Summer Lightning

Things were pretty quiet in the Red Carpet Club. In fact, the whole Los Angeles International Airport was winding down for the night.

I was one of perhaps 10 nomads staking out various corners of the huge room. Leno lambasted Congress on the big screen. Empty couches and full ashtrays all seemed unimpressed by the offer.

Briefcase warriors at the bar nursed the spoils of last call. The glassy eyed men were full of the usual brave talk, well told stories and beer. Each secretly wondering what he was doing in the airport at 11:40 on a Tuesday night.

I sat on the arm of the couch, near the window, ostensibly watching baggage handlers stuff their silver, red and blue turkey with our luggage. But I was really staring at the window’s reflection of someone in the room with us— the most beautiful woman I’d seen in months.

As anyone who has ever seen her will tell you, it’s impossible not to stare at Tess. Confident posture. Smooth, olive skin— gypsy or maybe Greek ancestry. Plush, soft red lips. Chiseled nose. Long, seductive neck and shiny black hair.

Gina, the club’s hostess, concierge and aging Scandinavian den mother, announced our flight’s impending departure. We all shuffled out.

As I passed her desk Gina handed me my ticked in a new, neatly pressed First Class folder.

“All set, Alex,” she smiled. “I fixed your Friday problems— and I changed your seat for this flight. Thought you might like some company,” she said, nodding at the disappearing Tess.

“Thanks. Can’t wait to get out of the smog and this heat,” I said, trying to look disinterested in my good fortune.

“Nice and cool in New York,” Gina said. “Rain delays back there all day.”

“Ah, rain. I miss the rain.” It was true. I did.

Gina’s eyes sparkled. “And lightning— summer lightning. Have a good flight. And don’t be such a stranger!”

“Night, Gina. Thanks.”

The club regrouped in the musty, vibrating jetway, waiting for our plane to digest the crowd ahead of us. One of the salesmen from the bar took his best shot at Tess. A swing and a miss. She had the perfect comeback. Polite. Distant. Sexy as hell. No score.

I leaned against the handrail trying to size this all up. I wanted to tell her she had an incredible body. That I’d already imagined taking her in the shower, and on my kitchen table— and right here in line. Did she like witty, seductive men, or gorillas that force her hands over her head and fuck her without a word? I decided to wait.

Finally we were through the jumbo’s door, boys to the right, Tess and I to the left. Our seats were almost within arm’s reach, cross aisle. Now I understand why men bring Gina gifts.

Tess smiled a cautious hello and went back to reading Spy magazine. Had she caught me staring at her earlier in the Red Carpet Club?

Once airborne, the cabin lights dimmed, and an overhead reading lamp bathed her striking features in a surreal, white blue glow. It reminded me of a darkened theater— stage lit by a single, hot white spot. Dangerous nipples played hide and seek in the shadows of her vest.

And . . . I’ve almost forgotten the best part. There was one other light source— delicate diamond studs piercing her earlobes. They fired blinding laser beams whenever she moved her head.

Long, sleek, swimmer’s legs, irresistible ankles and bare feet took up all of the space under her tray table, no matter how she squirmed. She crossed and uncrossed her legs restlessly. I tried not to watch.

Tess had kicked off her heels earlier and was absentmindedly pushing one a few inches up and down the carpeted aisle with her foot. I remember wondering if she was a model— turns out she had been a few years earlier.

What is it about the faint smell of burning aviation fuel and the muted roar of big jets that makes men so horny? Was this phenomenon affecting Tess the same way?

Cheese, crackers, grapes, champagne and some cross aisle talk. Tess pulled out her portable computer and coaxed it to life. Her adorable nose scrunched. I empathized as she silently mouthed the word “shit” for the third time— obviously frustrated but taking it all in stride.

“New computer?” I wondered.

“Yeah, and I love it, but this program’s driving me nuts! You know anything about Nisus?”

I do. And perhaps because of that, Tess invited me to join her. She pushed up the center seat arm, turning 2A and 2B into a virtual flying couch. She scooted onto the wide, leather window seat to make room, then motioned me over. Tess tucked her feet under her gorgeous ass and thighs, looking very much at home in the air. Cover girl perfect. Within easy reach.

Careful, Alex, I thought to myself. This is where you usually blow it. Take your time! I could hear k.d. lang’s “Pullin’ Back the Reins” echoing in my head.

Tess smelled wonderful. English bath soap and an unforgettable perfume I still can’t place, and the sexy musk of day’s end. She caught my stupid grin again and touched my hand.

“Thanks for your help. I owe you a drink,” she said as she reached up to push the call button. Her right breast grazed my shoulder and damn near touched the tip of my nose. Was this a calculated move or just cramped quarters?

“I’m also having trouble typing lists,” she said as if oblivious to what she had just done to my heart rate. “How do you put bullets in front of things like these?”

Tess slid her Macintosh PowerBook onto my tray table. Was it my imagination, or had she just typed a clever, purposeful go ahead signal. The first line read “Things she likes:” The remainder of the cool white screen contained an intriguing, almost random collection of things that turn her on:

Bonnie Raitt the sea otters near Monterey fast cab rides in New York kneading sourdough shopping for trashy lingerie a strong, slow hand Sunday morning oil rubs baklava and hot tea with lemon standing naked in the rain mule rides on Molokai Bloody Marys.

What an intriguing woman! And what a great icebreaker. I showed her the typing trick she had asked about by starting a list of my own:

Otis Redding, Sippi Wallace, and Bonnie Raitt (live) watching eagles soar David Letterman’s brat face Husky puppies Harleys the Rocky Mountains the “Blade Runner” soundtrack.

I felt my heart beat in my fingertips, my mouth went dry.

Mark Twain Sunday afternoon shampoos for two huge stone fireplaces Bloody Marys staring at your beautiful face . . .

It was a gamble, but I slid the Mac back to Tess. She smiled and wet her lips as she read the screen silently— finishing just as our flight attendant appeared from behind curtain number one.

Tess looked up and said softly, “Hi, Sheila. We need two double Bloody Marys, two pillows and one big blanket.”

While Sheila fussed in the galley, Tess grabbed her overnight bag and headed forward.

“Right back,” she whispered as she squeezed past.

And she kept her promise. In no time at all, somehow, in the phone booth sized restroom, Tess had managed to change out of her spandex skirt and Banana Republic shirt and best, and into a big floppy sweatshirt that stopped midway between ass and knees. Matching, no frills, pink cotton sweatsocks completed the quick change ensemble. She looked good enough to eat.

“Cold feet?” I teased.

“Not for long,” she mused as she crawled over me to her seat. Tess snuggled in— much closer than before. Feet on seat. Knees under chin. She leaned up against me, millimeters from my ear, and playfully whispered, “I’m not wearing anything under my shirt. Better hang on to this in case you get lucky.”

She placed a small blue foil wrapper in my shirt pocket, gave it a loving pat, pushed up her too long sleeves and planted an incredible first kiss on my lips just as Sheila arrived with the drinks and the bedding. There was also a glass dish brimming with strawberries with some chocolate mints on the side.

“You two look like happy campers. I’m going back to Siberia for a nap,” Sheila advised, nodding in the direction of the tail. “Ring if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll see ya in about two hours when we start down.”

God, I love first class, I though to myself as Sheila disappeared. Tess and I put on headphones and switched to channel six for a little mood. You know the mix: Harry Connick Jr., Tom Waits, Sade, Michael Franks, Whitney, Dr. John. We took turns finger feeding each other strawberries, sipping drinks all the time staring eye to eye and marveling at the instant electricity.

“Lights out,” she said when we were full from the juicy red berries, pointing to the reading lamp, then turning toward the window. “Oh, I love it up here— moon and stars above, clouds below. Look, what is that . . . Northern Lights?”

I tucked in behind, under our blanket and stared out the window, too. I wrapped my arms around her slender rib cage, pulling her close. She purred and squirmed and nestled.

“Nice fit.”

Oh, yes, yes . . . ”

As the Bloody Marys started to buzz, she placed my right hand up under her shirt and directed it to the sweet spot between her legs. I reached for her cotton covered breast with my left hand. What delightful jujube nipples!

“Right here,” she said, placing my fingertips exactly on target.

Huey Lewis reminded us that sometimes bad is good as I went to work. I pressed and rubbed and teased slowly at first, expecting the whole time to wake up from a dream. Flushed cheeks touching. Nose buried in her fragrant hair. Sweat on my brow. Faster now. God, she was slippery and excited. Tess whimpered softly as her body tensed and relaxed. We moved together— as if slow dancing while Ray Charles sang “Darlin’ I’m a Fool for You.” Then we dry humped to Koko Taylor’s “I Cried Like a Baby.”

I wanted to rub back and forth on her that way all night. The only thing that kept me from coming was the frantic need to keep this moment and mood from ending.

I tried desperately to etch every new sensation into my brain. How could I possibly memorize the way the crease of her ass felt as it channeled the relentless bulge in my jeans? What words and images could I conjure to capture her wild pony restlessness, that complete lack of inhibition?

She unbuttoned my shirt and slid long red nails inside. The touch of a butterfly landing— a playful pinch. Lipstick rings on my lucky, warm, wet nipples. Then over on her side again.

“More,” she’d say, pulling my hands back into the darkness. “Come on. Gimme another one,” she teased. Each time Tess climaxed she buried her head deep in the pillow out of deference to the less fortunate passengers six rows back. Nevertheless, an occasional, muffled victory could be heard over the engine roar. First one. Then another. And another.

The final time, she slammed her fist on her seat back, looked over her shoulder at me, bit her bottom lip and laughed like the devil herself. Such wonderful noises!

Mercifully, it was my turn. Tess sat up, faced me, unzipped my impatient fly, pulled down the old Calvins then opened and held the still rolled condom to her nose— and mine.

“Don’t ya love the smell of latex?” she said. “It always makes me want to fuck.” Tess beamed like a skydiver standing in the windy doorway.

And fuck we did. She installed the beige Trojan skillfully and straddled me— looking for the world like a heroin addict frantically preparing for a fix. Lips pursed. Gooseflesh all around.

Her warm ass resting in both of my hands, I pulled us tightly together. Tess threw her head onto the seatback in front of us, then raised her pelvis slightly, almost completely uncoupling, then docking again.

In . . . then out.

Once more.

And again.

I held her incredible waist with all my might as we got the rhythm right. In and out. Up and down— soooo slippery. Closer and closer. Her juices soaked both of us and touched the cabin with the undeniable scent of genuine pleasure.

She leaned forward, pulled her shirt up and over my head. “Your choice,” she teased.

I took turns, visiting one, then the other and back again, becoming dizzy from the excitement and danger of it all. The fresh air smelled sweet when I moved from her swollen nipples to her soft lips.

Then, as if on cue, the plane found light turbulence and shuddered along with us. Little sky earthquakes. The classic erotic rumbling train ride at 30,000 feet. We wrapped ourselves up in each other and savored each new, slightly stronger jolt. Soon the sky shoved and tugged fiercely at us, pushing our sweaty bodies together, then free falling with us in little zero G adventures, a fucking roller coaster in the sky!

The luggage racks creaked and moaned and threatened to open. “Go ahead,” they seemed to call. “Let her have it!” Ears popping. Pulse racing. We slipped into the clouds— endless clouds racing past at 600 knots.

“Fuck her,” the plane seemed to shout as it heaved violently. “Fill her up now!”

“Bingo!” Tess laughed.

“Yes,” we gloated in unison.

The seat belt sign was on, giving us the perfect excuse to curl up and enjoy the ebb and the increasingly smoother ride.

“That was nice,” Tess offered as she rearranged our blanket and kissed my red hot cheek and chest. “First class.”

We put our headphones back on just in time to hear Janis Joplin sing “Summertime” in her raspy voice and watched the summer lightning jump from cloud to cloud.

The Cowardly Lion

Every time you get together around the watercooler with the guys, Topic A turns out to be pussy. That also turns out to be Topics B, C and D. In fact, if it weren’t for ESPN, scoring tail would be the only thing you and the guys ever talked about.

Your buddy Dave started things off this morning with a story about his latest singles bar conquest. “I swear to God,” he said, “I met this girl, got her back to my place and had her out of her clothes inside of an hour’s time. This wasn’t some easy, sleazy slut, either. This babe was the clean and corporate type who probably makes more in a month than any of us do in a year. We’re talking a hundred dollar bra, fifty buck panties and the kind of garter belt you don’t find on your typical Kmart shopper, if you know what I mean.”

You spoke up. “Yeah, but most hot chicks with that kind of dough can turn out to be real ball busters.”

“Well, if this one was busting my balls, she was doing it by trying to suck them out through the head of my dick,” Dave replied. “She acted like blowing me was her favorite thing in the goddamned world. She opened wide and took half of my dick in her mouth. Then she grabbed my ass and worked more of my cock in, until I could feel it pressing against the back of her throat.”

“God, I love that kind of action,” you said. “There’s nothing better than a deep throat suck off from a girl who is really into it.”

Dave went on. “Her lips were pressed right against the short and curlies at the base of my dick. Her mouth was so full, she had to do all of her breathing through her nose. Then she started to swallow, tugging my prick even deeper.”

You noticed Sean trying to adjust the front of his pants to hide the fact that he was sporting a boner. What a dipshit.

“She clutched my ass like she was afraid I would escape. Then she started bobbing up and down. She was using her tongue plenty too, swirling it all over my prick. I wanted to shoot my load right away. Looking down and seeing my dick stuck in her perfectly made up face, with her eyes closed and her lips stretched into a big ‘O,’ made it real damned hard to hold back.”

Carrie Frankliner, one of your company’s female VPs, picked that moment to stroll past the watercooler. Her presence brought an immediate halt to the politically incorrect conversation. “Frigid Frankliner” gave you and your buddies a look that said she knew you were a bunch of fuck ups, and that she would have every one of you fired if she got a good opportunity. She looked even more disgusted when she glanced down and saw the front of Sean’s pants sticking out.

As she hurried away, Dave finished his tale. “I turned that girl around real quick, so I could fuck her before I exploded. I barely got inside her cunt before I let fly. She reached between her legs and got herself off at the same time. I felt like shit for coming so fast. But when I told her I couldn’t help myself, she let me go back for seconds to make up for it.”

Bobby piped up. “I hope I have that kind of luck with Chrissie.” He was talking about the tender and twenty something new hire over in marketing. “I think I’ve got a decent shot at fucking her. Hell, you’ve all seen the way she dresses. I figure any girl who wears skirts that short just has to be a good lay.”

At which point you said, “No doubt about that. Chicks like her are just aching for dick.”

“I’m going to make my move early,” Bobby said. “I want to try the ‘cocky stud’ act. Being a gentleman sure hasn’t gotten me much snatch lately. Fuck going out to eat, or seeing some stupid movie and then trying to get in her pants. I’ll just ask her right away if she wants to get laid. Just cut right through all the crap.”

“That worked for me once,” said Curt. “I had been trying to think up a good way to introduce the subject of screwing with this really sweet, innocent blonde by the name of Joyce. She was as wholesome and pretty as a homecoming queen at an agriculture college. Creamy skin, rosebud mouth, big eyes, sexy body. We had been out on a couple of dates, and were getting along great. But when it came to turning the conversation to sex, there never seemed to be the right opening.”

“Oh, the right opening was there,” you joked. “You just couldn’t get inside it!”

“Yeah, very funny. So finally, I put my cards on the table. I showed up early one Saturday. When Joyce came to the door, I said, ‘Listen, I don’t want you to think I’m a jerk, but I’m so hot for you that I could fuck you all weekend long. How about if we stay in?’

“I halfway expected her to slam the door in my face. This was the kind of girl you think about taking home to meet the parents, a girl you think might even still be a virgin.”

“God forbid,” you interject.

“But instead, she kind of tilted her head, you know, the way girls do. And she gave me this naughty little halfway smile. Then she asked me, ‘Did you bring anything?’

“Fortunately, if there’s one thing that I’ve learned from that hardass Baker, it’s to be prepared.” Baker is the head of sales at your firm. His mantra is that every sales guy should be ready to tell clients exactly what they want to hear. “I had a half dozen rubbers in my jacket. Shit, I even brought a travel size tube of lube, which she got a good look at when I emptied my pocket!”

“My man!” Sean said, raising a hand high five style. Curt frowned, but went ahead and slapped palms with him anyway.

Curt leaned in closer, making the rest of you do the same. “I tell you, that girl turned out to be just about the hottest little fuck bunny I’ve ever screwed. It was like she had been storing it all up, just waiting to let loose and go wild.

“Her pussy was shaved completely bare. I’ve always thought that girls who devote that much attention to their cunts want their work to be appreciated. And you better believe I did some appreciating! I pushed her legs in the air and buried my face in that sweet, silky smooth snatch. I was squeezing both of her big tits while I fucked my tongue in and out of her cunt. When I started sucking the nub of her clit, she came out and begged me to fuck her.

“I rolled on a rubber and went in deep. Jesus, she was tight. She started rubbing her mound while I plunged in and out of her pussy. Then she surprised the hell out of me. she said, ‘Would you think I was a bad girl if I asked you to fuck me in the ass?’”

By that point, Sean’s erection had become so embarrassingly obvious that you gave the poor dope a sales folder to hold in front of his crotch. He silently accepted it.

“I turned her over and spread her butt cheeks,” Curt continued. “Her asshole looked goddamned perfect, like a little pink belly button. I put a finger in my mouth, then started working it in and out of Joyce’s shitter. She looked back over a shoulder. She said, ‘I want something a lot bigger than that in there.’ She sounded so slutty, I nearly came on her sheets.

“I did a quick job of greasing up my prick. Then I went digging for coal in that tight, pink mine shaft. You should have heard her moan when I was balls deep in her slippery asshole. She buried her head in a pillow and grunted like a whore. Heaven, baby. There’s no other word for it.”

You said, “Man, if I had a girl like that, I would fuck her three times a day and twice as often on weekends. I would eat her pussy so much, she couldn’t go outside without a silly grin on her face. I would make her feel like a come crazy queen.”

The other guys looked at you with surprising contempt. Sean spoke up. Sean, of all fucking people! “Uh, so then why don’t you ever get a girl, instead of just talking about what you would do with one all the time?”

“Yeah,” said Curt. “You sound like Howard Stern, always bullshitting when he was married about the things he wished he could do to every sexy bitch who came on his radio show. But after he got divorced, and could have started screwing any hot slut he wanted, he still never got any pussy. He turned out to be nothing more than a cowardly lion, all big talk but no balls to back it up.”

You couldn’t believe how nasty things had turned. The worst thing about what Curt had said was that it was true. You might talk a good game, but you hadn’t actually gotten laid in so long, it was a disgrace.

“Ahh, screw all of you,” you said, your face turning red. “You’re just jealous because you know I could have any woman I wanted and make her happy. Shit, I could even get Frigid Frankliner herself to bend over for me. Hell, a good dicking is probably just what she needs. I would make her come like a goddamned volcano in an earthquake, then watch her clamp her mouth on my man meat like a milking machine set on ‘suck it dry.’”

The other guys were looking behind you with alarmed expressions. Without turning around, you just knew who was standing there. Instead of getting laid, it looked like you were about to get laid off, you lying, limp dicked, lousy excuse for a lion.

Mindskeeving: Some Pussy for Your Thoughts

So I’m pushing a three wheels good cart down the frozen food aisle when I suddenly realize that I can read every other Tuesday afternoon shopper’s thoughts. I can’t make out everything, only the dirtiest, nastiest, most erotic bits. The good stuff, in other words.

Maybe this disconcerting ability is an aftereffect of last weekend’s flu. Or perhaps I inhaled too deeply whilst lingering over the mushroom bins in the produce section. Maybe I simply have a looming column deadline and an overripe imagination. Take your pick.

All I know is that the smutty stuff coming in on my mental radar is so hot, I pull out a pen and start jotting notes on a box of Blueberry Morning.

Fortunately, nearly everyone else in the store is female. The few men who do weekday grocery shopping are mostly semi bums like yours truly. But the women range from young mothers to trophy wives to comely college students to live in girlfriends with part time jobs. Plus most of the cashiers. I feel kind of skeevy playing Peeping Tom with these women’s sexual secrets. But not skeevy enough to resist.

I feel a wave of images emanating from a twenty year old brunette beauty. She is pushing a shopping cart with a sleeping infant in its front seat. Although the new mom is slender and petite, in a pair of skintight jeans and a man’s white cotton shirt, her breasts are wonderfully large.

She is thinking of how sensual and womanly she felt when she was pregnant. I go deeper. I find what she believes is the magical, special night when she got knocked up.

She and her husband are in a cozy room in a bed and breakfast outside Carmel. They are naked in bed, tipsy from the bottle of merlot they polished off at dinner. She is enthusiastically sucking his dick, rewarding her man for taking her on this romantic getaway. She is doing such a good job with her lips and tongue that he is groaning with pleasure.

“Don’t come yet,” she says, squeezing the base of his stalk. “I want you to come inside me tonight.” She straddles his body and lowers her tight, thick lipped pussy onto his upright dick. She slides up and down that impressively long shaft, slowly at first but then faster, feeling her breasts bounce and swing. She leans over to rub her tits against his face. He sucks her stiff nipples, then nibbles on them, making her whole body tingle. She puts her mouth near one of his ears and whispers, “Let’s make a baby tonight.”

She feels his cock jerk and spurt, filling her womb with his hot seed. She rolls sideways, pulling him on top. “I don’t want to lose a drop,” she says. “Stay in me until you get hard again. I want more of your come. I want you to fuck me all night long.”

As she pushes her cart past me, I get the feeling this frisky, fertile little fox will find herself in the family way again real soon.

I tune in a pair of blondes walking together, an assertive Amazon and a more timid specimen. Both wear businesslike jackets and skirts. The mousy one carries a hand basket (two make your own salads, a bottle of no fat dressing, two Diet Cokes) and is very deferential toward her companion.

I probe. They are real estate agents. The meek, small breasted one, Janine, wants her voluptuous companion, Lorna, to seduce her. More specifically, she wants to worship Lorna, to be allowed to get between Lorna’s shapely legs and lick her pussy until she comes.

Janine married young and regrets it. Lately, she has wondered if being with another woman might be more sexually satisfying than letting Larry keep climbing on top of her twice a week. Her most treasured fantasy is that Lorna will be overcome with lust one night while they work late. Lorna would lock the office door and stand very close to her. “I’ve seen the way you look at me,” she would say.

Janine would be simultaneously mortified and thrilled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Lorna would begin slowly hiking up her skirt. “I’ll tell you exactly what I mean. I think you’re a little bit lezzie. I think you would love to put your pretty mouth on my cunt. You want to suck my pussy, don’t you?”

By then, Lorna’s hem would be high enough to reveal the suspenders of her black garter belt. No panties. Her pubic bush would be full and lush, as golden blonde as the hair on her head. It would come to a wet curl between her creamy thighs. And it would smell enticingly musky.

Janine would salivate as she stared at Lorna’s exposed crotch. “You’ve got me all wrong,” she would protest. She just wanted to get lovely Lorna to let her worship her.

Lorna would hold her pussy lips apart. Her clitoris would be a slick pink pearl at the top of her slit. “Why don’t you get on your knees and eat me?” she would say. “Right now, I mean. This may be your only chance.”

Janine would drop to the floor, helpless with love. She would seal her mouth to Lorna’s sex. Her tongue would trace its salmon color folds, tease Lorna’s bulging clit, dip inside her wet opening. She would reach between her legs and rub herself while she ate Lorna’s fragrant, milky cunt. She would make herself come at the same time she made Lorna climax. Then Lorna would help Janine get tremblingly to her feet, so they could enjoy a passionate French kiss.

Is there a chance of Janine’s fantasy becoming reality? I jump heads to check out Lorna’s libido. Sadly, it appears Janine is waiting in vain for a come hither and make me come look. That’s because Lorna is not only 100 percent hetero, she is planning to seduce Janine’s husband.

Lorna is not especially attracted to Larry. But she noticed him sneaking looks at her tits during the last office party, and knows she could get him to cheat. She loves the feeling she gets bedding other women’s husbands.

I pick up memories of slutty Lorna in motels, cars, supply closets, even the bedrooms of for sale houses listed with her agency. She is opening her hungry mouth, parting her long legs and spreading the round cheeks of her ass for business associates, clients, home inspectors, escrow agents, pool cleaners, deliverymen and yard workers. I see so many thrusting, throbbing cocks inside Lorna’s head that it looks like an undulating colony of pink and brown sea anemones in there.

I am sweating and stiff as I back out of her brain. I quickly jump into the head of a skinny college girl buying cat food. She is remembering cat food. She is remembering how nasty it felt to let her boyfriend eat her pussy an hour after she fucked his best friend.

I skip over to a just out of high school cashier. I see her the previous night in a kinky silver studded getup. Her puffy nipples protrude from the round cutouts of her black leather bra. Her waist is cinched tight by a matching corset. Her pussy is shaved hairless. She is dancing quite lewdly in a luxury hotel room for a masturbating fifty year old man, shaking her tits and fingering her cunt and bending way over to show him her flexing anus.

This double duty cutie apparently checks people out all day, but has guys pay to check her out at night.

I walk around a corner to the health and beauty aisle. I spot a tousled haired, bare legged sweetheart in a yellow sundress and sandals. She is staring perplexedly at a selection of “personal lubricants.” I invite myself inside her head. Her boyfriend wants to fuck her in the ass. He says he is certain she will enjoy anal sex if she gives it a try. She has been putting him off, mainly because she is still a virgin “back there.”

She can’t imagine how Benjy’s big, hard dick could possibly fit inside her tiny butthole. She has used her fingers on herself in the shower, first slipping one inside her asshole and then two at a time. It always feels good. She is incredibly sensitive in that area. But she knows she will need an awful lot of lube to take Benjy’s cock that way.

The alluring image of this angel faced innocent exploring her shitter in the shower makes me shoot off. My stiff schlong spasms and spurts, soaking my shorts. At the same time, I hear the girl silently wonder, “Does Benjy really, sincerely want to fuck my cherry butt, or is he just testing me?”

As I woozily stroll past, I lean toward her. “Trust me,” I slur, “Benjy really wants it.” I give her a friendly leer.

Her eyes go wide. She screams, “Goddamned mind reader!” Then she whips a can of Mace from her purse and sprays it in my eyes. I stumble backward over a “Wet Floor” sign. My head slams into the terrazzo floor.

I regain consciousness to find a circle of female shoppers glowering down at me. I have a spreading come stain on my pants, drool is running down my chin, and my mind reading powers have vanished. But I realize that I don’t really need them to tell what these ladies are thinking.

Forum Sex Survey: Food and Sex

From prehistoric times, man has had two favorite activities. No, actually, watching sports on TV came a bit later. We mean eating and screwing. Interestingly, these activities have always been intimately connected. To explore the connection, Field Research Coordinator Beth Kirichenko and Senior Field Associate Andy Jackson visited a world famous barbecue join in Kansas City, Missouri (which the American Heart Association has persuaded us not to identify), where they asked diners going in and coming out: What foods do you associate with sex?

Beth reports: “This survey may have been overwhelmed by our barbecue host. Even in the parking lot, the aromas were overwhelming— in two days I think I gained ten pounds just from sniffing. Curiously, diners coming out seemed just as preoccupied as those going in. The ones coming out just seemed to move slower. Plus the men all seemed to have let their belts out a notch or two, or just left them open.”

E.G., twenty, male, college junior from Columbia, Missouri, single

Shit, have you tasted the barbecue sauce here? Unfortunately, I’d say the “red hot” version may be too extreme for some sensitive body tissues. Even the plain “hot” can sting if, say, it’s sucked too enthusiastically off a person’s dick. But the “medium” works great. Just slather it all over any body surface, and dig in.

M.H., twenty six, female, magazine writer from New York City, divorced

Champagne and caviar, perhaps? Or sparkling fresh sashimi— you know, Japanese sliced raw fish? Properly prepared sweetbreads? A perfect martini? Those would all be obvious choices.

This stuff? Barbecue? God, no! I’m just here pigging out on comfort food. I’m from Kansas City, visiting my folks. You can’t imagine what it’s like spending a week with my mother, especially since my divorce. Oh, maybe you can.

Plus I just broke up with this incredibly self involved stock analyst who dumped me for a chippie with surgically supersized boobs. Fortunately, I go straight from here to a spa in California I’ll be writing about for a magazine. Which means I should be able to write this meal off as research— bulking up to prepare for the spa.

Have you tried the shredded pork? The potato salad? God, I could eat a tubful by myself. In fact, I once did.

J.B., nineteen, female, go go dancer from Kansas City, Kansas, single

Everything goes better with chocolate sauce. Hot fudge is even better. Plus whipped cream, too, don’t you think?

D.F., thirty nine, male, paper goods sales rep from Kansas City, separated

I wish I could say spare ribs, or pulled pork, or the beef brisket sandwich. Unfortunately, these days I seem to enjoy these things instead of sex.

Especially given the way things have worked out with my wife and me, I have to say that barbecue is working a lot better for me than sex.

M.P., thirty three, female, fifth grade teacher from Kansas City, divorced

These days guys just seem to want to talk and show how sensitive they are. So I like to take them home or to a bar and get them well liquored up.

The tricky thing is, you’re treading a fine line. You want them hammered, but not so blitzed that the, uh, working parts don’t, you know, work.

O.E., forty one, female, homemaker from Saint Louis, married

Nothing gets me in the mood better than some nice fresh fish, beautifully prepared. Unfortunately, my husband hates fish. Cal won’t admit he’s afraid of the bones. He’s so stubborn that even if I fillet it, he won’t eat it.

It just made matters worse when we went to London and on our first night he discovered fish and chips. From then on, that’s all he would eat. By the third night I couldn’t take any more. I said I had a headache and Cal should go out, I’d have room service send up a sandwich. In fact, I went to the hotel dining room and flirted hungrily with a good looking man eating a gorgeous fillet of sole— actual Dover sole!

We went back to Trevor’s room and had two hours of the wildest sex I’d had in, well, ever! For the rest of the week, while Cal was out searching for new fish and chips places, Trevor and I had a passionate affair, dining every night on the most delicious fish dishes, brought up by room service.

When we came home, I tried serving Cal fresh fish fillets lightly saut ed with an ethereally thin, crunchy coating. But no! I had to go through ever fucking fish stick in the freezer case. Naturally he liked the one with the heaviest, blandest breading and the sorriest, deadest fish inside.

Now at least once a month, when he knows Cal is out bowling, Trevor calls and we stay on the line for as much as two hours, talking about fish we’ve eaten or would like to eat. I always have at least three orgasms.

Cal has a business trip coming. I’ve been fantasizing about checking out some of the newer restaurants in Saint Louis, with fish specialties. I figure that somewhere there have got to be some American men who are man enough to appreciate a fine piece of fish.

W.F., thirty, male, landscape architect from Chicago, married

Fortunately, in my line of work I get to travel a lot. And one of my favorite aspects of traveling is matching different combinations of food and sex.

As a matter of fact, I’m meeting someone later tonight for some, uh, research, and I wonder if you happen to know which goes better with oral sex, red wine or white? Would that be different for fellatio and cunnilingus?

A.D., thirty, female, bond grader from Kansas City, divorced twice

Oh God, the first thing I think of is my prom. Jesus, I haven’t thought about that in years. I went with this sweet buy nerdy guy. I guess I was pissed off because the guy I hoped would ask me didn’t. We were all crazy about Brad. But he asked Laurie, the police chief’s daughter. So when that nebbish Lenny invited me, in a moment of weakness and self loathing I said yes.

As a date Lenny was hardly a social coup. So on prom night, when he suggested we duck out and get something to eat, I was only too happy to. I was kind of hungry, actually. We went to— oh, that restaurant chain that used to specialize in fried clams.

So we’re there, and Lenny’s encouraging me to have the fried clams. He keeps ordering more and more of the damned things, till it gets to where they’re making me nauseous. Finally, I just ask him to take me home.

It wasn’t until I was in bed feeling all sorry for myself— and maybe, you know, feeling myself, trying to make myself, uh, feel better— that it suddenly came to me. Poor Lenny! He had gotten clams mixed up with oysters and thought he was pumping me full of an aphrodisiac! Probably one of the “cool” guys was playing some kind of shitty guy joke on him. Christ, they were such fucking assholes!

The story has kind of a funny ending. The morning after the prom, the talk of the town was how Brad the football hero had been arrested for hot wiring and joy riding the police chief’s cruiser. Pretty soon the actual story caught up to the rumors, though. What happened was, the cops caught Brad fucking Laurie in the back seat of her dad’s cruiser. Since she was of legal age, all the chief could do was press the stolen car charges.

Which were dropped suddenly, right before Brad and Laurie got married, which was right before their first kid was born. Last I heard, he was supporting their kids (Laurie left them, oh, years ago) working in a car wash.

Lenny? That’s kind of funny, too. He became a lawyer. I thought of going to him when my first marriage broke up, but figured that would be too weird. By the time I had to shed Bozo Number Two, though, Lenny had such a reputation as a matrimonial shark, I couldn’t resist. And he came through for me big time. My whoring son of a bitch of an ex husband was lucky to come out of it with the clothes on his back. (Shit, I paid for those clothes. The lazy turd was so used to living off me, he wanted me to pay him alimony! Lenny set his ass straight.)

Meanwhile, Lenny had developed this amazing self confidence, and was looking pretty fucking good as well. When my final papers were ready for signing, as kind of a joke I asked if he’d like to get some fried clams. He just smiled and said, “No, thanks.”

All Sex Survey questions are authentic. Only the answers are made up.

Dr. Love

Dear Dr. Love,

I know this is a weird thing for a college guy to give a damn about, but my girlfriend is a total slob. She’s too good in the sack to “kick out of bed for eating crackers,” as they say, but I’m really getting tired of finding food, tissues, empty makeup jars and all sorts of shit between the sheets whenever I stay over. She’s perfectly normal when we’re in public or when we’re out having dinner, so I can’t figure it out. I really care for her and don’t want to lose her, so is there any tactful way for me to mention that she should consider “cleaning up her act” ?— The Odd Couple’s Neater Half

Dear Odd,

I think you should definitely discuss the matter with your girlfriend, but not for the reason you might think. If your girlfriend doesn’t show any other outward signs of poor personal hygiene like you say, it could be a simple cry for help. Sometimes when people find themselves in a new and particularly disruptive situation, such as moving into a new neighborhood, taking a new job or being away from their parents for the first time— like going to college— their reaction to their new surroundings is to let their appearance or hygiene go to pot (other signs of depression include excessive sleeping and loss of interest in activities they used to enjoy). If you think she’s let her cleanliness habits slip because she’s depressed, then by all means suggest that she go to a school counselor. But if deep down she’s just a slob like you say, you might be better off cleaning her out of your life.

Dear Dr. Love,

My wife Corie and I are a happily married white couple in our mid thirties. While we were at a party recently, she struck up a conversation with a black couple who seemed to be about our age. They were perfectly nice with us, but I immediately got uptight around them and kind of rudely made it obvious that I didn’t really want to talk to them. Corie and I got into a big fight about the way I acted to them when we got home later that night.

I can usually talk openly with Corie about our sex life but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that I felt intimidated because I know that she’s fantasized about sleeping with a black guy. Am I overreacting to a simple fantasy or do you think I really have something to worry about?— Wondering

Dear Wondering,

If you’re a regular reader of Penthouse Forum (which I hope you are), you probably know that interracial fantasies are wildly popular around these parts. You might want to do a little soul searching and figure out if you’re upset about your wife wanting to sleep with a black man in particular, or if you’re worried about her wanting another man in general. If it’s the former, there’s not too much I can tell you. If it’s the latter, you’re probably not ready to take that very big step in your marriage. If all your wife wants is a little variety in the sack, there are a few things you could do. Some creative role playing might help encourage her to call you by another name when you’re fucking, or arrange to “pick her up” in a bar one night. You could even have her wear a wig and both go out on the town!

But if you do decide to bring another man into your bedroom, be sure to let us know how it goes!

Dear Dr. Love,

I’m hoping you can settle a dispute I recently had with my friend Charlotte. We were talking about the big effect computers have on everyone’s life these days, and somehow or another we started talking about cybersex. She said that if she ever caught her husband having cybersex with someone that she’d go through the roof because to her it would be just like having an affair. I told her that I didn’t think it was anything to worry about. What do you think?— Concerned

Dear Concerned,

Believe it or not, this isn’t the first time I’ve heard this question, and I’ll give you the same answer I’ve given everyone else. It all depends on your definition of an “affair.” For some people, the idea of their mate having anonymous cybersex is harmless enough. Some couples even find it sexy. Other couples aren’t bothered by the idea of a flesh and blood one night stand, but would be hurt if they caught their lover holding hands with another person. One man I knew even got jealous when his partner masturbated. I think that the bottom line is this: different people have different parameters for what they consider appropriate behavior in a relationship, especially a marriage. Whatever works for you and your friend is what works for you and your friend. It sounds like you and Charlotte should agree to disagree.

Dear Dr. Love,

I bought my husband a camcorder for his birthday, and a few months ago he asked me what I thought about the idea of him videotaping us in bed. I trust him completely and know he won’t do anything like show the tape to his friends, and I’m honestly intrigued about the idea of performing for him. But I’m nervous about making my screen debut.— Rising Star

Dear Rising Star,

If you have a little stage fright about stepping (or lying) in front of the camera for the first time, why not do what every Hollywood starlet has done first? You’ll already be sleeping with the director, so you can jump right to the screen test! Put aside a special night when you can have a nice dinner and then retire to the bedroom for some fun. Start off slow maybe you could perform a striptease for him. Or if you’re feeling a bit more daring, try masturbating for him. Not only will you get more comfortable in front of a camera, but it will help him learn amateur film techniques like lighting and such. Then break out the popcorn, sit back and enjoy the show!

Dear Dr. Love,

My boyfriend wants a penis piercing. I’m as liberal as the next woman, but how will it affect our sex life? Will it make him less sensitive down there? Do many men report problems with them? And what can he do once he decides he doesn’t want it anymore, which I’m sure he will?— Perplexed About Piercings

Dear Perplexed,

Like tattoos, body piercings have been with us for thousands of years and have become even more popular in the last decade, so it’s not surprising that your boyfriend wants to take a stab at one (sorry!). But seriously folks, some doctors consider genital piercings safe while others feel it increases the chance of contracting sexually transmitted diseases and makes using condoms difficult. Make sure it’s done under sterile conditions. Second, keep it clean while it’s healing wash thoroughly and use a good antiseptic wash. You’ll have to abstain from sex for three to six months while it heals, but chances are it will make him even more sensitive down there as it will stimulate the glans— and that might just make sex better for you in the long run, too! And if he does get tired of it, he can always just take it out.

Dear Dr. Love,

I’m a gay woman who recently moved in with her lover of six months. We get along great and have a wonderful time together— especially when we’re in bed! But one thing that has bothered me since we’ve started seeing each other is our use of sex toys. I love when my girl uses a dildo or vibrator on me, but she’s really hung up on “safer sex” and insists on wrapping our dildos and vibes with condoms. The problem is that I don’t like the way that condoms feel. I’ve always found the to be dry and abrasive, and sometimes they irritate my skin. We don’t use dental dams when we go down on each other or gloves when we’re fingering, so I don’t know what she’s concerned with. Can you offer any advice?— Latex Isn’t for Lovers

Dear Latex,

It sounds to me as if your girlfriend is more concerned about the cleanliness of your sex toys as opposed to your personal hygiene. In a way you should be happy, because it also sounds like she has your best interests at heart. There are a few things you can do to ease your girlfriend’s mind. The first is make sure you clean your toys after you’re done using them or before you use them the next time. Try and work it into your foreplay or afterplay if you have to. After all, anything that can make a sexual relationship more fun, and maybe even add a few laughs, certainly helps. Just do yourselves both a favor when you’re washing your vibrators— make sure you unplug them first!

If condoms aren’t physically comfortable because they chafe, try some lubrication other than your own. There are lots of reliable and well known brands on the market, but make sure to get one that won’t disintegrate the condom. There’s also a chance that you’re allergic to latex, a common problem getting a lot of attention these days, in which case you may want to try natural, skin condoms. If you’re still dead set against the idea of using rubbers with your toys, don’t use your toys as often and concentrate on pleasing each other with your tongues and hands. Sounds like you do fine otherwise!

The information in this column is not intended to be medical advice. You should always consult a health care professional. But if you have a question about sex, write to: