Love Me, Then Leave Me. Please.

For me it has always been very easy to separate sex and emotion. I do not believe that you need to be emotionally connected to the person you are sleeping with in order for the sex to be mind blowing.

I lay in bed breathless; my skin dewy with sweat, my fishnet thigh-high stockings torn. I closed my eyes recalling each detail leading up to my current state of ecstasy. The Firefighter had his arm draped across my chest and I was secretly aching for him to remove it; I have never been one for cuddling.

His hands were strong and he had thrown me around just the way I like. It felt amazing to succumb to him; his grip tightening on my wrists, holding me down while he took me. The Firefighter wanted me to feel every inch and he took me hard so I wouldn’t forget.

Finally when I couldn’t stand it any longer he grabbed my ass and lifted me on top of him. I placed my feet on either side of his head, arched my back and moved slowly. His hands were running up and over my stockings and he teased my inner thighs with his fingertips.   

I was aching to let go and when he began to tease my breasts with his tongue I couldn’t stand another minute.

The Firefighter had been just what I was looking for and as long as he was able to get over this cuddling thing, I was deeply looking forward to taking him again... very soon. 

Black Book Magazine Feature

Check out my first ever interview in Black Book Magazine.

May the Best Man Win

Vindication, the combined feeling of relief and success; a long exhale after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath. It was simple and no one could say it better than she did. “You win.”

The past two months have been torturous, not knowing if things were up or down and not knowing if I would ever have an answer. The last thing he said to me was I love you; the words echo in my head and my heart. There is only one rule and I had broke it with ease… Then, it all came crashing down.

I have fantasies about seeing him again, what it would be like. I imagine seeing him, just like I did the first time, at the park outside the coffee shop. His denim jeans and grey t-shirt hugging his incredible body; me running my hands over every inch of him; tearing his clothes off and having all of him.

It had been a year since I saw one of my best girlfriends. We sat at Balthazar drinking wine and catching up. My phone vibrated against the wood of the bar, an email from The Editor. He wasn’t making any sense and would not answer my questions when I enquired further.

Hours later I finally rang his mobile then heard a click. “Chloe, this is The Wife. I know you are fucking my husband, stay the fuck out of our lives; he is in the hospital and the only person he wants to see is YOU.”

Saying nothing I hit the end button on my phone and placed it back on the bar. My girlfriend looked at me quizzically. We agreed it best to do nothing, after all what was there to do?

It was over, yet it had barely started. We had spent so many hours in bed, experiencing each other fully. He would kiss my lips and my neck, sending shivers down my back, running his hands over my body. The Editor always knew what to say to make me smile. I wanted to spend days in bed with him; he knew exactly how to touch me to bring me over the edge of pleasure.

For days there were threatening emails, text messages and pure harassment from The Wife and her girlfriends. As I said to her then, “You have every right to hate me and call me whatever names you want; I deserve whatever it is you are doing, but please I just want to know that he is ok.”

The Editor called me on a Wednesday when he came home from the hospital. I knew he wasn’t well and when we hung up I had a feeling I wouldn’t be speaking to him for a while. There were months of no communication, even after sending words of support.  Then one day I got a response; I had sent him a posting from the blog.

The response was not normal and I was suspicious. After a few back and forth messages I was sure, “Nice show ‘Wife’ but we both know The Editor doesn’t speak like that. To the unassuming eye you may fool people, but I know better.”

That is when those two little words floated up on my screen, “You win” which were followed by, “He said you were clever.”

As hard as it is to lose him, knowing that a person like that exists is a beautiful thing. Knowing that someone can care for you so deeply and appreciate you for exactly who you are is fulfilling. Now, if I could only find that with someone who isn’t already taken, I’d be in business….

Camera Ready

There is something very attractive in the unknown. Those moments before you meet someone for the first time are the ultimate. The picture perfect images in your mind are still real; the opportunities of where it could lead are endless.

When I walked across the small wine bar in the West Village towards his table, all of my fantasies were intact. We had met through a mutual friend on Facebook; I told him I wanted to meet to discuss work, but work was the last thing I intended to do with him.

I sat across the small wooden table sipping wine and staring into his perfect green eyes. He was gorgeous, a model turned actor, turned director. All I could think about was ripping his clothes off. Let’s call him The Director.

After far too many minutes of polite chatting I decided to make my move. It was obvious that he wanted me, the way he stared at my mouth with each word that passed through my lips. I could feel him undressing me with his eyes. I rested my elbow on the table and my chin against my hand; on cue The Director leaned in and pushed the strands of hair off my cheek. He lifted my chin and kissed my lips. It was a small restaurant and I could feel everyone’s eyes on us. How could I blame them, we were the most attractive couple there.

His kiss was soft and my lips begged for more. I reached under the table and squeezed his thigh. The Director kissed me even more deeply. Our waitress passed by the table and he signaled for the check, I hoped that was an invitation to go back to his place.

Standing on the sidewalk while he hailed a cab, I couldn’t help but notice his incredible body. His ass was perfection and his APC jeans showed it off in fine form. I could not stop thinking how good he was going to look naked.

The second we were in the cab he grabbed me close and kissed me ever deeper than before. His hands were moving across my breasts, squeezing my nipples and down my back. The Director had strong hands and I couldn’t wait to see what he could do with them.

We barely noticed when the cab pulled up in front of his building. If the car ride home was any indication, this was going to be a long night.   

All In Favor?

There are two types of extramarital adventures; ones that are about sex and ones are more like affairs. The difference? Sex.

Monogamy has been the unintentional subject of most of my conversations lately; these conversations have taken place with women and surprisingly they do not seem to be in favor of it.

What changed that has made it acceptable for women to be open about not wanting to be with one man? Are women truly open, or is it something they disclose only in secret to their close and trusted friends?

If women and men both secretly crave physical and sexual encounters outside their committed relationship, why does society still look down on it; why are we shaming these people who know what they want and are not afraid to go get it?

The Photographer and I have quite the ideal situation. When I first began to see him my friends would ask, “don’t you feel bad for his wife?” My response was clear. No, I do not feel badly for her. If The Photographer actually ‘liked’ me he would call me to chat, he would want to go for dinner; he would want to go away with me. He doesn’t, he just wants to have sex.

Well, okay. Not JUST sex, amazing sex; mind-blowing sex. The kind the makes your toes curl, gets you instantly turned on, tingling, aching for more. For me, The Photographer is NOT cheating on his wife; he is NOT having an affair. He is just having sex and that does not make him a bad person. He is careful (minus those steamy videos he cannot bring himself to delete) that The Wife will never know. 

There is something about the camera that gets me turned on. Maybe it takes me back to the days before I moved back to New York where we would both lay in bed naked, on I Chat and watch each other get off. I loved knowing that he would watch them later, and get off on us.

The Photographer won’t get caught because he doesn’t want to. The Editor on the other hand, now that is a different story… 

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. 

All In The Neighborhood

Some women look for love. I on the other hand look for one thing and one thing only; Sex.

In one of my many apartments over the years I had an adorable sports media guy who lived above me.  Although he was less than my type I enquired if he had any male friends who might be. As I had recently ended a fairly long-term gig I was really only interested in fun.

My neighbor blushed, laughing uncomfortably. My direct approach had clearly stunned him. Once he regained composure he looked at me straight on, “I have just the guy.” Let’s call him The Firefighter.

I tied the knot of my black, short robe and slid into my favorite sky high black Louboutin’s. The top of my thigh-high Kiki de Montparnasse stockings ended right below where my robe began. I loved the way my long hair swept across my face and fell down across my breasts. As usual I looked smoking hot and I was beginning to turn myself on.

Behind the front door of my apartment stood The Firefighter, a bottle of wine in hand. He was hot; hair buzzed short, raw denim Levi’s rolled to show the salvage edge. I was impressed, having little to no expectations when it came to style and firefighters. We stood in the doorway eyeing each other up and down. He smiled like a kid on Christmas, “Wow… your neighbor wasn’t lying!”   

Leaning towards him I grabbed his neck and pulled him in, deeply kissing him. He slid a hand around my waist while he closed the door. The Firefighter sat in one of my club chairs and I straddled him. As I ran my lips and tongue up his neck towards his ear I could feel him getting thick.

His hands were running over my shoulders; he was aching to find out what was under my robe. The way his eyes traced over my entire body beginning with my shoes, up my legs and over my breasts, was incredibly sexy.

He wanted to devour me and I wanted to let him.