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She had reached over to play with my cock and I said simply, “I’m on the wagon.” (She knows what this means.)

“You can get on this wagon,” she said, spreading her legs and slapping her crotch.

“No, Lo, I’m on the wagon.”

“You can ride this wagon all day,” she said as she began stroking her puss.


“Come on, Daddy, fix my little red wagon.”

I will admit, part of me was still angry about the previous night when she denied me and then fucked herself to Hunter’s pictures and then denied me a second time. This was my punishment, though I didn’t tell her that.

Desperately she rattled off, “We could have sex, we could mutually masturbate, we could cross masturbate, we could kiss, we could. . .”

“No, Lo. Nothing for you. You’ve invited the Hunter here and he will find a hungry minx caged and ready to pounce when he gets here.”

“Oh,” she said, “Is that your game?”

“Yes. It’s sort of a favor to Hunter.”

Finally, she dropped all pretense of play and said, “Fuck me, damnit!”

I laughed. I got up out of bed.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“I’m going to brush my teeth.”

She was steaming now.

“I’m sick of your bullshit,” she yelled at me as I was walking to the bathroom. “You don’t pick up your socks. You leave the cap off the toothpaste. And just look at all those hairs in the sink from your beard!”

“Ah, the sweet sound of seduction,” I said to her as I shut the door behind me.

“No!” she called out, “leave it open.”

“I’m peeing, Lo,” I called out.

“I know,” she said, “I want to see.”

I ignored her.

When I came back to bed my phone bleeped indicating I had received a text message. I looked at it. Lo was peering over my shoulder. “Who is it?” she asked.

“Oh, just a former student.”

“No one special,” I said, knowing that withholding the details would drive her nuts.


“Oh, just Kelsey.”

Who the fuck is Kelsey?!”

“I told you, a former student.”

“Well, what does Kelsey want?”

“Oh, nothing.”

She grabbed the phone out of my hands and looked at the series of messages. It was a perfectly innocent exchange. She was applying to grad schools and wanted a recommendation. Lo tossed the phone back at me saying, “I best be the only former student you’re boinkin’!”

Again, I laughed heartily at Lo’s childlike behavior. This only infuriated her more. “What the hell are you laughing at?”

“Here we are in bed. You just made plans to have your paramour, Hunter, come here and fuck you in our house, in our bed, with my blessing. And you’re upset that I sent a text message to a student?”

“Yeah, so?” she said indignantly.

“You know, Lo, my mother warned me about girls like you.”

“What did your mother say?” she asked dismissively.

“She’s afraid you’ll eventually want someone more your own age.”

“Don’t worry, Daddy-o,” Lo said, reassuring me with her usual refrain, “I only have eyes for you. I mean, my puss is for everyone, but my eyes are only for you.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I told her,” I said.

You what?!”

“Just kidding, my love. I told her you have daddy issues and so you’ll never leave me.”

“Fuck you,” she said, rolling over and taking the blankets with her.

“You have such a way with words,” I whispered in her ear.

She didn’t move except to give me the finger.

I laughed again and I said, “You better be nice to me, my dear, or I’ll be on the wagon for a month.”

“Just wait till I get Hunter here,” she said, “I told you that he said he can cum three or four times in one session! I plan on getting him to break his record. And he said he plans on getting me to break mine.”

“What is your record?” I asked.

“I don’t know because every time I’ve counted up to five or six, I’ve lost track. I’d guess eight or nine.”

“You’re wrong, darling.”

“What?” she said, turning toward me.

“It’s eleven.”

“How do you know?”

“I counted.”


“When we were with Bill, the night we got stopped by the cop.”

“Oh yeah, that was probably my record.”

“You’re lucky we didn’t all end up with a record that night — an arrest record!”

She laughed. “I miss Bill,” she said. “I wish he didn’t get scared off like that. If he was still around I could have both him and Hunter fuck me.” As she said this, she pulled out her phone and began searching for Hunter’s pics again.

“Don’t go getting yourself all worked up,” I said, “I’m on the wagon.”

“I know, I know, old man! Fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, in her Scarlett O’Hara imitation. “I don’t need your cock. Pretty soon I’m going to be filled with his cock.” She began jillin’ it. Little does she know, it’s precisely to see her jillin’ it that I deny her. (Or, maybe she knows that quite well and she just enjoys being the object of my voyeuristic attention.)

When she was done, she said to me, “I don’t understand — there’s no pleasing you. When I was all over you, wanting you night and day, you complained. Then, when I got preoccupied with other stuff and showed just the slightest decrease in desire for you and you wanted me but I couldn’t, you got all insecure and worried. Now I’m back to wanting you again and you’re complaining. There’s no winning!”

“Yes there is; want me and tell me you want me — all the time — whether I want you or not.”

“But you complain then.”

“Don’t you realize by now? — I like complaining. That’s why we’re perfect for each other!”

With that, she cuddled up next to me and I held her tightly as my cock stood at attention throughout the night. In my sleep I had dreams of Lo as my hands swept across her naked body. Frequently it happens like this — in the dark of the night, just below the threshold of sleep, my hands glide their way over her breasts and buttocks, puss and pelvis. Like the fingers of a blind man reading braille, my hands register in my dormant mind the image of her body. It is as if my hands had magical powers to illuminate what they touched and I can perfectly see — yes, really see — the parts of Lo’s body that they scan. Eyesight to the blind. It is truly remarkable that I have not had a wet dream in this manner, but it explains why, whenever I go “on the wagon,” Lo suffers from poor sleep.

[Excerpt from the story, “The Easiest Pill to Swallow,” from the blog:]

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

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