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Nymphomaniac, you say?

You’ve Been Warned

I knew from Lola that James had witnessed her jillin’ it in the bedroom. And I could surmise from the ferociousness with which Lo and I went at it that night that he could hear the bed creaking, rocking, and the headboard slamming against the wall, since his bedroom was just across the hall from ours. As if that wasn’t enough, Lo is a screamer. If James didn’t hear her muffled cries from under the pillow, there’s a good likelihood that he heard her call out to me, “Cover my face, Daddy! I’m gonna cum. Fuck me like a dog! Fuck me! Yes!”

That morning I would have stayed in bed till long after James had gone to his conference, but I had to get up for work, as did Lo. I think that James tried to beat us out the door by getting up extra early, but he didn’t quite make it in time so we all had a moment standing in the kitchen as Lo reached for the coffee pot in her silk negligée and nothing else.

“Morning,” she said to James with a smile, as she leaned over to grab the pot. Of course he could see right down the skimpy little thing revealing her barely concealed breasts.

“Morning, Lo,” he said, uncomfortably. No one likes to be caught stealing a peek at his best friend’s girlfriend’s tits, but who can resist when they are so luxuriously flaunted in front of you over your cup-a-Joe?

She poured a cup and passed it to me with a kiss on the cheek. She then opened the cabinet above the coffee pot and reached up for another mug for her own coffee. She was stretching on her tip-toes trying to reach the cup on the second shelf, thus extending the tiny silk nighty such that the hem of it slowly slid up and up, revealing the bottom of her bare ass. Both James and I looked down to where her cute little butt peaked out from under the lightly draped material. Realizing what we were doing, we broke our stare and each of us fumbled to offer her help, reaching for the mug she was after. She poured a cup for herself and said that she’s going to go to her room to get ready for the day. I, of course, knew what this meant. Did James?

James and I went into the living room and, rather than ignore the giant white elephant (in the form of an attractive little vixen), I addressed the subject head-on.

“James, I’m really sorry for last night.”

He gave me a quizzical look, feigning ignorance.

“Lo, I mean. I’m sorry. She’s. . . well, how to say this nicely? She’s a nymphomaniac. There’s no other way to put it. And I’ve been so busy lately at work that I’ve been too tired to. . . to give her what she wants. Or, rather, enough of what she wants. I hope that explains things a bit.”

An enigmatic smile came to his face and, being a guest and a friend, he simply said, “H, there’s no reason to apologize. I’ve known both of you a long time now. I think she’s wonderful: smart, passionate, beautiful. I love talking with her. You know that. There’s nothing that. . . .”

I don’t know what he was about to say next because his words just fell from the air as if they were shot mid-flight, assaulted by the screaming sounds emanating from Lo’s orgasm in the bedroom: “Oh, oh, yes! Fuck! Oh my God! Oh my fucking God! Yes!” She did have the door shut this time, but that did little to impede her cries.

James and I waited, silently listening, till the climax had subsided. I have to admit, the sound of her voice got me hard and, undoubtedly, it had the same effect on James.

I was speechless, but luckily James brought some levity to the moment by looking at me with a twinkle in his eye and joking, “Nymphomaniac, you say?”

We both laughed a bit and I followed with, “You have no idea.”

“But HH, that’s like every man’s dream!”

“There is a saying, be careful what you wish for. I didn’t wish for her to be a nympho, I just fell in love with her and discovered it along the way. I mean, when our romantic relationship was just getting started, I thought ‘Wow, this chick likes sex! I mean, a lot.’ But I thought it was due to the newness of the relationship. You know, at the beginning of every romance — or every one I’ve been in at least — the sex is always hot and frequent. But then you find a comfort zone. With Lo, her comfort zone is always the red zone.”

James laughed a little. “Wow! I’m really surprised. I had no idea. Yes, she talks a lot about sex, but you and I talk a lot about art — it just happens to be our vocation. But I didn’t know. . .”

“Let’s just say that Lo lives her life out loud. Sex at work. Sex at home. Sex all the time. Before I met Lo — you’ll laugh at this — I honestly thought that female masturbation was a myth, a male fantasy, a story we tell ourselves, like Santa Claus, to bring us joy even if it is a total fiction.”

He did laugh and he added, “Oh, HH, what a sheltered life you led.”

[Excerpt from the story, “Sex Out Loud,” from the blog:]