The Upper East Sider

I'm blown away by swimming and gymnastics which took priority over work today. Amazing.

But, to business: while still reeling from NBC's tear drenched gymnastics coverage of yesterday (never mind the assy and asinine comments about Gabby Douglas' beautiful hair from barely earlier), and the pasta bake induced food coma that followed her into Wednesday morning, the Manhattan Cupcake struggled in the subterranean world of the New York metro once again, and came across the Co-Worker once more at work. We agreed that we might hang out in the evening, dis any more sappy commentary that came our way on the TV, grab some dinner in the evening after work. I joked even at the time that we were starting to get a little serious - sex wasn't even mentioned at all.

So the time of joyful departure from a certain well-known city landmark came at last, and the CW suggested we might go to his place (a lack of embarrassing roommates; plus he has surround sound which of course makes all the difference watching when swimming semi-finals). So we trundled through the subway again, we cooked together (so couple-like, eugh), and flopped down in front of the delightfully-delayed broadcast.

Then, his arm around me, he leaned across, half squinting at me with a look that said 'I want you but I don't know about it tonight.' So, twisting on his couch, I made the decision easier for him, and soon clothes were piled at each end, and lying back on the couch his face was clasped in my crotch, tongue trickling down from high to low, even - delightfully naughtily - reaching a little round the back from time to time, while I rested my legs on his shoulders to pull him closer..

We banged in the living room, but it was a bout that lasted only a short while this time. He took me while I knelt on the cushions, my boobs pressed into the back of the couch as he stood behind me, and I felt his head enter me, and it was delightful.

Am I getting less detailed and marginally more poetic here? :s We fucked, and his efforts on me before helped to bring me to climax just the once, but powerfully, just as he came too. Sweaty in the humid room, we lay, our skin cold in a sheen, on the couch, while he doodled shapes with his finger on my stomach, which I loved and squirmed and giggled.

We didn't do it again that night, but I stayed over, we slept naked together in his bed, and in the morning on Thursday we woke, spooning and I felt his half-hard sleepy excitement pressing gently but earnestly at my butt. Turning round - he was still pretty much asleep - I remember grinning at his dreamy dozed expression, and I gently wriggled down the bed between the sheets, and woke him up in what (I hope) was the sweetest way.

We had a long breakfast together (I had woken up at about 5am). He even poured the milk in my bowl (which was a gesture that I didn't miss; and no matter who did it I'd hate it!). During eating, he asked me, "Would it be an idea to leave a few things round here for the future, just in case?" He was smiling, but looking tentative. He knew all about my current thoughts on the general state of American manhood (in terms of their ability to faithfully commit to anything, anyway).

"I'll think about it." But I've not said no, and I don't think so. We left earlier than we might have done for work, as I had to go to my own room for new clothes. It is frighteningly possible that I feel for him something more than his beautiful capacity to fill and fulfill me in multiple ways. But in my mind, my stomach filled with cereal and coffee, juice and cum, he was receiving a field promotion from the anonymous co-worker to the new official title by which herein he shall be named (and with no discernible clue to his address, naturally): the Upper East Sider.

Cucumber-Induced Madness

Peri-dinnertime addendum: 

Is it just me or is this entire thing going to be rather self-absorbed? Admittedly, it’s aimed primarily at myself so that shouldn’t be too surprising, but I can’t help feeling that there are far bigger fish to fry than my sex life which (as I shall relate) has now run to a maximum of three successive sessions (that should be a better word) with the same guy; which, counting from the New Year is something of a personal best. I hope that that doesn’t make me sound too slutty. And I have got to get better at those titles.

Anyway, since every gruesome detail should be cataloged to feed my desire for self-love (no, not that kind), I should first relate how I was groped very unsatisfactorily on the subway this morning, which left me outraged and violated (obviously: nothing a tug of your top won’t fix but it’s just not nice, which is a substantial understatement - but I've discovered even my insubstantial chestage is the subject of interest to metropolitans) but also rather depressed that nothing more creative than an ‘accidental’ and prolonged touching of my boob could be managed on the part of my otherwise dishy assailant (who predictably managed to vanish before I properly realized what was going on).

But moving swiftly on, (much as he did): far more enjoyable if equally unexpected, the Co-Worker and I met for a brief lunch, which, when the assorted comestibles had journeyed south, degenerated into a playful public scuffle. We followed this by a clandestine venture into an unguarded bathroom, for reasons I don’t pretend to understand other than cucumber clearly makes me horny, where we probably rather noisily made out, and both my boobs were touched this time. Things came to a head (though sadly – from his point of view – not literally) with me leaned back on the door, deliciously fingerbanged in the semidarkness by a guy in a suit.

The whole episode was about five minutes, and I’m still not sure what happened. Not that it wasn’t fun, but I feel kind of dirty. This has got to stop. Sex should probably stay out of the workplace in future; we didn’t get caught but in retrospect, an important lesson learned too.

Listen to myself! Things come full circle (now that has to be something worthy trying); we return to self-absorption. But since nothing else other than an alarming heap of laundry taking up all the space in my room that’s not my bed, is actually going on in my life, I suppose sex is all I’ve got. Rock on Friday.

 And speaking of the subway guy’s interest in my boobs alone (he was about my age, well groomed; he could have asked me out instead), there’s some vague connection to: jezebel.com/5929326/every-day-ordinary-women-are-reduced-to-sexual-body-parts-by-men-and-by-women

Though also, of course; I’ve just spent the last few days writing about specific bits of me and what the Co-Worker is doing to them. Hypocrite muchly methinks.

The Co-Worker (Suit II) - July 25th

A little pre-work update over breakfast: I am no good with titles, but I feel I ought to have one, so there it is. Happily I awoke feeling much better on Wednesday and struggled through the subway as per normal, and midmorning a text meandered through the æther, or at least from the floor below, from Friday’s guy, asking how I was, having discovered yesterday’s absence by some means or another. That was sweet enough in itself, and I would have suggested we met for lunch and left it, but his immediate reply contained in a few characters such an eagerness and longing, not desperate but excited and anticipatory, that were I not sitting at a desk I would certainly have felt weak at the knees.

Ok, it wasn’t actually that profound or amazing, but he intimated that he might like to do something in the evening were I feeling better, and having discovered the salutary lesson of writing this is that it might awaken desires that can’t be fulfilled with frosting alone, I agreed. The apartment would be empty again until quite late, so an early evening fuck with the guy with whom I’d had such fun last week – perhaps followed by some dinner – sounded ideal. By the end of the afternoon my mind was already focussed on the forthcoming activities, thoughts of flailing arms, tongues, little sweet groans and sighs and grabs and clutches, rather than anything nearer at hand, and I rather skipped through the lobby when I saw him there at the end of the day. We didn’t hold hands or anything, but we walked briskly, breathlessly round the corner to the stop in the rush-hour crowd, and into the heaving mass of humanity trundling beneath the city streets.

I felt his hand brush against my ass as we walked from the exit to my door. As I opened it, I allowed him to push past me, taking me by the hand not quite in an affectionate, but more in an eager, commanding way, and he led the way up the flights of stairs, my heart beating from more than the exertions of climbing them. The apartment was empty, thank goodness, and from the door to my room we left a bedraggled trail of detritus, bags, shoes, a coat, shirt, pants, top, skirt, until we were in my room again, the door left ajar, in our underwear only. This time he lay back, as I clambered aboard, sitting astride him feeling his growing hardness pressing against the vague moistness of my panties. I was grinding on him, I realized, which made me giggle, as I leaned forward to kiss him, softly at first, and then with growing passion while his hands fought behind my back for control of my bra strap, my own clutching at his face and neck.

We rolled down the bed laughing as his hands eagerly attacked my breasts from both sides, fondling not tightly but firmly, and by little movements of his head, his tongue, we wormed his way down my body until he knelt on the floor, my legs resting on his shoulders, and he gave me a single long delicious lick through my panties, by now wet through. I quivered at the first touch, and he reached under my thighs, hanging almost off the bed, to pull them but I held him back – “with your teeth”. He tried, wary lest he bite me too hard, but the struggle to remove them made it all the more exciting, until at length he pulled them down, the wet crotch in his mouth, his eyes alive with desire for me, and panties down he leaned back into me, his lips against my other lips, and tracing from just in front of my ass all the way to my clitoris with the tip of his tongue.

He maybe took a while to find his rhythm, and I wasn’t sure as he started that – as amazing as it feels to have your pussy so delicately touched by a warm, soft tongue – I was going to cum that way after all, but then he found the growing little swollen nub of my clit with his lips, and focussed on that, squeezing gently on the cusp of his mouth as he brought a finger, then two, to my hole, circling it over and over, spreading my wetness then gently pushing inside me. I think I realized how much I was moaning now, and the entrancing effort to be quieter – the window was wide open – brought about a little mini climax, which could never be an end in itself but only a delightful harbinger for when I felt his cock enter my cunt.

As I lay back, gasping, he stood, and kept me limply on the bed just by some expert action of his lower arm, as he bent and stripped of his boxers. I watched him smell, lick my juices off his arm, and he leaned over me as I scrabbled up my bed to rest my head against the pillows, then followed me, spreading my legs with his hands as his hard chest pressed on mine. There was an unsexy pause while I hunted for a condom, but found it, and sat up, putting it on him myself (there’s a first time for everything), and my hands staying at his base, cupping, tickling his balls for moments, our mouths once more locked. He couldn’t stand it any more, and in rough passion he pushed me backwards, and our eyes were focussed only on each others as I guided his cock to my entrance, feeling his head maybe pulsating against my lips, and he smiled, and I smiled, and he pushed hard against me, filling me roundly in an instant.

We were much livelier than the last time. College yoga has left me a little flexibility yet, and over a few minutes as I lay back, with him thrusting inside me not fast, but hard, he gradually brought my legs up to be level with his head, until he was no longer lying on top of me, but almost upright, and I held my legs back for him, framing his body with mine as he grunted and we sweated together. The opening of my legs wide made me notice directly the action of his shaft round my lips, feel the movement not just inside me but almost tickling, at the very entrance, and in this position he made me cum a second time, still not that powerful but a long drawn out exhilaration, a gentle tingling and rush that lasted far longer than usual.

Suddenly I was sensitive, it hurt, and in worry I made him stop. But it couldn’t possibly be fair to leave it at that, and as he lay back on the bed beside me, I slipped down the sheets, watching him watch me as I found his cock without once looking at it, taking his full head, now faintly smelling of the condom as much as his body, in my mouth, trying to play with it with my tongue while moving my locked lips up and down his shaft, as my ex had with great patience tried show me. He groaned, lying back, and then I felt his hand on my hair, not controlling but rising and falling with my head, and I grinned, curling myself around his body until I felt him tense up, with gasps, his cock noticeably throbbing, his balls drawn up like a fuzzy drawstring bag underneath, and as slowly as I dared, with my spit as sufficient lube, I massaged, rubbed, stroked his cock-head, leaning in for little kisses before he spasmed, and holding his shaft tightly I tugged at him at a gentle pace, and at once with his roar of pleasure a great spurt came from the end, partly splashing my face, and maybe four or five littler ones that fell over my hands, adding to the slipperiness as I kept on slowly stroking him until he gasped “oh God stop” under his breath, and I leaned against him, my sticky arm across his cumflecked stomach.

We didn’t say anything for a few minutes, until I heard his stomach rumble at the same moment that my roommate opened the door to the apartment. With silent, conspiratorial laughter we picked our way through the living room grabbing clothes as we went while she was in the bathroom – I half hoped for, half dreaded, an encounter like this, and we dressed hurriedly on the landing – fortunately no one else was about, and the room had been too dim by this time for someone coming from the bright landing to see the mess of clothes we had made.

We shared burgers, having each spent a few minutes in the restaurant bathroom tidying ourselves more thoroughly. I can’t tell what our relationship is, yet; for the present it is delightfully new; not exactly risky but sneaking around to fuck is exciting. I’m seeing him again for more fun (I hope) in the next few days – and in the meanwhile, we’re agreed again that we can sleep with others too if we like, for the moment anyway. Presumably we’re moving towards the status of friends-with-benefits. It’s not something I’ve been part of before (how naïve of me). Perhaps he’s got another beneficial-friend – or an actual girlfriend even maybe? I hope he's not married – but as yet, I’m very eager to be his dirty little secret :P

The Suit, Friday 20th July

How and where does one begin with this sort of thing? I think I’d like to keep this as personal sounding as I can, so I’m not going to go seek out other people who are doing a similar thing, to see what they do. Let the masses come to me. Or not… Anyway, the memory, for the moment, is still incredibly vivid, so here goes:-

There is something very amazing about fucking a guy who hasn’t even taken off his suit. We shall call him the co-worker, though actually he habituates the floor below me, and we first met in an elevator, a few days into my job, when I accidentally tried to stab him in the butt with a lunchtime banana. Over the following few months, I became initiated into his circle of friends (attacking a hot guy with your fruit is a sure way to get his number), all the while watching his arresting gray eyes, the sort over which the poets go into paroxysms. No, I don’t know which poets either, and I digress. He was maybe 5’10, which isn’t a giant in this day and age but a good bit taller than me, (even in heels), which is always my preferred way of having things; sandy brown, hair, his jaw not prominent but sufficiently and intriguingly masculine to capture my interest a little more. Then, last Thursday, when we were by chance alone in the same elevator that brought us together, he asked what I was planning for dinner on Friday.

A bottle of wine shared between two, on top of a decent meal eaten over the course of several hours, isn’t a lot even by my naively abstemious standards, but by the time it came to finding enough between us for a respectable tip, my head swam with utterly unworthy (and, for a first date, probably rather risky) thoughts of the four iron corners of my bedstead, and someone slung between them at their partner’s mercy. Just a very little, most playful, bondage is a certain way to a night of perfect fun. The taxi, which I recall smelling like it had only just been fished out of the Hudson, disgorged us onto the sidewalk, and somebody mumbled something about coming in for coffee, seeing as how my roommates were out. We sat on my stoop and surveyed the passing traffic a few moments, before without warning, and from nowhere, he and I were making out. Thoughts of coffee forgotten, I leaned back against the wall as he pressed forward, at the clawing insistence of my hands behind his head, lips touching softly, then more powerfully, my mouth falling a little open to feel his tongue in my mouth.

We made it up to my door, he following; I felt, rather than saw, his eyes from their position a few steps below me gazing upwards at my lower legs, and the vague thought that he should see a little more of them kept me a moment from unlocking the door. We nearly fell inside, in the clichéd way of lovers that until that moment I thought only existed in fiction, and in the dank darkness he pressed me up against the wall, as one hand sought the right switch, the other cradling my head, looped over me, running back to stroke my cheek as he bent, and found my mouth again with greater passion, excitement than before. I knew just how the night should fall, and in an inner sanctum of my person my body became aware too, a faint, at first imperceptible tingling in my stomach, a warmth a little further down, inside.

He forwent the light, and his hands instead gently tugged at the little belt around my waist over my dress, my tongue burrowing backwards into his head now, touching his neck in one hand, tracing gently down his back with the other. The belt fell away, and tenderly a hand reached up my back, finding the zipper, bringing it softly down, the hum of it running smoothly the loudest, sexiest thing in the apartment. I grinned against his face, as I slipped out of my shoes, leading him, walking backwards over the detritus of the main room, and into mine.

We stopped at the threshold, his hands both on my butt, as I nuzzled into his chest unable to reach his mouth. He held me close, quite tenderly, a moment passed and he whispered – the first words either of us had said since climbing the stairs – “This is okay, right?” I was taken aback; it was the first hookup/date since moving here where the possibilities of sex had materialized a little unexpectedly, rather than the deliberate implicit discussion of a dinner or a drink – and this realization startled me, I giggled: “I want it – you – now…” trailing off as he pushed away from the doorway against me, so I fell hungrily back onto the bed, looking up at my man standing over me, looking down my body with my dress half crumpled against it now.

I reached for his hand in the semidarkness, noticing in passing that I’d left the curtains nearly shut all day, pulled him towards me. He was on me, not heavy, his weight on his arm and partly still on his feet. I remember next his warm breath against my neck, as out of my sight I felt his right hand run fingers up my arm to my shoulder, where he slipped away the strap of my dress, then again the other side. The zipper undone earlier he leaned away a moment, pulling it down where the bra, slightly lacey, alternating black and white stripes on the cups, I’d put on in haste that morning, seemed to suddenly entice him further, and as we panted in our abrupt exertions he pulled down my dress further – no thoughts of sneaking a hand up from my legs then – as I undid my bra.

I lay back as, the dress around my feet, he moved to be over me again, his mouth on mine. The surprising softness of his suit jacket gently teased my nipples, which became harder, eagerly, as the moments of our kissing lasted, and his hands cupped my breasts, fingers squeezing, undulating gently, like he was miming playing piano against them, and his mouth moved by tiny kisses from my lips to my cheek, chin, neck, chest, and as he stroked away the hair from my face I felt his teeth press very gently against my nipple; wetness forming within me, feeling it for the first time sticking invitingly against my underwear. I wanted him.

With surprising strength I pushed him off me, and he stood up in surprise, maybe concerned a moment that I was changing my mind. But I rose from my bed, and pressed him up against the bedroom wall, on my tiptoes even to reach his chin properly, and as my body fell into his I felt in his pants a little intriguing hardness. My thoughts of jacket, shirt coming off moment by moment as I felt him there, abandoned, I knelt, looking up at him as he squinted down at me, absolute desire on his face as I cupped my hand over the slight protuberance below his belt. In unwholesome haste, I just groped, while he unfastened his belt; I pulled his pants down, and his boxers, in one movement, his cock, not overly long but hard, and wide and round, tumbling out, and I looked up at him.

I laughed at the eager motion he made with his eyes, and I leaned in, and kissed the very tip as I brought up my hands to hold him. I sucked him slowly for only a minute at most, I felt all the while a little throbbing in my mouth, happy even for him to cum right away, before I stood, and pulled his body, trapped in half-lowered pants, against mine as I lay back in the bed in the same moment that he touched the elastic of my underwear, pulling them in an abrupt, exhilarated moment, my wetness almost sticking at the same time that I stretched up to the bedside drawyer. I fumbled and found a condom as he began to kneel, with watching me watch him, and to start to pull off his jacket, but for only the second time I remember, speaking, handing it to him: “We’re further on than that already…I want you…” and he smiled, and nodded, and post a moment of wresting with the packet, I felt his head press at the moist folds of flesh, and all in an instant he entered me, filling me and fulfilling both our fervent desperations.

That first moment – even if the rest of the sex is pretty ordinary – is always an exhilarating, joyous little experience, as you feel yourself part, a hotness enter you for the first time, and so it was this time. In the stuffiness of the room – air con forgotten – and he still in all his clothes I think, I lay back and let him fuck me, slowly and deeply, his hands on my breasts in a part-grope, part-tease, part-support. It was only then as I wriggled up the bed, that he finally took his clothes, short now soaked in sweat, away, and his body, trim but not overdeveloped, fell with a grunt against me. His hands clasped my face, mine his back, as his cock with tiny little half-thrusts founds its own way inside me again, and with my legs drawn up around him we built up a faster rhythm, before at a half-murmured indication we rolled sideways across the bed, with me now on top, rising and falling across his slickened shaft, which is always the best way to cum.

After it was over – perhaps ten minutes of wrestling in the humidity, he opened the curtains and the window as far as it would go, and we lay across my bed, arms around each other, our flesh become one in sweat. We had barely spoken since entering the apartment, and it was only now that resumed a conversation that drifted away as we went to sleep.

I woke about two hours later. He had hardly changed position but I had wriggled round in my sleep to be almost upside down from him, and in a horny sleepiness I brought my head up to nuzzle at his drowsy member, which stirred of its own accord, bringing him to wakefulness, and we did it again, tenderly, slowly at first but building to an almighty climax of shouts, grunts and groans.

In the morning, we woke very early, and at a little coaxing from him, we started it again, in a matter of minutes becoming a heaving mass of dawn flesh as I opened my mouth to him, and my mound wetness was against his lips, and both of us on our sides we ate and ate until it was all gone. We hunted round my room in silence for his clothes, and I followed him quietly all the way down the stairs to the front door in just my underwear, which I had scrabbled to put on. We kissed on the stoop again, we said we would call.

That was Friday. We met on the Monday, briefly, at lunch, but have yet to arrange something else. But we agreed in the meantime that unless we become a proper thing it would be fine to see other people. Now my morning migraine has abated a little in the hour or so it took to remember and write, I half think that I would like to, half to see him again, in my bed, raising himself over me…

Ok now I’ve really no idea how one ends this either. It’s taken some time to compile my thoughts, and it’s been fun to write it and relive it. I don’t know if it is actually a successful piece; I’m just starting, over all – but I shall persevere in the lively hope that much more happens in the coming days.