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I was stepping out of the shower when my wife Vicki confronted me.

“I want to know what you are so pissed about. All weekend you had this sour-ass expression. What is it, Clem?”

I looked at her. I was in a bad mood all right, and with the kids gone to school, I could speak freely. “You know what? I am not pissed at all. I am unhappy, and you are the cause.”

“Me?” she said, clearly annoyed with my answer. “What have I done?”

I was pretty sure she both knew the answer and didn’t want to hear it. She shouldn’t have asked. “Well, let’s start with your being ‘not in the mood’ for the last month. How about your concept that sex should be a special event, so if we have a date planned for the weekend, you shut me out during the week. And the capper is how you cut me off midway through foreplay after we did go out Saturday night. Sex is important to me, and you know it is. So, when you play the Freeze Queen, I get unhappy.”

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I timed my bobs to correspond with his thrusting hips. Scott’s cock, purple with need, slid in and out of my wet, red-lipsticked lips effortlessly. My fingers encircled his shaft, stroking in time with my mouth and urging him to cum.

“Oh God!” he cried. “I am gonna cum!” My response wasn’t spoken, because that would require me to break suction from his cock. Instead, I hummed a pleasurable sound that conveyed my willingness to accept his sperm. I felt his cock swell as cream flowed through the shaft, and knew that it was time.

I stopped sucking in order to capture his cum in my mouth. I didn’t want to inadvertently swallow any. My fingers, though, continued to milk the cum from his shaft and my lips rubbed the last inch and a half of him. His fingers found my hair and he held on tight as his load, a big one, almost filled my mouth.

What he didn’t know at the time was that I would stand and kiss him. Our lips met and our mouths yawned open. As they did, my tongue pushed his cream back into his mouth. My hands locked into his hair and kept him there, kissing me. Accepting his own cum. Scott fought for a minute and then decided to swallow his ejaculate. I kissed him for minutes after, feeling my pussy oozing juice as I felt the victory in the first step of his training.

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I boarded the late train from Kobenhaven to Amsterdam, and took my seat in the small, unairconditioned non-smoking room on the upper level. The night train was perfect, saving me both on the ticket and a hotel charge. I was also going to be able to enjoy the countryside. By morning we’d be past the bland Danish landscape and into a prettier but still bland German countryside. It was a trip I had taken a few times before and enjoyed, although the non-smoking area rarely held anyone else and the trip was lonely.

Just before the train departed, though, a girl came into the room and sat opposite me. She was perhaps 20, cute, with long jet black hair and dark complexion. Her clothes, cut-off shorts and tank top, were cheap but clean. She had that Eastern Europe feel. There wasn’t anything overt, but she exuded a smoldering sensuality. I mentally shrugged and attributed it to my constant horniness.

“Hello,” I said, trying to make a connection while she rooted around in her over-filled rucksack.

“Shpx lbh,” she said blandly. My mind raced… did I know this language?

“Do you speak Danish?” I asked. It was a good bet, traveling from Denmark as we were. She shook her head. “Dutch?”

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“rattle !” It was a hushed sound coming from my computer, especially since I had turned down the sound, but it put my senses on edge. The funny little sound of a rattle snake tail alerted me that I had an incoming ICQ message. Unfortunately, I was presumably talking to the colleagues in my office about a BS project. The sound was soft enough to escape their attention, but totally distracted mine. I so wanted to turn and read the message, but didn’t.

The twenty minutes it took to clear them out seemed like an eternity, but part of me liked the waiting. A patient man, I had learned to love the waiting for pleasure, even as another part of me needed it immediately. This duality in myself was the only thing that had ever convinced me that horoscopes weren’t utter crap: I was a perfect Gemini.

I lowered my mouse pointer to the system tray and clicked the blinking envelope. I saw that it was a message from a user, “Darren”, who had just added me to his contact list an hour ago. It read:

Hi! Loved your stories about creampie eating. Visited your web page and saw that you are traveling to Chicago. I am wondering if you are serious about meeting a couple. If so, my wife and I might be able to host. Let me know.

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“Fuck!”, I thought. Another fucking losing hand! Would I ever win?

We were three couples playing a horny game of poker. In the beginning, the winner gets to have his partner do whatever he wanted for 15 minutes while everyone else watched. Later, it was his partner and another couple. In the last stages, he could have everyone do what he wanted. In four months of playing twice a month, I had never won in the last stages. The only time I ever won was when it was only my wife I could have do my will. It was getting to be a joke amongst everyone. Everyone, but me.

Many times it was my wife Deb who won. In those cases, she delighted in making me swallow a dick. During the time I did it, it was exciting enough. I am not even close to homosexual, but there is something naughty and exciting about being ordered to do it. I guess I found the excuse liberating; “I didn’t want to do it, I was being forced”. A perfect escape clause for indecent behavior.

In our current game, we were at the “partner and other couple” stage. Karen, Michael’s wife, won. She chose Shannon and Glenn to be the other couple, so Deb and I watched from the sidelines. Karen, put on the spot to be creative, wimped out. She had Shannon suck Glenn while Michael ate her. A seriously pedestrian combination, I thought. “I’d do it differently,” I pledged to myself.

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Have you ever been in a hurricane? Have you ever drank a hurricane? If not, you can have no idea of the devastation these two forces can impart. The one can flatten your house. The other can flatten YOU!

I had only been to New Orleans once before this trip. During that trip, I had pointedly avoided the Hurricane, a potent drink that makes you seem to lose all common sense. I was on a business trip and the idea that clients would see me smashed kept the drink at bay. This trip’s entire purpose was to have as much fun as our time and budget would allow. Of course, the best place to do that was on Bourbon Street, and the drink of choice is the Hurricane.

My friend Mark and I (who I wrote about in Gang Creampie) had come there for a client meeting. We had asked the client to play golf on Saturday, and had planned to stay Friday and Saturday nights. Of course, we had scheduled things to maximize our free time. When the client informed us on Friday that he wasn’t going be able to go out Friday night or play golf on Saturday, the prudent thing would have been to caught the flight home Friday night. What we did instead was plot how to have even more fun.

We had booked adjoining rooms at the Saint Louis Hotel, a mere half-block from Bourbon Street. We dumped our stuff in our rooms, and hit the street. Our original plan had been to go to Emeril’s place, but without a client it was too pricey and we wanted to conserve all our money for booze. So, we hit one of the ubiquitous hot dog carts and a 16oz beer, then started roaming.

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