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The next day was — well, awkward is an understatement. I knew from Lola that James had witnessed her jillin’ it in the bedroom. And I could surmise from the ferociousness with which Lo and I went at it that night that he could hear the bed creaking, rocking, and the headboard slamming against the wall, since his bedroom was just across the hall from ours. As if that wasn’t enough, Lo is a screamer. If James didn’t hear her muffled cries from under the pillow, there’s a good likelihood that he heard her call out to me, “Cover my face, Daddy! I’m gonna cum. Fuck me like a dog! Fuck me! Yes!”

That morning I would have stayed in bed till long after James had gone to his conference, but I had to get up for work, as did Lo. I think that James tried to beat us out the door by getting up extra early, but he didn’t quite make it in time so we all had a moment standing in the kitchen as Lo reached for the coffee pot in her silk negligée and nothing else.

“Morning,” she said to James with a smile, as she leaned over to grab the pot. Of course he could see right down the skimpy little thing revealing her barely concealed breasts.

“Morning, Lo,” he said, uncomfortably. No one likes to be caught stealing a peek at his best friend’s girlfriend’s tits, but who can resist when they are so luxuriously flaunted in front of you over your cup-a-Joe?

She poured a cup and passed it to me with a kiss on the cheek. She then opened the cabinet above the coffee pot and reached up for another mug for her own coffee. She was stretching on her tip-toes trying to reach the cup on the second shelf, thus extending the tiny silk nighty such that the hem of it slowly slid up and up, revealing the bottom of her bare ass. Both James and I looked down to where her cute little butt peaked out from under the lightly draped material. Realizing what we were doing, we broke our stare and each of us fumbled to offer her help, reaching for the mug she was after. She poured a cup for herself and said that she’s going to go to her room to get ready for the day. I, of course, knew what this meant. Did James?

James and I went into the living room and, rather than ignore the giant white elephant (in the form of an attractive little vixen), I addressed the subject head-on.

“James, I’m really sorry for last night.”

He gave me a quizzical look, feigning ignorance.

“Lo, I mean. I’m sorry. She’s. . . well, how to say this nicely? She’s a nymphomaniac. There’s no other way to put it. And I’ve been so busy lately at work that I’ve been too tired to. . . to give her what she wants. Or, rather, enough of what she wants. I hope that explains things a bit.”

An enigmatic smile came to his face and, being a guest and a friend, he simply said, “H, there’s no reason to apologize. I’ve known both of you a long time now. I think she’s wonderful: smart, passionate, beautiful. I love talking with her. You know that. There’s nothing that. . . .”

I don’t know what he was about to say next because his words just fell from the air as if they were shot mid-flight, assaulted by the screaming sounds emanating from Lo’s orgasm in the bedroom: “Oh, oh, yes! Fuck! Oh my God! Oh my fucking God! Yes!” She did have the door shut this time, but that did little to impede her cries.

James and I waited, silently listening, till the climax had subsided. I have to admit, the sound of her voice got me hard and, undoubtedly, it had the same effect on James.

I was speechless, but luckily James brought some levity to the moment by looking at me with a twinkle in his eye and joking, “Nymphomaniac, you say?”

We both laughed a bit and I followed with, “You have no idea.”

“But HH, that’s like every man’s dream!”

“There is a saying, be careful what you wish for. I didn’t wish for her to be a nympho, I just fell in love with her and discovered it along the way. I mean, when our romantic relationship was just getting started, I thought ‘Wow, this chick likes sex! I mean, a lot.’ But I thought it was due to the newness of the relationship. You know, at the beginning of every romance — or every one I’ve been in at least — the sex is always hot and frequent. But then you find a comfort zone. With Lo, her comfort zone is always the red zone.”

James laughed a little. “Wow! I’m really surprised. I had no idea. Yes, she talks a lot about sex, but you and I talk a lot about art — it just happens to be our vocation. But I didn’t know. . .”

“Let’s just say that Lo lives her life out loud. Sex at work. Sex at home. Sex all the time. Before I met Lo — you’ll laugh at this — I honestly thought that female masturbation was a myth, a male fantasy, a story we tell ourselves, like Santa Claus, to bring us joy even if it is a total fiction.”

He did laugh and he added, “Oh, HH, what a sheltered life you led.”

“But I had no idea that there existed women who jilled it more often than men jack it! I had no idea that a woman like Lo existed anywhere except in porno movies.”

“Why do you think that there are sex shops that sell all those dildos and vibrators?”

Suddenly my friend James was showing a much more worldly and wise side of himself than I had ever known. I always thought of him as a sort of ascetic monk who got off through finding the lost footnote containing a reference to a heretofore unknown medieval text. “I always thought they were just for guys to buy and use on their girlfriends or wives, but not with the full-fledged endorsement of the female parties.”

He just shook his head and smiled to himself.

“Where did you learn all this stuff?” I asked my friend of so many years who never talked to me about this.

“Have you forgotten that I was married once and that I’ve been single, playing the field, since my divorce?”

“James, to be honest, I’ve always pictured you sitting alone in a little garret pouring over books, or possibly in the New York Public Library with a stack of books half as tall as you, but I never picture you going out on dates.”

He grinned and said, without bragging, “New York is a great place for an older, single man to sow his wild oats and I’ve got a lot of wild oats to sow.”

Fair enough, I thought, and I was about to get up to grab us both another coffee when suddenly my phone vibrated. I looked at it. It could only be one person at this hour of a Saturday morning. Yep, it was Lo saying, “Come to me.”

“James,” I said, “I’m going to go get dressed. What are your plans?”

He looked at his watch and he said, “I’ve gotta get going. I’m due downtown in about an hour. I’ll be back later tonight. . . unless I meet some attractive art history grad student,” he said, only half joking.

As I pondered the question of whether the younger generation of women are different from those in my generation — what with the proliferation of pornography through so many easily accessible mediums — or if I just led a sheltered life prior to Lo, I got up and found Lo naked in the bedroom, bent over the bed, her ass stuck out far as she said “Spank me, Daddy.”


“I know, I’ve been very naughty. Spank me. Teach me a lesson. Show me who’s boss. Set me straight!”

Unable to deny her, I pulled out my leather belt, folded it in half and gave her a good, hard smack across her left butt cheek. “Mmmmm, yeah,” she said, “Harder.”

I did the same to the right. The leather cracked across her taught skin.

“Yeah, Daddy-O. Again.”

I gave her another, even harder. And one more for good measure. Rather than crying out with a yelp of pain, she jumped on the bed, lying on her back, spreading her legs as far as they would go as she smacked her pussy a couple of times saying, “Spank me here, Daddy!”


“Please! I need it.”

I took the belt and gave her pussy a gentle tanning.

“Oh, Daddy. You can do better than that,” she said, even as her body involuntarily convulsed from the pain.

I gave her another smack, right on her pussy lips. Now she let out a cry, followed by a slow moan and a little squirt of liquid from her pussy followed by her fingers darting for her pussy to massage it better.

“Now fuck me, Daddy. Fuck me hard and good. Fuck me. I’m dripping wet for you.”

I have to admit, she looked delectable there on the bed with her legs spread and her hands pulling her pussy lips wide — a small puddle on the hardwood floor by the bed. I dropped my pants and let her have the cock she craved. She was not shy or modest with her cries of delight. It made me rather self-conscious, but I continued till she squirted all over my thighs.

“Thank you, Daddy,” was all she managed to say when I pulled out of her. She stared at my still hard cock and she dropped to her knees to lick it clean. “I want to worship you,” she said, “Cum on my face.”

“No, Lo.”

I pulled back and got in the shower. She followed. Again, she dropped to her knees and took me in her mouth, full throttle. Water poured down on her face as she grabbed me tightly around my buttocks and pulled me in deeper and closer to her — filling her mouth with cock. I could feel the tip of my rod descending down the back of her throat. Somehow I managed to contain my enthusiasm. When we both got out of the shower she said, “You’re a selfish man.”

[From the blog:]

Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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