The hotel was a brick affair with long hallways branching left and right off a central elevator shaft. After a giggly check in (did the staff know?) they rode up three floors (still holding hands) turned down the left corridor and got to room 305. A passkey flashed the green light of no return. Two queen beds, TV, chair with night stand. Big picture window with shades and curtains. They each awkwardly put their luggage down, surveyed the room. She went up to him, hugged him, asked, “Can I kiss you?” He replied, “Yeah.”

The kiss was an icebreaker. Yes. This is what we’re here for. Nerve endings all electric. Tongues searching each other. This was the opening salvo. There is permission. Consent. On the same level. If an entire body could sigh, it would feel this way. Unfortunately, it would have to be just a kiss at the moment. He still had a half hour to put orders in before cutoff. She parted lips, pumped both fists in the air smiling declaring “First kiss!” He sat with a tablet in the chair facing the bed while she kicked off her chucks and lounged on the other bed checking her phone. Each stole glances at the other when they weren’t aware. It was the longest 30 minutes for each of them.

Then at last, he could call it a day. Nothing until the bothersome meeting the next morning. He made a grand display of putting the tablet down, then walked over to her bed, pulled her to her feet. “All done?” she asked smiling. He grinned and nodded, drawing her into more of that unbridled kissing from before. Inevitability. No turning back. Their hands and arms tightened the hug into a desperate anchor, lest they fly off into the sun. Quickened pulse, swishing mouths, hungry moans. Every broken kiss was immediately punctuated with smiles. He sucked her tongue when he could trap it, and her moans confirmed she enjoyed it despite the surprise.

At last, the gap in the faces cleaved. He relieved her of her shirt. Went to work on the jeans button, slid them down along with the panties and socks, all in one solid mass. She managed his shirt off in the meantime, while he unpinned her bra and tossed it onto the nearby chair. He rid himself of pants and boxers and socks, with his cock bobbing straight out, a dewdrop of pre-cum streaming in a tendril delicate as spidersilk. They’d both sent nude pictures to each other so there was no assessing of areola size or body hair. It was an enticing ritual of finally getting to know what it finally felt like.

She had mentioned how she had never cum from oral sex, so that was his first action. She lay back on the bed and he kissed her mouth, swirled tongues. Next, he dotted a map of kisses down her neck, gave attention to both breasts and nipples before proceeding a tremor map down her belly, and knowingly kissing a trail down her left thigh to the knee, then to the right thigh, down to the knee, before finally zeroing in on her beautiful engorged vulva, wet with desire and anticipation, a salty dark honey zone. He lapped her nectar, flicked back and forth on her clit, experienced her writhing on the bed. Her opening was wide already so he slipped his long middle finger in and moved his fingertip back in a beckoning motion on her G spot. Each stroke punctuated with tongue clit vibration.

After motions and sounds he assumed to be her orgasming, he raised up, chin wet. Her arms pulled him up and on top of her, her mouth an open, panting delight. Her cheeks red, her forehead sweaty. His rigid cock guided towards her, glided into her like a perfectly tailored glove. These bodies were supposed to be for each other. They fit so amazingly together.

He lifted her legs and glided in and out of her and her eyes got wide.”Whatever spot you just hit feels so good. Don’t stop.” He didn’t. He held her wrists down to the bed, something else she said she enjoyed via the texts. She writhed, panted and smiled. He smiled too. This fire which he had assumed gone in the youthful days was back and stronger than ever. He loved giving this pleasure to her. It was a turn-on to have someone actually interested in sex again. This felt so right, so natural. Why had they waited twenty years?

He took one nipple, then the other, into his mouth. He swirled their rising tips with his thumbs. She bit her lip in ecstasy. They worked a rhythm in the late afternoon sunset, enjoying the touch, the heat, the carnal attention. At last, he thrust a few hard strokes and withdrew, spurting three lines of cum onto her belly. He retrieved a white towel from the bathroom and gently cleaned her off, then collapsed in a sweaty pile next to her, smiling and exhaling. His hip muscles ached with effort and he nicknamed them the Board of Thrustees. They lay for a while, clammy and exhausted, and at some point he rolled her onto her stomach, massaged her shoulders. He kissed down her back, raised her up a little and parted her ass with his tongue. She moaned an “Oh” with as much pleasure as surprise, then his fingers strummed her vulva in beautiful circles. His cock was back at attention and he entered her from behind, using one thumb to tease her ass.

Grabbing her hips, he slammed into her faster and faster. He clutched desperately at her breasts from below, squeezed them. A neon energy built and crackled until he had to pull out again and sent warm stripes onto her back. He cleaned this off with the towel and kissed her shoulders. She turned her face to him and their tongues danced in each other’s mouths. Moans of delight. Smiles. Searching eyes. More kisses. All was perfect.

This was real. This was happening.

Both were short of breath. Both were giddy. The feeling of “is this really happening?” now enveloped two people in the car as it zoomed towards the GPS guided hotel strategically selected for halfway point to airport and actual meeting. True to form, she held his hand the entire car ride.

(In an attempt to detect exactly which paragraph the AI is misnaming a URL, I’ll be publishing a paragraph at a time)

He hadn’t known exactly how it had gotten to this point as he drove to the airport. There was the friend request accepted after a 20 year absence. Catching up via texts. Gradual disclosure which revealed he thought of her as more than a friend but never got an idea that she was interested in that way. She revealed she had the same feelings and even attempted to hatch a plan during college to take things further, but she fell asleep at his place while they watched a movie. He took it as boredom, accepted she was too cool for him. And now to find out all these years later, they had missed their chance. They were both married. They each had two kids. They missed their window. Also they missed that old fire, and now the fire had been rekindled. It blazed out and took over their regular lives. Two willing people, wanting a second chance. It was crazy, it was inconvenient, it was unethical. They each loved their partners.

But….they weren’t getting what they needed. To feel desired. To feel sexy. To feel present. Appreciated. Admired. He had a business meeting out of town. She had a convention in that same town, so she was flying in. Her convention was a cover story. These two hadn’t seen each other in 20 years and now he was driving to pick her up at the airport. He decided internally he wouldn’t press things. It’s one thing to say stuff online, but real life might feel different. He would leave space in case she decided she couldn’t go through with it when they saw each other. Her last text said she would probably hold his hand all the way to the hotel.

Analogies are not meant to be taken literally. Neither are adages, idioms, proverbs, etc. When we talk about Medusa having snakes for hair, her hair is not actually snakes. Some chap saw her dreadlocks and compared them to snakes since this is the first ebony goddess he had ever encountered. With juicy hips, thighs, and buttocks she slithered when she walked, but not because her hindquarters were a serpent.

A gaze from her did not turn men to stone, rather it made one part of their body rock hard. They froze with mouth open as she went by, which further cloudied the true meaning of “turning to stone.” Her deep dark brown eyes with flecks of gold around the black pool of her iris; a hypnotic whirlpool coupled with those full glorious lips. Plump and wide, those lips. A light lavender dusting over them, like sugared fruit that anyone to look upon her, men and women both, just had to taste. That urge, utterly palpable. Legend of her beauty grew and doubters were likewise silenced with the frozen open mouth.

Where she walked, a wide wake of fantasies and ache followed. Perseus did not “cut off her head” in the way that you think. She and he were engaging in the ol’ “sword swallowing routine” and Perseus, a wise and intelligent chap who charmed her, persisted at his father’s request to bed her, so to prove which kind of man he was. The man he was, however, was a man interested in other men. Though Medusa’s eager and supple mouth felt good as Perseus’s eyes were closed, his mind flooded with fantasies of men from town. Being a decent man, he stopped the proceedings, ended the oral pleasure, “cut off her ‘head.’”

Perseus confessed his nature. They cried and held each other, and Medusa was disappointed, since he was the only male who had anything interesting to say instead of the stammering mouth-agape apes she was used to. Yet the friendship persisted and even flourished now that sex was no longer a complicating element. But wait, how did Perseus use Medusa’s head to slay the Kraken?

The “Kraken” was a nickname for a ruthless and corrupt seafarer and according to plan Medusa used her wiles and charms to get into his room. She disrobed, commenced with her oral talents. The Kraken, fully distracted and about to climax never heard Perseus as he stole in and stabbed the vicious slave trader. Medusa’s vengeance for her family was complete. Perseus was the assassin. But all these years later, Medusa is painted the villain with snake hair, Perseus the hetero hero, the Kraken an aquatic monster “turned to stone by Medusa’s head.”

Tales like these are steeped in nuance and one can endeavor to decipher the true meaning with a little ingenuity.

Wish I were drinking from that most beautiful fountain: the vulva

The true hot springs

Lapping at the saucer

Licking stripes as I trace the pink wishbone

Candy button jewel and my tongue is a warm blanket

Her body quakes and moans feed me. I wash it down at her waterfall.

Quench her

Drench me

The Worst

I used to work for a restaurant some years back. Started out as a server, elevated to manager, and then promoted to general manager. The hours were long, but I felt that my loyalty and dedication had paid off, and I was secure with the company. There had been 19 manager turnovers in five years, which should have been a warning for whomever wanted to go grasping for the big prize.

The fateful day I was going to go to Kaiser with my wife after work to verify that indeed she was pregnant. During that shift, the restaurant owner came in, took me to the office and told me flat out they were letting me go. Not because I had done anything wrong , they were just “moving in another direction.” I felt all of my internal organs drop. This was a total blindside and I wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye to my staff with whom I had grown close. Mid shift, I merely disappeared out the back door, never knowing what their reaction was. Needless to say, it was an awkward doctor’s visit and what should’ve been a day of joy was turned into a day of uncertainty and pain. I will never forgive Michael Sternberg for that. To pour salt in the wound, I found out later five minutes after I left a manager from a different restaurant was moved into my position. Why? Because they didn’t have to pay him as much as they paid me. I discovered they were basically going to use the money of my salary to do renovations on another restaurant, a restaurant I am proud to say failed, seven months after opening. The reviews were brutal, people openly mocked the cheap stickers on the awning, covering up Harry’s Tap Room and saying Market Tavern, and I openly celebrated its closing. In this spirit, I wrote a song which I’ve not recorded yet. So try to imagine a scathing bluegrass ditty with maybe a Latin flare bridge for the following lyrics:

Fuck you, Michael Sternberg

Go and eat a burnt turd

Your name is like a dirt word in my ear

Hope you get punched in the solar plexus

Someone keys your Lexus

And your wife just leaves you sexless for a year

One thing you have mastered

Is being a cheap bastard

You replastered the awnings without care

You thought you were so clever

But your Market Tavern endeavor

Failed so hard it was like it was never even there

I’m going to force feed you some lukewarm afterbirth

For never paying your chefs what they’re worth

And all the managers you treated like gnats

Have all been issued fresh new baseball bats

We’re all taking bets as to what

Will be the first thing tumbling out of your gut

We’re so happy we got a….

Human piñata…..

Fuck you Michael Sternberg in the butt