It's all happened so quickly, I've hardly had time to sit down and think.  My own house looks a little strange to me since I've been spending most of my time at yours.  It had been years since I'd been downtown after dark, but when you invited me over I wasn't going to say no.  Besides, I had the bottle of wine to fight off any would-be muggers as I walked from my car to the old factory building where your loft is.

     I learned a lot of things about you in a short time.  Such as that cleaning for company means washing a pair of glasses and emptying an ashtray.  That you paint so often that your hands are always stained with dabs of white and ochre.  That you like to have your wrists bound during sex, and that you cuss when you're cumming.

     And there's your bed.  It's a marvel, an old and ornate wood-frame piece, big enough to sleep a pioneer family.  You told me that when you left home, you resolved never to make your bed again, and you've kept that promise.  The blanket and sheets are always snarled down by the footboard and there are pillows everywhere.  Another visitor might wonder what the old neckties dangling on the four corners of the bed are for, but it's pretty obvious to anyone with imagination.  And in case I didn't get the picture during the tour, you clarified:  "I like to be tied up and fucked." 

     I remember coughing and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand when you dropped that comment.  It came out of left field, especially since we had been talking about your paintings.  But then I should have realized you weren't really thinking about your art, what with your bare foot running up and down my leg and all.  I tried to keep my cool, so I didn't respond directly, just asked, "And what else?"  We had both drunk two more glasses of wine before you finished telling me.

     It turned out you had a thing about being controlled.  And I had a thing about doing the controlling.  The problem was, you had a lot of real-life experience in this sort of thing, whereas mine was more in the life of the mind.  It was embarrassing to admit, but you just smiled, took my hand, and put it against your ass.  "Wouldn't you like to spank this?" you asked, and I had to agree that I did.

     You've been a patient teacher, and I've spent a lot time wondering just who is really the top here.  But I guess you've figured out that I'm a quick learner, such as on the night I took the chair and crooked my finger at you.  You walked gracefully over, even with your wrists tied behind you, hips dancing just a bit, and I pulled you closer so that you were straddling me.  I slid my hand up the inside of your thigh and tickled you and fingered you, just enough to get you squirming.  And then I reached for the lube.  I got my cock nice and slick, and then reached between your legs and up and under, and as always was amazed at how quickly your ass opened for my finger, but then it's had a lot of practice. 

     Your grin was adorable while you looked down at me and waited, your hair falling down over one eye.  I took one of your nipples and pulled you down into position, and you slid onto me