I forget the name of this hotel, I think it may be the Hilton, it’s up on 6th Avenue in the low 50’s. Every time I pass it I think of this column, “Hot Sex With a Porn Director” (one of the bonuses of having written a sex column is being able to call up memories like this in such precise detail):
I was so turned on I could barely stand. Thankfully, DCypher was right there and I flung myself at him. He kissed me, his tongue ring surprisingly gentle. He was all over me, and I liked it. It’s hard to feel naughty at a porn party, but somehow I managed, letting his hands roam up my skirt as I wondered if he’d dare slip them into my panties. I closed my eyes, pulling his arms around me, then bucked back against him and sucked on his fingers, no longer caring who might be watching.
Soon enough, we were in a cab to his hotel, pawing each other the whole ride. While Justine went off with a female playmate, we finished what we’d started at the party across their big, warm bed. The sex was rough, intense, and powerful, the kind that may be routine for him but made me convulse—and squirt. I was overwhelmed. I asked, “What are you doing to me?”
“Fucking you the way you should be fucked,” he said truthfully. Our frantic, fast-paced passion made me feel more sexually alive than I had in a long time. I was so comfortable that it felt we’d been together before. Afterward, he confessed that he’d done some porn acting too, so I actually had fucked a porn star, not just a director. …
To DCypher—thank you for making me blush, making me come, and making me feel like your very own personal hooker. I felt like a filthy whore, in the sexiest possible way, as you came all over my chest, and especially as I walked out of the hotel and onto the subway in my miniskirt at 2 o’clock in the morning.