Working Girl

Helmut Newton

September 29, 2010

Iron Man was back in New York, The Firefighter was emailing me out of the blue and The Director was sending scandalous texts. All the while I fantasized about my next meeting with The Business Man. What next, The Editor was going to crawl out of rehab? Ahh-hem, I mean, the woodwork?

My phone was blowing up, handsome, sexy, stylish men all eager to please. Even with all my options, The Business Man was the only one I cared to hear from. It’s rare to find a man that ‘gets’ you and still fully wants you; I had found one and now he was all I could think about.

My fantasies were running wild and my real life was eager to catch up. I’d imagine us lying in bed facing each other with our bodies pressed together. He would have his hands on my hips, moving them over my ass, pulling me closer so I could feel how hard he was. Our lips would touch and we’d kiss slowly, savoring every second until we couldn’t take another minute.

The Business Man would push me onto my back and force my legs apart pushing himself inside me. Moaning uncontrollably, I would dig my nails into his shoulders, begging him to take me harder. We’d tease each other until we both let go and devoured one another. Breathless and exhausted we’d lay in bed until we couldn’t stand the thought of not fucking again.

The vibration from my phone snapped me back to reality. In bed alone, I read his message. A smile crossed my lips. The Business Man was scoring points as my leading fantasy man and his dirty messages made me want him even more.

Putting my phone down I let out a sigh, exhausted from allowing my mind to run wild. With seconds before my morning conference call was set to begin there was just enough time to catch my breath and dial in. The dial tone clicked in and it was hard not to laugh to myself; if only the people on the other line knew what I had been up to in preparation for the call.

Not exactly the due diligence they probably had in mind.

Guest Blogger: Desiree

September 24, 2010

"As most of you know, I am not the only woman who enjoys sex like I do. In fact if you are a women and reading this right now, you probably relate to my stories and adventures in one way or another. Every now and again I am going to be turning over the reins to a guest blogger and today is the first. Let's Call her Desiree. "

- Chloe Is My Alias

Filled with Desire
Edited by: Chloe Is My Alias 

I don't believe in dating, especially the online kind. That being said, Facebook is a whole different story.

He was handsome enough to the point I really thought he could be gay, so when he asked to meet for a drink to discuss business there was no reason to say no, even if the whole thing was via instant messenger on Facebook. We met two days later at my favorite LES bar.

The place was mobbed as usual and I headed for the bar. Dressed all in black, a leather jacket and leather boots; I could have passed for having my bike parked outside.

Leaning against the bar I let him admire the way my dark jeans made my ass look even more round and perfect; he recognized me right away and called out my name. I glanced to my left; he was sitting, dressed in motorbike gear too. Let’s call him BFE.

It took one drink and 20 minutes to know that we had to have each other, right there, right then.

We left the bar; I had an event and as neither of us had any intention on going home alone, I asked him to join me. We kissed feverishly at the corner of the street; BFE grabbed my hair and pulled hard. I could feel how badly he wanted me.

At the event we tucked ourselves into a dark corner. Standing in the shadow I ran my leg up and down the inside of his, just barely grazing the edge of his crotch. I dug my tongue deep into his throat and could feel him grow even bigger.

He had me wild; my heart was pounding and I was feeling hot. I had to have him, right now.

Grabbing his hand I led him through the exit, the cold spring air hit us hard, but nothing could cool us off. Around the corner he pushed me into the entranceway of an old building.

Unzipping his pants BFE then pushed me down on him. He was even bigger than I had thought and with every lick and suck he grew even more. The way he tasted, I couldn’t get enough of him. 

Just as he was ready to explode deep into my throat, we heard someone coming down the stairs. BFE grabbed me by my throat and with his strong hand pulled me up off the ground. Pinned between him and the wall we starred deep into each other’s eyes. Without so much as a word I left.  A taxi had pulled around the corner and I jumped in, leaving him there in the dark corner full of unsatisfied desire.

My breath was heavy in the car ride home; I could only imagine what was going to happen when I saw him next. 

A Preview

September 17, 2010

For most people summer is a time where they let go of their cares, inhibitions and worries. It’s a free for all fuck-fest that usually ends when the first cold breeze sweeps across our fair city post Labor Day weekend. I found myself sticking with the tried and true; The Photographer, as well as that brief stint with Dating Guy… which was only for a hot second and let’s be honest, it wasn’t that hot. 

The point? I was in need of living it up again, letting go of the worries The Editor had caused me all July and August. There was a secret new man I had my eye on and it was my intention to have my way with him, but not before The Photographer and I finally had the threesome we had desired all summer...

Stay-tuned.

Business With Pleasure

September 22, 2010

Every so often you’ll meet someone and there is this unspoken understanding that you both want each other; nothing is going to come between you and ripping your clothes off. 

We sat across from each other on the back patio at The Bowery Hotel discussing business; he was the key piece to getting this charity project to the next level and I wasn’t taking no for an answer. Let's call him The Business Man.

There was something about the way he looked at me when I spoke that turned me on like crazy; it make me want to lean across the table, slide my hands up his thighs and kiss him. It took every ounce of will power not to slide my tongue through his lips, grazing my teeth over his tongue; kissing him so deeply. 

I was aching to feel his hands pulling me closer, touching my hair, my legs and my waist. His hands looked amazing; I wanted them all over me, I wanted his fingers pushing inside me. I wanted him to bring me over the edge right then and there.

His voice snapped me back to reality, he was agreeing to take on the project. We clinked our glasses and I took an extra long sip, eyeing him over the top of my flute. I couldn’t help myself; I had to have him.

“Now that we have the business out of the way, would it be terrible if I kissed you right now?” The Business Man grinned and motioned me to come closer.

I couldn’t wait see if his kiss was as delicious as I had imagined and if his hands were as good.

Painful Pleasure

September 13, 2010

“Fucking is for fucking’s sake.”

- Northrop Frye

His hands were holding me down, gripping my wrists so tightly that the tips of my fingers began to pulse. “Harder,” I begged for more.

He pushed deeper inside me and tightened his grip. I loved when it hurt a bit; the good hurt. We’ve been fucking for more than two years and The Photographer knew exactly what to do to make me scream with pleasure.

Pushing him off me, I straddled his hips and lowered my self halfway down his cock teasing him mercilessly. I love putting him through agony and ecstasy at the same time, making him ache to feel all of me wrapped tightly around him; feeling him pull at my hips and groan in anticipation. 

Placing his hand around my neck I demand that he hold tightly and he did. Squeezing each breath shorter and shorter until my head gets light, above all other things this turns me on most. There is something sexy about having the air squeezed from your body by someone who is deep inside you.

The Photographer spanked my ass hard and I tried to scream but with his hands gripping my neck so tightly it was nearly impossible. I was so close to letting go, but didn’t want to cum yet.

I glanced up and grinned, “You can take me any way you like.”

But first I wanted to taste him, every inch of him. Going down on him gets me turned on. Feeling him stiffen further with every lick, every touch. My warm breath makes against his flesh; wanting to suck harder and push him deeper into my throat until I can barely handle it.

We take each other until he pushes me off. He gets so turned on by our sex that he has to stop as not to cum; and when he eventually does cum he stays rock hard, physically ready to go again, mentally preparing to head home to the real world where he lays in bed dreaming of sex rather than having it.

I lay on my back and he takes the red toy in hand. Covering it in lube he slides it into my ass, then slides himself inside me again. The pressure of double penetration is intense but I love it. He slides the toy in and out of me and it sends waves of pleasure throughout my body.

The Photographer is obsessed with the idea of fucking my ass; we’d done it once before, but he is so hard that the past few times we tried it has been much too painful and NOT in the good kind of way.

He had warmed me up with the toy and now I was ready for him...

How Do You Want Me?

@AlineAlagem Shop

September 6, 2010

There are two kinds of men, those that love sex and those that like it. I for one am always taken aback when a man truly does not love sex; it shocks and awes my stereotypical point of view and not in anyway that I like.

Luckily for me the only shocking The Photographer does is in the sexual variety and it always makes me say, “Ahh.”

It had been over a month since I last saw him. Between his travel and my working there had been zero time for our affairs; needless to say we were both aching to get our hands on one another.

The door had buzzed twice while I slid the champagne colored Agent Provocateur thigh high stocking up and over my knee. I stepped into my new Acne black leather pumps and buzzed The Photographer up. I had spent the morning by the pool and planned on spending the afternoon having him explore every inch of my body.

Pushing me against the exposed brick wall of my apartment The Photographer tried to kiss me. I turned my cheek, tilting my head back and parting my lips with a slight grin. He was dying to kiss me and feel the wet of my tongue pushed up against his; I wanted to make him work for it. 

His hands held onto the smallest part of my waist in a firm grip, his hips pushed into mine. The Photographer kissed my neck while pulling me even closer towards him. My legs shook with pleasure as  he began to work me with his finger tips. Pushing me down onto the bed, he removed his jeans. 

He was hard and eager to take all of me... I knew what The Photographer wanted and this time I was going to give it to him. 

The Right Ass-ets

August 30, 2010

Every man has one (or more) parts of the female body that drive him absolutely wild. The most brief of encounters can lead to a spontaneous and wild affair, if that part is in play. For The Firefighter it was my ass; and my black studded micro-mini dress was about to get me into loads of trouble.

I walked up the street; the sun was pounding on my back and I pushed my hair in front of my shoulder to expose my skin; the low cut back of the dress was excellent for on-the-go tanning. My black Stuart Weitzman espadrille sandals made my legs even longer and I could feel people’s eyes following my every move.

My phone vibrated in my hand; The Firefighter wanted to play. I laughed to myself, as I was about to stroll past his place. Earlier in the week I had decided I was over him. The Photographer was back on again and I had been flying to New York every other week for hours and hours of pleasure.

As I raised my hand to knock, the door swung open and I was greeted with his devilish grin. Pushing passed him I threw my vintage green snakeskin handbag on his couch and helped myself to some water. As I perused through cupboards trying to find a glass, I could feel him walking towards me.

The Firefighter placed his hands on my waist and slid them down over my firm ass. He moaned as he grabbed me hard and spun me towards him, “You have the sexiest ass I have ever seen.”

I smiled and tilted my chin backwards letting him kiss down my neck to my chest. His hands lifted me up onto the granite counter top and I let out a gasp as my warm skin touched the cool stone. He was incredibly hard and kept trying to kiss my lips.

Pushing him away, I slid off the counter. As I made my way across the room I enquired what made him want me so badly. He laughed, “There is nothing I won’t do for your ass.”

And that was all I needed to hear.

Fuck-Me-Not

August 19, 2010

There is something quite sexual about the art of kissing. We have all been there; a bad kiss, an abrupt halt on any intentions to go further. On the contrary, good kissing might just be the key to the steamiest sex possible. When all is said and done (the toys tossed aside, the handcuffs left dangling from the bedpost) you can be tied up, smacked around or whatever tickles your fancy… But those of us in the know ‘get it’. 

There is nothing sexier than a man who can really kiss.

I lay in bed, my heart pounding in my chest. Legs stretched out, my naked body aching to feel a cool breeze from the window. My new lover kept trying to run his hand down my arm as we both attempted to catch our breath. All the while I kept trying to avoid the polite post-sex fondling.

We had been dating, something new and different for me. He was smart, handsome and very stylish; everything I look for in a man. The sex? It was divine and more exciting every time. To make up for the dirtiness and wild aggression he seemed to be lacking initially, there was one thing he had that all the other men didn’t; a kiss that made me weak in the knees.

Let’s call him Dating Guy.

By luck more than judgment I am not really into the idea of ‘dating’. I find it near impossible to meet a man that I want to talk to and fuck. Dating Guy was different, not only did I enjoy his company but the mere thought of kissing got me completely turned on.

His hands would gently grab the side of my jaw, as he’d pull my lips towards his. He’d move his fingers through my hair and pull me in by the back of my neck. Dating Guy had this amazing scent and each time I inhaled, I would breathe him in.

The sex was great and the kissing made it even better. I would have him on his back, straddling his waist. Leaning in I’d gently touch my soft, smooth lips to his as my hair fell across my firm breasts. Just as he was about to kiss me back I’d pull away an inch and then take the tip of my tongue and draw it slowly and seductively across his lips.

I’d work him into a frenzy teasing him with just my kiss until he was desperately grabbing my ass and practically begging to be inside me. We’d get each other so hot just from kissing… I couldn’t wait for him to pin me down by my shoulders and show me exactly how much he really wanted me.

If kissing is any indication or how hot sex can be, I was dying to keep Dating Guy around to find out just how far I could push him...

Less Talk, More Action

Steven Klein

August 10, 2010

Men, and seemingly some boys, seem to love to talk a big game when it comes to being kinky; I have found many a man who thinks he is sexually adventurous. The problem lays that even when they break out the toys, seldom do they really know what to do with them. Tricks are not for kids and Media Guy was most definitely a child.

I climbed the narrow, steep stairs up to the second floor loft in Chelsea. Media Guy had not lied; his apartment was vast. I sat perched on the edge of a bar stool in the kitchen, taking a long drag of my cigarette. He was expertly mixing a vodka martini and I told him to make it dirty.

He was handsome and my cocktail was delicious but I was getting tired of the chitchat and polite niceties. I was there for one reason and one reason only. I wanted to play.

Walking across the room I let the silk straps of my dress fall down my tanned shoulders. The sound of my heels against the floor as I entered his bedroom were like the hand of a clock counting down the minutes. Media Guy followed me, like a child hanging on my every move.

He placed his hand on the back of my neck and kissed my shoulders. I grabbed his wrist and threw him onto the bed. “Now, where are those hand cuffs you mention?”

Media Guy reached into a drawer and pulled out some pathetic contraption that resembled what one would buy as a gag gift, if one were that kind of person. “Right,” I gawked at the ‘cuffs’.

Bored and slightly disappointed, I crawled onto the bed; I just wanted to be fucked. He slid his hands up my skirt and over my thighs. He pulled off my dress and devoured my body. Media Guy needed to be put in his place. I straddled him and took him hard until he was about to lose his mind. Just as he was about to go over the edge I’d stop, letting out a slight laugh.

I let myself cum while still on top and then rolled over onto my back, slightly breathless. He looked pleased even though I had done most of the work. I could tell he was waiting to get his, especially after the torturous teasing.

Feeling quite ‘letdown’ from all his talk and the very little action I decided to call it a night. I slid back into my dress, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “It was a pleasure darling,” I whispered in his and then headed for the door.

The look of shock/disappointment was beyond comical. I hailed a taxi and laughed to myself. Will not be doing that again anytime soon! Any man that pulls out handcuffs like those is most definitely not the man for me. 

Hit The Showers

Patrick Demarchelier

August 2, 2010

There comes a time in every relationship, whether it’s emotional, physical or even (dare I say it) both, where you need to ask for more. After two years of glorious sex I was beginning to feel like we were hitting a wall. Every now and then a girl just wants to get fucked; after months of begging for more The Photographer was about to step up his game.

I lay in bed, eyes closed, my body still humming from my last orgasm. I could time it down to the second; I would feel The Photographer stirring next to me and then 4, 3, 2… the sound of the water running as he climbed into the shower.

The poor Photographer; so busy and beyond stressed, as soon as our shaggery is complete he's half way out the door, leaving me aching for more.

It’s never easy to tell a man that you are satisfied, but what you want in reality is to be worn out. Let’s just say he’s been making it up to me ever since.

He walked into my new apartment and slid his arm around my waist. Looking me up and down he grinned, “You look good all tan.” His voice made me melt and his lips met mine as we stumbled onto my bed. His hands pulled at the white cotton of my robe. I lay on top of the sheets letting him admire my naked body; I rubbed my breasts and leaned my head back stretching out my long neck, inviting him to take a bite.

His lips moved along my neck and down my shoulder. His hands grabbed me firmly and I could see him getting excited. He licked me everywhere and made me lose my mind instantly; the feeling of his tongue was like a drug, I could never get enough.

The Photographer reached into the yellow Babeland shopping bag; pulling out an array of new toys. He began to tease me with the tip of the silicone shaft. I loved that he watched me closely as he slid it all the way inside me, working the toy until I begged him to stop.

He climbed on top of me, holding me down by my wrists; I was already on orgasm No. 2 and the way things were feeling No. 3 & 4 were just around the corner… 

Love Me, Then Leave Me. Please.

July 26, 2010

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 to bits. 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. 

May The Best (wo)Man Win

Helmut Newton

July 20, 2010

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.” I couldn’t believe she had been impersonating him for this long with out others catching on. Not only was she replying to me as him, she had been writing his content for the magazine while he was in rehab. well played madame.

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

@Wasted_Pleasures Wasted Pleasures

July 17, 2010

There is something very attractive about 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 even 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 Favour?

July 8, 2010

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 has changed to make 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. I loved watching them later myself.

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

@Regards_Couples Shop

New York is a busy place. A ‘New York minute’ is most definitely not just a saying. The question? 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 as you are 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. Our schedules were complete opposites and there never seemed to be enough hours in the day.

Taking a long sip of my latte, 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 having 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

@Valeria_Ko_Art Valeria van der Ko

June 22, 2010

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, kissing him deeply. 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. 

The Dark Side

Helmut Newton 1973

June 8, 2010

I have never really wanted children. I don’t like most children; or rather I don’t like how most adults parent their children. I have never really wanted to get married. What marriage stands for today a far cry from the ideals people seem to desire when they embark upon it.

What I do want is someone who is my equal. I want a man who will push me to be the best I can and who will let me push them back. I want a partner in crime. I don’t have the same ideals that other people do. I am not blind to the fact that passions fade, that this man may not want to bed only me for the rest of his life. I am also quite aware that I may not want to sleep with just him.

I was in love once, but not really. It would be more accurate to say that I wanted to be in love; I wanted a boyfriend. At the time I genuinely believed I was in love and thought I would spend the rest of my life with him, marry him and have a child with him. Hindsight is a delightful thing.

Right now I feel frustrated. I am angry. As unfortunate as this is going to sound it is true; women are master manipulators. If I wanted to I could make any man fall in love with me, just a game I used to play when I became bored.

It was the same thing with the above noted love. I was in love with him because I wanted to be in love and he was in love with me because I wanted him to be.

Only one man has ever really been in love with me, my true self. I was not in love with him. It was something else, something bigger than that.

We would lay in my bed, naked. I adored the way his skin felt next to mine; our arms gently resting next to one another. The way he looked at me. He knew everything about me, about Chloe too. He didn’t care, not for one second. He would kiss me so softly and slowly and tell me he loved me. I would run my fingers through his long hair and rest my head on his naked chest. I would trace the outline of his tattoos with the tip of my finger.   

We would talk and pleasure each other for hours. My bed, his bed, the park; it did not matter where we were. It was like no feeling I have ever had with someone. I felt like we had the oldest souls and from the moment we met we understood everything about the other.

Why am I going on about this? Because it’s gone, he’s gone. Its over before it even really started. It is for the best. I do not think he was in love with me, even though he told me countless times he was. In truth it was something beyond love and neither of us could fully describe it; the irony of which is painful as we are both writers.

I am not worried about finding someone who will love me, that is an easy feat. But rather, I am terrified that no man can ever understand me the way he did. The way he did with out me having to say a single word. 

This feeling is crippling. I am numbing the pain with mindless 'fucks' and nothing seems to work. I don't want him back, I just want that feeling. That beautiful feeling of being understood. That nonjudgmental, unsympathetic understanding we had of each other. 

As I write this hot tears are streaming down my cold cheeks. I just want to be understood.  

The Next Fix

@SlimeSunday SlimeSunday

June 1, 2010

It’s not necessarily that the grass looks greener; it’s just that you want to know what it feels like under your feet. Who dictates right and wrong in a relationship? Who sets the standard for what is acceptable and what can sustain a relationship over time?

We live in a world of quick fixes and instant gratification. How does the old model of marriage and relationships fit into this modern world? I have grown up in a generation of people that want it all and want it all right now. Why are the relationship expectations of the general public today still very close to what they were some 80 years ago?

I don’t think it makes you a bad person for wanting sex and wanting sex with more than one person for the rest of your married (committed) life; wanting a new thrill every now and then.  

There is nothing like the rush of a fling, whether you are married or single. The urgency one feels when your lips finally touch after aching to feel each other. The way his hands slide up your legs; your nails dig into his shoulder as you push your hips against him. It is pure desire, full of silent temptations. 

Who says you cannot truly love and care for someone while desiring another physically? There is nothing like the sexual rush of being with someone your entire body craves, so why must we choose between love and lust? I do believe that what you don’t know cannot hurt you.

Maybe I am being idealistic... After all I grew up in a generation that wants it all. And preferably right now.  

Boys Beware

The incredible Diane Pernet invited me to contribute to her site, A Shaded View On Fashion Fiction. Although this story is more fact than fiction, it was included none the less.

June 8, 2010

There is no such thing as a total wash. Even the most obviously pathetic night can take a sudden turn for the best if you have the right attitude. Luckily, attitude is something I’m never short on. 

It’s a general rule of mine to steer clear of little boys. But every now and then, someone catches my fancy and I get blindsided. I met Hot 20-Something Guy poolside at Soho House. It must have been his tortoise-shell Persol sunglasses that made me give him my number so willingly. After a week of his cryptic Hot 20-Something Guy texts, he finally figured out how to properly invite me for a drink.

Soho House was packed. As the elevator door slid open, the heat and the music hit me hard. I made my way through the throng of beautiful people out onto the roof deck, where Hot 20-Something Guy was waiting. We stood near the edge of the pool, the Manhattan skyline glistening in the background. Hot 20-Something Guy was getting less hot by the second; making small talk, taking long sips of his drink without offering to buy me one.

Taking the evening into my own hands, I headed for the bar. As I passed through the thickening crowd, I bumped into my former boss – the CEO of a prominent high fashion label. Immaculately dressed in his signature dark denim, white button-down and blazer, he kissed my cheek (proper Brit that he was) and insisted on buying my drink.

I returned to find Hot 20-Something Guy surrounded by a group of friends. After making cursory introductions, he charmingly announced that he was going in search of beer. I chatted up his very unstylish girlfriends (apparently some people still wear giant hoop earrings in earnest) in between deep drags on my Marlboro Light. A camera flashed as someone snapped my photo; I could not believe I’d donned my vintage Chanel navy matte sequined dress for this.

Just as I was about to call it a night, another attractive 20-something guy approached. A friend of Hot 20-Something Guy, this specimen was actually far cuter. Let’s call him Media Guy.

We sat on the plush couches and I couldn’t help but notice our knees gently touching as we talked. Hot 20-Something Guy was nowhere in sight – much to my relief. I placed my hand on Media Guy’s thigh while smiling and gently biting my lower lip. The conversation turned heated; I could tell he was aching to get me home, aching to slide the silk straps of my dress off my shoulders. He invited me back to his place for a nightcap; I couldn’t wait to see what he had in mind.

The Hot Factor

@aphrodisiak.fr Shop

May 25, 2010

When it comes to threesomes the goal is to find someone hot, but not hotter than you. Let’s just say she was blonde, tall and thin with huge round breasts and a firm ass. Not exactly not hotter than me…

We were out drinking, just the girls when the two of us broke away to buy cigarettes. We were laughing as she pulled one out and lit it for me. I smiled, she was my craziest friend; I knew I could ask her anything. “So, remember my photographer friend I was telling you about,” she nodded and inhaled deeply on her smoke. I placed my hand on her arm and smiled, “Would you want to play with us next time he comes to visit?”

She giggled the way she does when she is excited and shook her head yes. Let’s call her Sasha. 

The Photographer and I lay in bed. We had both just cum at least 4 times and it was barely noon. I closed my eyes and pictured the way he looked while devouring me. He would bend me over on all fours and take me hard; I would glance over my shoulder to watch. Every-so-often we would lock eyes, I adored being at his mercy.

He was like a child waiting for Christmas morning, “What time is she coming over? Are we there yet?” I couldn’t help but laugh. After what felt like hours of anticipation she knocked on my door. We sat at the kitchen table and I fixed us drinks and then lead her into my dressing room to change.

We stood in the doorway to the kitchen hand in hand and motioned for The Photographer to follow us into the bedroom. We wore matching thigh high fishnet stockings, Agent Provocateur of course. I undid my robe to reveal my signature black lace Agent Provocateur waspie with matching bra and thong; Sasha had on a leather and mesh bodysuit.

The photographer came towards us, grabbing us both by our waists; he kissed my lips then hers. We pushed him onto the bed and knelt over his body. I pulled Sasha towards me and kissed her soft lips. I slid my tongue around hers pulling it through my lips and nibbled on the tip of it. The Photographer rubbed our thighs as we began to put on a show. 

He could hardly wait to get us both naked but we had something else in mind first.