In my story, "A Blow Job from A Nice Girl Can Cost You," I wrote about Antonio. Just over 40, divorced, spends weekends in East Hampton, default position is New York City, where he is an options trader. Works hard to remain a jock and it pays off. Blond and good looking usually tanned.
To date a guy like that you would imagine I have to put out. Wrong. I don't have to do anything because although I like dating him, I don't care if I do. He doesn't seem especially horny. I doubt I'm his "only."
We had been dating a month, only weekends, like Friday night at Nick and Tony's or the Palm. Then, Sunday brunch. Saturday night he probably got laid.
We were having wine at a place in Sag Harbor with a view of the yacht harbor. I wore the little black dress. I don't have a breathtaking décolletage, but nice chest skin and the definite suggestion of rising hillocks on either side of the sweet valley. When I lean in, you can glimpse the edge of a rather too large dark nipple.
Successive plates of raw oysters. We already had chatted about the Roman conceit of the oyster as a pussy. One of my fetishes that men appreciate is talking about sex. Antonio asked: "Okay, Ellen, you have told me your friends keeping saying you are jaded."
"Well, at least one did..."
"What one image has aroused you most?"
"Just one?"
"First one that comes to mind. Unforgettable."
"Embarrassing..."
"Good!" He signals the waiter for another $60 bottle of Chardonnay and more oysters. Money is so relaxing.
I nod a few times. "One site called something like X-Treme Cartoons..."
"Okay." He really has the nicest tan, blue eyes, and blond hair.
"Looked like something Medieval... In a rough shed. A woman is mounted nude of a high bike, strapped on tight, and from the seat this gargantuan dildo is thrust up between her legs.
"She's a big girl. Long, flowing black hair. Really stacked! Rugged pretty face. Big craggy ledges of boobs sticking way out there. And now, her nipples are out like elongated bullets.
"Jammed right up into her hairy belly is this huge dildo that obviously is ramming up and down as she pedals. She can't stop though because there are two women behind her, both nude with bulging breasts, and one is laughing and whipping the woman on the bike. The tongues of the whip are coming around and flicking her nipples.
"It looks to me as though she is building up to a monster cum. Maybe she's terrified that after it they will keep whipping and making her ride the dido till the nerves in her pussy drive her mad. She is desperately pedaling herself into orgasm and way beyond...Eyes as wide and round as tea saucers."
Antonio is nodding. I probably have earned my wine and oysters and dinner.
"Wow, you really are a writer, Helen! What a description! I can see it all. And you would like to be the woman on the bike?"
"No fair. You just asked what turned me on." I grinned. "Maybe I want to be the lady with the whip."
"Right, okay. And you've tried a dildo bike?"
"Is there such a thing?"
He cocks his head, gazing at me. He frowns as though I might be putting him on. Then, he says, "As many brands as toothpaste. You never Googled it?"
"I guess it makes sense," I say, slowly nodding my head with its pixie-cut dark hair and my smoldering brown eyes. (Painting a word picture here, for you.)
"Next time you're in Manhattan."
I shrug.
He shrugs in return. Makes a "what the hell" face, and says, "I could arrange a demo out here."
I begin, "Oh, no, Antonio, not worth..."
"Actually,' he says thoughtfully, "I would enjoy it, too. Got any girl friends you want to invite? Make a sort of party..."
"Think of two..." I have in mind my running friend, Amanda. No point duplicating effort. In my story, "I Volunteer for Peak Erotic Ecstasy," I wrote: "Amanda is a big bossy girl, a Mighty White Gaia, but all in sexy proportions—long legs heavy but shapely, shoulders suitable for suspension of breathtakingly majestic mountains of breasts, a full face but with generous eyes, lips, cheeks in proportion—and simply cascades of chestnut brown hair."
Why Amanda? Well, Amanda is up for anything. Bring it on. And, then, just to be cautious, if I ever blunder into some scene that suddenly goes "rough trade"—I get my ass in trouble—Amanda is my Boudica (look it up)."
"Nice cottage." In the Hamptons, for the old-fashioned, that still means 14 rooms, indoor pool, full gym, three-car garage. This one is on the beach in what we call "Amagansett Dunes."
When the door opens, Antonio steps forward and says "Hi!" Takes the hand of a pretty middle-aged Japanese woman, who holds his hand and bows. Her kimono is a sea-green print with little white and red boats. Dark green belt. It is open at the top to show considerable skin.
She takes my hand, then Amanda's, and, as she gazes into our eyes, opens her own eyes, I swear, as though she is spreading her legs. SO, inviting! Can I learn to do that? Or does it take 1,000 years of geisha tradition?
I'm thinking like this even before I opt for the warm Sake (over white wine). We all do and carrying a little cup and pitcher get a quick tour of the house, stepping out sliding doors onto a terrace. The full moon is moon across the dunes and over the white bosom of the sea.
We step into an elevator... What can I say? Two story house...
We step out directly into a spacious gym with glistening hardwood oak floors, workout equipment, and at the far end a glass wall onto the dark night, orange moon, dimly perceived dunes. But mostly reflecting us back at us.
Some moments of anticipation. She is pointing out some cameras. Kinky looking equipment with weights by lots of funny straps. What is this, the Hamptons showroom of "Shame of the Rising Sun Erotic Equipment Corporation"?
Our hostess geisha bows low. She turns and calls. Two young Japanese women, maybe early 'twenties, bound through a door, hand in hand, and run over, smile and bow. And then, without further ceremony, both drop their kimonos to the floor. Stark naked, griming like happy schoolgirls.
Every time I say something admiring about Japanese women, someone tut-tuts "stereotype" or even "racist." What the fuck? These two girls are the same height. Flowing straight black hair. Pretty faces with the same regular features, red lips. And then, slim bodies with silken smooth skin. Breasts adorably rounded to perfection, identical, with soft, medium-sized nipples. A stimulatingly shock of pure black, well-haired, fluffy pussy. Long, elegant legs. Japanese erotic films like to feature a dozen or two dozen or a room full of these ravishing women, all the same height within an inch, line up with pretty push mops at precisely three feet three inches from the ground...
What a great culture! Every young woman guaranteed adorable, same dimensions, same sculpted boobs, desirable torso, shaggy ebony pubic hair, slender and perfect legs. Not so different from me, except that in the U.S., I am notable for being skinny, having very slender long legs, conical upturned breasts topped by dark nipples. And short hair that is black, not blond.
Both girls bow. I don't know if I should bow. I lifted a hand, give a little wave, a smile...
Our geisha guide turns to two identical exercise bikes. I examine them. Whoa! This is it, right?
I expected exercise bikes with a dildo attached. You know, the way I might strap one around my waist if I wanted to ream out Antonio's ass...
There actual are dildo bikes, I think, although I don't see any dildos... I step closer.
Antonio was right—of course. The manufacturer's metal label on the back edge of the seat says "Ido Gynbike."
No dildo, but, as Amanda, Antonio, and I bend over to examine things, I see that the bike seats are totally transparent plastic, with a hole in the center of each, and an elaborate tech box below the seat. And, surely just for us, a camera mounted on an arm with a lens peering up from below the plastic seat—photographing the expose pussy of the moment. We would even have to bend over to see the girl's cunt lips.
Both girls gracefully, with delighted smiles, gingerly mount the bikes. They are standing on the pedals. We gaze appreciatively at the rounded, broad butts with a healthy crack between, the long nicely muscled back, straight shoulders covered with black hair.
Okay, who has the starting gun?