – tall guy fucking his wife doggie-style, while the short woman licked his balls. The fucking was rhythmic, steady. It wasn’t hot. His wife may well have been having fun, but it was hard to discern. Ditto the man. Ditto Ms. Laryngitis.

Charlotte and I went back to the bedroom after it had been vacated and had a brief session of her sucking my cock – but I wasn’t getting hard. And she wasn’t feeling great about being watched while sucking cock. (Somehow, it felt great for both of us to be watched as I went down on her; the opposite? Not so much. For either of us.)

We had another drink. Watched some more of the fucking in the other room. And began to dress to leave.

Ms. Laryngitis told Charlotte she really wanted to kiss her. Charlotte demurred. Ms. L didn’t take the hint so well. I had to be more forceful. “Maybe next time,” I said.

We said good night to all. Palagia gave Charlotte a copy of a beautiful book she had had made some years ago of her sex parties. And we left. In the lobby, I booked us a hotel room nearby, and we moved on to part 3 of the evening.


  1. I’m 100% confident that you screen comments before you allow them on this blog. Which is prudent! But, my god. You wonder why more people don’t read it? It’s because it is a train wreck of watching a narcissist age. Every detail is imbued with such an unpleasant grandiosity. How hot you are? How smart you are? How young women (pretend to) have dozens of orgasms with you ? I suspect a tiny percentage of your tiny readership are looking at this with anything but “wow, this guy is a colossal asshole. What is he going to say next.” That’s what I do. And I hate that I check in on your blog, but I just can’t look away from the enormity of your ego. It’s fascinating to watch.

    That I can’t comment without submitting my email address says a lot.

    1. 1. Just practically – it’s possible to comment while submitting a fake e-mail address.
      2. Of course I’m a narcissist. And of course I’m aging. All writers, by definition, are narcissist – writing is fundamentally a narcissistic exercise.
      3. Funny you read my description of our hotness as a grandiose boast; it was meant as, if anything, a lament about the crowd. It never occurred to me we’d be the hottest folks there. It seems like a real strike against the place that it was true. While I think I’m ok looking (and better looking than I’ve ever been before in my life), it certainly wasn’t intended to be a boast or a grandiose claim.
      4. So, um, most women I’ve been with don’t have (or pretend to have) dozens of orgasms with me. Charlotte does. You can erase her subjectivity if you like, or my pride, but I’m pretty psyched that she managed to have 50 orgasms in a night with me. That made me feel powerful, good, and happy. And proud. Am I embarrassed by that? No. I’m a human – a vulnerable, raw, human, and this blog is filled with my vulnerability – NOT my boasts.
      5. I don’t know what percentage of my readership thinks I’m a colossal asshole. They’re welcome. You’re welcome. I’m not arguing I’m NOT an asshole. I’m me. This blog has been great for me. Among other ways, because it’s helped me meet people who like me, who are attracted to me, who don’t think I’m a colossal asshole. But of course, inevitably, there will be those who think that.
      6. Re: welcome – I don’t write for an audience. I write for me. If the audience finds amusement, or thought, or arousal, or rage, in what they read? It’s all good.

      So. I hope you keep reading. And I hope you find something that resonates for you here.


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