SexE2

She was in the bathroom, the blow-dryer blasting. Her head was back. She whipped her hair as she applied conditioner to make it shiny and bouncy.

He slipped into the bathroom and told her to close her eyes.

She did, and smiled and turned around.

He passed a mug of freshly brewed mocha java coffee under her nose.

"Smell," he said.

She did. A rapturous look came over her face.

"That's just one step away from the pearly gates of heaven."

He asked her how she envisioned heaven. When she arrived, would she be met by three poolboys with washboard abs?

"I will be met by Bruce, Denzel, George, and Brad Pitt. I shall have poolboys in every room of my mansion, handing me fresh cups of Misha's, and I will be surrounded by my flock of collies. The coffee will never be cold."
"Aaaah," he replied.
"Fields of lavender growing in the living room."
"Of course."
"And well seasoned vegetarian meals."
"There will be many seasonings."

He pictured her walking imperiously through her house. When she was in need of coffee, she'd lift up her hand, Naturally, someone would get her a cup. That's what they were there for: silent, waiting to do their mistress's bidding. She would glide from room to room in her bathrobe and her morning slippers. Men would scurry around, fluffing up the bouquets of flowers, plumping pillows, anticipating her needs.

Sensing his detachment from her picture of heaven, she said

"Of course, you'd be there, too."
"Of course," he said, doubtfully.
"And we'd have a big bed," she said. "And lots of music."
"Mmmmm."
"The collies would never bark."
"This is sounding better."
"Every day would be sunny. All of my bathing suits would be black."
"And lots of cleavage. Could we have cleavage?"
"The bathing suits will have big cleavage. The nearest neighbor would live 2 miles away. We could get as loud as we wanted."
"How would I join your religion," he asked.
"Worship me," she said.
"I'm already there," he said.

The following work of fantasy fiction includes explicit sexual content and is not for people under 18.

The man from the barren lands of the distant north journeyed to the south, to The Kingdom of the Frozen Sands in The Great Wasteland that straddled the world.

He was huge. There is an ancient myth that his people once bred with the monstrous giant beasts of the north. He did not believe it since he enjoyed his women far too much to imagine sex with a beast, but still he had long hair of pure white like those massive creatures and while he was 7 feet tall, his body was thick and bulging with muscles.

Like all who live in the tortured lands of the endless night, his skin was hardened to the cold, and even as he trudged slowly along the icy surface of The Frozen Sands he needed little protection from the chilling wind. His long beard was all he needed to shield his face and over his shoulders hung the skin of one of the great northern beasts that he was supposed to love. He had slain it with his bare hands and its thick white fur was more than enough to protect him from even the coldest nights. Hide cut from the same beast wrapped his feet and protected them from the barbs of ice he crunched with every step.

Beyond that, what could he need? His people were pragmatic and had very little, so they wasted nothing. But for the cloak of fur that fluttered out behind him, his muscular body was left open to the elements.

It did not bother him in the slightest, of course. His muscles were so thick on his body that they kept him warmer than any cloth could. His people laughed at freezing weather. The kind of chill that could shrink a proud man's balls like dried fruit could not even touch him through the thick white hair that grew between his legs, covering him completely as a natural defense.

And that was why he had made the long journey over all those miles. While the people of the north struggled to survive on their barren land, to any other man the cold that he felt now would have been crippling. It was here that he would find his fortune.

At last he came to the top of the dune and stopped to gaze across the desert. The sight was breathtaking and strange even to one so used to landscapes of ice.

Though the land was gleaming ice, it seemed to roll in folds that swept off to the horizon. All around him the ground was made of sand as though it had once been flowing and caressed by the wind, but now it was forever locked in ice. What had once been shifting dunes were now ancient ice mountains never to move again.

Above it all, far in the distance, he could see the prize that he had come for. It was a towering crystal palace, it's white walls covered in ice so that it shone as bright as a diamond in the harsh glare of a blazing white sun.

As he drew slowly closer, he could make out the ruins of the kingdom that once surrounded that palace. It must have been glorious, but now it was destroyed by the ravages of the unyielding cold.

Of course he knew the story; it was as famous as The Frozen Sands themselves.

This land had once been as hot as any could bear and the air rippled over the flowing sand as though the sky were made of water as the sun grew huge enough to boil away the darkest cloud.

Back then The Great Wasteland was as dry as it would be for all time. Not a drop of water could survive for miles in any direction. It was the belt of death that was wrapped around the world and there were but two places in all of that desert where one could find relief. This kingdom whose name has been lost in the depths of history was one of those places.

Buried deep in the palace was a legendary spring that gave an endless supply of pure water, enough to quench the thirst of an army of ten thousand men, and far more than enough to bathe the kingdom in gold and riches beyond the wildest lusts of the greatest kings.

And so it should be no surprise that it was a queen who ruled over this land. She was young and full of life and said to be the most beautiful in all the kingdom.

Her parents, the old King and Queen, loved her with all their heart, charmed by her gorgeous blue eyes that sparkled like cool water but were filled with great warmth whenever she looked upon her mother and father. They cared for her and pampered her, letting her live without the slightest desire unfulfilled.

And so, when her parents grew weary of their duties and retired to a life of leisure, the princess was totally unprepared to become Queen Naya of the richest kingdom in all The Great Wasteland.

Naya had nothing in her heart for the people she ruled and they suffered for it. She made many bad decisions as the careless queen of a wealthy kingdom, but her final mistake cost her everything.

Hanto was a man to be envied. At the age of 30 he had been doing a job that he loved for 12 years everyday without fail. He was the best at what he did.

He groaned in pleasure as he gazed down at the smooth and beautiful back of the gorgeous dark-haired young woman beneath him and thrust his tense shaft into her as he had so many times before. He grasped her firm breasts with both hands and rocked his hips so that his twitching member would pump harder and harder. To him it was work, but there was so much pleasure in it.

The squirming young body against his hips let out a little cry and then stiffened, her flesh contracting around his shaft, grinding into it's thrusts until his manhood was dripping with her fluids.

"Oh, Kala!" gasped the still thrusting Hanto, "You are amazing!" as his flesh twitched and jerked, then swelled, the heat within his penis like a blazing inferno until a steady stream of thick white seed went gurgling up its length to explode inside her.

There was a long low, groan of pleasure from Kala as she felt herself filled by him, her muscles still tense around his aching dick as she lay on her hands and knees, her bare breasts cradled in his palms. She tried to speak, but she was trembling too hard to form words with her soft lips. She wanted to thank him for the wonderful feelings he gave her.

At last she felt him pull out and he flopped backwards onto a mountain of luxurious pillows with a groan. His erection was still rock hard, its veins standing out and pulsating as one last spurt of sticky white fluid leaked from its tip and dribbled down towards his hairless balls.

Instantly there were a half-dozen young women upon him, all crowding between his spread legs, edging against each other for a chance to lick his manhood, quickly scooping up his fluid as their tongues ran the length of his very long shaft.

His seed tasted great to them, perhaps because they knew that he could never make anyone pregnant. Because of the great wealth of this kingdom, the royal family could afford exotic luxuries from distant lands, and one of the most fantastic was a strange, foul-smelling oil. Each drop of it was worth more than his weight in gold, but when applied correctly to his balls it had effect of completely eliminating the potency of his seed. It was an uncomfortable loss for him, but very important when ones job is to be the lord of the King's harem.

The harem was the King's collection of about a score of young women, each designed to satisfy his appetites for womanly beauty in some way. But of course the harem did not merely disappear when the King was not making use of it, and as the king grew older he visited less and less. So it fell to Hanto, the Harem Master, to keep the women fed, clothed, and occupied.

The oil had been designed by skilled alchemists in a far away place just for the purpose of being applied to a manhood such as his so that he could do this job. Even as it took something from him, it caused his balls to swell and grow heavy. He now found that he could easily satisfy a dozen women each day with little rest, making him a far better Harem Master than any other man could be.

He smirked in amusement as he watched the women licking and suckling his throbbing shaft, their slender fingers caressing it, and he thought, "That oil didn't hurt the size of my penis, either."

From a short distance away, lying atop another pile of pillows, Kala was watching. She was naked still, as most harem girls are much of the time. Her arms were crossed under her chin and her feet where swaying in the air above her butt. With a long, deep sigh she gazed upon Hanto as the warmth he had given her finally spread through her body and faded.

The harem chamber was a masterpiece of luxury, a huge vault covered in silky-smooth white marble and with soft pillows piled high everywhere. There were fountains of crystal clear water at the four corners of the room to cool the heat from their young bodies, and everything their hearts could desire was within their grasp, everything except freedom. Though anything they wanted could be brought to them, the price was that they could never leave this room. The entire harem must be within easy access of the King at all times.

The other girls seemed quite happy with their endless supply of delicious food, great sex, and silky fabrics, but Kala was especially unhappy. She wanted her privacy, to be alone with her thoughts, and much more than that, she wanted to be alone with Hanto.

Even before the first time he had serviced her sexually, she had fallen deeply in love with him, his handsome face, his kind nature, his muscular abs and strong arms. That he was the only man she was allowed to see other than the King had only strengthened her devotion. Yet her love was not returned. How could she dare confess her feelings to him? She could never be alone with him and she could never join him in his life outside these walls. All she had ever done to show her love was gaze longingly at him with her moist green eyes and try to offer him the best sex he had ever had.

But far too soon, there came the ringing of a little silver bell that hung near the iron gates of the harem chamber. It was attached to a cord that led straight to the throne room and it could only mean that Hanto's presence was required by the young Queen Naya.

The room filled with moans of disappointment as naked or nearly naked girls licked their lips and watched their man climb to his feet and pull on his pants. He groaned also as he awkwardly stuffed his swollen flesh into the thin, flowing fabric that swept down over his athletic legs.

He expected that this would not be a comfortable meeting for him. He had lusted for the princess since she had started to show signs of womanhood. Now that she was 19, her eyes were still just as beautiful and she was still just as unobtainable, and with his shaft throbbing in his pants, he would have a very difficult time looking at her.

He made his way through the lavish palace with a quick pace. Like everyone in the burning desert, he wore loose, flowing clothes that could effectively conceal the excitement which burned just as hot in his pants. He left the smooth, hairless skin of upper body exposed, with the exception of the long, dark hair that that hung almost over his eyes. He enjoyed showing off the carefully sculpted muscles that he had been perfected over the years, and he was rarely exposed to the direct glare of the sun while sheltered in the palace.

The Queen had grown from a cute little royal brat into a breathtaking young woman with amazing speed and precision. Her body was subtly decorated in gold and silk, with a thin gold belt holding up the formless white pants that covered her and kept her cool. She had golden bands around her wrists and her perfectly round breasts seemed like their firm flesh had been poured into the golden cups that she wore strapped to her chest. She was one of the few women that would wear something that fit tight against her breasts in this heat, and it made her look all the more startling.

Hanto had felt himself starting to soften as he approached the throne room, but he had to hold back a moan of frustration when he saw her beauty sitting poised upon her silver throne and his shaft jerked back up to stand straight in his pants.

There was a smile on her youthful lips as she noticed his arrival and she immediately began to speak pleasantly, "Oh, there you are, Hanto. I apologize that I have been calling you so often lately, but since I have become queen, it would not be appropriate for me to show myself with common harem girls. Even as a princess it was inappropriate, but now I must do my best to avoid it. Do you understand?"

With an obedient nod, Hanto said, "Of course, your majesty. The girls will miss your attention, but I am sure they will see your wisdom." He had first been attracted to her as a princess when she had been making frequent visits to the harem to amuse herself with the harem girls.

"I still value your friendship, but I can't spend time with you as I did, especially now when my duties are troubling me so." A frown crept back onto the lips of her small mouth as she thought about it.

Though he suspected that he already knew the answer, Hanto asked, "What troubles you, majesty?"

"I went out among the commoners today, Hanto," said the Queen, smiling at the opportunity to vent her frustration, "and I discovered that they no longer adore me since I became queen." Shaking her head in astonishment, she quickly added, "Surely they should have even more respect for me, now that I am their absolute ruler!"

He groaned inwardly and then said as politely as he could, "Your majesty, perhaps they are upset because you have doubled the price of water since you became queen."

Exquisite blue eyes slowly widened and then she gasped, "Are you suggesting that this is my fault? It is my water! Those greedy commoners should pay whatever I demand if they want to drink from my cup. How dare you suggest otherwise?!"

"I am not the one who is upset," he said with a shrug, "Of course you can ask for whatever you desire from your people, but you are causing the poor to die of thirst and the rich to become poor."

When she rose from her throne, his heart felt like it stopped for an instant beneath the firm muscles of his bare chest. He knew that someone had to talk to the queen about her foolish behaviour for the sake of the kingdom, but perhaps it could have been someone else. Now that she was queen, he might actually have been putting his life at risk by angering her.

The subtle threat in her gaze made his loins swell and quiver even more.

"You never spoke to my father that way, Hanto." Her voice was suddenly calm as she walked slowly towards him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "I hope you don't think that just because you knew me as a princess that you have the liberty of disrespecting me as a queen."

He swallowed hard and stared warily at her as he said quickly, "No, majesty."

"I wonder," she said with a little smirk, unconvinced. "Being the queen is not as easy as you would think. I have so much power, so much wealth, that I can do anything I want, but no one respects me the way they respect my parents."

He stood perfectly still as she walked in slow circles around him, her fingertips very lightly tracing the curves of his muscular upper-body, and she spoke in soft, conspiratorial tones.

"What can all this power get me that I did not already have as a child? All I have done these past weeks has been to collect more useless gold. I don't even want it. How many rooms full of treasure can one woman desire? But what else is there?"

Turning his head to follow her with his eyes, Hanto could think of only one thing in the face of how well the young queen's body had matured, but he did not dare suggest it.

At last she stopped in front of him and faced him, a soft hand pressed firmly to his chest, her fingers spread as she said, "As a girl I heard the harem girls often speak of how you treated them, the way you touched them. I haven't stopped thinking of those stories."

"Your majesty, I..." he began breathily, but she quickly silenced him with firm words, drawing closer as she spoke, "You have no idea how frustrating it is to be like a goddess with nothing to exercise her power upon. I have been thinking about this for a very long time, but I'm not a girl anymore and finally I have the courage to do something."

A muffled cry of shock filled the empty room as her lips suddenly smothered his and she pounced upon him. Her metal-coated breasts smacked his chest and he found his back pushed against the finely polished stones of the walls, as smooth as ice against his bare skin as her hot mouth covered his and her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

As his arms came around her waist and he moaned against her lips, he could feel his manhood swelling so fast that it was straining against his loose pants. As she filled his mouth with the taste of her lips, she could feel the sharp poke of his excitement against her bare belly.

Finally she broke off, her lips glistening wet as she stared at him with huge, crystal clear eyes and kept her body pressed to him so that it pinned his aching shaft. Her breathing was heavy as she sucked new air into her lungs and he was so excited that he could not find any words.

"Now that I don't have to ask my parents for things, I'm going to get what I really want," said her hot whisper, "You are going to be my harem, my toy. I own you and you'll give me everything you've ever given those harem girls, or I'll throw you out with the waste."

"Yes, majesty," came the panting reply as his strong arms suddenly squeezed her around the hips and lifted her so that her breasts squished against his chest and she gave a little cry of surprise.

Squeezing his shoulders with her delicate fingers, she stammered, "What're you...?!"

Her silk-clad rear wiggled in the air as she was carried across the room in a few strides, and when she was gently lowered into her metal throne, her belt came off in Hanto's hands, leaving her pants to flow down off her smooth hips and her bare bottom to feel the chill of the sparkling metal.

"Hanto, you can't just..." came a weak little protest, but her heart was racing and her cheeks felt hot. Her loins were burning and leaking onto the cool silver beneath her as she realized that reality was going to be far more exciting than any of her private little fantasies of how her first time would be.

"I can if you want me to," he said as he suddenly dropped his pants to stand completely naked before the throne, his legs spread, his veiny member jutting out at her and hanging so that it aimed straight between her legs.

"Oh Hanto!" came a breath, "You're so..." as Naya's eyes instantly flicked down from his face to openly stare at aching erection. It looked almost like those beautiful blue eyes would grow to the size of saucers. She had heard that he was big from the other girls, but it was beyond belief.

Her hands clenched where she held her pants up, trembling as she stared at him. She shook her head slowly and whispered, "This is all happening so fast. I don't..."

Soft hands came to rest upon his chest again as he leaned forward and her pants slid off as she wiggled all the way to the back of the throne. It was as if she were trying to hold him away, but there was no resistance in her arms and soon there was a heavy tube of hot meat resting against her naked thigh.

He wrapped his arms around her again and pulled her close as he whispers, "You don't want it?" But he could feel her eagerness on the tip of his shaft, the way her folds quivered, so hot and moist, even hotter than his own burning lust. He knew from long experience that she wanted it.

There was a delicate little cry of excitement and her hips suddenly jerked as she felt the throbbing tip bumping and rubbing against her clitoris. His flesh had already protruded from its covering and hers was quickly doing the same. She was arching her back and writhing at that touch, the fluids leaking from him moistening their slick skin as it rubbed together.

She gave a long, hard moan and snatched his penis, holding it tightly in one hand just to slow its movements. The sensations it was giving her virgin loins were so intense that it felt like she was on fire, far more than she was prepared for. This was moving so fast that it was frightening her, but she could feel that it was the kind of excitement that she had always longed for in her isolated life.

As the thick flesh pulsated in her hand, intensely hot against her palm, she stared down at it in wonder and whispered, "I want it."

There was a broad grin on his face as he bent down to wrap his arms under her thighs and pull her forward again, this time raising her up as well so that her hips left the throne and she was completely exposed to him.

She still held his erection and he let her guide it as he pushed his hips between her legs, moving forward slowly but inevitably as he said softly, "It's yours. Take it." His excitement was burning in him so hot that he could manage to say little more than that.

The Queen planted the shaft right where it was needed, so that its burning tip squished against the delicate flower of her loins and he could feel the resistance of her maidenhood.

A yelp echoed off the majestic stone walls of the large room as he plowed into her with a single firm stroke. The yelp was hers; he was far too busy letting out a long, drawn out groan of pleasure as he felt his penis sinking deeper and deeper into her hot belly, her flesh enveloping his.

He held back even as his monster twitched inside her as he felt her fingers clench on his arms in discomfort. He gave her a few very slow, soothing strokes until he heard deep moans of pleasure. Her body was so tight and his manhood was so thick that she clung to him like a second skin and each stroke caused her to quiver and squirm. He was like nothing she had ever felt before.

Then he was pounding into her fast and hard, causing her hips to jerk with every stroke, her whole body slamming against her throne until her shoulders were aching, but it felt good to her and she cried, "Oh yes! More, more!" in a weak and breathy voice as the fluids of her loins coated his swollen erection and the bare skin of his balls smacked against her butt.

His teeth clenched to try to hold in his cries, every thrust like a bolt of lightning straight into his guts as the heat of his loins grew and grew and he gazed down upon her sweaty and smooth skin and most of all he stared in awe of her beautiful eyes. She was nothing like his harem girls, she was driving him wild. She was the sweet forbidden fruit that had made his penis ache for years.

Before he even realized what was happening, there was a huge gush of pleasure and his muscles tensed. He groaned deeply and fell to his knees as his hot fluid flooded her, glob after glob of it pumping forth from his penis.

He was panting and wrapped his arms around the trembling little queen as he pulled his dribbling manhood from her body. He had once gone for three hours with a beautiful harem girl, but with Naya he had barely managed five minutes. He knew that he had not given her an orgasm.

Even so, she was more than ready for a break. she closed her eyes as she hugged him and rested her head on his shoulder, his bare skin against hers, both burning hot. She moaned softly and gently caressed her tender folds with the tips of her fingers. It had been the third most intense experience that she would ever have in her life and she was only days away from the top two.

He carried her to her bed chamber, not far from the throne room. He left their clothes in piles around the throne as he set her gently down on the luxurious bed that had been her parents's only a short while ago.

Joining her on the bed, he rested with her in his arms. They just breathed for a long moment, their warm skin pressed together, his penis still hard and pushed up against her flat belly.

It did not take long before their naked bodies were rolling in the expensive sheets, and finally she ended up on top, straddling him with his rock-hard erection throbbing with bulging veins and aimed straight up between her legs.

He put his hands on her hips and grinned as she laughed and put her hands on his shaft, guiding it into position as he thrust his hips up and pulled her down until he could feel the walls of her moist tunnel squeezing him in a powerful embrace.

She rode his shaft and felt it hot and slick in her body as she was pumped up and down its length. She felt him spreading her walls wide with his massive tube of flesh, and though she moaned and enjoyed herself, no matter how hard he tried he could not push her over the edge.

Sweat made his smooth skin gleam as he clenched his teeth and tried harder, pumping into her with all his strength, his palms stroking up and down her thighs with each thrust, but she just bounced up and down and moaned in pleasure, not even sweating in the burning heat. The throbbing between her legs was like a slow burning flame that blazed in her loins and as she rested her hands on his chest and felt his sculpted muscles, she tried to unleash herself to be consumed by the flames.

Naya groaned in frustration and pumped her thighs, pounding her moist flesh upon his shaft harder and harder so that her fluids were squirting out as her rear slapped against his thighs. She was desperate for the release that she could feel so close against her hot skin but just out of her grasp.

The force of their thrusts was so great that even his thick erection began to bend with each pump of her hips and it quivered under the strain until each time her body smacked against his it felt like electricity shooting through him. He could not breath and his muscles twitched uncontrollably; finally he could hold back no longer.

It exploded out from him like a fountain, the hot, thick flow running deep into her and filling her as their fluids became one, already evaporating in the desert heat. His hands tensed on her hips as he gave a hard groan that soon became of cry of pleasure. As she felt him writhing in pleasure beneath her hands and against her loins, she groaned in frustration and clenched her teeth, trying to pump harder, her breasts heaving with each wild thrust of her hips, but the strain was too much even for one as powerful as Hanto and the shaft failed, it's flesh collapsing and softening until it was completely limp and useless, still dribbling out a little white fluid.

When she discovered that she had nothing left to push against, she moaned and flopped down against his chest. Her arms wrapped around him as he embraced her, her bosom pinned against his muscles, their sweat fading quickly from their skin as she said breathily, "Hanto, why aren't you hard anymore? I'm not ready to stop," and from the touch of her breasts against his skin they seemed hot and swollen and she new that she must be blushing intensely.

He felt his fingers in her long black hair and moaned weakly, shaking his head as he said, "I'm sorry, your majesty. I don't understand what happened. No woman has ever lasted longer than I have," as her slender fingers traced the way down his muscles across his belly to softly grasp and stroke his limp tool.

There was a deep groan that vibrated out from his large chest and into her body as she kneaded his fat tube and said with a smile, "It's alright. Let's just try again, one more time. I know it will be wonderful."

Squirming in pleasure, he groaned again, "But, your majesty, I'm too tired. I've used up all my strength trying to please you!" and despite her efforts, he would not swell between her fingers.

The Queen slowly frowned and pushed her hands against his chest, lifting herself out of his embrace to stare down at him with wide blue eyes as she stammered, "What?! But...but you can't just stop!"

Silence followed and he made no reply but for the frown on his face. In all the wild fantasies he had of making love to the queen, even those that the harem girls had helped him with, he had never even considered that it might end like this.

At last Naya just groaned and rolled off his body to lay on her back beside him with one arm flopped over his chest and the other gently caressing the flesh between her legs. It was swollen and burning hot and every time her fingertip strayed near her clitoris it made her hand twitch, but she resisted the urge to stroke herself.

"Don't tell anyone about this," she said firmly, giving him a severe gaze with her cool blue eyes, "You do not even want to know what I would do if my parents were to find out about what we just did."

They slept together as the sun set, their bodies exposed to the warm air of the night. Hanto fell asleep quickly despite how Naya would squirm and stroke her thighs. It took almost an hour for the fire in her loins to calm enough for her to sleep, and even then it did not fully go away.

That very night, it began to snow....

Continued in The Ice Queen Part 2.

A personal account of the Korean massage parlour experience... 

Yesterday was my first sexual experience with a prostitute. I am a 26 year old expat working temporarily in Seoul, Korea. I have a girlfriend and consider myself to be a good looking guy, so I don't think I would fall under the traditional category of men who need to pay to have sex. However, partly due to the fact that me and my girlfriend are on a long-distance relationship, my growing frustration of not being able to satisfy my libido and due to plain curiosity, I decided to join my Korean co-workers in a night out in a massage parlor in Seoul. Here is what happened after we drank two bottles of Moet at JJ's (a fancy club in Seoul, near the Hyatt hotel)

We were welcomed by a group of middle aged ladies. They made us take off our shoes and we were escorted in on slippers into another floor of the building. There we got a seperate room for the three of us to hang out. It was a simple but large and nice hotel room, ideal for three close friends to just chill for the evening. The room had all facilities of a luxury hotel suite. A bed, a washbasin, cabinets, lots of towels and free toothbrushes, a large massage bathtub, toilet, coffee table, many free packs of cigarettes and a fridge with drinks. Two guys and another (unattractive) girl came in the room, told us to undress and wear out bathrobes and started to massage the three of us in the room. The massages were good and non-sexual in nature. After the massage, me and my colleagues all dozed off into deep coma.

About an hour later, the hostess of the massage parlor went into our room after knocking on our door. It appeared she had her first "girl" ready and was looking for the first person to wake up to make use of her services. That person turned out to be me. A bit nervous, I followed the hostess, who was very polite and tried her best to speak english and make me feel comfortable. As I got nearer to my "special room", another worry came to my mind. What if I wasn't attracted to this girl? Not only would that make this experience much less enjoyable, combined with the pressure of dealing with your first prostitute, it could lead to me simply not being able to perform at all! Luckily this wasn't the case. When we arrived at our room, the door opened up and I saw this striking beautiful sweet looking girl. She was a bit skinny (but I am actually attracted to that), had a very youthful slim body with perky breasts, perfectly shaped face with big eyes and an angelina jolie mouth. I would have definitely hit on this girl if I met her in a bar. Our eyes met and she gave me this welcome and friendly smile. As I entered the room, the door behind me closed and the hostess left us to our fate.

The girl's name was Linda, and although she didn't speak much English, she seemed to understand it much better than most Korean people I have met so far. I didn't speak much Korean so we entered in this humorous conversation in trying to figure out our names, age, birthyear and horoscope by using our limited knowledge of each other's language, hand gestures and even making animal sounds (to communicate our zodiacs). I think the girl noticed I had never done this before and it looked like she was trying to break the ice, which clearly worked for me because I was developing an immediate crush for this upbeat and extrovert girl, something I find quite rare in Korean women.

While having our conversation, Linda opened a pack of Marlboro, lit a cigarette and put it in my mouth. She lit up another one and smoked it herself. Then she undressed me and herself, and I got to see her very attractive body that could have easily been one that belonged to someone who was nineteen (although she really was twenty four). I noticed her Sakura flower tattoo on her back and complimented her for it. She was noticebly pleased by it and told me it really hurt when she had it done. She then signalled me to brush my teeth, which I did. Afterwards, she gestured me to join her in the bathroom, where she thoroughly soaked my complete body with soap and showered me. For me, seeing this hot lady taking uttermost care in washing me like that was a major turn on. After being washed, she made me go into the bathtub, which was filled by now with hot water and blowing massage bubbles and joined me in the bathtub afterwards. 15 minutes later we got out, she took a large towel and started drying me up. When she dried me between my legs, she didn't shy away from giving my manhood a few strokes while giving me a smile. Under normal circumstances, my johnson would have been hard and at full alert by now, but because I drank a half a bottle of champagne not much earlier that day, I noticed that I had more control now over my own body as I was more in a relaxed state.

Then the show really started. Naked, she told me to lie flat on my belly on the bed. She then climbed on top of me and started licking me all over my body. And licking she did. The feeling of her warm lips and tongue slowly working her way all over my body, including all my intimate areas, gave me thrilling sensation I had never experienced before. It was absolutely amazing, and it felt like I was having a one night stand with a hot attractive lady rather than being with a prostitute. As my shoulders were being kissed and licked, my hand travelled over her soft ass. She moaned, and although I knew at the time it was an obligatory moan, it did help in getting me even more excited than I already was.

She then told me to turn around and lie flat on my back, and did the whole licking thing again for that side of my body. I was wriggling of joy. Afterwards, she revealed a condom and like a true professional, applied it orally over my johnson. A very pleasing oral job followed. My manhood was now at its strongest and it was time for the real work. She climbed on top of me and started riding me skillfully. It felt unreal, like watching myself in a soft-erotic late night show on TV. When I asked her whether I could kiss her, she french kissed me deeply and passionately. Then she made me situp, climbed herself on top of my lap, wrapped her legs around me back and started riding me again. I now had full view of what we were doing. Position number three was the missionary one, and I noticed myself breathing faster and pushing my pelvis more fast and rigorous against hers. She was now moaning loadly and I felt like I wouldn't be able to last much longer. I wanted to end it with her on top of me again, so we got back to our first position and she started thrusting herself against my body until I could not hold it back anymore.

I was in seventh heaven. She lit up another cigarette and handed it over to me, and I smoked it while staring at the ceiling of our room. Afterwards, we did the whole shower thing and cleaning up thing again. It was almost time for me to leave and we got dressed. She told me she had a good time and I noticed myself feeling flattered, even though I should have known better. I wanted to express my gratitude for the wonderful night but felt handicapped by our langauge skills, so I took her right hand and kissed it on the back of it, old fashioned style. She seemed very surprised and her eyes lit up, then she gave me a warm hug before we parted. 

What a way to spend a friday evening. 

I used to have some pretty strong opinions on strip clubs, back when I was dating a stripper. Most of them involved the sleaziness of the average testosterone-fueled, drunken frat boys and beer-bellied mid-life crisis sufferers that made up the bulk of the patrons. I still hold those opinions about the clientele, but strip clubs themselves no longer make me uncomfortable.

After spending all my previous ventures in strip clubs picking up my then-girlfriend, I can't imagine what made me want to enter one as a customer instead of just an impatient boyfriend, seething with jealousy as I watched my significant other sit on old mens' laps and feign politeness and flirtiness at them. Perhaps there is a deeper reason for my wanting to see a strip club from a customer's perspective, but most likely the culprit was loneliness, an incurable case of girl-craziness, and the desire to see pretty girls up close after a year of seclusion.

Yesterday was my last day as a resident of the city of New Orleans. The day before, I could think of nothing I wanted to do more than go to a strip club and have pretty girls writhe nakedly on me, near me, and in my field of vision. So, I headed to Scarlett's Cabaret on Bourbon Street. I figured, if I was going to do this, I may as well do it right. Normally I wouldn't venture within half a block of Bourbon Street (it's sort of an unavoidable part of the French Quarter), but this was a special occasion. Scarlett's is a relatively new place, having opened only about six months ago. They've erected a number of billboards along I-10 in the suburbs, which feature a girl that looks like a porn star, complete with false eyelashes and thick eyeliner, which read "IN THE MOOD?"

On my way to the French Quarter, I stopped at an ATM and withdrew $300 cash. As the ATM spat $20 bills at me, I found that I was, in fact, IN THE MOOD.

Parking in the Quarter on a Thursday night was a breeze, and after finding a gem of a parking spot at Dauphine and Toulouse, I carefully picked my way through three blocks of Bourbon Street madness until I found myself standing in front of Scarlett's chrome-trimmed doors, flung open into the night. After having my driver's license checked and paying a $10 cover charge, I ventured into the main room.

The main room (also trimmed in no small amount of chrome) contains three bars, a two-pole main stage, a single-pole second stage, and several corridors to rooms which offer a greater degree of privacy. The place was packed with furtive security guards, almost cartoonishly cute cocktail waitresses, some astonishingly gorgeous strippers, and of course the requisite frat boys and middle-aged men, about half of whom were fully decked out in Mardi Gras beads, mumbling in the general direction of the stage in slurred, drunken speech. In New Orleans, Mardi Gras beads are a dead-on tourist indicator if it isn't Carnival season (which it isn't), so I chose a table toward the fringes of the room as most of the tourists seemed to be near the stage. Oddly, I didn't see a single woman in the place that didn't work there. There are usually at least a few, if memory serves.

Shortly thereafter, I was seated, halfway through my first clove cigarette of the night, and waiting for the bottle of Smirnoff Ice I'd ordered to arrive. When the waitress came back with it, a dancer came along with her and sat down next to me. This is standard operating procedure in most mid-upscale strip clubs.

"You look familiar; do I know you from somewhere?" asks the dancer, with a bright, pretty smile. I can tell by the way she talks that she was a heavy metal chick in high school.

The dancer, whose name turns out to be Evie, has an auburn crop-top, full pouty lips, and an extremely flirty nature, even for a dancer. She's about five foot four, and slightly waifish, though her mildly tanned curves are pleasing to say the least. She's wearing a sheer black minidress, which covers approximately half of her round, jovial-looking ass, and a seriously miniscule pink thong. No bra, and typical standard stripper issue platform pump shoes. Her pink, unpierced nipples poke at the sheer fabric of her dress and seem to stare at me, as if imploring me to set them free.

"I'm not sure. Have you been to The Whirling Dervish and/or Mythique at all?" I ask, naming the only places I'd been bothered to go during the past few months. In spite of my introverted nature, I make no secret of checking her out as I speak. I came here to see naked girls, after all. Why pretend otherwise?

"So what's a cute guy like you doing here? You really don't look like a frat boy, and you can't be older than 25, at the most..."

The small talk continues in this vein for 10 minutes or so, as we smoke and drink. I buy her a gin and tonic.

Eventually she asks if she can dance for me, and I say yes, so she gathers up her drink and takes me by the hand to one of the private rooms near the rear of the club. A bouncer sets her up with a pedestal, and while we wait for the next song to begin, I pay her $30, and at her request, remove my belt and wallet chain.

The song begins. I can't place its name or who performs it, but it's a strip club staple. Within the first few beats of the song, Evie has got her top off and is straddling my thighs, rubbing her breasts in my face. She leans in close and nibbles on my left ear, then brushes my hairless, glittering cheek with her lips. Her lips continue to slide across my face and stop at my mouth, where they linger for a moment and our pierced tongues briefly meet. She straightens out, and starts the inevitable crotch-grinding that's a part of every lap dance any guy has ever had. She pauses briefly, turns around, and starts grinding me again, this time making it look like I'm fucking her from behind. Still facing forward, she stands up and bends over, slowly pushing her center into my face, only a thin layer of lycra and spandex separating my facial features from her pink bits. The smell of her sex, while she was undoubtedly not into it (few dancers actually glean any satisfaction from dancing), filled my head as I inhaled. Still from behind, she started rubbing herself through her thong, which outlined every vaginal crease and fold, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. She climbs down and faces me, and slides the fingers she'd just used into my mouth. The song ends at this point. She quickly and fluidly puts her dress back on, gives me another full-on-the-mouth kiss, and tells me that it'll be more intense if I get another dance from her later. (Later on I did end up getting another dance from Evie and one of her friends, simultaneously, which was fun, but describing it would be overkill, I think.)

After the dance with Evie I'm feeling somewhat invigorated, but lap dances have never turned me on much and I appreciate their purpose more for the admiration of feminine beauty than the porn-like simulations most people seek them out for. With that in mind, I head back into the main room and find another isolated table. I order another drink and watch the stage show for a bit.

My interest in the stage show was perfunctory at best, until one dancer in particular took the stage. The DJ announced her as Sonja. She was probably about five foot eight, very healthy-looking, perhaps as a result of working out regularly, and she didn't consist of the mostly stereotypical waif-like figure that most dancers seem to possess. The first thing I noticed about her was her hair, which was jet black and short. Not so short as to be boyish, but short (and styled) like a European model might have her hair. Her bright, achingly beautiful face seemed to light up the already bright stage area, and her skin was a smooth, but not sickly, alabaster white. Continuing down, her breasts were ample but not large, and very, very obviously natural; breasts that lovely simply cannot be purchased from even the best plastic surgeons. Her taut belly meandered down to her round but not too wide hips, which birthed her muscular but soft-looking legs, clad in thigh-high stockings. I watched her two-song set with the rapt interest of a deer caught in headlights. She noticed me as I followed her around the stage with my eyes, and turned her attention towards me for the remainder of her set, a sweet smile playing across her lips.

After Sonja's set ended, she put her clothes back on, came over to my table and sat down. We immediately began talking, with my shyly complimenting her performance at first, and then about how disgusted we both were with the average strip club customer. She told me that her stage name was Sonja, and that I should call her by her real name -- Sarah.

The club got less and less busy as the night grew later, and Sarah and I kept talking. Feeling confident, I had told her that part of my dislike of average strip club patrons comes from the fact that I would rather be female, and that for a time, I took estrogen pills. So trusting, she seemed, and I told her the whole story of my wanting to try out gender-switching. She told me she was glad I'd decided not to go through with it, because she thought I was cute as a boy. (I try to pull off the frilly/girly stuff now and then, like the glitter on my face, for example.) The next natural progression in the conversation was on the topic of her dancing for me. We actually planned it out for a while, working out what I wanted and what she didn't have to do that she probably would have to otherwise (i.e. crotch-grinding). Finally I put it bluntly, and I asked her to dance for me as though she were dancing for a girl.

"You want me to dance for you like you were a girl? That would be so strange. I've never had such a request before. I'd be happy to do it for you." Her smile broadened as she spoke these words.

"I was hoping you'd say that," I laughed, positively beaming with happiness.

If you've never been to a strip club and seen a dancer dance for a woman, I will now describe it. The normal grinding of the middles is removed, there's more neck/ear nuzzling, some dirty talk, and generally a greater sense of closeness and far less of the detachment that usually comes with a man getting a lap dance. A lot of dancers seem to prefer dancing for women because they're less greedy, for lack of a better term, and aren't so eager to say crude things to her during or after the dance. Because of this, the dancer will usually give a female recipient a greater degree of freedom than she would a man -- light touches and so forth are allowed by the dancer and indeed even seem encouraged, and I've even seen many dancers gently pull down tank tops and bra cups to lick their customers' nipples.

For me, the boy that would rather be a girl, it was pure bliss. It was like a 10-minute long hug and guided tour of the front of Sarah's body -- the scenic route.

She sat me down and had a bouncer bring her a pedestal. She didn't even wait for the next song to start before she climbed the pedestal and began. She slowly, sensually removed her sheer pink minidress, revealing the adorable breasts I'd seen during her stage show. She slid it down the length of her body and then stepped out of it. She dangled it over my head for a bit, allowing me to take in its heady scent, and then she threw it back over her shoulder and gently lowered herself onto my lap. She picked up my hands and put them around her waist. Her soft, smooth skin seemed electrifying to me. She pushed my face between her breasts and I smelled the garden of Eden. Lingering in that position for a moment, she leaned down and kissed my neck, then guided my mouth to her left breast, which I gently kissed and poked with my tongue barbell. This was repeated with the right breast, then she rose up a bit and pushed my face into her belly, which I woozily nuzzled and covered with tiny kisses until she rose a bit more and allowed me to tug a bit at her thong with my teeth. This position also afforded me the slighest hint and distant reminder of the scent that I take in right in the second before I perform oral sex on a girl, which threw my brain into overdrive and made me lightheaded, in its sweetness.

Throughout the whole dance, she didn't turn around once, as most all other dancers do for whatever reason. She seemed to be focused entirely on me; whenever my face wasn't obscured by her belly or breasts, her eyes were locked into mine and her smile was as bright as a Tesla coil. My smile didn't falter, either. I was having the time of my life and I daresay it was just as good as really good sex can be. Sure, it was in a strip club and is by its very definition impersonal, but this was different. This was a version of that feeling you sometimes get when you inadvertedly look a passing stranger in the eye; it was akin to that pitlike feeling in your chest when you get near someone you're extremely interested in but can't quite convince yourself of trying to talk to. It was all these things, with the added bonus of a heartbreakingly beautiful, mostly nude girl that I met while she was working in a strip club, who asked me to call her by her real name.

The song ended. Without bothering to put her dress back on, she shifted around and sat on my lap. She said to me:

"That was the only dance I've ever given that's excited me sexually. I'm in awe of how wonderful and different that felt; thank you." She kissed my forehead as she finished saying this.

Dances at Scarlett's cost $30 apiece, and you can tip at your discretion. From my wallet I drew $100 in twenty dollar bills and handed them to her. I am by no means financially stable, but to me, at that moment, now and forever, that was some of the best money I'd ever spent. I'd have given her my soul if I'd been able.

"You made me feel as good as I've felt in a long, long time, Sarah. I'd give you more money if I could," I said, and she blushed a deep red as she accepted the wad of bills from me.

We exchanged email addresses after she got dressed. We wrote them on matchbooks emblazoned with the club's logo. The following day, my last in New Orleans, I caught up with her on Yahoo Messenger, and we talked for a bit more. And though I should've spent that afternoon packing up my belongings in preparation for my move that was only one day away, Sarah and I made arrangements to meet for coffee that afternoon. I picked her up at her dorm on the Tulane campus, and we went to Rue de la Course. We drank chai, smoked cigarettes, and talked each other's ears off. I found out that she'd been dancing for only three weeks, and that she was just 20 years old, and that she'd just moved to New Orleans about six weeks previously from Chicago.

After dating a stripper before and having it end in disaster, I was very surprised that I was able to connect so nicely with Sarah. Since the end of my relationship with my stripper ex-girlfriend, I'd been more or less afraid of strippers; and here I was getting proved wrong about them by this sweet, sweet girl, who succeeded at making me feel very good when I needed it most, on a moment's notice, just by doing her job (albeit with a slight twist).

Sarah and I are becoming fast friends. Though I never thought I'd want to after moving away, I can't wait to return to New Orleans (on a visit, anyway) and see her again, hopefully not in the confines of a strip club.

There are good people everywhere, sometimes in the most unlikely places and situations. Finding a way to decipher the signal-to-noise ratio, well... if I could explain the mechanics of doing that, I'd probably have more lucrative things to be doing than noding.

Believe it or not, this isn't fiction.

“You’re too gay for the straight people and too straight for the gay people.”

I don’t recall now whether these are my words or his. I do, however, recall why they were said, in a conversation with my then boyfriend. It was after the second or third time I attended a meeting of the Gay-Straight Alliance. They’d thought I was a lesbian, until I mentioned said boyfriend. And why shouldn’t they have? I fit the stereotype of the butch dyke fairly well. I have a short, boyish haircut. I am self-confident. I like hockey and rugby. I wear comfortable shoes. But the real giveaway is that I am a fan of such musicians as Ani DiFranco and Melissa Etheridge.

“Not all Ani fans are lesbians,” a friend once told me.

“Some of them are men,” I replied. We’re all guilty of stereotyping, and I understand the reasoning behind assuming that I was a lesbian.

As soon as I mentioned having a boyfriend, assumptions had to be reevaluated. I was no longer a lesbian. Or if I was, then I was in the closet. But I was probably just straight. Because, of course, if one is not gay, one must be straight. This is a binary system. There is no in-between. Except that being bisexual is a third option, and to say otherwise is to oversimplify things. I am not a fence sitter, I am not unsure of myself, and I am not confused. I am not half gay and half straight. I am bisexual.

What does that mean, bisexual? According to the American Heritage Dictionary, it means, “Of, relating to, or having a sexual orientation to persons of either sex.” I have a sexual attraction to people of either sex, although sometimes I am more interested in one sex or the other.

I’m not totally accepted by my lesbian friends. Some of them think I am just covering what I really am. Some of them think I’m not comfortable with my “lesbianness” yet. Some think that calling myself bisexual is just a stepping-stone on the way to the Isle of Lesbos. As one friend put it, “Bi now, gay later.” But that’s not the case for me.

I am very comfortable with who I am. I was nine when I first realized that I liked girls as much as I liked boys, although it wasn’t until around the middle of my eighth grade year that I finally had a word for it: bisexual. I remember being so excited. It wasn’t that I didn’t know before, only that I didn’t have a word for it.

For the sake of her privacy, I will call her Bea. I think I was nine and she was, perhaps, eleven or twelve. We may have been younger than this. The unimportant details escape me. She was the daughter of one of my mother’s co-workers, the only African-American people I had ever met at the time. I remember where their trailer was. It’s still there, although they moved to Seattle a few years after I met Bea. It was heartbreaking. She had been my best friend. Together, we had discovered this thing called sex. She was the first person outside my family I ever kissed. She was the first person who touched my then-barely-existent breasts. She wasn’t the first person to touch that place she told me was called a vagina. She wasn’t even the first person to touch it in a sexual way. But she was the first person to do so lovingly. She taught me how to touch her and make her feel good. More importantly, she taught me how to touch myself. I wish we hadn’t lost track of one another over the years. I’d like to thank her.

The next girl who came into my life I’ll call Willa. She came into my life before Bea moved away, and she too was older. She was a year older and the summer daughter of a friend of my mother’s. She and I explored the words for sex, as well as the act itself. She taught me the word “hump.” I taught her “pubic hair.” I fell in love with her. That’s when I realized that I could love a girl or a boy, and gender didn’t matter. It was a rude awakening to find that she did not share my sentiments, and that this had all been an experiment for her. At the end of the summer before she started seventh grade, she ended the affair. I was spending the night at her house, and when my mother dropped me off, she said, “Be good, girls.” When we were alone in Willa’s room, I kissed her, and she said, “No. Your mom said we have to be good.” And that was that.

I don’t fit in well with my straight female friends either. Most women will admit that they can appreciate beauty in another woman. But they just don’t really understand the sexual attraction. As one friend reminds me every time I comment on Angelina Jolie’s lovely figure, “They’re just boobs. You have boobs. I have boobs. They’re just boobs.”

My straight male friends, on the other hand, understand at least a little better. One of them, hearing this oft-repeated commentary, tried to help me explain. “Yeah,” he said to her, “but they’re boobs!” I concluded after this conversation that no straight woman will ever understand the allure of breasts, and no person who understands it will ever be able to explain it to her.

As a consequence of not being accepted by my lesbian friends, I have to say that I don’t really fit well into the gay community as a whole, although I have some very good friends within it. I never really feel as if I belong, especially if I am in a relationship with a man. I would not describe any relationship I have had with a man as a heterosexual relationship, despite our opposite sexes, because I am not heterosexual. Not all people in the gay community would agree with me on this point. I do have a few bisexual friends, but it seems that bisexual people have never formed a community the way that gays and lesbians have. Perhaps it is because we blend in more easily with our mostly-straight society and feel less of a need to band together. In some ways, though, I think we need each other more because we are so often maligned.

Society provides frequent opportunities for people to stereotype bisexuals. For example, anyone who’s seen a porno knows that bisexual women are the most promiscuous. After all, who could be monogamous when there are twice as many people to tempt them? And did you know that we have to have one partner of each gender to be satisfied? Oh yes. We love threesomes. We’re all polyamorous. We act gay when it’s convenient, but when being gay might be dangerous, we blend in with the mundanes. It’s also our fault that AIDS (The “Gay Disease”) spread to lesbians and heterosexuals. We always leave our male partners for women. We always leave our female partners for men. We're really straight and sleeping with members of the same sex because it's trendy. We're really homosexual and only pretending to be attracted to members of the opposite sex in order to cling to heterosexual privilege. We’re very very evil. Oh yes.

I have known bisexual women who were promiscuous. I have also known straight women and lesbians who were promiscuous. I have known bisexual, gay, and straight men who were promiscuous. I have never known a bisexual person who felt the need to have partners of both genders, although I am aware that they exist. All of the polyamorous people I know are bisexual, but not all of the bisexual people I know are polyamorous. In fact, I know only three people who are polyamorous, including myself, and I know many many people who are bisexual.

The spread of AIDS is largely due to ignorance and misinformation. I have known straight women who dated lesbians because it was trendy to be bisexual. I have known several lesbians who went through a period of time when they called themselves bisexual before realizing that they were not attracted to men. But I have never known any homosexual who intentionally misled people into believing that they were bisexual while knowing otherwise.

I’m not saying that no bisexual fits any of these stereotypes. Everyone probably fits some of these stereotypes. And that doesn’t mean that everyone is bisexual. I can’t speak for all bisexuals; I can only speak for myself.

Some things I know for certain. I am nineteen years old. I love math, but I also love words. I am a sculptress. Life is a sexually transmitted disease, and it is always fatal; tomorrow never comes; but still I am an optimist. I am a hopeful romantic. I am bisexual, and I have known this for at least ten years, although I have only had a word to put to it for five of them. I am not always equally attracted to men and women. Sometimes I find men more attractive; sometimes I find women more attractive; and sometimes I am completely disinterested in sex, relationships, and all the complications that go along with them. Being bisexual is an essential part of who I am.

Sources Cited
American Heritage Company. The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language. 4th ed. : The Houghton Mifflin Company, 2000.