cold ass ice

Step outside and it feels as if you’ve entered a hot, wet oven. You’re the pat of butter on the baked potato that is Gotham. It’s hot, hot, hot heat, wet and hot, and it cleaves to you, sweat-pressing your skin and enervating you with its doughy-moist succubus embrace.

You need to go somewhere the sun don’t shine. You need to find your place in the shade. You need to embrace your inner arctic. You need to stick an ice cube up your ass.

Maybe you try it on your own the first time. Maybe you go out and you buy a bag of ice because the cubes in your fridge just seem like you’d be shoving a square peg in a round hole, which you would. So you go out to the delis and the bodegas, the grocery stores and the mini-marts, you search high and low for those cubes shaped more like a child’s cartoon smile than a shoe box. You find a bag, you plunk down the outrageous $2.50, and gleefully you bring them home.

You stow the bag carefully in your freezer and you survey your bathtub. You consider the switch-twitch at the knot between your labia and then you consider the ring on your tub. You are suspended, momentarily, between desire and laziness, between disgust and yowling erotic need.

You clean the tub.

You stop and you admire its creamed-butter sparkle, and then you go to the freezer and you open the bag of ice. You pick out a singular, perfect, crystal-smile cube. You put it, a quick cold moment, in your mouth. You exhale and imagine you can see your breath in the freezer’s polar air. You take the ice cube to the tub.

You realize you still have your clothes on, so you put the cube in a cup, store it in the freezer, go to your bedroom, take off your clothes and tip-toe back to the bathroom. You don’t know why you tip-toe, there’s no one home, no one but pets to disturb, and they’ve born witness to so many of your indulgent perversions that they’re not even curious. But tip-toe you do.

Undressed, you get the cup out of the freezer. You add a second cube, just in case.

You go to the bathtub. You squat ungracefully and you recline clumsily. You extend your legs up the wall, so that the faucet sits between your splayed thighs, like the face of a grotesque lover. You consider for a moment running the tap with that gentle flickering stream that when you place your pussy exactly below its cascading fall, you come in a few wet minutes, your hips undulating a silent liquid adulation to your Neptune lover.

You consider it, but you don’t do it. Not yet.

You take a cube, you rest it against your asshole and you feel the immediate pucker of the asskiss, that quick inward convulsion, that wrinkle-crinkle in and up. And then with a deep breath, surely, remorselessly, unmercifully you use your index and middle fingers to push the ice cube into your ass.

The shock of the ice. Silver sliver ice-nine-esque core radiating. Like the plunge into a mountain stream from the inside. A swift round shot of pleasure/pain/pleasure.

Your breath inhales ragged-like. You imagine it’s not unlike the sensation of crack, only pure body.

You lie there in the tub, the ice melting in you, your breath quieting its rush-rush pants. You can almost see the cube rounding and erasing, turning into a little puddle of water, you can almost see it and you can feel the pain easing into a pure goodness.

You find that your hand moves between your legs, and you rub your hard little knot of a clit, your legs up the wall, the ice melting in your ass, you rub and you rub, and you imagine your lover watching you, maybe with his friends, all of them crowding in at you in the bathroom, perched on the sink and on the toilet, peering down with you with encouraging eyes, commenting favorably and as you imagine, and as you see the ice melting, and as your hand rubs your little hard knot, as the heat bears down on this glass city, wrapping it in still-born siroccos, as your heels scooch uncontrollably down the vanilla cream tiles of your shower, you come.

Or perhaps you just get on your hands and knees before your lover, hand him the cube and tell him, Stick it where the sun don’t shine. And turned away from him, you smile secret as he does so.

Comments

[Gillette]

Sooooo....I live in 110+ weather and hate the fucking heat...but somehow...after reading this.......... I see is anew. Thanks for a whole new perspective and way to see how the heat is my friend.

[ella]

This may be one of the most hysterical lines ever written:

"You consider the switch-twitch at the knot between your labia and then you consider the ring on your tub. You are suspended, momentarily, between desire and laziness, between disgust and yowling erotic need.

You clean the tub."

So funny, such a wonderful post.

Thank you again!

[Traboyk]

"You clean the tub." Sex is more mental. The idea of a dirty tub doesn't recoil me like the coldness of sticking ice up my ass. Then again, being a guy a year removed from college, the idea of a less-than-ideal bathroom doesn't make my nerves shutter.

Having said that, that would be a hot show...especially with that thick rump of yours. Probably the sexiest thing about global warming.

[Ergane]

Brilliant.

[Jean Marie]

Exquisite story! I shivered right along with you, then got a brainstorm. Sitting in my freezer right now are two peeled bananas. One has chocolate sauce and nuts springled on it on the wax paper; that one's for my mouth. The other is plain; that one is going up my bottom. The former was a childhood treat; your story inspired the adult X-rated treat. Gives new meaning to "melt-in-your-mouth-goodness." Maybe I'll wait for the double-penetration until just before 6 pm, when my boyfriend gets home from work. Think that he'll lick frozen banana cream from my crack for me?
Jean Marie

[The Minstrel Boy]

oooOOO! still shivering. . .

[Paul]

I read of you and the feeder, and your exercise obsession, and I'll tell you two things.

The first is that all women, no matter how lean, how beautiful, have body image issues. I've lost track of the number of gorgeous women who, on first touch, who apologize for their belly or their thighs or some other imagined imperfection of weight. Women who gazelles would envy say this, it never fails to amaze me.

And I will say to you what I have said to them, which is simply - women are supposed to be soft.

Which is not an offer or come-on, just an invitation to be soft with yourself too.

[Sabine]

Can barely remember being so warm. From where I am lying, I'm thinking now of tailor-ending a frankfurt. Its been so cold I often finding myself begging my partner to blow a little hot air up my skirt as we're walking at night.

but come summer, I'll be remeembering that ice cube.

[Richard]

WOW!! I just found your blog and its great, mind blowing!!

You should add some more photos of yourself too.

I am going to read the archives now!!

[chelsea girl]

Cool, babies...

I'm happy you all enjoyed the post. Nothing like a little bit of physical experimentation. My body is my Everest. Or at least my Mount Washington.

Kissykiss,
chelsea girl

[Hip Swingster]

Holy Shit. Wow. That was very hot (as well as cold).

[Richard]

Hi!!

Another reply, i just tried it in the shower, one cube then another. My shaft rising in to falling water for extra fun!! Nothing like the feeling of cold water running down the inside of your warm thigh!!

But what about the water thats left up there!!

[zug]

Goddammit what the hell

Using ice-nine to describe a cold sensation? The whole point of ice-nine was that it froze at warm temperatures! This flagrant perversion of literary reference is just SICK.

[sexcakes]

just gorgeous

you've inspired a little bit of us :)