I lean back on the couch, slouching down so that my eyes are a little closer to the same level as my cock. I’m watching the head disappear in between the soft, pink lips of a leggy blonde and my brain is exploding.

There are so many moments I fucking love about a new girl. The first contact that sends a flash of chills across the surface of my skin. The moment before the first kiss—that lingering, cock-stirring intensity that occurs when I am mere inches from a gorgeous, porcelain-skinned face. I can smell the sweetness, feel the heat radiating off of her. My fucking brain can feel the kiss happening even before our lips touch.

Then there’s the actual kiss. It usually starts out kind of slow—a hand on the face that wraps around to the back of the head and some eye contact. Because, lets face it, you don’t want to dive in with your mouth wide open and have the girl think you’re a lunatic. Plus there’s still a question about chemistry at this point. Not that lack of chemistry has ever stopped me from getting my dick sucked or from plowing a girl from behind. But chemistry really tells me a lot about how to proceed. I’m always going to be in control, regardless of who else is involved. I’m always going to want to restrain her in some way, even if it’s just her body caught between mine and Kyle’s. But if the chemistry isn’t there, I might decide to let her do all the work.

I love that first moment when I get to see the tits for the first time. My cock just about busts out of my pants when they pop out—when I get to see if there was any false advertising or if they really are as big as they look. I’ll already know at this point if they’re fake at this point, and while I’d rather the tits I squeeze and grope are real, implants won’t be a deal breaker. Nothing is a deal breaker when I get to this point. If I’m already this close to a girl—if my tongue has been inside her mouth and my hands are on her tits—she’s mine. Well, she’s both of ours, really, if I happen to be with Kyle at the time.

The moment when the pussy makes its appearance is always a favorite of mine, too. And like with the tits, there’s not much that will dash my spirits. I’m partial to a fully lasered or waxed pussy. Not shaved. I don’t want to feel any stubble and I don’t want to see a rash or run my hand over those godawful bumps. If it’s going to be perfect it’s got to be as smooth as silk. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll take a landing strip or a triangle, and I’ve even been known to go down on a well-trimmed bush. I can be very generous when I want to be. But nothing gets me harder than watching a woman play with a smooth, glistening pussy.

After I’ve seen it all and I’ve decided the direction things are going to take, there’s another level of firsts waiting. The first time I pin her, to the wall or the bed or the floor, or, if I’m at his place, between myself and Kyle. That look in her eyes the first moment she understands what kind of game we’re playing. The first spanking or slap. That sharp sucking in of breath when a hand comes down on her round ass for the first time.

The moment when the head of my cock squeezes through the tight opening of her pussy or asshole—especially when I can feel the insane tightness of the other hole being filled—those are all incredible firsts too. But holy shit that very first touch of a girl’s lips to the head of my cock, that is as close to heaven as I think I’ve ever been in my life. When those lips part so effortlessly and slowly—stretching to accommodate the growing thickness of my cock head, then let it slide right in … perfection. If a girl really knows what she’s doing she’ll twirl her tongue around the very tip while the head moves into her mouth. She’ll move one hand up and down the shaft and cup my balls—very, very gently—and she’ll keep her baby blues right on mine.

I put my hands behind the back of my head as I watch my cock disappear into the hot blonde’s mouth. Then I move my eyes up a couple of inches and watch as Kyle plows into her from behind. I think he’s fucking her pussy, but I’m not completely sure, because what I’m really watching is those ass cheeks. I’m watching them jiggle with each thrust and with each smack Kyle gives them with his hand. I can’t decide what to keep my eyes focused on—her lips or her jiggling ass—so my eyes flit back and forth, the tension building every single time they land on one or the other.

At blow jobs this girl seems to be a hands-down pro. She takes it very slow. Doesn’t rush a goddamned thing. She touches me through the pants at first, rubbing her hands up and down my hard-on, with wide eyes on the bulge like a kid in a candy store. She unzips my pants slowly, her teeth hooked on her bottom lip and a smile curled up at the corner of her mouth. She pulls my black boxer briefs down in one swift movement, so the big reveal is just that, my massive cock popping out and springing up into the air and revealing just how fucking turned on I am.

Then the warmth of her breath just before her lips make contact, and everything after that is hazy blur of my shaft and her straining mouth and those eyes and the soft wet hole I’m falling into. Then there’s a whole new layer of turned on when I watch Kyle sink his cock into her from behind and I hear and feel that moan emanating from deep inside her.

We have no idea she’s going to be this good before we get back here. As far as we can see, she’s just a girl in a bar. But there are ways I can tell—cues I pick up on—that let me know if a girl will be open to being dominated. She might not always be a full-on submissive, but I can usually tell if she’ll let me throw her around a little. I can see in her eyes if she’d like it.

It’s a little different when there’s two of us going after the same girl, but not that much. There were at least ten other girls in the bar tonight, hanging on every word Kyle said and flirting with both of us like crazy. But this one fit a lot of my specs after just a couple sentences, so I decided we should give her a shot.

Kyle’s the big talker. He’s the one that zeros in on a group of girls and lures them over to the table. I don’t have to lift a finger at this point. I just sit back and watch. I like to watch. I especially like watching my cock disappear down the throat of a hot, eighteen or twenty-one year old blonde, but I’m getting ahead of myself. What I like during the pickup is that I don’t have to do a whole hell of a lot to make it happen.

The beautiful thing about a girl this age—especially when she’s around a man my age—is she’ll do just about anything to please that man. To please me. I’m not ancient or anything. I’m not even forty yet. Just shy of it, actually. But she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know anything about me other than I have more money than she’s probably ever going to see in her life. Plus I’m easy on the eyes—we both are—or so I’ve been told. I guess the girls are suckers for those laugh lines that start appearing around mid-life, but hell if I can see the attraction.

If it isn’t her that comes home with us it’s going to be one of the other girls in the bar, and she knows that. And she’s one-hundred percent correct on that count. Kyle and I are not leaving empty handed.

I’m not interested in repeat performances. I’m all about first times these days. So when I go to a bar with Kyle, which is at least a few nights a week, I’m looking for something new. I find that double-teaming a woman tends to deflect any emotional attachments that might form on the woman’s part, but especially mine. I don’t need any of that.

It’s not that I’m incapable of holding an in-depth conversation or experiencing emotions. I’ve been married, I’ve been in love. I just don’t want any of that right now. I want the physical experience. I want to fuck and then get the hell out. And if I can turn her attention to Kyle, all the better.

That’s why I like having Kyle around. I never know exactly when it’s going to happen, but whenever I’m with a new girl and I’ve reached my limit, I don’t want to look at her or talk to her or even think about her anymore. I want her and any trace of her presence to be gone. It might be after the first time or the second, or even the third time in a night that we fuck. But once the party’s over for me, it’s really over.

And I just now reached my limit with the blonde. I’m glad to see that Kyle has already finished after I shoot a stream down her throat. I honestly wasn’t expecting it to happen so suddenly, but as soon as I come, I see that hopeful look practically spilling out of her dewy eyes, and I can’t deal.

“That was great, but I’ve gotta get up early,” I say, and watch every trace of happiness slip away from her face. Kyle gives me a death stare but I look away.

“Really? Did I do something wrong?”

No, but you are right now, I think, lifting my ass and yanking my trousers up. “No, that was great. I’m sorry, Beth—“

“Angie.”

“Angie. I’d love for the three of us to get in bed and fuck the night away, but we’ve got a meeting first thing in the morning and I just know none of us would get a wink of sleep if you stayed.” I give her my most dazzling smile. “I don’t know about Kyle, but I only have so much self control.”

“Okay.” She sounds like a girl that just lost her doll. She stands up and pulls up her micro-dress, then holds onto my shoulder while she slips into her five-inch heels. “Maybe tomorrow night?”

“Sure. Kyle’ll give you a call or text or whatever,” I say as I usher her to the door. “Here’s some money for a cab.” I reach into my wallet and hand her three one-hundred dollar bills.

“Oh, no! You don’t have to give me this!”

“Just take it. I’ll feel better knowing you got home safely,” I say, my fake smile fading fast.

“Okay, Graham. I had a really nice night.” There’s that hopeful smile again. “Talk to you tomorrow, Kyle?” she says as I stand there, holding onto the door and looking down and wishing she was already on the other side. “Totally! Goodnight, Angie,” I hear from behind me.

As I shut the door I realize that the last fifteen minutes succeeded in making me feel like more of an asshole than I have in the six years since my divorce and all I want is a drink. But I know Kyle is pissed.

“What the hell, Graham? I thought you were into her.”

“I was. I had fun.” I realize the emphasis I was putting on the words only make me sound like I’m trying to convince him that I’m not lying. Or convince myself.

“Then why did you chase her out of here? I wanted to keep having fun. We don’t have a meeting in the morning.”

“I’m just tired, okay?” I say as I set my drink on the coffee table and flop onto the couch. I like these arrangements we have, but I have to admit, it’s so much easier with prostitutes or sugar babies—girls that know up front that it’s just about sex. When they look at me like they’re expecting to cuddle in my arms all night I swear I feel like jumping out of my skin. I like having Kyle around as a buffer, but lately, more often than not, it winds up like this. With me irritated and Kyle disappointed.

This all started after my divorce. Before that I’d been a one woman man for years. My wife was everything to me. And since then, I haven’t wanted to think about anything even remotely resembling a relationship. Not after the hell she put me through. She was the one who stopped wanting sex. She was the one who cheated. She was the one who took me for everything I had. She was the one that ruined everything. At least I didn’t have to pay alimony. But after the divorce was final I was destitute. It’s taken me years to get it all back and I’m sure as hell not giving it up for a woman again.

But it’s not just the money. It’s the way I felt for so long after it was over. And that pain was ten thousand times worse than the shitty way I feel right now after kicking a girl out after sex. I’m never letting that happen to me again. It’s just not worth it.

I still prefer to pay for sex. It’s just easier all around. But it’s hard to resist a bar pick-up when I’m with Kyle. He makes it so easy. Plus, it’s always nice to have a young girl who isn’t taking money up front. I know one of us will eventually be giving her a wad of cash at the end of the evening, but for at least a little while I can pretend that it’s more than money she’s interested in. And yes, I realize exactly how fucked up I am.