TJ2800

For people who enjoy bareback sex - i.e sex without a condom, unprotected sex - at what ages did you have the most bareback sex? How much DID you have? If you are a guy, did you usually cum inside? For myself: Ages 19 -21 I think I used a condom like 3 times. I was really reckless and oversexed and the (mostly) young women I had were themselves into exploration and testing limits, so I must have fucked 15 - 20 partners without protection. And yeah, most times I didn't pull out. Age 28-29 would be the second period of much bareback sex. In this case I had just gotten out of a relationship and was depressed and drinking a lot for a time. I was a more cautious about pulling out. But if she didn't want me to, I wouldn't.

Believe it or not, it was actually after I'd lost my virginity. As in, the morning after. We woke up - the girl who would briefly be my girlfriend and I. We kissed for a while. She said she wanted me again. I closed my eyes. I heard her scooting the sheets back with her body. She took off my underwear and I felt her lips around me. She only sucked me for a minute or so. Mainly to get me hard. Not that she had to do much work there. Then we had sex. I've always much preferred giving and I'm a little surprised, given the literal question, that more women haven't responded with their first time receiving stories.

A few years ago, while in grad school, I was going through a sort of--how else to put it--sleeping-around phase. I wasn't too interested in commitment. I was more interested in seduction. Which I had been lousy at earlier in my life, because I had no clue about women or myself. But in my late 20s I'd gained confidence and was less afraid of women. In the spring I started seeing this one woman I met on OKCupid. She and I had already spoken on the phone prior to our date. While this was only a date, I still brought a condom. She gave me a vibe of someone who was somewhat lonely and chiefly interested in sex (like me). We went out for coffee and lunch and did indeed wind back up at her place and had sex. On the first date. The next weekend was similar. She had been sending me dirty texts throughout the week, but had also asked that we not have sex and just hang out the next weekend. I brought a condom again, because I still planned on seducing her. We watched T.V, I got close to her, put some moves on her, at first she rebuffed me, I persisted and she decided otherwise. I know I was being sleazy, but I will also say I persuaded her to a point that she genuinely wanted it. We had sex. Later on that evening, we fucked again, this time without protection. It was the end of her period and she felt okay about it. So yes, I raw dogged this woman on our second date. I went hard, because when you're bare, it's easy to do so. She called me "daddy" a few times over. She contracted on my cock. I came inside her. The next evening I took a break from working on my thesis to get a beer (also drank a bit too much at the time). Again; there was a part of me that didn't plan on hooking up, then there was the part of me that saw a woman sitting at the bar and sat next to her. She was with a guy, but he turned out not to be her boyfriend. She started talking to me first. One thing led to another, and eventually we went to another bar, made out, went back to her place and had sex, twice. The first time she dug her nails into my back and scratched me nape to buttcrack with each stroke. The second time was after being woken up at some early morning hour by her cats. She rode me and stiffened up and bucked her thighs and yelped. After that, she started riding me real hard, her face close to mine, her hair flying in her face. I couldn't cum. I guess my dick was exhausted after the last 48 hours. She was about ten years older than me and had just gone through a divorce, I would find out. We cuddled and she mentioned that it looked like she'd drawn blood on my back. I joked about the lyrics to You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette. That was how she found out that I was ten years younger. Anyway, I made plans to hang out with both of them the next weekend. Me and the older woman went to a movie, came back to her place, talked for a while and then she sat on my face. The next morning I ate her out again and fucked her again. She creamed in my mouth. I was under her sheets, feet poking out the back of her covers, fondling her tits with my hands. All the while licking her. I stuck a hand above the covers and fanned my fingers out on her mouth and she sucked on them. Still licking. At some point I moved my tongued up to the area of her clit and ran a hand down her body and around her thigh. She was making a good deal of (muffled, to me) noise by this time. I slid a couple fingers inside her. I could not feel anything tangible. Just liquid. Like sticking your fingers in a warm puddle. I swished my fingers around, touched her thigh (which felt already wet), licked her clit in faster circles. Her legs jolted upwards and her thighs seized. She shifted backwards on the bed just as I was moving my face down into her hemorrhaging fluids. Afterwards, we had sex and she kept asking me to go harder and harder. Then I washed up at home, went to see the other woman in the evening. She had once again said she wanted to just hang out that day and I once again had planned otherwise. We had a picnic, went back to her place and I once again managed to sweet-talk her into fucking me. I went down on her first. I noticed a filmy white gob dangling from her right labia as I spread her legs. Other guys would maybe pack up and head out at that moment. I just pressed right in there and gave her a good long pussy lick, top to bottom, and lapped that shit up. Yes, I swallowed a yeast infection. And kept pleasuring her for perhaps ten more minutes. Afterwards, I fucked her sideways on her bed, against the wall. I had trouble getting in at first and asked her, "how does this feel on a 1-10 scale?" She said, sassily, "Three." Almost right after, I jammed all the way in, balls deep. She said, "Ten." I did use a condom this time. I didn't spend the night. The next day I felt both sexually fulfilled and prideful but also had a stiff neck and a sore throat from all the cunnilingus/yeast infection. I planned on keeping things going with the older woman, because she and I actually had a lot in common and I wanted to keep casually seeing her. I essentially dumped younger woman. I just did not text her anymore. But then older woman dumped me via text not long after. At this point it started to occur to me that maybe my behavior had been kind of fucked up and wrong. I wondered if maybe I was a borderline sex addict. I'm engaged now, to a wonderful woman, but sometimes I think about this "dark side" of me, so to speak. How troublingly promiscuous was my behavior? Should I be concerned that I keep thinking about it? Share thoughts in the poll and below. Thank you.

I just posted a new story--a fictional story--called Dennis' Summer Adventures, which can be read here: It has to be downloaded because I didn't want to edit it down anymore to fit the site's text limitations. It is 16 1.5-spaced pages, so yes, if you aren't in the mood for something long maybe you can pass. I'd encourage fans of erotica to read it. Let me know if you have any questions. Best, Tom

(This is a short story I wrote, the first in a chain of stories. For those who like edgy and provocative fare. Any feedback is welcome, or you can answer the poll questions. Enjoy!) It's Summer.docx

Hello everybody. I write edgy, anti-hero erotica. It probably isn't for all tastes. My stories follow a charismatic but depraved 18 year-old sex maniac and the various women who fall for him over the course of his freshman year--not knowing that along with the thrilling sex they will also have to deal with narcissism, drug and alcohol use and infidelity. Comment here if these stories sound like they might turn you on and I will post one here. If it takes off, I'll post more. Just trying to test the waters on these. Thanks.

True story here. I was in graduate school, in a middling film program for people who had missed that boat--lots of other boats, too-- in college. I felt anxious, moody, misunderstood; I felt like I was a harder worker than anybody realized, closer to a genius than any of my colleagues. I saw a therapist and talked about my victimhood complex, which I felt stemmed from childhood wounds, and about my arrogance. All the same, I did not really want to get better; my narcissism knew no boundaries. The plus side of narcissism is that it creates a malignant sense of self-confidence that in turn gets you certain things you seek; mainly sex, of which I was getting plenty, and attention. The downside is that it ruins the fun of those things after a certain time; everything has a swift expiration date. This is all by way of setting the scene for how, while living in a major American city as an artistically inclined grad student at the tail end of my 20s, I became involved with two women during the same time period, crashed, burned and...regenerated? One spring Friday I sat in my office, trying to find the ending. The film was stuck, like its protagonist, in a state of limbo. Either it was the ending that we shot—four months ago, almost—or it was something I'd need to create, in the edit suite, there on my computer. Using an extension cord borrowed from my roommate Jose. Something that had yet had to exist. I had been sitting for an hour, making no progress. My thesis film would be the death of me. I saved. I quit. I left my office, which was actually a closet, because I couldn't afford a place with a den. I needed one or both of two things: sex or alcohol. Both were doable. I'd arranged to see Courtney the next day, a Saturday. I was halfway through my twenty-fourth year. I had two months of grad school left. And lots of life. I drank about three beers, masturbated first to pornography, then to the memory of the last attractive woman I'd fucked (before Courtney), who was a nurse I'd met at a bar, and who had been fucked (by me) on my friend's couch in San Francisco. A different story there, for a different time. I did my masturbating, then I went to bed. Saturday evening I found myself ringing Courtney's buzzer. It was cold for April. The leaves were holding off, just like how I was holding off. Then someone opened the front door. They exited, I thanked them, I entered, and realized I was already hard. And I had seven floors to go. Courtney never came downstairs to meet me. On our first date, arranged via OkCupid and a phone conversation, we'd met at a nearby café. Later, we went back to her place. After a few glasses of wine, we'd had sex. Yes, on that first date. She had texted me that she felt slutty about sleeping with me like that on the first date and suggested that we try not having sex on the next date. Her next text message was I want you inside of me. You can guess which one I chose to take seriously. And all this from a woman who gave me the impression of never leaving her apartment unless she had to. I took the elevator. Seven floors with an erection in my boxers. I thought about movies, probably. When riding elevators with an erection, I was always thinking about what I did: movies. I never thought about the woman I was hooking up with while riding elevators with erections. Does any guy? I knocked on her door. When she opened the first thing she said, before I could make any move, was "take off your shoes." Courtney was particular. She was possibly obsessive compulsive. It may sound strange or reactionary, but I could never picture women having OCD before meeting Courtney. It felt like a male thing. With Courtney, she always had a rack full of wine. Never half full or three-quarters full. She watched the same shows on repeat, day in, day out. She was dirt-phobic. She did not seem to enjoy kissing. She was a successful person, a year younger than me, who worked in sales for a clothing company. She was African-American. She had just moved to Chicago and had, by her count, only one friend in Chicago, an engaged Swedish woman who lived nearby. She worked from home. She was lonely. Not just semi-lonely. Real lonely. We sat on her couch, sipping wine and watching some rerun of Friends. She mentioned that how sad it was that Matthew Perry became so thin that season. "Isn't it because he was a cokehead?" I said. "Don't say that," she said. "What? Cokehead?" "Yes. That isn't nice to say." "Okay. Sorry." "It's something that probably stays with him. It stays with you your whole life." I looked at her. She glanced at me. I decided not to pursue that line of conversation any further. I took off my watch. I wanted to air my wrist out a little. I put my watch on her bedside table, knowing both of our heads would be near to it rather soon. When I sat back down, I made sure to sidle up closer to her, so our legs touched. She exclaimed something about how Ayesha Taylor and her husband were getting divorced, which was so sad. "Whose Ayesha Taylor?" I asked. "Um hello? From Friends?" "Oh, she was the black lady," I remembered. Lauren snorted. "Yeah," she said. "Was her husband also famous?" I said. Lauren thought about that. "I dunno," she said. "He's white." She looked at me. I put my hand on her leg. We watched T.V and sipped wine and spotted a book called A Path to a Fuller You on her coffee table. I laughed at something and moved my hand down to her calf. "Mmm stop that," she said. "You sure?" I said, stopping. "You're making me horny when you do that and I don't want to go down that route this weekend." So I took a break. When I had some more wine in me, I put my arm around her. She didn't tell me to stop. She leaned in and kissed me that time. She tasted like lip gloss. Half an hour later, she bobbed up and down on her pillow, staring up in to my bobbing face and breathed in squeaky exhales. One exhale ended in the word, "Daddy..." My lips were already caked with her wetness and a couple pubic hairs. Her lip gloss left a taste in my mouth that mingled with the taste of her labia in such a way that they almost canceled each other out, but not quite. Her mouth was opening wider and her mascara was flaking, like it was begging me to stay inside her at all costs. Her legs were spread and my thumb wedged in and out of the folds of skin on her left inner thigh. I plunged in and out of her, steadily, taking my time for both of us. I felt her legs kicking into the air every few thrusts. "Daddy..." she said. Plunge. "Daddy..." And drawing out, out, out... The look on her face expectant and jaded. Her eyes fluttering shut as-- Plunge. "Daddy..." I should mention now that I wasn't wearing a condom. I hated condoms. I loved birth control. Courtney was on birth control, roger that. I shifted two of my fingers between our gyrating stomach and down to her crotch. I caressed them over her pubes—my own pubes scraped them in the process—and dipped a finger into her clit. I was still fucking her. I was just fingering her, too. She made a squeaky-breathing noise that sounded like the dog whistle at the end of Sargent Peppers if it were having sex. She said, "Daddy!" I started moving a little faster. A brush bouncing in and out of murky ink. I put a hand on one thigh and levered her leg up in the air. Her calves were thick; they made my arms shake. But I had muscles; I had stamina. I felt some encroaching tightness around my junk; pussy contractions; (she was taking a dick); wetness guazing up my hard skin and veins and the tip, too. I plunged in and out mad fast while her legs bobbed up and my arms trembled and she made high, breathy sounds. Somewhere outside, a leaf budded out from the tree branch. I felt a tingling that I couldn't hold back. I came inside her without even trying to pull out. I stood in her bathroom, wiping off my junk. The pros of sex with a condom: no babies. The cons: your cock felt stale and latex sticky. If you raw-dogged a girl, your cock would have an organic, body fluid-sticky-ness, an earned stick-ness. It was a risk I was willing to take. I looked in the mirror, as I tend to do after sex. You can call it narcissistic. I thought about Courtney's final "Daddy." How would her real father feel about me giving his lonely daughter unprotected and fairly rough sex without staying over, without taking her out, without making any gestures towards a relationship? I hoped he didn't become a grandfather. I left shortly thereafter. While I was on the train home, passing over elevated tracks that passed third floor apartments and, at one point, gave way to a view of the lake, I received a text from Courtney: 6:06: You left your watch here! 6:07: Shit. I'll have to get it next weekend I guess. Of course, my guess would be right. I also guessed that the following weekend I would have Courtney on her back, again, saying 'Daddy' again, while my cock moved in and out of her, again. Maybe I'd have my watch on that time. Everything got dark with and there were speeding tiny light beams all around me. The train had gone under a tunnel. The next day meant more editing. More cuts, so little time. I was on my way to piecing together a new ending altogether. I had two ideas about it. But the film had to be picture locked in early June. It was late April. How on earth was this going to work? My software slowed down a few times and crashed once. It didn't help. I leaned back from my desk and looked at my wrist at one point. I saw only arm hair and skin. I thought about my watch. I thought of it, sitting on Courtney's bedside table, alone. I hoped she hadn't sold it online or thrown it away or masturbated with it. I acknowledge that I am a man of habit. Always have been always will be. I saved the project and quit. It was about 8:15 and I'd decided to go out for one beer. Just one. I'd made a spring resolution to cut down on the alcohol consumption. Anyway, did I have money? The answer was always No. I thought about where to go. They had $4.00 beers at the Corvington Tavern. Okay, that would do. I put on my jacket and shoes and left. Walking to Corvington Tavern, I felt all cares lift. It's nice to be in a state where you don't care. I didn't care about picking someone up there. I would just have a beer and go back home. I had a job script supervising on a set the next day. I had to get to bed early. Nonetheless, I got in to the bar and sat down at the one unoccupied seat beside a female that I could spot. Why did I do this? Because there was a part of me that needed to sit beside the first woman I saw; that needed a shot at her attention. She chatted with a guy sitting next to her. I thought that perhaps there wasn't much of a chance. So I sipped my beer and didn't glance at her. I was surprised when she turned to me and asked how it was going. I looked at her straight on. Her hair was a silky dark brown. Her freckles stood out. There was an Irish look to her. She wore a loud purple blouse. It made her look somewhat old fashioned. Her scarf was purple too. Her pants were a more modern black silk. Her thighs were thick and her legs looked strong. Like all men, I internally objectify attractive women when I first encounter them. I've gotten more subtle about it over the years. "It's going okay," I said. "How about with you?" She said she felt all right. It was somewhere in this collection of moments that I tried to gauge her age. For a moment, I thought she might be in her thirties. As we kept talking, I figured she had to be younger. The things she spoke of—the documentary her and her friend had just watched at the Logan Theater, her affinity for craft beer—and also the adult-ish clothes she wore, made me put her at thirty-four. Her face was heavily freckled and when she smiled it seemed she still had dimples. But there was something weary there, too. Something aged in her smile. She said her name was Anna. "Any plans for the summer?" she asked at one point. "I'll just kick it around Chicago and probably go home at some point to see my dog, and my parents," I said. I laughed. "I love it how I mention my dog first..." I said. She chuckled. "And then there's my parents also..." I said, imitating myself. "Are your parents still together?" She asked. I nodded. I asked if her's were. "No," she said. With that 'no' I decided seduce her. Because that was what she wanted. All the while, the guy sitting beside her was just minding his own beeswax. He drank and looked around and exuded an awkward acceptance about what Anna was doing. He got up and went to the restroom. "So who's this guy with you? Is he a friend of yours...?" I asked. Anna nodded. "Yeah, that's my friend Pat. We went to see the movie together. We're supposed to go for sushi after this bar." Oh, well maybe that's actually not happening. I did not say that out loud. I thought it and Anna thought it back. I finished up my beer. "I'm thinking of heading over to the Rocking Horse Tavern," I said. "Want to come with me?" Anna considered. Pat had just returned. She said she'd have to check. But it was more a formality than anything else. She conversed with Pat a bit and I waited for her to decide to accompany me. She turned to me and said, "Okay. Let's go." At our booth near the back of the Rocking Horse, I ordered a Gin and Tonic. She ordered some kind of cocktail. I paid. We did less talking. We did more staring. She told me at one point, after taking a sip, "You make good eye contact." My eyes are larger than normal and have a hazel color most of the time. When I look at people it can be very intense. I'd figured this out in High School. "Thank you," I said. After a moment's silence, she asked what I was thinking about. I said, "So I'm thinking about the fact that if I wanted to kiss you, I would have to lean all the way across the huge table. It would be so much easier if I could sit next to you. Then I could kiss you really easily." She smiled at this. She didn't say anything. She blushed. I moved over to her seat and kissed her on the lips. She didn't resist. She did not return it, exactly, but when I pulled away, she was still smiling. In the restroom, I thought, what if I come back and she just isn't there? It had happened once before. But when I exited, there she still was, sitting at the table, staring ahead and letting her thoughts run free. She was not staring at her cell phone. I liked her better already. "Holy shit, you're still here," I said. She laughed. We walked back to her place in the dark along Milwaukee Avenue and she said, "Full disclosure, I'm actually divorced." This didn't matter. But it was kind of interesting. I wondered about her age again. "That's fine," I said. "It doesn't really make a difference." We crossed the street side by side. We weren't holding hands. We went down Armitage and I let her lead the way. She slowed down suddenly and took me by the arm and pulled me close to her at the sidewalk's edge. She bent her head back and kissed me. It was a long, tongue heavy kiss. It lasted for a while. She moved away from me, eyes shut for just a moment in that thing women do that I love. We walked on, holding hands. In her bedroom, perhaps twenty minutes later, I pulled my face away from her exposed pink pussy lips and stared at her wetness and swallowed a tiny bit. She was less shaven than Courtney and she tasted better. I moved back in and laid my tongue back on her labia and swished it around before realizing I'd forgotten about fingering her. I slipped one finger back inside her folds where they bloomed out under my chin. I rubbed in a circle around her folds, gathering up her wetness. She pressed her hand on my head and bobbed my head up and down vertically. I moved one hand up her stomach, over her tits and her neck, and up her chin. I rubbed several fingers across her lips, perching them above the open cavern of her moaning mouth. She closed her lips around my fingers and sucked them. Just like I knew she would. I pulled my face away. Her labia was all red and shiny. She was ready for me but I had to confess something. "Anna," I said, moving up to face her. "I've got to confess...I don't have any condoms." "I have some," she said and kissed me. All right, fine. Safe sex; check. I got myself inside Anna and she wrapped her arms around me. It wasn't long--and I was taking it slow--until I felt those nails. Anna threaded her fingers through my hair and down my neck. As I slowly edged my cock deeper into her she breathed a breath that turned into a moan. As this transformation happened I felt her nails claw my back. She scratched my skin in a vertical row almost to my ass. Her hand flattened out on my butt cheeks. She expressed herself with her nails. It hurt. I let it happen. We were on her queen-sized bed, her cats our only voyeurs. Perhaps they saw, in black and white (cats don't see color, right?) me slowly gain speed with my lower body and slowly gain traction with my arm as I shifted my body further above their owner. Perhaps they saw their owner with her mouth open, jiggling back and forth and up and down on her mattress and pillows while she scratched his back with her fingers once again and thought, when this is over will she feed us? I looked away from the cats. I fucked Anna steadily and let the tang of her pussy evaporate from my mouth while she moaned and scratched again. And again. She suggested she lay sideways on her bed. We repositioned ourselves and I re-entered her. I pumped harder than before. I watched her head tilted over the side of her bed while her hair draped down to the floor and her head bobbed back and forth against the mattress rim while she went, Ah ah ah ah ah ah... But she could no longer scratch. Her body jolted forward on the mattress with each stroke of my cock and I realized we were both going to fall off the edge but I didn't care. I had stamina from the gin and tonic and from the fact I was wearing a condom. So condoms were good for something. We careened off the bed. We landed on her floor and we both cracked up. An image flashed through my mind of this same thing happening years before, with another girl. Anna got to her feet quickly and lay lengthwise on her bed. I entered her again and thrust in to her all the way up to my nuts. She held my shoulders. Whap whap whap. Her fingers dug in to my shoulders. Whap whap whap. They dug harder. Whap whap whap whap. Ah Ah Ah fuck Ah Ah Ah She was halfway through her next fuck when I blew my load. In her tiny bathroom, I flushed the condom down the toilet, which I'd read you weren't supposed to do. As I watched it flush I was reminded of an experimental film I'd watched some time before called "Moments." It was a film comprised of snapshots of moments from an average person's life. One of the snapshots was a condom being dropped into a toilet. I returned to Anna's bed. We cuddled and made small talk that led to her making an apprehensive hum at one point and asking me, "How old are you?" "I'm twenty-nine." There was a pause. She'd thought I was older. It isn't uncommon. I said, "I know it's not proper, exactly, but now you're just begging the question. How old are you?" She didn't come right out and say. She thought about the answer. "I'm in my late 30s..." she said. We dozed off. But this twenty-four year old was keyed up. I wanted her again. Her cats, in this sense, were a blessing in disguise. They wandered around the room, meowing, jumping on and off the bed, waking us up. Anna let them out at some point and they started scratching the door. Which led to us both lying awake at something like four in the morning. She apologized for her cats. I remarked at how surprised I was when I'd woken up to one just sitting on my face. Just sitting there. She thought this was funny. I rubbed her cheek and this turned into my hand stroking her tits and her stomach, which led to my hand sliding into her pajamas. I fingered her for some time before she took charge. She took another condom from her dresser and handed it to me. As I put it on she climbed on top of me and took off her shirt. Which led to her riding me. Hard. I looked up at her face. Her hair tossed in her face and her eyes were squinted. I felt a tingling in my cock, a massive tingling, but I wasn't shooting off just yet. I clasped both sides of her waist and helped guide her up and down and looked up into her face and let her moan down at me. Her moans were like her ten commandments. Except there were more than ten. Her face was lit by the moonlight. My eyes were shut when I felt Anna's thighs buck around my waist and heard her start on a falsetto whimper-squeal-fest, which she was halfway through when I opened my eyes. I held myself back. If I looked into her face I figured I would just get off then and there. So I opened my eyes and looked at her tits. Her jiggling, hard-nippled tits. It was as if the squealing and her tits were one. She went, "AAAAHHHhh....OOOOHHHHhhhh...." ...And I was still looking at her tits. She hyperventilated. I watched her tits flop in the moonlight. They were indifferent to the breathing movements of her chest. Her eyes were probably shut. She was too busy feeling other feelings to be disappointed by the fact that I was looking at her tits. Her jiggling, bouncing, erect nippled tits. Let's freeze on the blurry image of those bouncing tits. Let's cut out the high pitched audio. Allow me, quickly, a detour of sorts... Q: How did I learn about sex? A: Goldeneye. Is Goldeneye an appropriate movie for a nine-year old? Absolutely not. It's the crudest, most nihilistic, possibly most violent and definitely most sexually explicit James Bond movie. It's a Bond movie for Gen-Xers. It's over-the-top 90s. But I'd been introduced to James Bond recently, via Goldeneye and Doctor No. And I was hooked. So I was dying to see Goldeneye. My Dad wasn't sure it was appropriate. But he wanted to see it, too. I had already broken the trump card with PG-13 rated movies. Jurassic Park had been the first. My Dad had watched that one himself and at first thought it was too scary. But all the kids at school raved about it. Why couldn't I see it? Eventually, my parents acquiesced. I saw Jurassic Park and loved it. So by this logic, my father thought, sure, he's already seen a PG-13 movie, why not? (Again, Goldeneye is one of those mid-90s PG-13 movies that should have been rated R. Little did my Dad know). We watched the movie at last, on VHS, in the living room; my Dad, my brother (my younger brother!) and myself. When we were introduced to the femme fatale Xenia Onnatop, something happened inside me. To say I was transfixed is one way to put it. She sat at a table in a casino, wearing a green dress. That green dress alone stirred me in a way I hadn't quite been stirred. Then we got to the bedroom scene. This was a sex scene. What I was watching was two people having sex. It was not normal sex. (A reminder: right now there is the image of Anna's tits in the dark, barely-there moonlight, mid-flop, seen from a low angle. Now back to my story:) It was Xenia Onnatop, shrouded by a curtain hanging across the rear side of the bed. She was a silhouette. But it was still clear that she was not wearing her green dress anymore. She wasn't wearing anything. Neither was the guy. He was nude, bearded and making strangulated noises in bed with her legs wrapped around his waist. Then a cut to his face. His cheeks puffed out, his eyes were wide and he said, "Senor! I can't...breathe!" I'm sure my Dad made some kind of embarrassed and derisive noise at that point. I know my brother and I were utterly silent, nervous and enraptured. And I know that, in the long run, all the millions of heterosexual young men who watched that scene at an impressionable age thought one of two things: I want Xenia Onnatop to rape me. Unlike this schmuck, I will be the one to dominate a woman in bed one day. And there are plenty who most likely wanted both of those things. At once. As for myself, I thought both of those thoughts and put them aside for what felt to me like a more natural thought; well, what else happens when you're having sex?But who was I kidding? What I really wanted was for my breath to be taken away. That was how I learned about sex.Back to the fifteen-years later freeze frame. Anna's body in motion again. Her tits flopped around, my head tilted back. Now I looked into her face. Her hair jangled around in front of her eyes and she started to pant. One after the other, her mouth open, her eyes squinted. Now she bounced herself. She did all the work. I just looked through her tossing hair at her barely open eyes and waited for my moment. I thought, even then: I am giving this woman the time of her life. The reality: sure, she was enjoying the ride, but it was her giving me the time of my life. She was the dominator, I the dominated. She was Xenia. I'd gotten laid enough in the last 36 or so hours that I couldn't get off. I felt on the edge, but it didn't happen. She stopped eventually and asked, "...Yeah?" I responded, "Yeah." On Sunday morning my alarm woke me up. I was afraid I'd missed it or set it wrong. Anna and I had both been lying awake already. My arm was around her. She lay on my shoulder. There was a blast of sunlight coming through her window that had not let me sleep for the last hour or so, but I'd still closed my eyes."There it is..." Anna said as my alarm sounded.I guess I'd mentioned my alarm a lot, or something. I climbed out of bed and put on my shit-stained underwear from the night before. I thought I heard her chuckle. I don't know if it was at the fact that I was putting on dirty clothes. But I felt no shame. One of her black cats perched on the chair in the corner of the room, watching us, making sure I left. I got Anna's number and when I walked out the door she was standing in her kitchen, mulling over what to eat.I left her place feeling free. I turned on to Milwaukee. I was headed to my apartment where I'd change into actual clean clothes and take the train to the west side to go help make a movie. I stopped at a café and bought a coffee. I even felt like my bank account was doing okay. It wasn't, but I let my brain chemistry deceive me yet again.While I waited for the coffee, I texted Anna. Just a formality. Just to let her know my number.07:13AM: Hey it's tom.I got my coffee. I walked on. As I waited at the awful crosswalk at Milwaukee and Kedzie and a hummer cruised around the bend, my phone buzzed. I looked at it.07:35AM: Who???07:35AM: Kidding. Have fun today. Bon chance!I returned to my apartment. I couldn't stay for long, I had somewhere to be and I would have to take a nap late in the day, but glancing at my hard drive with all my footage on it, something occurred to me. I still had no idea how to end my film.

Hi I'm Tom, a 32 year old male. It is nice to meet you all. I write erotica and also have had plenty of fun experiences of my own. I will start posting right away. Engaged to a wonderful woman, so not looking for any meetings in real life. Just a disclaimer. Talk to you all soon.