get dressed because we have a big day that involves shopping, lunch, shopping, dinner, ballet and then God knows what.”
“The crippler,” Randy said.
“No more crippler. First time lucky, just stay with the feeling,” Gillian said.
“––of his cock in your, I mean my, mouth.”
“You pig.”
Gillian took a shower, filled the bathroom with steam, and more freesia scent of her Jo Malone. She looked at herself in the mirror, and saw a lightness that hadn’t been there before. She was thrilled to be back with her friends. She wanted to see Manhattan at Christmas and she wanted Manhattan to see her. She slipped into another green skirt, this one by Carven, simple white shirt, and a Max Mara quilted coat, perfect for winter in Manhattan, and some Kurt Geiger suede stiletto boots.
“Et voila, I am ready let’s go!”
They walked in and out of Central Park, sometimes along sixtieth. “I want a cab, now,” called Val, much too late.
“We’re too close now. Fifth Avenue is right there.”
“Next time, you fruit, if there is a next time.”
By the time they got to Fifth Avenue it was time for lunch, and lunch they had at the Plaza Champagne Bar––high ceilings, gold and gilt, drapes and leisurely wingbacks to plunk their chilly asses into. They nibbled on the light and tasty, as Randy called it, and Gillian treated them to endless ‘98 Pol Roger, Winston Churchill . Lunch was long and funny and drunken. “This can be Edgar’s treat,” she held up her glass to toast into the air.
But Randy was otherwise occupied. “I could so blow that waiter.”
“Busboy, he’s a busboy. The waiters are much too old for any of us. You’d have to inflate a waiter. Just blow the busboy.”
“What an ass,” Randy continued, “you could serve that to me fully undressed. With a side of gravy. Yum.”
“Okay,” Gillian started, “Which part of a guy really turns you on. I mean, that you get flushed when you think about it.”
“Flushed? You mean a hard on?”
“Okay. A hard on.”
Val touched the edge of her glass with the tip of her tongue. “God, we’ve opened a veritable Pandora’s Box here. What ever did you get up to last night?”
“Well, call me a newbie. I mean there are certain things that people like to do. I mean Randy mentioned ass. What the hell would you do if the guy came over and presented that ass on a platter, you know, turned around and pulled his pants down, although they wouldn’t come down very easily because his ass is so big that he has to pull them over his ass, and then, you know, sproing, out pops his ass like a big tomato aspic.”
“Hold it, hold it. Whose fantasy is this?”
“Well you started it.”
“I mean Robert was totally into having me caress his balls last night. I never thought that would be much of a turn on. But wow! They have a life of their own.”
“Hello-o, what the hell, don’t talk so loud or the sex police are going to arrest you. The balls? Come on! That’s like me saying I didn’t think your flaps are sensitive. Duh.”
“Your gay. How would you know?”
“Everyone knows that.”
“Okay. Have some more champagne, I stand corrected.”
“The balls, the balls. What can I possibly say about the balls? They are God’s gift to our male being. It’s like having two penises, they are so sensitive. And they are a gift to whoever gets to place those sacred jewels in their mouth or anywhere near their mouth. Ah the balls.”
“Ode to the balls. So what about the ass?”
“Yes smart ass,” Val joined in. “What about the ass.”
“Oh come on Val.” Randy let out a guffaw loud enough to draw glances. If they hadn’t been drinking three grand worth of bubbly they might have been ushered out. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispered.
“No. Really.”
“Hmmm, well we are eating, albeit lightly but I do have to say that the sensitivity of the sphincter is just the beginning, for moi anyway. Just spend some time on a bidet, sadly, hard to
“The crippler,” Randy said.
“No more crippler. First time lucky, just stay with the feeling,” Gillian said.
“––of his cock in your, I mean my, mouth.”
“You pig.”
Gillian took a shower, filled the bathroom with steam, and more freesia scent of her Jo Malone. She looked at herself in the mirror, and saw a lightness that hadn’t been there before. She was thrilled to be back with her friends. She wanted to see Manhattan at Christmas and she wanted Manhattan to see her. She slipped into another green skirt, this one by Carven, simple white shirt, and a Max Mara quilted coat, perfect for winter in Manhattan, and some Kurt Geiger suede stiletto boots.
“Et voila, I am ready let’s go!”
They walked in and out of Central Park, sometimes along sixtieth. “I want a cab, now,” called Val, much too late.
“We’re too close now. Fifth Avenue is right there.”
“Next time, you fruit, if there is a next time.”
By the time they got to Fifth Avenue it was time for lunch, and lunch they had at the Plaza Champagne Bar––high ceilings, gold and gilt, drapes and leisurely wingbacks to plunk their chilly asses into. They nibbled on the light and tasty, as Randy called it, and Gillian treated them to endless ‘98 Pol Roger, Winston Churchill . Lunch was long and funny and drunken. “This can be Edgar’s treat,” she held up her glass to toast into the air.
But Randy was otherwise occupied. “I could so blow that waiter.”
“Busboy, he’s a busboy. The waiters are much too old for any of us. You’d have to inflate a waiter. Just blow the busboy.”
“What an ass,” Randy continued, “you could serve that to me fully undressed. With a side of gravy. Yum.”
“Okay,” Gillian started, “Which part of a guy really turns you on. I mean, that you get flushed when you think about it.”
“Flushed? You mean a hard on?”
“Okay. A hard on.”
Val touched the edge of her glass with the tip of her tongue. “God, we’ve opened a veritable Pandora’s Box here. What ever did you get up to last night?”
“Well, call me a newbie. I mean there are certain things that people like to do. I mean Randy mentioned ass. What the hell would you do if the guy came over and presented that ass on a platter, you know, turned around and pulled his pants down, although they wouldn’t come down very easily because his ass is so big that he has to pull them over his ass, and then, you know, sproing, out pops his ass like a big tomato aspic.”
“Hold it, hold it. Whose fantasy is this?”
“Well you started it.”
“I mean Robert was totally into having me caress his balls last night. I never thought that would be much of a turn on. But wow! They have a life of their own.”
“Hello-o, what the hell, don’t talk so loud or the sex police are going to arrest you. The balls? Come on! That’s like me saying I didn’t think your flaps are sensitive. Duh.”
“Your gay. How would you know?”
“Everyone knows that.”
“Okay. Have some more champagne, I stand corrected.”
“The balls, the balls. What can I possibly say about the balls? They are God’s gift to our male being. It’s like having two penises, they are so sensitive. And they are a gift to whoever gets to place those sacred jewels in their mouth or anywhere near their mouth. Ah the balls.”
“Ode to the balls. So what about the ass?”
“Yes smart ass,” Val joined in. “What about the ass.”
“Oh come on Val.” Randy let out a guffaw loud enough to draw glances. If they hadn’t been drinking three grand worth of bubbly they might have been ushered out. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispered.
“No. Really.”
“Hmmm, well we are eating, albeit lightly but I do have to say that the sensitivity of the sphincter is just the beginning, for moi anyway. Just spend some time on a bidet, sadly, hard to
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