Laid Bare: Essays and Observations by Judson, Tom (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

my mouth. “You have to be quiet” he whispered as his blue eyes bore into mine. I nodded yes. “You can’t make a sound,” he said as he slowly removed his hand and brushed his fingers gently across my face. I looked at him for a moment and then silently mouthed, “Why not?”

“Because my wife and her parents are in the main suite.”

What was already a very sexy moment instantly became even more erotic. A smile spread across my face and I pulled his ear down next to my mouth. “You’re nuts,” I whispered. He looked at me and shrugged. I put my hand behind his neck and pulled him towards me and started to kiss him. As we kissed he started to unbutton my shirt, running his hand over my chest and pinching my nipples, which caused me to moan. He abruptly raised himself up on his hands and gave me a look that said, “What did I tell you?” I nodded reassuringly and rolled him over so I was now on top. I slowly kissed my way down his body and undid the towel from around his waist. As I put his hard dick in my mouth he let out a small sound. We looked at each other for a split second and then both laughed silently. I stood up and finished undressing as he sat up on the end of the bed and started caressing my legs and ass. I leaned over to kiss him again and we lay back down on the bed.

In a bit I found myself lying on my back with him over me as he jerked himself off to a climax. He was kissing me when he came, and I could feel the muscles in his mouth relax just as the rest of his body tensed and he shot his load on my stomach and chest. He sighed deeply and then collapsed on the bed next to me. He scooped his cum off my body and used it to jack me off. I lay there, looking into his eyes and, just as I was about to cum, he gently put his hand over my mouth (which drove me crazy) causing me to have an intense, silent orgasm.

As we lay there looking up at the ceiling, I could feel him turn to face me. I raised up on one elbow and whispered into his ear, “Come for a walk with me. I want to show you something.” To my surprise he nodded yes.

We dressed in silence and he paid me, throwing in a $100 tip. Riding down to the lobby in the elevator, the operator wore a quizzical expression but kept his thoughts to himself. As we spun through the revolving doors onto a nearly deserted Park Avenue I turned to my new friend and said, “What the hell was going on up there?!”

He explained that he and his wife and her parents had all been out to dinner that night and had drunk a lot of wine. That’s why he was confident they wouldn’t be bursting through the connecting door from the suite. They were all flying back to Los Angeles in the morning.

“What time does your plane leave?”

“Whenever we want it to.”

Oh, I see.

As we headed--mostly in silence--over to Rockefeller Center I explained that he was going to see a once-in-a-lifetime sight. I pointed out various architectural and cultural landmarks on the way and, as we walked down the Channel gardens (so-called because the England building lies on one side of them and the France building on the other) I nudged his shoulder with my own and said, “Y’know, you johns aren’t supposed to be so sexy.” Without missing a beat he responded, “Yeah? Well, you hookers aren’t supposed to be so smart.” I chuckled and put my hand on the back of his neck, giving it a little squeeze.

We stood there on the street, gazing up at Prometheus, his hand outstretched, forever brandishing the fire he stole from the gods. My focus slowly traveled to the man standing next to me, his profile silhouetted by the lights of the skating rink, and I thought to myself that I had done a little flame-stealing of my own that night. I suppose the sordid details of my heist brought it closer to the level of a petty theft, but there was definitely fire involved.

We said goodnight and he got into a cab. I decided to walk home and headed west just as the morning sky was fading from silver to rose.

I never saw or heard from the guest in the guest room again, so I don’t know if what he told me about who slept on the other side of that door was the truth or not.

But I really don’t care.

VINO E CUCINA

The beaded curtain clicked pleasantly behind me as I entered the restaurant. The streets outside were dusty and hot, the air humid and still; but here, under the vaulted ceiling, it was cool. A small table against the wall held an old plastic radio whose cord was plugged into an outlet in the ceiling. Next to the radio sat a small fan whirring silently as the breeze it created blew ribbons attached to the blade housing. The radio played Italian songs and the tunes were obscured by static whenever the fan reached a certain place in its sweep.

The room was clean, if spare. Four or five tables sat evenly spaced on the tiled floor, each laid with a blue checked cloth with a dark blue border and, over that, a sheet of heavy plastic. A capped bottle of water and a tall glass filled with packaged breadsticks sat on each table, along with two single-ply paper napkins folded into triangles. Mismatched chairs were pushed neatly underneath.

As my eyes adjusted to the