Being a Unicorn

Photo by The Dirty Gentleman

Photo by The Dirty Gentleman

“Should I wear a horn?” I teased.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he said.

“I’m just saying, if I come over and fuck you both, do I need to wear a horn? My full unicorn costume is at the cleaners, but I can pull something together. You know, me being your unicorn and all, It’ll make me feel magical.” I played it totally deadpan for a second, and I could see the irritation in his eyes.

“Look, if you want to be a dick about this, we’ll find someone else.”

“No, I’m in,” I said quickly. I wanted to tease him, but hell, I didn’t want him to back out. I had wanted to fuck them both for too long for me to screw it up, but that didn’t mean my natural inclinations to be a huge pain in the ass weren’t going to come through. You can’t just ask your best friend to come fuck you and your wife without earning a bit of teasing in return.

“Well, don’t be a dick tonight. I mean, bring your dick, but don’t be one. She’s sensitive, you know? She’s already nervous enough, I don’t want her to freak out at the last minute because you can’t stop being ridiculous long enough to fuck her.”

“Oh, I get to fuck her, too? I thought I was just going to nail your pretty little ass while she watched. Or maybe that’s another friend. What are we doing again?”

“Just be there at eight and don’t be a tool. And no, she isn’t going to just watch. She wants something. You know, that thing you can only do with two guys.”

“An Eiffel Tower?” I asked.

“Only if that means my dick is in her ass while you fuck her cunt,” he said. Was it possible he didn’t actually know what an Eiffel Tower was? He watched porn, right? I knew they hadn’t done anything like this before, but that didn’t mean he was totally out of it. Shit, what was I getting myself into? I mean, other than some DP, a couple of free beers, and hopefully some straight virgin man ass.

“Don’t worry, man,” I said reassuringly. “I’ll be there, and I’ll be perfectly sweet and it’s going to be awesome. I’ll even be gentle with you. I promise. Just have a few glasses of wine before I get there and listen to Marvin Gaye or something. It’s all going to be fine.”

He hung up with a grunt, and I wondered for a second if maybe I had pushed it too far. It was unlikely, seeing as I didn’t know the meaning of too far, but still. He was a cautious guy, and you never know with straight people. They get hung up on all sorts of things. First it’s “fuck my wife, but don’t make her like it too much.” And then it’s all “oh no, please don’t make me swallow your cum while I’m kneeling on the floor in her underwear.” There’s just no telling what’s going to happen and how they’re going to react.

But I took my time, and prepared anyway. Being prepared for a threesome is a bit like preparing for Thanksgiving dinner. You shouldn’t be brining anything, but you have to be ready for whatever happens. What if Uncle Ralph’s new girlfriend is a vegan with a gluten thing? And what if Cousin Tom is not drinking wine this year and is only eating turkeys he’s met in real life again? So I shaved my balls, showered, brushed my teeth, ironed a t-shirt, and made sure not to put aftershave on anywhere someone might lick me. I polished my shoes, made my hair look like I had slept on it, and did twenty-five pushups. By the time I was ready to leave, I had a bag packed with lube, condoms, a riding crop, advanced anal beads, and a bottle of Power’s Irish Whisky. I popped a Viagra, downed a shot of espresso, and headed out the door.

Pete buzzed me in after asking for the password through the intercom. I don’t know who has a password for threesomes, but he said Mara required it. Just to be safe. I walked up the four flights of stairs, making sure not to get out of breath on the way, and I ate an Altoid before I walked in the door. No one wants Viagraspresso breath when they kiss you for the first time. The two of them looked like they were ready for a cocktail party, and so did their apartment. There was an open bottle of wine, another one next to it, and two almost empty glasses on the table. I kissed Mara in greeting, making an effort not to squeeze her ass too soon, and I shook Pete’s hand like a man. Like a big straight man. Like a man not about to get naked with another man. This was going just fine.

(note: I read the full piece at Dirty Boys on Sunday March 22nd. The whole thing will be on the podcast and probably in a book sometime in the future.)

Writing on the Edge of Normal


Rocky coast of Maine…

(excerpt from The Island on the Edge of Normal, Get the full books here.)

That evening I wrote down by the water once more. It was nearly impossible to do, but maybe that was part of what I liked about it. I had to wedge myself into a seat that was not especially comfortable, and I squinted just so I could see my page. On occasion I held a flashlight between my teeth, but it always left me tempted to reread things.

One day a professor of mine tells me to stay away from fiction. She means it as a compliment, but all I hear is that I lack imagination. She’s twenty years older than me and every guy in my class wants to sleep with her. I love her and hate her, and I get myself off thinking about her dragging me into her office to give me private lessons.

For two months I write about her nonstop. When I write she’s either in my bed or against the blackboard in the lecture hall. I write down every little detail, describing the way she stands and how she holds the chalk. I write about her voice and her shoes, and my fantasies never end.

There is no fiction in what I want.

The page took forever to catch. I tried six times to get it lit, but the wind was strong and the paper was damp. I didn’t want to think about school and I didn’t want to remember the notebooks I filled with insane fantasies, but it was all there anyway. I laughed at myself as I remembered, but it was tinged with guilt and possibly a touch of shame.

When the page finally caught I held it out over the rocks until it burned my fingers. It blackened my skin and left a sticky stain that I couldn’t rub off. I closed my eyes to the wind and tried to let it all go. The memory was gone, the words were gone, and I was somewhere new. The island could take care of its own.

Get the full books here.


Women and Self-publishing

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Image links to the Guardian… ^

Interesting article in the Guardian (via The Passive Voice) about how women dominate in self-publishing as opposed to a mostly male run traditional publishing environment. It doesn’t look statistically accurate, and may be hard to back up, but I’m going to go ahead and believe it anyway.

I suspect that any change which lets go of the old guard gatekeepers will allow for more women, minority, and underrepresented voices to be heard. It’s one of the things I most appreciate about the democratization of publishing, and while opening the doors to anything is always a bit messy, it’s a hell of a lot more fun.

Lucky’s and No Condom

lucky_strike_loweyFor many years I required everything to be clean.

I’m not sure when or how it happened, but I viewed it as growing up. The holes in my jeans vanished and the distance between haircuts grew shorter. I learned to favor cocktails with just two or three ingredients, and that included the brandied cherry at the bottom of the glass. I longed for smooth pussies that had been carefully shaved until I could run my tongue along a new landscape of tender skin, and even on the loudest occasions we mostly came in the dark.

I like to think I got dragged along by the rest of the world. We cleaned up Time Square, we stripped at airports, and we emptied our parks and riverbanks all in the name of feeling safe. I moved into nicer bars, steadier relationships, and made every effort not to come in her hair. Each day I felt safer and less at risk, but my anxiety broke free every six months forcing me into a huddled ball of tears. Maybe it’s the price we pay for progress.

And then one day we left the rooftop bar with disgust on our lips. We found the street, but even that wasn’t enough. The park let us touch the earth and we broke our cold plastic nicotine devices in half and chain-smoked Lucky Strikes until our lungs hurt. We stayed in bed for a week and didn’t shave an inch of skin until our bodies looked real once more. We grunted as we fucked and forgot about the neighbors for the first time in years. Even alone, I moved the tissues from the bedside table and stared at my cock when I came on my stomach.

When I finally felt stubble between her legs I lost control, and pulled her into the closest bathroom. I dropped to my knees, pulled down her jeans, and ate her pussy like it was the first time. She pulled my hair, thrust against my mouth, and forced my tongue and lips where she needed them most. She drenched my face when she came, and we didn’t turn on the faucet before walking back into the bar, alive for the first time in ages.

When we got home later that night we fucked on the bed with the lights on and the door open. We both soaked the sheets, and for days I could smell my come on her body. We made noises, messes and mistakes, and our rebirth was imperfect.

Outside of our carefully wrought shell the world was frightening again and everything was uncertain.


Excerpt from The Places They Come: A cuckold’s memoir

“Peter, I don’t know what happened last night, but I do know that I’m done asking. I’m glad this is something that turns you on, because it’s something I need, and for some reason it turns me on even more to be honest with you. Not about what I do even, but about what I want. And what I’m going to do.”

“I want to watch,” I blurted out. She smiled as she leaned back in her chair and opened her robe. She was still naked beneath it, and she motioned me in front of her chair. Without pause, I knelt between her knees and looked up into her eyes. She touched my chin gently before pulling my mouth to her cunt.

“I’m going to fuck him,” she whispered. “I’m going to invite him over, and he’s going to say yes, because all week he’s been telling me how much he wants me. And when he arrives you’re going to bring him up to our room, and I’m going to lie down on our bed with my legs open. Is this turning you on?”

I was close to bursting again, but with my mouth buried in her cunt I didn’t care. She was delicious, and I was so in love she could have said anything. The thought of her fucking this man I didn’t know on our bed just made it worse. Or maybe better as the case may be. All I could do was nod my head.

“Good boy,” she said, absentmindedly rubbing my head. “I’ll let you watch as he undresses me. You can sit in the chair while he takes off my clothes and…”

“What is it?” I asked, looking up from between her legs. “Please don’t stop.”

“Just eat my pussy,” she moaned, closing her thighs tighter around me. “You’ll find out what happens when it does, just know that you’re going to watch your wife get fucked by another man, and it’s going to happen tonight. Oh fuck, I thought I could wait, but I can’t, Peter. After seven years of just your cock inside me, I need someone else. Oh god, he’s going to fuck me so hard on our bed.”

She started to come as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and I didn’t let up for a moment. I had two fingers inside her, and I could feel her shaking around them as I lapped at her cunt, tasting her pussy as she came over and over again. Somewhere in the middle she began to moan his name instead of mine, and my whole body tensed up as I struggled not to come. My hard cock pressed painfully against my jeans as she clenched around me, and I had to hold myself back with everything I had…

You can get the whole book on Amazon here. 

Cuckold Erotica: The Places They Come


Click above to purchase on Amazon. ^

This was a fun book to write. I had no idea where it was going to go, and what type of conclusion it would come to when I started it, but I got carried away all the same. While I tried to stay somewhat true to the trope, I also wanted to be sure to give it my own GNY treatment, which I think comes through.

It’s dirty, emotional, and some might say a bit on the twisted side of the spectrum, but I suppose that’s what I like about it. If you like cheating wives, big cocks, emotional manipulations, some humiliation, and some personal revelations, then hopefully you’ll enjoy it.

It’s not short, more of a novella than anything else. You can find it on Amazon right here.


50 Shades, Consent, and the BDSM Community

If Fifty Shades knew what it was about, it would be a different story.

We are all happy to watch movies and read books that include abusive relationships, disturbing power dynamics, and characters who fall on the psychotic end of the spectrum. But we appreciate a nod if not a wink as well. While we don’t need to be hit in the face with a sunday afternoon special morality tale, we like to know that the author intended to write something problematic.

But what I find interesting is that this lack of context and awareness is fairly common in the BDSM community in general as well. Which is one of the reasons it irks us to see it on the big screen. Almost by definition BDSM likes to fuck with consent. Whether it’s restraint, punishment, or any other form of control, the fantasy is often about letting go. Giving up our ability to make choices. But the context is always key. The reality that any given scene is being played by consenting adults who each take responsibility for their shared power is easy to hide, but always important to remember.

But when we begin to share the games we play with the public, whether it’s a book, a Twitter feed, or even a Tumblr, it’s easy to get caught up in the personal and forget the context altogether. The reblog of a naked girl in a collar with text that simply reads “this little slut needs to get fucked” is as irritating to me as three hundred pages of abuse from an author who wants us to believe it’s all just so romantic. While the poster may have perfectly wonderful communication around consent in their life, the lack of any context at all feels problematic. Does she want to get fucked? Does she want to get fucked by you? What did she agree to when she took that photo?

And if I have to read more post about how “real submissives” do x, y, or z, I’m going to burst a few blood vessels. Or break something. If I can’t get a sense that you understand you’re playing consensually with an actual person, then I’m going to assume you’re just an abusive asshole. If the only context you offer is that you’re “a real Dom who knows how to take control” without any hint of agency on the part of your partners, chances are you’re not and you don’t.

Transferring our private lives and fantasies into a public forum is a challenge, but it’s not anywhere close to impossible. It’s easy on Tumblr or Twitter to argue that “everyone knows it’s just a game”. It’s the internet afterall. Who can take it all that seriously? But the same can be said about a work of fiction. Of course it’s a fantasy. Of course we’re not supposed to imitate the relationships in 50 Shades. But our lack of context, and our lack of self-awareness, have real meaning, because the only thing distinguishing consensual BDSM and kink from abuse is context. The only thing that makes it okay is that it’s something two (or more) people want. And if we don’t know that to be true, if the author doesn’t let us in on the secret, we can only assume the worst.

So, while we can bitch and moan (rightfully so) that Fifty Shades may be giving BDSM a bad name, we shouldn’t let ourselves off the hook either. Because we do the same damn thing all the time. And I suspect we do it for the same reason: because it excites us. Because fantasies of submissions, fantasies of control, and fantasies of getting lost in another person are so damn powerful, it’s easy to separate them from reality. It’s easy to ignore the context. It’s easy to forget that all of us are teaching something by what we share, how we write, and even the way that we play.

We don’t need to sterilize, and we don’t need to tame anything at all. But if we refuse to let everyone in on the context (ie consent has been given) then how can we expect anyone else to? If within our own communities we decide that the fantasy is better without an explanation, then how can we expect mainstream culture to follow? After all, they can simply turn to us with a smile.

I learned it from watching you.


Excerpt from Part One of Pill X


Click above to buy a copy! ^

“Are we going to have class?” I asked, sitting down on his desk.

“Oh, hey Jessica. I thought you’d be off…” and then he turned bright red as he realized he was about to say “fucking.”

“Just because everyone took the pill doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have class,” I whispered.

“Sadly, I don’t think anyone else would agree with you.”

“Did you take one this morning?” I asked. He looked up at me, and it was like he saw me for the first time. I knew instantly that he knew why I was asking, and it turned me on to watch him think about it. I stood up and walked closer to his chair before sitting down on his lap. He made a half-hearted effort to push me away, but it was useless.

“I took one when I got up. My mom left them on the kitchen table and I just swallowed one. Can I tell you something?” I leaned in closer.

“No. I mean, yes, but I’m sure I don’t want to hear it. Jess, this is a bad idea.”

“I’ve never fucked without a condom before. I’ve only had sex with two guys, and both of them only lasted a few minutes. I even made them pull out before coming just in case it broke.”

I could feel him getting hard as I talked, and I was on fire. I needed this more than anything else, and I was finally going to get it.

“And now that we all have the pill you think you don’t need one anymore, is that it?” he asked, standing up and pulling me with him. “You think that with the pill you can just do whatever you want with no consequences?”

“I don’t care Mr. White. All I know is that for the last two years I’ve wanted your come inside me, and if I have to wait any longer I’m going to go crazy.”

He put his hands on my hips as he looked down at me, and his eyes moved from my tank top down to my skirt. Normally he stares and then looks away when I catch him, but this morning he stared at me without anything close to embarrassment.

“You want me to fuck you?”

I nodded.

“Right now?” he asked, lifting me up and sitting me on his desk. I nodded again as he reached his hands up under my skirt. Just when I thought he was going to chicken out he slid his hands up and pulled my panties all the way down.

“And you want me to do it without a condom?” His voice was a deep growl. Just saying it was making him harder, and there was no way he could back out now.

“Yes, Sir” I replied, my body shaking as I felt his hands on my bare skin. WIthout another word he pulled my tank top off and threw it onto the floor. My tits were bare and he stared at them with hunger in his eyes.

“And you want me to come inside you?” Now he was whispering. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him. There was nothing else I could do. His mouth was warm and soft, and his face was scratchy. I pulled him to me, wanting to kiss him harder, and he wrapped his arms around me too, crushing me into his body.

“More than anything,” I said when we finally stopped…


Full ebook is here.

Must Love Nina Simone

There’s a crack in her wall that let’s in nothing but Nina Simone. The music comes through so quietly you can barely hear it, but it’s always the same. There’s no light, there’s no air, and there’s never any other sound. Nina sings nothing from any of the records I have and it’s never the same song.

The first time she had me over we lay on the floor next to the wall and drank three bottles of wine without ever getting up. The songs just kept coming and so we kept on drinking. We fell asleep as we listened and when we finally woke up the next day she was still singing.

The first time we made love was on a blanket in the corner. The music was so faint that we had to keep completely quiet in order to hear it. I was so sure that she would leave if I ruined the songs that I didn’t make a sound. Our bodies didn’t slap and we didn’t call out each other’s names. We didn’t sigh, moan, or scream and we moved so slowly our bodies were as silent as our voices.

I don’t think either of us really paid attention to the other. It wasn’t out of disregard or even worry of ruining the moment. It was just that it seemed unnecessary. We closed our eyes, entangled our bodies, and let the music guide us in our slow and quiet game until we both forgot where we were.

I can’t tell you if she came, or even if I did. I can’t tell you how it started or ended, but for three weeks we made love in that corner without making a sound. We made love for hours at a time, and while I thought I was falling in love I think I may simply have been in the way. She grew quieter day by day and even at dinner she was silent as if she was hoping to hear a sound. When she kissed me it was so slowly that it almost didn’t feel like a kiss at all.

I didn’t know she left until I saw the craigslist ad. I was looking at apartments when it jumped out at me.

“One bedroom apartment in the East Village. Warm, quiet, and well kept. Must love Nina Simone.”