Over the last decade being a freelance writer reporting on sex and relationships, I haven’t suffered from the belief that serious, respectful writing was incompatible with prurient detail. I got into writing about sex because I enjoy it. And I am just as happy to inspire fantasy as I am to inform my reader. Women like myself have often wrote to titillate, but that doesn’t mean I don’t take objective reporting seriously.

But there’s one story I’ve been hesitant to share; because I believe in the line between the Observer and the Participant. And being a professional, to me, means not crossing that boundary. With the passage of time, however, I finally am in a place to confidently publish this tale.

Two years ago, The Windbreaker ran my story “Sex Life of Celebrity: One Week, No Limits” which has opened my career in ways I still don’t know how to describe. The article, and three follow up pieces, raised my profile and have probably paid my rent for the rest of the decade.

The downside, however, means I also now have a security consultant who’s responsible for making sure I’m safe from cyberattacks. I now have to be more vigilant, for my own safety and for the privacy of my subjects. That means I no longer am open about where I currently live, no longer use social media without being mindful. And it has meant three credible threats of real life assault. So basically, it’s been the usual reaction to a prominent female journalist.

Writing the articles themselves has been no simple feat. Each celebrity has a team review the contract, review every note I jot down, and has final say on every word that appears in print. The Windbreaker editors, while supportive, have also been a challenge. The title of the first article, itself, is less accurate than I’d prefer (obviously, there were limits, as I just described, and usually my embedded time is limited to four to five days, not a week). But at least the first article didn’t go to press with my editor’s initial title: “My Vacation with a Celebrity Fuck-Machine.”

And of course, one of the biggest challenges was learning where to set my own personal limit. This is a story about setting my limits. This is a story about “Andrew.”

I’ve written about three famous men and have contracts with two more, but won’t be up front about which of the men is Andrew. Maybe you’ll figure it out, but so far my readers have been pretty bad on guessing the real identities of my subjects so I’m not holding my breath.

But Andrew is the only subject I actually watched fucking a fan.

The day started off per routine. I ask the subjects to text me when they wake in the morning, and I usually arrive shortly after to shadow them through their day. Somedays, this establishes the mundanity of routine life, even if your weekends are filled with a glamorous orgy of sex and drugs.

When I arrived at Andrew’s, however, his bedroom door was closed and I spent the first 20 minutes of the day answering e-mails while listening to the muted sounds of echo’d moans from the en-suite bathroom. The moans move away from one wall, and then a thud. Then more moans, closer to the door this time. Then slaps, then the moans crescendo’ed intensity.

After a brief pause, softly, a male voice_ “Do you want to carry a part of me around all day? Walk around with me inside you?”

An inaudible reply, followed by a firm, “Then get on your knees.”

The rest of the sounds were just his now, a deeper crescendo peaking quickly over the next thirty seconds. Then silence.

A freshly showered Andrew emerged a few minutes after the moans stopped. He greeted me and began talking about breakfast. Like many celebrities, Andrew enjoyed the confidence that comes from knowing most people enjoy having you around. He channeled that knowledge, in to a warmth, trying to share that he also enjoyed having you around. He offered coffee. He frequently paused his activity to look me in the eyes. He ignored several dozen phone notifications.

Apart from fame and charisma, Andrew was objectively beautiful. His dirty blond hair looked great wet. Andrew was tall and broad shouldered, but usually kept a clean shaven, well manicured aesthetic to balance his innate powerful athleticism. His eyebrows were perfectly symmetrical, and I wondered if he did something to accentuate the mild pouty nature of his lips. A small amount of his bare chest peaked out above the last buttoned shirt of his loosely fit black button up shirt, and you could see his skin was still flushed from sex and shower. Andrew always had a vibe of a slightly embarrassed Adonis. Especially after cumming into someone’s mouth first thing in morning, I would guess.

Fifteen minutes after that, a young, darkly tanned Mediterranean woman quietly stepped out Andrew’s bedroom with a small gym bag, darting glances and a flash of a smile before locking eyes on Andrew. Was she self-conscious, or was she proud?

Somehow, despite knowing there was only one door to the bedroom, and knowing the windows of this high rise didn’t open to allow parachuting away, I was still surprised to see this woman. She didn’t seem to match the recently heard sounds of morning hook up sex with a famous heart throb. She was wearing a professional and modest white silk blouse, demure jewelry and black slacks of a someone headed to an office job. I would later learn she was a recent law school graduate and a first-year associate at a large firm downtown.

It was still only 8:15 but I expressed surprise that she risked being late to work for Andrew. She smiled again, this time more clearly embarrassed.

“So, Andrew told me you would probably be here when I was leaving, but I don’t really want to answer questions.”

I had my practiced response ready.

“Of course! The only person obligated to talk to me is Andrew. And I’ll add, just in case this sets your mind at ease, everything is anonymized, I’ll give you fake name and a fake job. Even Andrew will have has identity obscured in whatever I write. All we know is he’s attractive and famous, but he could be a young actor, front man of a band, or a basketball star.”

The young woman laughed at the last option. “Okay, maybe not a basketball star.” Andrew was 6’2" or maybe 6’3" on a good day. He was tall but well below the NBA average for a credible star. “Maybe hockey? Also you’ll be free to read anything I write before publication.”

The woman now blanched. “No, thanks. I think I’m happier not knowing what my man gets up to when I’m not around.” She and Andrew said their goodbyes with surprising tenderness, and she left without coffee or any other delay. I shot Andrew a questioning glance once a respectable two seconds passed.

“My man?”

“A surprising number of women act very possessive, despite me trying to be very clear about the situation.” Andrew offered.

"A lot of your public persona is ‘Sex-Positive’ verging on ‘Man-Doing-the-Most to Reclaim the Word “Slut”’.

“I think the deal for… ‘Melissa’…” Andrew started

“I’ll come up with the fake names, I have a code in my notes, I won’t use ‘Melissa’”

“Sure… anyways, I think for some people like Melissa, they see this as a phase.” Andrew said, finishing his thought. “It’s normalized to be promiscuous in college or your early 20s, but Melissa see’s herself differently. She’s hoping to get married in the next few years. I’ve known her for… three years now? And we have sex almost every time we’re in the same city for more than a couple days. But last year, she stopped responding to my texts if she’s seeing someone. I think she’s starting to see this…coming over at 5 AM to fuck me twice before work… as incompatible with who she wants to be.”

“That’s what happened?” I thought. I couldn’t figure out if I was proud of Melissa or proud of Andrew.

"They try to lessen this tension by heightening this super-possessive act. I’m ‘theirs’, even though I’m not."

“I doubt that’s always the case,” I said to probe Andrew’s level of awareness

“It’s not. Some people are stalkers, some people think I’ll give up everything to marry them, and then other people live on a schizoaffective zone of un-reality. I try to limit my exposure to that kind of relationship. Melissa is still saved in my phone because she has a pretty consistent grip. I have hope that in ten years she looks back on this as a fun time we shared, but she will be glad with what she will have moved on to.”

His claim of careful consideration clashed with what I knew. Also during this week, Andrew has (1) received a blow job in a closet at a radio station from a receptionist he had met earlier that afternoon and (2) invited a fan into his car to have sex with her in between scheduled events. And those are just the stories that didn’t make it into my first article about Andrew.

But over the course of breakfast, despite my faith in his consistency, I started to believe Andrew’s sincerity at least. There was a difference between the women who were invited into his life or his home, and the women who threw their bodies at him in public - even if he was happy to finger fuck either of them.

In my original story on Andrew, I skipped several stories or omitted characters that I didn’t know how to include. One character was Gabe. Gabe is common archetype of fantasy but a rare story in the reality that is the world of celebrity; Gabe was a consultant turned entourage turned actual friend.

Gabe originally worked for a firm hired by Andrew before Gabe went into business for himself. Andrew didn’t follow Gabe to the new job and, surprisingly, this brought them closer together. Gabe hated that his old job forced him to mix business with his off time and, furthermore, liked to boast that Andrew’s fees were actually pretty small compared to the sum needed to keep a sole proprietorship afloat, and Andrew was young and without social networks in many of the cities he worked in. I suspected the disparity of wealth and stature added some tension to the friendship between the two men (insta stalking suggested Gabe wore the same suit every night to the clubs, rented his luxury cars and relied on Andrew for access to the world of excess he liked to broadcast). But Andrew and Gabe did seem to treat each-other like equals.

“Gabe likes the chase, he’s actually more competitive than me. I’d say… if we go out, and we both hook up with someone new, on the same night? The girl Gabe is talking to is way more more likely going to be the model.”

“Stop it! You’re not that kind of asshole! I don’t need you gassing me up, sweet talking me,” Gabe protested.

“I mean, sure, different tastes, no objective standard of beauty, and… fucking,… I think everyone is beautiful who I’m with, right?” Andrew tried to quiet the protests that I’m not sure Gabe was trying to make. “But I’m competitive in other areas, obviously, I’m not going to say I don’t care about success… But Gabe is ALWAYS competing. If he was 6’8” he’d be trying to be the next Jordan.”

“And that’s why we get along. If I beat you in a race, I can tell myself that I beat ‘THE Andrew,’ and completely overlook the fact you probably didn’t give a shit about the outcome.”

“I care about other stuff. But mostly, I care about sex. Like, I just really LIKE fucking, you know?”

I’m never sure how much my presence affects the topic or tenor of conversations. I am a sex journalist, after all. But this seemed like an old conversation Gabe and Andrew have had before. Gabe got bored and started checking his phone. “I think for some people it’s a turn off if I’m open about… how vain I can sometimes get?.. or about how much effort I put into making sure my Brand Image is as sexual as it’s reasonable to be. But I really ENJOY that part of this “image-focused” industry.” Andrew Continued, “I really appreciate other stuff… connecting to fans, more family friendly media appearances, the fact I can move the needle in fundraising for a lot of charitable causes, I’m really lucky I have the chance to do all of that…”


Andrew leaned closer, I’m never sure if he flirts with every journalist, if he’s just like this in general. But the tone of his voice… it is clear he still talking to Gabe and me together, he’s not trying to start anything with me… at the moment. “But I know…I get the impression from talking to other guys in my position, I think all the sexy stuff in my public image adds some different… it adds to the fantasy. A lot of the times, when I’m inside someone I just met, it’s not just a StarFucker experience, I feel like a sexual object, like the way a lot of guys view sex with a pornstar. I’m someone who you can pour your fantasies into, and I’ll be that tool that helps a fantasy come true.”

“Have you discovered the theme that Andrew kinda wishes he was a pornstar?” Gabe teased.

“In reality, fuck no. It’s one of the few industries that’s shittier than the one I’m in. I’m not trading for that life.”

“But kinda?” Gabe asked.

“Yo, FYI, this girl Zoe is coming over, we’re going to chill for a moment, we’ve been talking but this is the time we’ve hung out.”

Readers know this is not an unusual dynamic. There are dozens of seemingly unattainable men that young women will reach out to through social media or publicly available addresses, and some of these men will occasionally respond, flirt, and try and turn this into a sexual encounter. Some rich and famous men employ someone to do some vetting of these women to screen out the honeypots, the catfish, the underage, or other problematic situations. Additionally, Andrew travels a lot and spends a lot of time alone texting and talking, and so he often develops a rapport before meeting someone new. All this to say: Zoe is new, but at this point, she’s not a stranger.

On the day this story took place, I have a lot of questions about Zoe that I will skip here to maintain anonymity. I will say, in comparing types between of the two men, Andrew is honest when saying he’s less likely arrange a tryst with the typical celebrity arm candy. When he allowed me to scroll through his instagram I saw the pattern where fledgling influencers, aspiring models, and women flaunting a body fit for a plastic surgery billboard. Meanwhile, the women who receive a response from Andrew are more likely beautiful in a more authentic way. And they are typically, sexually, a lot more self assured. A scroll back three weeks to see Zoe’s first message. She compliments Andrew’s photos, and she asked him how often he came while thinking about the effect those photos had their audience. Andrew’s reply was a link to a private communication app.

Zoe arrives about 7 minutes after Andrew’s first announcement of her existence, and I wonder if Andrew had almost forgot she was coming. I would later learn Zoe and Andrew has been texting all day and he had tracked the hired car he ordered for her. Andrew is just kinda flighty and flakey sometimes.

Zoe is an obnoxiously mid-western kind of beautiful, a pretty that haunts your dreams while still maintaining that girl next door vibe. She has tan, olive toned skin, a very slight girlish frame and subtle chest even when wearing a revealing white cotton top. Along her ribs, fine line tattoos are revealed by the openings in the network of soft white strings holding the top. The tattoo are the kind you could see on Pinterest, and often see on the skin of the more respectable sorority sisters at large southern universities; a small dandelion on right side, a Scissor-tail Flycatcher on left side. While Zoe was introducing herself to me, she tossed her chestnut hair off her shoulder revealing another black ornamental tattoo of sunflowers and honeysuckle that extended down to the bird on her right. They are the type of tattoos young women got because they are beautiful and uncomplicated, and I hated how well they worked on Zoe’s skin. It seems unfair when the default choice, the easiest option, is so goddamned perfect sometimes.

Zoe would later explain that she got tattoos because she was self conscious as a teen, about her face being too round, a small gap in her teeth re-emerging after she got braces off, her smile being crooked. She hated wearing make-up in the summer, she hated jewelry, so pretty tattoos seemed like the best option. Zoe was logical, if needlessly insecure. In short, Zoe was exactly the type of beautiful 24 year old woman who moved to the city and worked as a waitress in a trendy urban restaurant because that was by far the best paying job for a woman like her right now.

Andrew and Zoe talked a little about Zoe’s day and the restaurant Zoe just got off work at (did Andrew have a thing about hooking up with women before or after work? “Explore this later,” I wrote and underlined in my notebook.)
Zoe turned the conversation to me. She was nervous, though Andrew had explained my presence to her before she arrived. I talked a little about my week, my flight into town, and then turned conversation around with the oldest trick in my book: A blunt invasion of privacy.

“So what brought you here, Zoe?” I asked.

“Andrew is a busy guy, I’ve watched him for a while and I’m excited to meet him, and happy to come to his place when he only has a little bit of time away from that glamorous job his.” Andrew sat down next to her and gently pulled on her knee, Zoe responded by pushing her legs both to her side, draping one leg over Andrews.

That was a smart dodge, I thought. “That was a smart way to dodge my question, Zoe, why did you come over?”

Andrew jumped in, rescuing Zoe. “She has agreed with me that my last magazine photoshoot wasn’t sexy enough, and she wanted to give me some advice on how I could bump it up a notch.”

Gabe piled on, “Zoe, yeah, help this guy out, all he knows how to do is flex and take off his clothes.” Zoe laughed and put her hand on Andrew’s chest, looking at him with a hunger in her eyes. The tension had been broken. I would later learn Zoe had been very explicit in her texts on what she wanted to happen next.

Andrew continued to speak for Zoe, “Zoe, before you got here, me and Gabe and the intimidating professional woman here, we were talking about how fun it is to make a fantasy come true. And there’s no reason for me to hide this, but over the last few days I’ve been fantasizing about you.”

Zoe squeezed her legs together. Then released. Andrew returned a calloused but well manicured hand to Zoe’s knee and left it there this time, two fingers extended, tracing circles on her black linen pants.

“And I’ve had a great time thinking about the fantasies you shared with me,” continued Andrew. "Do you want to share some of those things you told me now?

Zoe giggled. Her eyes were locked on Andrew as if she was trying to overcome some invisible restraints that prevented her from jumping up and sucking on his lips.

“Well I want to see you naked,” Zoe said with a frustrated laughter and a challenging smile. Andrew leaned forward and rewarded her admission with a soft kiss. Zoe turned that kiss into two, then three kisses. The hand on his chest moved up and started pulling on the back of his neck. I was surprised how strong his shoulders looked. This week Andrew had usually worn loosely fitting clothes that understated his defined muscular frame. But with Zoe’s feminine hand on him, Andrew seemed as broad and sturdy as a small building.

“I think there was more to it than that” Andrew chided her now. “Wasn’t there?”

Zoe smiled and bit her lip. “I wanted to hold you in my hands?” Zoe’s chest was rising and falling more rapidly now.

“Zoe! You’re deliberately avoiding saying it out loud?” Andrew smiled and laughed. “It’s okay we all have fantasies. Gabe, what’s your fantasy?”

“Okay, it’s a story.” Andrew nodded and focused his attention on Gabe despite continuing to run his fingers up Zoe’s side.

“I regret that I never fucked anyone at my old work,” Gabe continued. “My freshman year of college, I was doing temp work in an office in LA cause I failed to get an internship. There was this girl there who was also doing temp data entry at the office and we ended up hooking up. I was terrible at office work but we fucked like rabbits, including a couple times in the old boss’s office when he was away for vacation. And it was hot, but I didn’t think about it until I was getting fired later that month. I thought, 'hey, this sad sack guy might be able to fire me, but look at this schlub, I’ve definitely had more sex in his office that he ever will. And that secrecy, that illicit power, that really stuck with me.”

Zoe and Andrew laughed politely. “Anyway, I never did it again. I kept my head low when I worked at the last firm. I didn’t want to give anyone a reason to dislike me, or to hesitate in sending work my way. And now that I work for myself, there’s no danger. No one even knocks on my door if its closed! They send an e-mail. And I’m the only one with keys to half the rooms. If I wanted to, after 9 PM I could host an orgy in the office three days a week and no one would have any way of suspecting it. Where’s the fun of that?”

“I’ve had sex with a guy in his private office. It’s still pretty fun!” Zoe offered.
Gabe and Andrew laughed. “For you, maybe! It’s possible I spend too much time in there paying bills and answering annoying e-mails. I want to bend a girl over someone else’s desk!”

Gabe looked at me and raised his eyebrows as if to suggest it was my turn to share. “Oh no,” I said quickly, “I’m just here to observe and report, if you want to know my thoughts you have to purchase something with my writing in it.”
But just as I said that a spell was broken and I became aware of what was happening. While Gabe was talking, Zoe had nuzzled her head over onto Andrew’s shoulder and he had guided her hands undernead the unbuttoned waste band of his grey wool slacks.

“I don’t want to distract her, so saying this for her: another one of Zoe’s fantasies is a little bit more of a display, more an exhibitionist thing than just sex at work.”

“Oh really?” asked Gabe. “She wants to hear from multiple guy’s how hot she is?”

“I think she’d love to hear that,” Andrew responded, looking directly at Gabe

“In fact, in a second, I’m going to ask her to be a good girl and take that cock in her hand and place it in her mouth. And I think we should both tell her how good she is.”

My head spun. Andrew and Gabe were talking to each-other, allowing me to recede into the background… but why were they doing this now, while I was there? Negotiating an article, every agreement with a subject explicitly states that I’m not following anyone into a bedroom, so Andrew literally did not sign up for this. Should I leave? I was certainly being given that option. I wrote something down in the notebook, I was stalling.

“Zoe, do you want to be a good girl? Do you want to pull my cock out? Do you want to lean over and take it into your mouth? Do you want to feel how hard it is against your soft lips?” Zoe nodded, eagerly.

Zoe’s right hand reached onto one side of his pants and Andrew lifted up and pulled down the other side with his right hand. Zoe then placed her right hand on the elastic waistband where her left hand disappeared underneath Andrew’s underwear and lift the elastic up and over his cock. Zoe gasped.

Andrew was not shy, and in researching my subject before this week, I had gathered a lot of first- and second-hand accounts of his penis. He reportedly asks people to not share details of specific hook ups, but the hearsay converged on consistent picture; he was circumsized, he has a very subtle upward curve, but overall his genitalia was fairly straight when he was erect. It was maybe a little more smooth than average, and had a pretty consistent girth throughout. He trimmed his hair but left a patch above the base of his cock of very light brown hair that seemed almost elegant.

This week, I had expected to hear a girl mention something about Andrew penis, but I was not expecting to see it. Not expecting to see it rigid, rising up straight from the base of his athletic abs. Not expecting to see a glimmer of pre-cum being milked out by the left hand of a beautiful women who was gazing down with hungry anticipation.

Reviewing prior research, Andrew was usually cagey about his size. By reputation, he is either (1) massive, (2) average with epic BDE, or (3) kinda disappointing given the hype. The only thing he has told me is how glad he is he’s not larger, because it would be limiting.

In person, all I can say is it’s impressive.

Zoe lowered her head. Following the motion, I watched a couple of inches of Andrew’s cock disappear. At the last moment, I note that the head of his penis is markedly lighter than the rest of his skin. I’ve never heard that before. This was something new I was seeing with my own eyes, something I now knew about Andrew’s cock and it seemed more intimate than I was expecting.

Gabe cleared his throat. “Zoe, you are way too pretty to be that good at sucking cock. If I were your boyfriend, I wouldn’t last more than ten seconds looking at your eyes while you sucking my dick.”

Andrew laughed. “Look at how pretty these sunflowers are!” He gathered up Zoe’s hair to hold it up above her shoulders. “This is a fucking fantastic tattoo.” Zoe started moving her head up and down, pulling the end of Andrew’s cock across her lips. She then held her mouth over just the last inch of his cock, and ran her fist up and down his shaft, spreading her saliva. Andrew shuddered.

Gabe picked up the conversation. "Honestly, I hope people tell her how fucking hot her back when she’s leaning over, giving head. When someone is in shape and the muscle of their back are defined, you can see the muscles move as she moves, that is an underrated part of what makes someone sexy” Gabe has remained leaned back on the loveseat he had been sitting on since Zoe arrived, his arms spread wide over the back of the refined grey upholstery. The nonchalance seemed studied. Gabe wasn’t as surprised at this as I was. Have they done this before? Was his role as “the watcher” pre defined?

“Zoe must love going down on you, Andrew, because no one is that good at something without truly enjoying it” Zoe, hummed her agreement and then lifted her head up to laugh for a second, then immediately dove back down on Andrew’s shaft.

I’m not sure how time passed for the next little bit. I watched Gabe watching Zoe and Andrew. I watched Andrew contentedly tracing figure eights on Zoe’s back and neck while occasionally repositioning her hair. Zoe either looked down or had her eyes closed.

Then Andrew stood up, peeling off his shirt, revealing that famously muscular chest, the well-documented, defined shoulders, that often remarked upon soft brown mole ointment, and the expanse of skin between is ribs and abs. He dropped his shorts- revealing large muscular thighs that were seen more rarely in photoshoots, and a pert, round ass that even fewer people saw.

Zoe had impressively remained on the couch, holding herself up with one arm and her other hand, stroking him into her mouth consistently. With the reposition, Zoe’s flushed face was easier to appreciate. Her muscles were excited- her legs seemed tense, her hips were rocking against the couch. But her face was relaxed, did she finally have what she wanted?

“God, she’s really beautiful.” I said. Or I think I said that. In all honesty, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was just trying to process what was going on. I’ve watched sex before, either for a story, cruising through kink meet-ups, or interviewing performers on background. And (hopefully this isn’t shocking to many new readers) I’m bi, so being turned on by a woman is nothing new. But Zoe is too young and way too cis for my personal romantic tastes. She’s the type of pretty girl that reminds a woman of too many bad memories of ‘experimenting’ gals who flake after two dates. But watching her pull a penis out of her mouth, watching her use this erect cock to rub a shiney stripe of her own saliva across her checks, watching a wide, hesitant then conspiratorial grin spread across her face… it was performative but also intimate in a way I hadn’t experienced before. And I couldn’t ignore how it was making me feel.

“Is this what you were imagining?” asked Andrew.

Zoe nodded. “And more!”

Andrew grabbed Zoe’s hair and held her head close to his hip, then started slowly backing up along the front of the sofa. To reposition, Zoe was compelled to bring her legs on the couch and walk on hands and knees, bringing her own hips into the air. Andrew leaned forward, reached under Zoe and pulled on something on the waist of her dark linen pants. The waistband slackened and he used two hands to guide it over her round ass revealing a black lace thong. From my perspective, all I could see was the back string move slightly to one side, and Andrew’s left hand run down behind that ass of hers. I return my gaze to Zoe’s face, partially obscured as she returned to doing something with that dick. But I could see the reaction regardless, she shuddered, exhaled and started moving her head back and forth more eagerly.

Andrew released a groan that transitioned into an excited yelp. “My god, Zoe, you feel amazing! I can’t believe someone could feel this good!”

Andrew leaned forward, I’m guessing to push on Zoe’s clit or to push his fingers inside her. Either way she stopped sucking a second to catch her breath, moving her hands to hold onto Andrew’s hip and ass.

“I love how wet you are, how hot you are, fuck I can’t believe how good it is just to have you lips coating the sides of my fingers…” Andrew’s arm started moving more rhythmically. Zoe moved to return to sucking on his lance, but only got as far lightly surrounding his extended shaft with her fingers before she stopped to gasp again. Then moan. I heard Gabe repositioning, but to be honest I didn’t look.

Andrew dove deeper with his hand and then moved his arm back and forth more slowly for several seconds. Andrew was tall enough to lean over her back, reach behind her ass and extend his hand inside his partner and without straining. I could see the appeal.

The fellatio temporarily abandoned, Andrew decided to reposition, finally lower that lace thong, pulled his hand back in front of him and pulled Zoe up to his face and place a single light kiss on her lips. He gathered up her hair with the right hand that had been guiding her head, and the pulled his left hand up to his lips, and placed the two, glistening wet fingers on his left hand into his open mouth, tasting the cum she left behind. He then held his fingers in front of Zoe’s lips, leaned forward slightly and whispered something into her left ear while she sucked and licked the mixture of his saliva and her own cum from his hand. She nodded eagerly to the secret questions and commands that were tickling the far side of her neck and face.

Andrew re-positioned again, his right hand held high to continue corraling Zoe’s hair while allowing him to rotate around her. She remained kneeling on the couch, torso up and arched back, taking in air with long, heavy breaths like a sprinter preparing to take her mark at the starting line. Andrew leaned over looking in his pants or the nightstand… honestly don’t remember where. Him, naked; his rigid manhood, stranding straight out in-front of him; Zoe’s tanned ass, framed by her dark pants at her knees and white shirt above; I knew what was happening next.

“Have you ever put on a show like this before?” That was an excited, lurid and deeper voice, not me, Gabe asked that question.

“I hooked up once… with…he has a garden apartment, there was a condo next door that was under construction, I guess, I didn’t realize how easy it was to see in during the day until these guys on the second floor started, like cheering, like I could hear clapping when we finished” Zoe laughed and looked up “and on vacation, I mean, it was spring break and we were fucking on this secluded part of a beach one night. Only later did I realize that, basically it was a full moon and super easy to see us.”

“And you also realized you didn’t care?” Asked Gabe.

“It turned me on, yeah…?” it wasn’t a question, Zoe was running her right hand up and down the sides of her body.

“Knowing you’re hot? Knowing everyone enjoyed watching you strip off your clothes, everyone got turned on watching you?”

Andrew was now right behind her. He pushed her hips to the side so that her ass pointed out to the room and she turned to face the back of the couch and the window. There are many advantages to being confident enough to fuck in broad day light, in a high rise with copious sunlight pouring in through massive windows. One advantage I noticed that afternoon? The first time I saw Zoe’s pussy… first time seeing her swollen, hot lips relaxed and eager between the half moons of her ass… I could literally see a glimmer as the wetness caught a reflection of the sun. Even being a bi woman, it wasn’t often I could see how soaked a girl was from across the room. It was FUN, seeing someone live out a fantasy. I had forgotten Andrew was still holding her hair up in the air until now, when Andrew pulled his right hand back, the tension returning to Zoe’s hair, and she arched back again to bring the nape of her neck close to his chin.

“That thrill from stripping is one thing.” Andrew started with a hushed commanding tone the seemed to make time stop, “Do you want the thrill of showing off how hot you are getting absolutely fucking railed?”.

Quietly, Zoe nodded. “Yes please,” she replied. It was difficult to see directly from my seat, but given how still Zoe was, it was clear the tip of Andrew’s head was resting against the waiting valley of Zoe’s pussy.

With almost invisible movement, over the next five seconds, Andrew steadily slid the majority of his cock into Zoe; Zoe responding with a crescendo of silent gasps. Andrew paused with an almost silent low growl of a ‘hmmm’ and pulled out. Andrew then plunged the entire length into her yielding lips with a more deliberate pace, but still gently. He paused there again. “Oh my god keep going,” Zoe yelped.

Reader, I have a lot of notes up to this point because I was trying to distract myself. I knew I wanted to watch, I knew Zoe and Andrew had talked about me being there via text, Zoe didn’t seem caught by surprise. But it felt transgressive, watching a stranger hook up, and getting turned on by it. And once it was actually happening, I couldn’t pretend it was ‘just part of the story.’ I placed my pen down, and enjoyed watching this young, beautiful and confident pair of strangers have sex.

Andrew was rocking back and forth, gliding in and out, with a rising and falling pace. He rested his right hand on Zoe’s shoulder, hair still collected with his fist but allowing her all the freedom over movement. His left hand ran all over her back and ass, grasping muscles, tracing over sensitive curves. These sensuous movements occasionally interrupted with slaps against her ass, the outside sides of her thighs.

Gabe occasionally commented on how hot this was. He stayed planted on his loveseat, however. He was trying to not obviously touch himself, and it was clear a threesome wasn’t on the menu for anyone.

I got distracted by watching the machinery of Andrew’s ass and thighs flexing together to produce the variety of thrusts that were making Zoe moan. Andrew truly did seem to just enjoy fucking. Despite the audience, he focused on Zoe. Despite his career where he performed in front of millions, he wasn’t preening or feeding off the ego gratification provided by me and Gabe watching. He just used the animal-like strength of his legs and back to fill Zoe with a regular, unfailing rhythm.

Andrew had raised a leg onto the couch to lean forward slightly, and dropped his left hand under Zoe and in between her legs. Guessing from her reaction, he almost instantly found her clit. Over the next half minute, his arm shook with a variety of patterns and rates until finding a stroke that seemed to hit Zoe’s breathing the way he wanted. The thrust of his hips became tighter, his cock staying deeper longer, until Zoe tensed her entire body, dug her fingers into the back of the couch, and held her breath. Andrew froze, his hips pushed fully against her ass, and increased the intensity of his fingers against her clit. Zoe came. She came with a loud high moan and the complete absence of embarrassment one might expect of a woman who enjoyed fucking in front of two strangers.

Andrew and Zoe were talking, checking in maybe? But once again I was distracted. I could see two trails on the inside of her thigh, trails from heavy drops of something that had run down from the top of her groin. Was it his sweat? Her sweat? Was she a girl who came with a gush?

Then I noted the black thong that remained twisted and pulled towards her knees, just above the bunched up pair of pants that she still hadn’t taken off. In the sudden pause of movement, I spied it was the black lace thong you could buy in a five pack from Victoria’s Secret. The thong that was a miracle combination of sexy and disposable. Cheap and slutty. Nothing special but… because of that… it always held a special place in my heart.

How many times had I put on that same black Victoria’s Secret thong - in a different time of my life… before work… before a first date… before going to hip expensive bars with friends. I often imagined that thong as the official underwear of ‘I’m not planning on getting fucked, but wouldn’t be opposed to it if something came along.’ I felt sexy if a new guy saw me in that thong, but also didn’t mind if I lost it somewhere… underneath his bed? In between my couch cushions? Didn’t matter.

It seemed so perfect to see that black lace Victoria’s Secret thong sluttily pulled down to allow for hasty fucking going on in-front of me. How much money did people spend on leather cuffs and nylon ropes to feel a fraction of the naughty and tawdry feeling of that pulled down thong? Bent over, struggling to spread your legs so some guy can fuck you from behind? Restrained by the tangled roll of that lace thong, twist of fabric pressing a red groove into the flesh of your lower thigh? That is some real whore shit right there. I smiled. I wondered if it would be possible for me and Zoe to be friends. I laughed at the silliness of this imaginary connection. My reverie and chuckle were completely missed by everyone else in the room.

The couple had paused so that they could finish rolling her pants off and tossing them (and the thong) to the side. During the reposition I could see the wrapper of Andrew’s condom on the end table, and then committed the brand name to memory just in case I’m ever truly desperate for a cocktail party story. Warmed up by her orgasm, once returning to business, Zoe was encouraged continued vigorous railing from Andrew, leaning back into his hips as he slammed into her ass. Her body arched back and his hands over her chest, Andrew seemed to just now remember that her top was still on. This realization led to him pulling the tie on the back and Zoe’s lifting her shirt off over her head. Gabe commented on her perfect nipples. Andrew pulled Zoe’s hair back further and rolled his fingers around those dark points with slight pinch. Thirty seconds passed. Or 7 minutes passed. I don’t know. Zoe was cumming again.

Zoe was soon riding Andrew. Sitting opposite the coach Andrew was leaned back against, I appreciated the beauty of his hard cock pressing apart the lips of her cute pussy. The chevron made by the base of her slit looked perfect. The wink of her ass right above seemed to be begging for a finger. When Andrew introduced his index finger into that cute little star I was a little disappointed that it slowed Zoe down in her bouncing ride of Andrew’s pole. But as he pressed deeper, she put more weight into her rocking motion against his body. Zoe was cumming again.

It was fun to watch Andrew throw Zoe around. Again, I could see the appeal of sex with a tall, famously athletic man. But it was also fun watching Andrew hold Zoe down on the couch, raise his upper body up so he could gaze on her bouncing tits as he thrust into her. “I actually don’t think you know how beautiful you are,” he said. Gabe was silent. “I don’t think I could even appreciate how fun it is watching you, while inside you, I would just keep getting distracted by your ass, by your smile, by your tits.” Zoe’s eyes were wide gazing up and down Andrew’s body as he rocked in and out of her.

“And if I got distracted, I don’t think I could keep control…” He was thrusting more quickly. Sweat dropped off his nose onto her flushed, naked chest. Zoe gripped onto the granite pillars that were his arms. She squeezed his hips with her thighs. She tensed her muscles like she was trying to keep him from moving, but her effort was powerless to slow down the rhythm. She licked her lips and glanced down at his cock that was plunging into her with greater and greater energy. She reached and spread her fingers down over her labia, feeling with the sides of those fingers the hardness of his shaft and inspiring a shuddering gasp from Andrew. She curled up her fingers. Zoe was cumming again.

Andrew was now shaking, rapidly pulling out before the muscle spasms reached the base of the cock, removing the wet condom with a single stroke, and running a line of his cum across her chest, landing on the notch at the base of her neck. As he finished, a cluster of small pools of cum built up on her stomach.

“Are you going to clean up like a good girl?”

Zoe nodded, pulled her hand up from the warm mound between her legs, ran it across the cooling collection of cum around her belly button, and scooped up the semen and plopped the cum laden fingers into her mouth, humming, grinning.

“HOLY FUCK,” Gabe said. I had forgotten Gabe was there.

Andrew pulled out a plush white washcloth from a tiny drawer at the top of the end table. (I wonder how many washcloths are stashed around the apartment? I really admire the work that goes into being a slut.) Gabe, Zoe and Andrew quietly relish the moment for a few seconds before Andrew finished cleaning her off and guiding her to the shower. 15 minutes later, I hear the post-coital couple chatting from his bed.

“Let’s give them some privacy.” Gabe says, without a hint of irony. “I’m guessing a lot of this is brand new to her, and I’d expect her to benefit from a moment of security, you know, a little reassurance after the rush is gone.”

I’m shocked that some finance bro just man-splained ‘aftercare’ to me, a journalist who’s reported on kink and sex for a decade by this point. But I’m also astonished that I didn’t pick up on the vibe before Gabe said anything. We went down to the street and into a bar, the type of bar where Andrew couldn’t spend 10 seconds before getting recognized by half the patrons. But me and Gabe were anonymous. I then spent forty-five minutes asking Gabe 300 questions.

But Gabe can’t answer the question I want answered. That question I don’t ask. The question at the foundation of this story. If I duck into the ladies room, lock the door to furthest stall, plunge my hand into the slippery mess that lies between my thighs, and immediately rub out that orgasm that is waiting for me at the end of my will power… if I do that… can I still write about Andrew as an ‘objective witness.’ Or will I feel like I’m just cashing a check for being the dirty, voyeuristic, pervy little slut that I feel like I am right now?

Gabe answers the questions I do ask. As I finish and say polite goodbyes, he spent several, long seconds looking me directly in my eyes and then looking away. I knew in that exact moment, if he asked me if I wanted to find someplace private, lift up my skirt and fuck, I would say yes. I think he knew that too.

“I’m excited to read your story. Sometimes I think Andrew’s life is better left up to the imagination, but also I’m curious how other people see it.” Gabe stood up, pushed his stool and grasped my hand in something only slightly more intimate than a hand shake. “If you need more background, or fact checking, you got my number.” He smiled and walked out to his next appointment. He still had appointments, this bar hadn’t even started its dinner rush, this evening Andrew had several other events that I’d need to cover for the article.

I placed my hands on my hips and squeezed. I squeezed with all the strength in my forearms, I imagined crushing lemons in my hands. I wondered if I’d see bruises later. And then I relaxed my forearms. Then relaxed my shoulders. Then I stood up.

We all had work to do.