Oral sex

A detailed set of instructions for an afternoon together.

A twelve-minute, wordless fuck.

A little written orientation on the care and feeding of my cock.

The game is tied, and nobody’s biting.

The tables turn, and I’m reminded: don’t be a biter.

A belt between your teeth, my tongue between your thighs, and a tap-tap-tap safe signal we both hope you won’t use.

T and I find ourselves with rare, kid-free hours, and spend them in a tangle of laptops, oral sex, emailed fantasies, and the complicated arithmetic of compersion.

Liza dreamed I gave her directions on how to fuck D. I’m happy to make dreams come true.

James Deen is pretty much my sexual role model. But I have some notes.

A polite request, or several.