Friday, September 18, 2009

Girl on Bike

Girl on bike
wire-basket, Italian style
caught in an old-world alley way
I watch her
she rides up behind me
I, her prey, invite her
Minced conversation
who, what, knew
Then, a spin around
Magical piece of staging
Pulls me to her
As she pulls me in
I know her face
But she is more than her
I shouldn't go there
Because he is waiting
a few streets away
probably wondering
But I don't care
Though a kiss is permissible
it feels forbidden
in this cloistered passage
I move into her
Feeling without touching
Her form evaporating
out of my grasp, into my dream

Tuesday, August 25, 2009


If he stood in the center of the ring, he had the perfect view of her pussy: the tight tangerine fabric clinging to her crotch, the tiny bulge of labia, the occasional wet spot. He was alone, practicing his new act, when she walked in and climbed the ladder to the trapeze. She untied the trapeze, clasped the bar, swung out, and did a number of positions as she swung back and forth. He followed her motions, watching her closely. He held his breath a few times. He had never seen an aerialist practice without a partner. After she climbed down, she smiled at him as she passed by. He wanted to ask her questions. Where was she from? Why was she practicing alone? But all he could do was offer her the banana cream pie he had been spinning on his finger. She dipped her finger in the cream, smelled it, sucked it slowly. Then she disappeared behind the red velvet curtains.

He found out from the other clowns that she had just arrived three days ago from the Ukraine, to join the troupe of Mongolian acrobats after their top girl fell during a show and broke her neck. That knowledge gave him chills. It made him nervous for her. He would hate to see this young and gorgeous girl fall to the same fate as the one she replaced. He would find it even more tragic because it had been so long since a woman inspired movement in his pants. Not that he was glad that the other girl was gone. It’s just that all the females on the tour were either married, lesbians, or uptight snobs who didn’t mess with clowns. Sexual deprivation had brought him to the point of lusting after the elephants. During the opening promenade, he walked behind Elsie the elephant with a cone-shaped hat on his head. The other day he was so horny, he couldn’t help imagining sticking his entire head, cone and all, into Elsie’s enormous cunt.

Thank God Yuliana came along. At least now he had a real human to masturbate to. He caught her once more before the show, talking to the Russian brother contortionists. He was in full costume this time, so he wasn’t sure if she recognized him. She smiled at him, then turned back to the Russians and giggled. The brothers went away. He smiled back, aware of his cock growing. She tilted her eyes down, then up again to meet his white-ringed eyes. Could she see the bulge in his baggy clown pants? She said, “I lieek clowns,” in a heavy accent, and giggled again.

What music to his ears! He wanted to touch her right then. He wanted to wrap his arm around her tight little ass and pull her toward him, pressing her against his cock. But the show was about to start, and if he had done that, he would’ve come in his pants for sure. She would tell the Russian brothers who would leak the story to everyone else on the tour. No, he wouldn’t want to risk his reputation or his job. He would let her make the first move. She had to. After all, she stuck her finger in his pie. She likes clowns.

He ran to the bathroom to release the cum. It took only a few strokes. He came just as the first chord of the band started up. As he marched behind Elsie, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Yuliana, that is. He delighted in the sensations of his cock growing and shrinking to the complete unawareness of the audience. It was like riding a low-grade orgasm; the pre-show ejaculation allowed him to control the arousal as if his cock were a club of fire he was balancing on his nose. If it got to be too hot, he just let it fall.

His act came right after hers. He brushed by her as she flitted off stage. “Are you doing zee pie now?” she whispered in his ear.

He nodded like a dope, wondering how he was going to make it through his act without bursting. He had to have her. He couldn’t take it anymore. But the show must go on.

The pie-spinning, stupid jokes and antics the director scripted for him, and the audience volunteer bit became a blur of unprofessional sensations. When he stuck his finger in the pie, he imagined he was sticking his finger in her. The cute girl he pulled from the audience gave him a hard-on because she was about the same height as Yuliana, with the same auburn hair. But it was Yuliana who got him through the show. The warm vanilla breath lingering on his skin and her sexy accent sent the plates spinning without a single glitch.

His cock was hard as he took a bow and deliberately tripped into the pie. He thought, if clowns wore tights, he would need a steel cod-piece to keep his cock contained. Baggy may not be sexy, but they let you get away with things that would be embarrassing in tight pants.

He was headed to the dressing room to change when he felt a hesitant tap on his shoulder. He turned to find her smiling at him like a child waiting expectantly for a treat.

“You have more pies?” She asked.

Seeing no one nearby but the show-dog trainer, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the storage area down the hall. He opened a tiny refrigerator in the corner. He pulled out a pie.

“Usually they’re filled with shaving cream,” he said. “But I prefer to use the real thing. It costs the circus more, but they let me do it, because I’m the only clown that feeds the pie to unsuspecting audience members. They love it.”

She dug her hand into the cream, scooped out a big glob and thrust it into her mouth, smearing her face in the process. He wasn’t sure whether he should be aroused or appalled. Was she kinky or just weird? Before he could make an assumption, she tilted up to kiss him. She gave him a sloppy kiss, smearing pie over his clown smile, then wiped the cream off his face with her hand and fed it to him, letting her finger linger in his mouth, twirling it around his tongue before pulling it out. That was his cue.

He pulled her toward him for a deep kiss, slipping his fingers between the crotch of her costume and her thigh, to feel her slit. It was dripping wet. He rubbed her gently and rapidly, making little circles on her swollen clit while pulling her onto his now rock-hard cock throbbing beneath his ridiculous purple pants. She pulled him down slightly with an almost possessed look in her eyes, saying, “Eat me, please.”

Then suddenly she slipped on something, and they both collapsed to the floor. The other trapeze girl flashed before a wave of horror crashing over him. He looked down to find Yuliana planted ass-down in the pie, which she had knocked off a shelf on her way down. The shocked doll expression of her face cracked into wild laughter.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded. He started to pull her up, but she resisted. He let her pull him down and guide his face toward her pussy. He kissed the moist fabric, then slowly peeled it away. Oh God, it was like diving into a dessert! Her pussy was so sweet, and it wasn’t from the pie, though she seemed to enjoy the squishy, creamy wet feeling on her ass and thighs and pussy. She squirmed as he licked her, rubbing her clit with his red nose now and then. At this point, nothing seemed weird, because they were in a circus after all, and she was sitting in a banana cream pie. She moaned as she guided his head to the rhythms of her pleasure. It didn’t take her long to come. She didn’t make much noise, but writhed in the cream, arching her back like a contortionist.

She looked down at her cream-soaked costume. “I’m mess,” she said, with a mix of pure observation and delight. Then she unbuttoned his pants and pulled his cock out.

“Ohh...” he moaned. “It’s been so long...don’t be alarmed...if I 2 seconds...”

She gave it a few strokes, dipped her hand in the cream and rubbed it all over the shaft. Mingled with her juices, it was slimy enough to work as lube. She licked the creamy concoction, then lightly teased the head with her tongue. Oh, suck it, please suck it, he thought, although he didn’t want to rush her.

She needed no command. She put it in her mouth and sucked the tip while stroking the shaft with one hand, pulling on his balls with the other. “Oh God, oh God, Jesus Christ, fuck Barnum and Bailey...Ahhh!” He couldn’t hold it in any longer. She pulled her mouth away and stroked the cum out of him, making him squirt onto her and into the pie. He collapsed next to her and they leaned against each other in silence for a few moments, allowing their breathing to synchronize as it slowed. Then she stood up, examining her wet, cream-stained costume. She looked worried. He spotted a piece of glittery fabric hanging from a rusty hook. He pulled it down and wrapped it around her. She smiled, kissed his nose, and skipped away.

He put his satisfied cock back into his pants and zipped up. He was a mess as well but he didn’t care. He cleaned up the floor with some paper towels, then stared at the pie. He stuck his finger in and tasted it. It couldn’t have been better if it were fresh.

Friday, July 31, 2009

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Kiss Unrequited

I wanted to kiss her last night. But I didn’t, of course, I couldn’t. Why didn’t I? Because I wasn’t supposed to. Because it’s antithetical to everything that I committed myself to: Charlie and our sexually exploratory but non-polyamorous relationship. I didn’t want to kiss her. But my knee wanted to touch hers, my hand wanted to rub her neck, my arms wanted to pull her close to me, casually, playfully. When she turned to say something about the music to me, whispering almost, and I smelled the pungent sexy cigarette breath, my mouth wanted to taste her. Even though I know that if I were to go there and continue to go there, unabashedly following my desires, in two to three months time I would be repulsed by that breath. Just as I am sometimes repulsed by the fat of Charlie’s belly. This will pay off in the end, I think. This restraint. The choice to be reasonable. “Desire has no reason…” I heard myself saying to her as I, in my spinning brain, leaned my face into her neck, my pelvis pressed against hers in the dark red corner of Stonewall bar. The place that spawned freedom for the gays: this is where I wanted to kiss her, but didn’t.

When we said good-bye, in her embrace I could feel her instinct to pull. When she kissed my cheek, it was almost a default that her lips landed there. We’re both faking it terribly.

So I went home and watched “Grey Gardens” which I won in the raffle. I tried to forget, to pat myself on the back and convince myself that I did well to resist temptation. It will pay off, this struggle, it will be worth it, she will thank me for it in the end, when she’s in love with someone who doesn’t have a man in her life. Yeah, sure, it will be worth it when I’m living as a recluse with my mother and eight cats, regretting all the things I didn’t do. Slap me for writing that. But he comes home in the middle of Grey Gardens, I look around at the mess our apartment has become, and the possibility doesn’t seem too far from reality. I, after all, enjoy being alone. I’m three cats away from being a cat lady. I have not yet achieved the artistic success I desire. So I could be that eccentric prancing around an old house with a scarf on her head, thinking I could still be on Broadway, if only they could see me now. Maybe she’ll make a documentary of me and I’ll get famous anyway as a caricature of myself, as drunk drag queens impersonate me in piano bars thirty years later.

Why didn't I kiss her? Because she wants what so many lesbians want: a relationship with a woman who isn't tied up with a man. In my case, that man happens to be her friend. They've known each other long before he and I met, long before I was an adult. And the funny thing is, he practically orchestrated this dramatic sex triangle. He encouraged me to go out on a date with her and do whatever I want. I said, "Sure, why not?" without expecting anything. She didn't have any expectations either. He wasn't expecting, but hoping this arrangement might lead to a threesome. None of this would've happened if she hadn't drunkenly kissed him and said some things that gave him the impression she was interested in playing with both of us. I was not there. He came home and told me. Then he set us up. On our date, she practically denied ever having any interest in being with him. "No, it's just a fantasy. I do not want to have sex with Charlie. Charlie's my friend."

I went back to her place. Still no expectations. Though I said in the elevator, "I think we should at least make out." I had to get even. More than that, she was sexy. And I was on fire with possibilities. Possibilities that live in the land of no expectation.

Is it any surprise that we had sex, after all this anticipation of nothing, but possibly something? It was good, not great, as most first-time encounters are. She was nervous, unsure about the situation. "What am I doing sleeping with my friend's girlfriend?" I had to convince her it was okay. So it was not great, but intense. It had been a long time, over a year, since I had a one-on-one sexual experience with a woman. Maybe it was the refreshing newness, maybe it was the weirdness of the situation, maybe it was her oral devotion, her unflagging determination to make me come, that made it more than a casual one-night-stand. Then later, in the nest of sweaty sheets, we shared some things about ourselves. She saw me laugh, acknowledged it as something sweet. "When I first met you, you had an edge," she said.

It's true. To most people I have an "edge." Most people don't see the side that Charlie knows so well. But in a moment, without intending to, I let her see it.

I didn't realize how intimate we were until I saw her a week later. She had been on my mind, but I thought it was inconsequential, a natural lingering that would fade after a week of sex with Charlie. But when I saw her again, I held her for a while. I felt the buzz of seeing a new lover after the first fuck. The kind of buzz that makes me want more, not only sexually, but mindfully, emotionally. I wanted to discover her. Polyamorists call this phenomenon New Relationship Energy or NRE for short.

But I don't want a new relationship! Or do I? She doesn't want to have a threesome with us! Or does she? She can't seem to handle being with me in any way that involves him, whether he's physically present or not. And Charlie, my love, doesn't like the idea of me longing to be with a woman without him.

Where does that leave me? Pondering a kiss that never happened, in the grey gardens of my mind.

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Hitachi, My Love

What did you do on New Year's Eve? Mine was pretty uneventful. I used a vibrator on stage while singing in lingerie. Man, I really got to get a life.

For my last Forbidden Kiss performance on New Year's Eve, I re-wrote the lyrics of the song "Freddy, My Love" from the musical Grease, which I sang as an homage to my favorite vibrator, the Hitachi Magic Wand.


Hitachi, my love
I love you more than words can say
Hitachi, my love
(Please) stay plugged in as I squirm away
Thinking of you can make the day so much better
Playing with you makes my pussy so much wetter
My roomate’ll flip cause I came all over her sweater

Hitachi, my love…

Hitachi, you know, abstinence makes me feel so blue
That’s ok though, your pulses makes me lust for you
My clit will have a hard attack when it catches
That change of speed with the part that attaches
Oh how I wish I knew a girl who loves snatches

Hitachi, my love

Don’t keep your magic from me
I thrill to every vibe
Your buzzing’s kinda funny, but honey, it feels fine
I treasure all that humming, your size is really stunning
They say you can be numbing, but I’m cumming for the 5th time!

Oh, oh, oh, oh!

Hitachi, you’ll see, I’ll use you on a girl someday
And I will be wearing my roommate’s lingerie
Thinking about it my twat’s throbbing already
Knowing when she comes home, we’re bound to be ready
To make her cervix spray all over her silk teddy

Hitachi, my love…Hitachi, my love!

Also check out my performance of "Orgy Etiquette," a column I wrote for New York Press.