Erotic Story: The Bucket List

michael madsen a19e49dd33975d11c00c94047cf82669I made notes to write this story, about our most carefree lighthearted date. What the name was of that fancy Italian coffee Big always orders, and that I keep forgetting. His admiration for a cute elderly couple that was having lunch two tables further down.
“And they still dress up. Even after a life-time together.”
That I suggested to go over to his place for tea and a cookie to-go, and how one of the last things he’d say when he showed me out was that at least he now knew what I meant with a cookie to-go. How we had inspired sex, and funny conversations and how he threw a glance at the door when I said I couldn’t imagine having sex with refined people. As if he expected a well-mannered suitor to walk into his apartment, and spoil all the fun. But the truth is, I think you would not believe any of it.
Not that a stone cold cheater carries his heart up his sleeve. Not that a man who lives in a penthouse can be so easy to get along with. But especially not that Big talks in bed. That a man talks like that. Because from what I know from previous experience, oh-
I know you’ve been wondering about this, how many partners I had? Let me quantify: Twelve men intercourse, 5 men other, a few dozen just kissing. Career span: 27 years, with about 80% of all adventures taking place in the last 8 years.
I hope I have your full attention now that I cleared that up for you.

So as I was saying: men who talk in bed are rare. And especially if I rule out men who sex talk in bed, since this barely counts. Whore talk, dirty talk, and anything starting with do you know what I m going to do with you will not get you kicked out of bed, but I wouldn’t go as far as to giving it extra points either.
The last man who talked in bed was my most recent lover before Biggie, Rutger. He was sensitive and complicated, which was a very happy surprise because I knew him for the better part of my life as robust and cheeky. I was prepared to see the experiment blow up in my face, when we finally kissed after all those decades. That he’d be pushy and overly sexual, and that I wouldn’t be able to connect with him.
My assessment couldn’t have been more wrong.
And he shared everything…. what he liked, what he loved, his fears or anything else he was struggling with or curious about.
I had hit the jackpot.
Shame though, that jackpot had migrated shortly after our college years and was now bound to another continent by two beautiful children and an ex wife.
Every summer he visits the Netherlands, and I ve told Biggie about him, which lead to one of our infamous week long break-ups.
But Big made his peace with it. The carefree date was our first time we saw each other again. As usual we wouldn’t talk about the incident, or about what drove us apart. As usual, I felt butterflies and excitement when I saw him. Reading a paper in the late morning sun. His unpronounceable coffee in front of him.

He gets up and we peck on the cheek. That whiskeyed out voice asking me how I am, like a warm hug.
“Are you okay sitting outside? I saved you a spot in the shade.”
He uses his charm to get us a late breakfast. I take a large one with extra bacon, and he orders a continental.
“That yoga must burn off quite some calories,” he says, as he appreciatively checks out my physique. I remember the first time he kissed me and he grabbed my love handle and said: “Oh! You have that nice extra bit!” and I said: “Of course I do. I m very sexy.”
“I wish I could eat as much as you can,” he sighs as he peels his boiled egg. Biggie works out the quadruple amount of me, and that’s only because I count commuting on my bicycle as sports.
“I still have space in my Wednesday group,” I grin. Of course I would never let him even near my yoga classes or my students. They would all see immediately what was going on. God knows, they may even know him. And his wife.
“I may need something sweet after though,” I add. “You know, to tap it all down.”
I make a gesture as if I’m tapping a sand castle, until it’s firm and smooth.

As we walk from the terrace to his house, he points out some of the historic buildings and landmarks. “And there is that hotel I told you about. With the sauna.”
He uses their waterside restaurant for business meetings, and befriended the staff. Or he bought them. Or both. “Do you like the sauna?”
I shake my head. “But the hotel could be nice. We can play that you pay me. Like an escort.”
“Oh…. You mean we plan that right? Not that I put ten euros on the table after.”
“After? Those ladies need pay in advance.”

We have our tea and my cookie is served to me on a saucer. We sit down at the couch and I throw my legs over his. He immediately begins to caress them, sliding his hand up the legs of my trousers.
“You’re always so new to me,” I sigh, as I happily nibble from my cookie. “It’s like every time you re a stranger. It’s brilliant.”
I tell him that my friend Ivy has told me she’d be completely fed up with him by now. That she would insist he’d divorce.
“But I told her it’s okay. It’s not that I don’t want more. But when it comes to being new and exciting, nothing can top this.”
Big slides his hand between my legs, pressing his middle finger hard, violating me through the jeans.
“So I need to conquer you?”
His kiss tells me this thought excites him as much as me.
“You re new. Every time,” I confirm.
“I ll go easy on you then….”

It’s something that happens when our clothes come off and the skin touches: my body relaxes completely in his presence. People usually describe that chemistry as sexual attraction, but either they have it all wrong, or they are experiencing something completely different. Because it’s not sexual at all. It’s safety. Familiarity. It’s having a deep understanding, and being understood, merely from a physical perspective. Sex is in the mind. You can have sex with anyone, if you create the right context. But you cannot hug, cuddle, kiss, be happy with someone’s sheer physical presence.
It’s like that coffee Big drinks: it’s so good, you don’t have to add milk and sugar.
I could be happy just being physically close to Big, without having another day of sex in my life.
Which is of course a highly unlikely scenario. Especially if you know the amounts of full cream milk and luscious thick foam I add to my coffee.

Big kept word and we made love in that soft, explorative spirit, as if it was the first time. And that he licked me for the first time, intruding me with a ruthless fingertip that made me gasp for air. And we were both in awe, all over again, when we saw his cock going in. As if I had forgotten that it was always like this: rock hard and entering all by itself, as if we were magnets.
Our embrace was exceptionally tight. A full body, full wrap, clingy experience. Two lovers amalgamated to one pulsating, sweating, orgasmic body; whispering everything we could say without saying I love you. As if our bodies had not already given away what our hearts were feeling.

After we lie together for a while, Big pulls our sticky bodies apart and gets up to clean up the condom. He returns wearing a pair of black rim glasses.
“Oh wow!” I exclaim in appreciation, and I feel yet another wave of excitement and novelty.
“You like it? My contacts were bothering me.”
He settles onto the lounge sofa again, where I snuggle under the blanket he brought me.
“Oh no, not on me. I m still hot!”
“You look like a doctor,” I say. “That’s why it turns me on so much.”
There’s another reason I m not with Ivy when it comes to Big: I have so many fantasies where he’s a part of.
“Maybe we can make a list of everything I still want to do,” I suggest. “So first, playing doctor of course.”
“Of course,” Big agrees.
Big had been surprisingly unshocked by my doctor fetish. It was on one of our early dates that were supposed to stay platonic (for my part) because he was married, where I compensated the lack of physical intimacy with brutal sexual honesty. I had informed him that the biggest flaw in 50 Shades was that it had a hard limit on gynecological instruments. And that the book committed a mortal sin against writing erotica when it described what must have been a dripping good scene of the first ever pelvic exam of a recently deflowered Anastacia, in a meager four words as:
“After a thorough examination”
Chapter 19, look it up. Full on heresy.
“A proper exam. And I want it to take very long,” I say, just to make clear that we’re going to milk this. I’m already aroused at the thought of lying there with my legs pulled up for what hopefully feels like an eternity.
“We’ll reserve a whole night,” Big says.
“Noooooo… not at night! It’s a doctor’s appointment, it has to be by day!”
“Okay, by day,” Big laughs, realizing he’ll probably have zero input when it comes to playing out my fantasies.
“And I would like double penetration…” I dream, as if I’m planning a romantic wedding instead of asking for sexual acts that would count as hard limits for even pretty broad-minded woman.
“Like being fucked from behind. And a dildo in the front.”
“You mean one of those giant ones?”
I laugh. “No, that would make more like a solo event. A normal one. But I would like two men also.”
He gets up and seizes the remote from the tv. “I’ve got a new Stoya. With double penetration.”
At the sight of Stoya’s frail, pale body being touched all over by four rough male hands, I feel a pinch inside, between my legs. A sudden violent horniness.
“How do you want to organize that?” Big hints, as we watch Stoya taking it in her mouth and pussy. I love the happiness she displays. “Who do you have in mind?”
“Well I have you in mind. And Rutger of course. But I can’t plan it. Either it happens or it doesn’t.”
“But how do you divide your attention?” he asks. It’s what kept him from pursuing two women.
“Yes. It would be a challenge. Especially since I like you both a lot.”
Big appeared to be completely over any jealousy he had felt.

I flip over onto my belly and turn my head away. “My bum needs some TLC,” I wiggle my hips.
He comes closer and starts to polish my butt cheeks. I can feel his eyes staring.
“I like your butt. It’s so great. Like it’s standing or something.”
I give an appreciative moan. His hand slides between my thighs. “You’re so wet!”
“You made me watch double penetration!” I defend myself. “And showed up with those glasses.”
“Yeeess….” He muses. “I think I’ll keep them on. I’ve got a whole new sense of self-esteem.”
I chuckle as I turn my head towards him, checking him and his sophisticated glasses out. The more or less familiar face of Mr.Big, looks professional and distant.
“You’re probably seeing me as the doctor already….”
I part my legs eagerly and the finger moves in deeper.
“I hope he takes advantage of me,” I admit.
For a moment I consider telling him my final fantasy, the one I kept from him deliberately because I never had the guts to share it. It’s the reason I’m doing this recap of everything I already hinted at, or talked about, during other dates. I m mustering the courage to ask it.
“I need to be a little deeper,” Big says with a solemn face. “Just try to relax as much as possible.”

The doctor fantasy stays with that line. And with him wearing his glasses. Perhaps we both feel this is pretty intense, and shy away from playing it out spontaneously. But it does the trick of getting me incredibly hot, and we have sex like teenagers: with me wanting to squat down on top of him, and him comforting me and retaking control every time I accidentally hurt myself because his dick slams in too deep, and I cry out from the sharp pain deep inside.
We watch my pussy taking in his dick, the thrusting, over and over again. It’s explicit, mature, R-rated. The porn has moved from the screen to between my thighs.
“I need to rest,” I say, with my quadriceps on fire. I pull my feet back one by one, and collapse onto his chest.
He lets me catch my breath, and cuddles me, gently stroking my hair.
I reach for his cock, holding the condom as I pull out, and roll over on my side. He takes it off. His cock is still so hard he needs to draw it away from his belly, to handle it. Forty-two going on twenty-four.
“You’re so smooth,” I caress his shoulders and his upper arms. Big has a little chest hair but otherwise appears unmarked by the hormones that must be ravaging his body. I slide my hand over his chest, belly. His hard on lifts up, when I wrap my hand around it. I work the thin foreskin with my fingers, and massage the shaft with my palm. Slowly up and down. I want to feel him, taste him. It’s the best part of sex I think. Oral. I tease him with my mouth hovering, and small kisses tracing the line from his balls all the way up. He moans uncontrollably when I finally take it in, and suck it in as deep as I can.

The blow-job is easy and effortlessly, although I know Big could delay it if he wanted to. Just to make me work, or to increase his own pleasure. But he’s not pushing it, and gives me a warning before he comes. I take my head away, and finish it manually. I feel his cock jumping on the waves of his orgasm, and the sperm pulsating under my hand, on its way out. It’s so strong that I half expect it to reach the glasses! But I’m not going to look, I might laugh. And I play my role of bringer of pleasure, appreciating his orgasm. Moaning. Biting my lip and looking up seductively.
“You have it on your glasses!”

We clean Big up, and I ask for Stoya back on. As sort of a back-drop. She’s the only woman who can make me want to be even whiter than I am, and lose four dress sizes. And aspire a career in porn.
“I think we’ve got most of it….”I summarize what we talked about. ”Like the prostitution thing. And a double penetration. Two guys. And playing doctor of course.”
“Of course,” Big repeats his earlier response.
He’s again very warm and every time I throw the blanket over him, probably instinctively just to have him closer, he throws it back instantly. He’s drinking a glass of water.
“Well…. There is one more thing….” I start.
“Yeah, you wanted the rapey thing,” Big says.
I m taken aback. “Oh well that too!”
“That goes without saying?”
I chuckle. “Yes. Like we can do the rapey thing on other days. When we’re not up for anything heavy.”
“Like playing doctor,” he smirks.
“Yeah well….so there is this one thing. And I m a little worried you may not like me anymore.”

I tell Big what it is. He replies with “okay”.
“Okay? Now you’re not asking how I want to do that?”
“I think I get the idea.”
“But it’s perverted. No one asks for this.”
He shrugs. “It’s pretty flexible. You can pass a baby through there.”
Big tells me how you can widen it, by massaging it. A good midwife knows that. And I have a sudden flash back to Rutger, who massaged me, and although it was fully sweet, there was clearly some experience behind it.
“You actually did that?”
I feel like I just dropped a bomb.
“Like I said, I get the idea,” he smiles, apparently forgiving my intrusion. “And I still like you.”

We talk a little bit about my list, fetishes, shame. And I ask him about what would be on his bucket list and he jokingly says: “I don’t think you’ll like me anymore if I tell you…”
“Oh my God! That good?”
I get all excited even though I’m pretty sure he’s just humoring me.
“So. When are you available for a doctor’s appointment?” I ask.
“Soon. Even though I ve been seeing the inside of the hospital a little too much lately.”
I shrink back. Another landmine.
“You want to talk about it?”
He stares at the ceiling, his fingers mindlessly fiddle over his chest. He shakes his head, still gazing at memories. “I like what we have. Like you said: it won’t get any more exciting.”
There’s a smile again as he turns to his side, pulls a knee towards me. He rests his head into his palm. “When I m with you, I don’t want to think about all the other stuff.”
His eyes are a friendly blue. His sadness is almost tangible.
“But you are thinking about it,” I say, as my fingertips trace his eyebrows to his temples. I notice a few gray hairs between the black. “You think about death. And sickness. It’s the reason you’re with me.” I suddenly understand why we go so well together. “You and me…. This is like our Carpe Diem.”


This is the third in a series of real life inspired English erotica. The first story was The Biggie and the second Credit, followed by an intermezzo about our break-up. 


Erotic Story (Intermezzo)

Over a month since Big had shown interest, and it was getting on Lauren’s nerves. The pacifying effect of his “attempts” to see her on weeknights, when she taught yoga till and was pressed to go home to take care of her four-hour-feeding interval sick cat, the charm of those attempts was wearing off. He knew very well she wouldn’t make it. And every time he then told her they would “see how the weekend turned out” she was hurt because she was apparently no longer worth planning in advance for. And the next Tuesday or Wednesday he’d run the same scenario all over again. [...]

Erotic Story: Credit

She never asked why he didn’t leave his wife. Cheaters always marry the sweet ones, angelic beings, victims. An unearthly status that grows with every childbirth she suffers, with every holiday he neglects, and that blinds him with guilt every time he cheats on her. Lauren assumed his marriage had been his final hope of becoming a better man, and now his wife was his penance for having failed miserably. Being torn apart by guilt was his punishment for being the bad guy when she would be eternally holy, above suspicion. [...]

Erotic Story: The Biggie

His penis had been larger than anticipated. “And you’re so virile!” she had exclaimed when she had witnessed how much condom interventions and sex negotiations his hard-on could take without giving in as much as a millimeter. After an orgasm he was back up in less than 15 minutes. “I only get this with black guys!” She was just in time to keep herself from adding “in their twenties”. [...]

50 Shades of Stoya

I m currently on a break from blogging, and keep in touch by the newsletter. Here’s the latest one. Please sign up if you want to stay posted. [...]

Mr. Bigs


Ik heb een nieuwe vriendin op Twitter. Ze heet Thessa, heeft een Mr. Big, en blogt al 14 afleveringen vurig over hem. Net als ik dus. Alleen heb ik al drie boeken vol en heb ik evenveel Mister Bigs, maar ik ben dan ook een halve generatie ouder. En zoveel is dat niet, drie biggies. Deze sub-species of men is namelijk altijd onbereikbaar en onbeschikbaar, en soms valt er eentje af. Aan drie zit je al snel. [...]

Mirage 6 (Le Grande Finale): Je t'aime

This is me abandoning project. I m leaving this book, Mirage, and I m taking everything that was left of it with me. The final blog post, already written, about my four biggest writer idols – Sam, Rafael, Dani and Henry? Too bad. I just can’t find the heart to finish it. It was just a few sentences really, all in Henry’s part. All the elements were there, I just had to weave it together, get his approval and then Mirage 6: Quatre Men was done. [...]