Still Swinging

Just when I thought my job prospects couldn’t get any weirder there came the ad on Craig’s List inquiring, “Do you write erotica?” But no, this wasn’t some Internet site looking for free content, just a pleasant, middle-aged white guy working in PR who wanted some chick to read sexy stories to him. Yeah, I could do that.

So after about an hour of chatting and reading most of the first chapter of “Under My Master’s Wings” aloud on a bench on a sunny day in Chelsea Waterfront Park, I headed uptown to the swing party with cash in my pocket – where I was met by the sight of Erick’s gorgeous new twink, a 21-year-old from Florence, Italy with shaved head and solid young bod. I told him all about how my sister had spent the last few summers in Florence then asked him if he was a stripper (he had just arrived in NYC from southern Florida, the hustler’s route). Turns out he worked in a restaurant and for an Italian shoe designer in her store. Of course I had to cut the conversation short when Erick’s other new pal swaggered in, a cocky black guy in tight black jeans and a tight black T-shirt that showed off his tight rippling torso. I walked up and introduced myself, asked where he was from. “An island far, far away,” was his singsong reply. “Which one?” I asked, guessing Trinidad. “Dominica,” he answered, looking at me in the same sleazy way I was trying to penetrate his clothes with my gaze. Dominica. Hmm. Where is Dominica? I wondered, glancing over at the “Big Bubble Butt Brazilian Orgy” playing on the TV. I’d never done Dominica.

We kept our eyes roaming towards one another as I mingled with Liquid, Jada and the other black girls (well, not Star as she has a fucking only policy) and the few white guys who’d stopped by (well, not the annoying schmoe who kissed my hand then kept trying to touch my knee and arm as I conversed with a gay porn connoisseur hostess like myself. After forcing him to sit on his hands if he wanted to have a word with me, the sniveling slave admitted he’d been to the S&M club Paddles. Naturally.)

Unfortunately, the night was filled with more talking than fucking. The Caribbean stud wouldn’t even take off his shirt, his coy routine starting to grate. He asked why I was still dressed – “because you’re shy?” I replied that I wasn’t shy at all. “Show me your kitty,” he said. My kitty? I flashed him my slave rings instead and his eyes grew as wide as if I’d shook out my dick. Finally he agreed to strip in an empty corner on the couples’ floor, letting me remove his cock from a black vinyl jock strap. He got beneath my mini-dress long enough to kiss my tits. “I want to fuck you. Do you have a condom?” “No,” I replied hard-on in hand. “Let me run upstairs and get one. Wait here. I’ll be right back,” he begged, stuffing his dick into his jeans. Well, that seemed rather silly. “No, I’ll come with you – I’ll blow you in front of everyone!” I enthused, trailing behind. Dominica man stopped in his tracks, a mortified expression upon his face. “No way.” “But we’re at a swing party!” I reminded exasperated. “Yeah, but that’s not why I’m here,” he huffed.

And suddenly my own hard-on wilted. I did not come to a kinky party to have boring hetero sex in some dark corner. As it was late and I was getting nowhere fast I told him that next time we’d negotiate a compromise. I’d suck him off in front of the crowd and then he could screw me in private. I may be a pushy perverted queen but I’m nothing if not reasonable.