Right On Time

New York is a busy place. A ‘New York minute’ is most definitely not just a saying; the question stands, is it a saying that you want applied to your sex life?

For me, that answer is NO.

I adore sex and I adore it with many men. Lately, I have been feeling like all the sex I have is ‘scheduled’. Perhaps this is a symptom of not having a boyfriend and not wanting to date the men I sleep with. However, it feels as though every time I have sex it is scheduled between meetings, lunches and drinks.

Don't get me wrong, the sex is still amazing; you know because you’re privy to all the dirty details, but I am desperately aching for some spontaneity. Perhaps this lack of spur-of-the-moment sex is due in large part to the lack of men that can hold my interest, or perhaps it’s because I have become fairly addicted to The Photographer of late. Either way it has been eating away at me and the thought of having scheduled sex with John Galliano Guy (as amazing as he was) or any of the others, makes me shudder.

My phone buzzed on the table, ‘Meet me in 20?’ John Galliano Guy’s name appeared in tiny letters at the bottom of my mobile screen. I had been anticipating him for what felt like weeks, but surely was only a few days. Out schedules were complete opposites and there never seemed to be enough hours in the day.

Taking a long sip of my soy late, I collected my belongings and headed down the block to his East Village digs. With each step I took I could feel heads turning to stare; what an empowering feeling knowing you can stop men dead in their tracks just from the way you walk.

I buzzed his door and held my breath that The Neighbor would not be home; the last thing I was in the mood for was to explain why I was hanging with John Galliano Guy. He opened the door to his apartment, half naked as usual. He had a black bandanna tied around his head and he looked smoking hot. John Galliano Guy looked me up down so expertly that one without a trained eye may not have even noticed. I loved that he didn’t ogle me like the men on the street.

It was one of those sweaty New York pre-summer days and the cold air in his place tickled my skin sending shivers down my spine.

I strolled into his bedroom and sat at the edge of his bed; he didn’t waste anytime. Following my lead he got down on his knees and pulled my lace panties down to my ankles. My smooth, tanned legs were on either side of his shoulders and I couldn’t wait to see if he was all talk, or as I had hoped all action. 

I Touch Myself

I have always been a sexual person. Getting myself turned on as just a young girl, making myself loose my mind before falling into a deep sleep. Sex was just another step in my pleasure; I enjoyed it from the very first time.

Walking up the street to his East Village digs I adjusted my black woven hat. As I climbed the stairs I hoped not to run into The Neighbor, who so obviously wanted me for him self. John Galliano Guy opened the door and smiled. He had on skinny black jeans, nothing else and looked incredibly sexy. I was beginning to wonder if he owned a shirt.

Excited and with something to prove in terms of my willpower, I placed my hat on the end table. I lay across his bed and he unbuckled the straps of my 6”high heeled Top Shop mary-janes. “Are we going to do this?” he asked as his hands began to move across my legs. I nodded and bit my lower lip in anticipation. 

The only rules were no touching, anywhere in the obvious spots and no kissing. John Galliano Guy moved his hands up my thighs and over my waist. He pushed my skirt up and pulled off my sweater. I could feel his energy moving across my skin. I began to move my hands over his body. We were face-to-face sitting just inches away. I could feel his breath on my lips; we didn’t kiss.

I reached down and began making tiny circles over my panties. He unzipped his jeans and I could see how hard he was. I lay back, my head on the pillow so I could watch him stroke himself. My legs straddled his thighs and he sat up on his knees; our hands bumping each other’s as we got ourselves off.

We let go at almost the very same moment. He was all over my breasts, everywhere. It turned me on so much seeing him let go. I slipped back into my dress reapplied my YSL neon pink lipstick. As I buckled the straps on my shoes I couldn’t help but think; if he was that good with out touching me, what was going to happen next time? 

Spank Me Please

Aggression. Simply put, during sex some people get completely captivated. Animalistic instincts take over and alas it is no longer sex, but pure FUCKING. The Artist is one of those people.

My mobile vibrated in my hand as I paced in front of an unknown address in the East Village. He was late and I was becoming more curious as to exactly where he was taking me. His BMW turned the corner as I read the text he had sent. The sound of the engine in the M series is so sexual; thus the perfect car for The Artist to drive. He kissed my soft lips, sliding his hand around my waist and leading me towards the massive steel door. Still confused as to where we were going I followed. 

It was the most incredible downtown loft I had ever seen. Apparently the Artist had some very good real estate tucked in all the right corners of this fair city. He grabbed my ass and lifted me onto the granite countertop of the island. The stone was cold sending shivers throughout my body. My nipples hardened and ached to be touched.

He was more aggressive than before and I loved it. His hands pulled me close; he grabbed me by the throat squeezing tight. It felt amazing; he felt amazing. I tried to go-down on him, but he refused. He unzipped his pants; he was so full, so thick and hard like a rock. I desperately wanted to taste him. He began to tease me, moving his head along the lines of my panties. With out warning he pushed my panties to the side and thrust himself deep inside of me.

I gasped as he sent waves of pleasure throughout my body. Grabbing my hips he fucked me slow and deep. His breath was heavy and loud, his teeth sunk into my shoulder and neck. He lifted me off the counter, still deep inside me and worked me, lifting me by my ass.

The Artist was so intense. It was as if a whole other side of him had been exposed, the sexual deviant released. He bent me over the counter and spread my legs. I was still in my heels and my skirt was pushed up around my waist. Using his teeth he pulled my sheer Kiki thong to the ground, then pushed himself inside me. I was so incredibly moist and when he spanked my ass I could feel myself getting more wet. The harder he spanked, the more wet I became. 

The way he dominated me was so incredibly hot. I felt like his little toy and I loved it. He came hard. Before he could take a breath I took his hand and led him to the bedroom. I needed him to finish what he had started; I don't take no for an answer.