Bastard Life

Hard rides

Neal Boulton — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 13:36:00 -0800

I loved my BMW this much, too.

To suck-or devour

Neal Boulton — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 16:57:33 -0700

“I want to learn to give head like a man,” she said. “Tell me how it’s different.” In a drunken moment of openness, I had told her about my bisexual past, a youthful experiment that I was growing out of in my early thirties. Usually, when I was trying to pick up women in bars, I kept this information to myself. A lot of women were turned off by a man who’d had sex with other men, but then, once in a while, the truth crept out, and luckily, this particular woman-Tracie was her name-was intrigued, wanted to know all about it, was obviously turned on by the very idea. I supposed that one of the reasons my secret had slipped out was because we were getting along so well, and my guard was down. We were both singing along animatedly when an old song by the Smiths came on the jukebox, and the topic of conversation had very casually taken a turn from the singer Morrissey’s alleged asexuality to sexual orientation in general.

When I’d admitted to having had bisexual experiences, she asked me whether men or women gave better blow jobs, and I said-because it’s generally true-that beyond a doubt, men do. A man knows what it feels like to receive a blow job, and so it’s obvious that a man would have a better instinct about how to give one. It was clear to me that this got Tracie’s feminist dander up. She was very competitive, she said, and thought she should be able to learn to do this as well as any man could, despite the drawback of not having a penis of her own. Besides that, she’d been told by men that she was very good at it, but as far as she knew, none of those men had ever gotten head from another man. So the challenge was on, and I took her back to my apartment to discuss it further.

It was a short walk from the Greenwich Village bar to my place in Chelsea. We laughed and flirted all the way up 7th Avenue, talking about our lives, getting to know one another. She was a copy editor, and I was a techie doing various types of freelance computer work from programming to web design. She was a native New Yorker, and I was originally from Alabama. Her father was South American, which explained the slightly ambiguous ethnicity that I found exotic and interesting about her. Along the way, we made fun of people we saw who were dressed poorly or acting bizarre, such as one typically sees on a Friday night in Manhattan. A casual observer would have thought we were old pals, would never have guessed that we just met an hour before in a bar. When I opened the door to my apartment, though, I immediately came back to the reason we were here-a lesson in giving a blow job like a man.

“First of all,” I told her as I flicked on the lights, “you have to really want it, and not like you want a piece of candy. It’s not a lollipop. You have to want it like you want a piece of steak. You have to be ravenous for it. Typically, women suck cock. Men devour it.”

“An interesting distinction,” she said. “But no teeth, of course...”-Robert Peregrine

Is your girl a guy?

Neal Boulton — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 12:33:03 -0700

"Thing I like most about my wife Linda is that, well, she's a guy. I can sit around the house and drink beer-with her; watch Glen Garry Glenn Ross-with her; basketball, dirty talk, and hot sex that is never the same twice-all with my girl. I'm blessed."-G. Wilson, Nashville TN about 1 hour ago.

First moments

Neal Boulton — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 15:57:25 -0700

"There is a stirring warmth that radiates throughout my entire body when I lean down and lay my breasts against his chest for the first time. He becomes hard inside his jeans, and I press against him as our mouths and our tongues search each other with an increasing hunger."-Julia, Fairbanks, AL

Cocked

Neal Boulton — Sat, 10 Oct 2009 05:42:46 -0700

Shoot, hard is good; fast, sometimes, too. But unprotected? Not so much. Think.-N.B.

Peripheral view

Neal Boulton — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 22:49:01 -0700

What happens when, day in and day out, you are surrounded, and covered, in the smell and sweat of twenty hard men; pressed upon you by the weight of their muscular thighs, chests and arms?

"In high school I always looked down in the locker room shower. But I loved the smell of the men's bodies. From my shameful peripheral view, I saw the arc of perfect skin that wraps around the buttocks, and the v-shaped muscles that descend to the pubic hair just below the abdomen. Moist thighs glistened from the shower water and you could hear the constant smack of bare feet walking to and from the lockers. My only comfort was knowing he was in the other locker room, feeling the same way. The same way about me. There comes a time-when your're pushed, and you just succumb to the urgent hunger of your mouth-and you just do it. And when our mouths touched, and I felt his breath enter me, the thin skin of our lips melted and we descended for a moment, a long moment."-A.L.

Dates

Neal Boulton — Fri, 14 Aug 2009 09:06:54 -0700

TGIF. "Of course I'll spend my day distracted by what I know she'll let me do to her tonight."-R.T Reno Nevada

Line em up

Neal Boulton — Mon, 04 May 2009 13:27:45 -0700

Slap. Sure one girl and two cocks can make for a great weekend, but the gift of two of these above? Only in a BastardLife world.-N.B.

She's gotta have it

Neal Boulton — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 16:48:33 -0700

What if women, like gay men, had bathhouses?

Sunday Afternoon. The place was packed with women-in the steam room caressing each other, in dark rooms groping, leaned up against each other in the showers. Light gasps could be heard in the din of groans. Hallways lined with private rooms were being cruised by towel clad blonds and brunettes with moist skin and wet hair-looking to feast.-N.B.

In a BastardLife world

Neal Boulton — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 07:12:01 -0700

A fear of Sports. Growing up, I too was always afraid of the ball(s).-N.B.