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The Lisa Diaries by Lisa Carver  


Two of My Favorite Things

June 29, 2000



The club rule is: when you pull the curtain on a room, no one can come in. But someone opened our curtain — and the rod fell down and the rings slipped off the rod. Dave and I reached for our pants and yelled, “The curtain was closed! The curtain was closed!” The guy — around thirty-six, mountainside features (craggy nose, ravine cheeks, eyes like black pools), big stomach, button-down shirt — stood there with the curtain wrapped around his feet like a Christmas tree blanket, saying, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He looked so pitiful, I got up and put the rings back on and jimmied the rod into place. “I’m really sorry I knocked your curtain down,” the man said, “but now that I’m here on this side of it, can I watch?” I looked at Dave and Dave had big eyes and didn’t say anything, so I said okay. The man leaned up against the wall and ran his hands up and down his pants. Dave got on top of me and kissed me hard and started grinding against me.


    

“Woah, woah, stallion,” I said, and I put my naked feet up against Dave’s chest and pushed him into a sitting position. He looked at me, questioning. “Do exactly what you were doing, only slower,” I explained. “One thing at a time.”


    

My eyes were closed and I heard the bed creak — The Curtain Wrecker was in bed with us and his hand was on Dave’s back!


    

“You slow down too, Mister,” I said, and I put my feet on his chest and backed him against the wall again. He said he was sorry, he couldn’t help himself — we were so beautiful. Dave took his pants off again and the man was overwhelmed! “It’s so big,” he said. “You have a fantastic cock. Look at you two.” Curtain Wrecker took all his clothes off too. I’d never been in a room with two naked erect penises before, but it didn’t feel strange. I just wondered why no one ever barged in mid-act and complimented us before? I knew we were safe, because there were bouncers all over the club. So when Curtain asked permission to touch Dave’s big cock, I said yes. Dave gasped when it happened — no man’s hand other than his own has ever been there before. I took Dave’s hand and put it on the other penis . . . their arms made a cross over my body, their things were pointing straight at my breasts. This was twice as many penises as I’m used to, and with manly hands tugging on them . . . wow! I wish I were a gay man, there would be penises everywhere. There would be pictures of them all over my house, and I’d sew felt penises on all my clothes, like Laverne sewed on L’s. And then I was propped up like a queen on all the pillows and they were kneeling on either side of me with the tips of their penises touching inside my mouth, and my fingernails digging into both their asses. Then Dave was fucking me missionary style and the man was behind him, asking me if he could fuck Dave. “No,” I said. “But you can slap his ass with your cock and run it up and down his crack.” Which he did. Then he asked Dave’s permission to fuck me, and Dave — who hadn’t said a word this whole time — shook his head vehemently.


    

Curtain told us to take off the last of our clothes, whereupon he instructed me to get on top of Dave with my back on Dave’s stomach. Curtain licked both our parts while one of those parts entered the other. He had a special technique where he rubbed his nose against me in a way that . . . well, I don’t want to dwell too deeply on sex with a man who is not my husband, but I recommend the procedure. Dave whispered to me that he was going to come, and I said, “No, not yet! I want to do more stuff,” so he had to pull out.


    

The man put his mouth on Dave’s almost-coming penis, and Dave’s eyes opened even wider and then they shut hard. Curtain was watching me while he went up and down. There was nothing intrinsically sexy about Curtain. He had gentlemanly facial features, but his body was no good. And I found nothing appealing about him as a human being. He spied when he knew he wasn’t supposed to, he clumsily knocked down our curtain, he was bossy — but he was this perfect mouth and penis come into our night with no story behind them, just there to do stuff. He was completely unapologetic . . . he loved this. He interrupted his sucking to say, “You like to watch?” Of course I like to watch — why else would I be staring two inches away with my mouth hanging open and my body bending this way and that? But I love hearing porno lines out loud.


    

I examined Dave’s face, and discovered that he was suffering. He was enjoying the blowjob at the same time, obviously, or else he would have lost his erection, but he was suffering more. I knew he was doing this for me, and I knew that it felt like a rape to him. Just an itty bitty rape. But still, I felt so bad for my baby, and the whole tone changed at that point. What could we do — suddenly say, “We don’t like you anymore?” No, we were all in that room together until three people came. So I got in Dave’s best come position (doggy style) and talked dirty (which also makes him come), and did my satisfaction-guaranteed combination mouth/hand/breast job
to Curtain’s penis (saying dirty words whenever my mouth came up). And I wrapped Dave’s arm around me so that his fingers were on my clit, and it worked like that. Curtain was coming on my arm and Dave pulled out and shot it all over my back; I kept my orgasm neatly inside my body like a lady.
Everyone said Thanks and That was fun, then I told Curtain, ” That was Dave’s first . . . you know.”


    

“Yeah, I figured as much,” he said.


    

Curtain claimed he’s more straight than gay. Right — that’s why he talked about how big Dave’s cock is and how beautiful like ten times and didn’t mention my lavishly maintained Puss once. We dressed rapidly and departed. In the hallway we met an “echophile” — someone who likes to eavesdrop on the sounds of sex but doesn’t want to watch it. His girlfriend was in one of the rooms being administered to by an elf-man and a large lady (Dave and I looked in — the curtain was open), and she was emitting more cries than my bird clock.


    

In the parking lot, Dave spit about fifty times. “Oh sweetie,” I said, “do you feel defiled?” He nodded.


    

“It’s okay,” I said, “you don’t ever have to do that again. By the way — what would you call that? It wasn’t 69. Maybe it was 969. Or 696? No, I think it would be a 69 with a “W” underneath it. Or maybe with an “@” over to the side. Well, anyway, it was complicated, and I’m a simple woman.”


    

Dave always says he doesn’t want to do something, keeps saying that, then he does it, then he feels terrible and says he’s never going to do it again, then he does it again and it’s great and we do it all the time. I feel confident that soon we’ll be making a trip to New York and looking up that sonofabitch architect Matt. There are some things you love so much — like wearing sparkly blue eyeshadow and rollerskating — you want to do them all over the place, no matter what the neighbors say. And this is one (well, two) of them.








©2000
Lisa Carver and Nerve.com, Inc.