think a thought

I’m settled and comfortable under bedcovers at night and I’m thinking of T’s girl in the photo, my talk with my friend about it, and that brief tangent with Flirt about me needing to experiment with girls.

I’m 15 again, blooming late as always, lying cosy in my childhood bed at night. No one’s bothered to buy me a new bed, my heels are always hitting against the bedpost, a bedpost covered with faded scratch-and-sniff stickers that predate the first grade.

An article in a girly teen magazine. ‘Dear Abby, I sometimes fantasize about girls when I masturbate. Does that make me a lesbian?’

I don’t know what it ‘makes’ her, but I wonder if I should try and do the same too.

The rules are simple, have always been simple: if you have a thought, think it. If another person’s thoughts hit you, try them on for size too.

Take position. Place that pillow between my legs. Rub clumsily. I’m kissing a girl. Rub. On her mouth. Rub. Her boobs touch me. Rub. My hands between her legs..somewhere. Rub. Between my legs. Rub. Rub rub rub. I’ve cum.

Faster than ever before.

That was new.

What does that make me? I forgot to ask.

But seven years later, the novelty hasn’t worn off. Women are still new. I have yet to try them.

I like men. They kill me, in fact. I love a man with hands that can work things, a presence that can work a crowd, but is content to lay back and watch too. A man with a one-hand-in-my-pocket smile, a heart that cannot help caring, a swaggering, gentle charm, a machismo that is quirky. A man’s who’s got a theory on everything, a clarity of view, arms that can love me or crush me, a mind that can wander and find new spots. I like a man who looks like he wants to take on the world, and then goes ahead and does. Or at least tries.

I love a man’s body, always a shock, always awkward at my first glance, but then focusing into sharp lines of exciting muscles, broad and embracing, graceful in motion, designed for strength. His sexuality on the loose, ready to fly, flaunted, inverse to mine.

I love a man’s cock. I didn’t always used to but I do now. Hard, burning, wanting, taking, giving cock. Knobs and protrusions. Swinging sacs waiting in excess below, patient, wanting to be cupped. Erection of delicate, thin, soft skin pulsing hard with pounding blood inside. And don’t get me started on that scrumptiously organic meeting of cock and cunt, made for each other, simultaneously giving and taking pleasure in the same action, no, this I cannot begin on, this I cannot replace.

A man talks to me and I am intrigued. I want to figure out. I feel the instant possibility of play. And it doesn’t have to happen, doesn’t matter if it doesn’t, but there are, dancing in the distant background, popping questions of promise too: is he here, is he the one to carry with me in this life, accompany me through? Seed for my seed? Life for after I die too?

What does that make me?

I like women. They endear themselves to me. There are ones that stand out so much they blow my mind. They stand out with a smile, a talent, a thought, an attitude. I want to be it all. I want to be the girl, do the girl, be the girl I saw step down from the bus with a backpack on her back, flashing black-lace eyes. And beyond that, far beyond that, there are women flying planes, designing new drugs, painting pictures, writing books. There’s a woman breaking through in some form. Who’s got a voice, a brain, a heart to die for. A woman who just gets it. Who leaves you guessing. Who knows how to hold out a hand. Who balances all of this, this joy, this empathy, this bleeding, this pain, this haunting intuition, this turmoil of conflicting wants and needs and thoughts and emotions, and emerges triumphant.

I like it when a woman makes anything look easy. It gives me direct hope (more so than when a man does). And yes, I get urges to be with the women who give me hope.

I love my body, and so I love every woman’s body. I have more words to talk about one because I see one every day. I like the round appeal of breasts, the pinching before the hips at the waist, the soft skin, the hard hip bone, the warm stomach, the line at the back leading to the curve of ass, shapely legs, collarbone, sleek neck, shiny hair, inviting lips. Maybe it is vain, but I find it all beautiful.

I like my cunt too, though I haven’t demystified it as much as I’d like to quite yet. But I’ve watched it and I like how it looks when it begins to open, the deepening of color, how it can become slippery with secretions and just beg to be filled.

I’d like to touch these things on someone else some day. It’s been said before, but I want these all to meet like at a faulty mirror, different but the same.

I’ve had a lot of dreams about women since that article-induced first time in my confining juvenile bed. Usually they are the ones touching me. They are the ones sucking on my nipples, inserting fingers and objects into my cunt. It never really seems to be about orgasms. Though I cum easily just to think of it. Sometimes I touch the women too, make them feel good too, have them suck on my fingers and then place them at their clit. In only one dream, and I remember it very vividly, a woman, older than me, licked my pussy to orgasm. And then she positioned herself backwards above my mouth, placed her pussy right above my face. I saw it very clearly, every detail of her cunt, the lips, the smell, a trace of hair, her clit throbbing. It was the only time I ever remember seeing that in a dream. I must have sucked on her till she came too because I woke up with her taste strange in my mouth.

I’m not sure what I would do if I were faced with such a cunt hovering above me in real life.

A woman talks to me in real life and I’m not thinking of sex. I want her to make it, because I want to make it too, and I see herself in me. We talk and I am there to support and laugh and understand.

I’m not comfortable mock-humping a girl friend while dancing at a club like I’ve seen so many straight girls do. I know it’s just for fun, but I don’t feel settled enough in my sexuality to do it. I become conscious of my secret desire, I don’t want to exhibit it just to tantalize others. I feel too serious about wanting to be with a woman still. I am a little too serious like that about everything. I don’t rub up against men I don’t want either, why would I do it with a woman I’m not thinking of that way? And if I really and truly am thinking of her that way, doesn’t she have the right to know?

Then again, I’ve never really had a crush on a close female friend. I may have indulged in a fantasy or two, but it’s never been so strong as to affect me the next time I encounter her. Mostly I’ve wanted archetypes, celebrities, strangers off the street.

I don’t think I’d want a solid relationship with a woman either, although frustrating times when I felt like I was senselessly knocking my head against X’s have sometimes made me wish I did.

My want, my curiosity isn’t quite burning, not yet.

But my god there’s something magnetically gorgeous in every woman that I cannot ignore. It would be so exciting to experience that in another firsthand some day.

What does that make me?

The truth is too I want to fuck in every way possible.

I want to be the sharp heel in your back. I want to be tied and left to your whim. I want to play with pain and pleasure.

Let me dress up pretty in lace and stockings. Strip me stark, down to my bones. Bring in the world. Let there be only you. Let’s do it earthy and dirty, let’s do it classy and sleek. Let’s be real, let’s pretend. Let’s just fuck.

These will come, these will all come. I will do nothing in the mean time. But if I wait, it will come, everyone cums, it is just a matter of right time, right place.

What does that make me?

I want to know everything. See the world, try it all. I want to be a resounding success at something. I don’t want to hurt anything, but other than that, I want to be able to stop at nothing.

What does that make me?

I want to get married and have a boy and a girl, work my ass off for them, retire, die and go to heaven. Or hell. Or become earth under stomping feet. Or return as a tropical bird. Or as a sentence coming out of someone else’s mouth. Return in that thought of someone else who was just like who I used to be, who’s done something from the everything I used to.

Dear Abby, I want to do all this. I can feel this all, and I will do this all. What does that make me? Do I even care?

I’m lying in bed and I’m thinking of all these things, and then I’m back to thinking of me and T and the girl in the picture.

How would T feel about a threesome? I know he’s said he’s not crazy about bisexual women, not in the way that it’s become trite to depict all men to be.

But maybe he would do it. Maybe he’d be interested. Maybe I’d suggest it. Maybe he’d suggest it to me.

I’m touching my clit.

I’m thinking of the girl, how I would meet her. Would it be better to meet her clothed somewhere else beforehand? Or should the first encounter just be us naked in T’s bedroom?

Maybe down to her underwear in T’s bedroom. Us both down to our bra and panties in his bedroom. Have T bring me in like that, introduce me to her like that.

How would it start? Oh god, my fingers, how would it start?

The start, the beginning, it always ruins me, I can never go much further than that. There is still enough only in that thought to take me there.

How would it start? Could we start with a kiss? Could I lean over and place my lips on another girl’s lips like I did in my first fantasy? Could I place my arms shyly around her and kiss like that? How would she feel, how would she taste? How would she touch? Would T watch at first? Could I lie side by side with the girl, have T fuck me from behind as I played with the girl, pleasured her, placed my finger on her clit, slipped another one inside, as she stroked at my breasts, T’s cock in and out of me still?

It is just a couple of minutes, just a quick blurred series of possibilities, but it is too late, I shudder and I cum.


I won’t immediately recall this moment later on. But this torrent of thoughts leading to a sleepy nighttime cum would foreshadow a conversation I would later have with T, the possibility of a change for him and me.

exes, girls and sincerity

I’m posting this part of my weekend encounter with X, because it is relevant to something that’s happening in my life with T right now. This blog is after all ultimately about T and me, not my past with X. Still, I’ll probably post the rest of this long, long story some other time.

The guy sitting next to me, I’ve met him only once before but he is a complete flirt. He asks me why I’m so quiet. I’ve had a drink or two. I whisper that the guy sitting behind him is my ex, and that this is the first time seeing each other since we broke up. He looks amused.

‘Which one?’
I point him out discreetly.
‘And the girl with him?’
I laugh.
‘That’s a good question’
‘Oh I see’
‘Do you now?’
‘I didn’t think he’d be your type. You can do better than that’

I just shake my head at him. I cannot escape how cliché this all is.

‘Let’s talk numbers.. how many months?’
‘Together or apart?’
‘Apart’
‘2 months’
‘That’s fairly recent… and together?’
‘Two years’
‘Pretty long… How’re you feeling now?’
‘I’ve been better’
‘I understand’
‘Well he was my first relationship’
‘First and so far, last.. interesting…’
‘Think of your first relationship.. how did you feel?’
‘Actually hmm…it was with a Romanian girl in Denmark. I think it lasted a week’
‘Never mind’


We hush up as X and girl approach us, asking if we want to go play pool with them. I tell them we’ll join them after Flirt here finishes his dinner. I don’t actually call him that, of course… You know what I mean.

We resume talk. Flirt takes his time with his food, he is asking a lot of questions and I don’t seem to mind. I want to be asked, it is better than this sitting around and not talking about it.

We start to talk about relationships. We turn to religion for a bit and the veer back on to relationships again. We discuss why it ended. It is good to be reminded why we broke up. He suggests that it is all for the best. I’m finding this whole conversation too funny.

‘See you had your good times together.. You’re what? 22? You’ve got like 3-4 years.. Go out, experiment, have some fun….. You gotta jump right back into it too, you can’t sit around and wait’

He’s hilarious.

‘I think I’ve got it covered already, thanks…’

He’s got a grin on his face.

‘Something you might want to consider too, if you’re going to experiment: girls’

It’s funny that he should say that after the 'kinda' moment I had in my conversation with T the day before. I roll my eyes though because he says it in your typical macho ‘I get off on this’ kind of way.

‘Well, you can ask my ex about that, I’ve never had any problems with girls’

I regret saying it. I don’t want my honest desire turned into some tool to impress his imagination, especially when I barely know him and he is so… common about it too. I move on quickly to another question before he can ask more:

‘What happens after 26 by the way?’

‘Well, you can’t be sexually promiscuous after 26.. it’s just too hard… look at me, I’m hitting 26, and I’m definitely starting to slow down ’

‘Oh come on, I can’t even compare to you, I know about you…’

Yes I’ve heard of him. He is a bit of a man-whore. The understanding, delicate, soothing type. Almost effeminate but strangely confident. He is not attractive but he is commanding. He loves women dearly, feels a universal affection for all of them. He treats them well. He pretends to care when he listens. He reaches over and holds your wrist for a second as he talks to demonstrate a point. He tries girl after girl, sometimes at the same time, and then classifies them into groups. He is around for as long as you can stand him. Or until he grows tired of you. Whichever comes first.

I cannot help but think of T, and realize what a difference his sincerity makes.

he did WHAT?

Later on I bring it up to my best friend, how T showed me the picture of a girl he was thinking of meeting. She thinks that I am crazy. She’s thought I’m crazy from the start for doing this with T, though she’s tried to support my need to try. She wants to know how I can stand to discuss other girls with him. Especially after we’ve just had sex. She says it would drive her nuts. She says she doesn’t care what I say: it’s just not normal. She makes maybe a valid point.

But I don’t know if she can understand that yes, it’s weird but also not as weird as it could be. That I walked in knowing all of this, and that within that context, nothing is wrong. That I in fact prefer for him to be that way, rather than hide. That I feel open enough to do this. That that one flicker of jealousy is currently the extent of my struggle to deal with this novelty. That it’s normal to feel like that, but also how it doesn’t bother me deep down, I don’t really feel the need to compare, not with him.

I’ve seen my friend get hurt by men. I’ve seen them lure her in with false pretences, acting like they wanted one thing, when they really wanted another. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I want to try things this way instead. I hope in the very least that it will save me that kind of pain. And sure, a part of me will always want it, but I don’t feel like I need to ask for everything from one person right now.

It makes me realize though that this is really the first time that I’m actually doing something that most would deem unconventional. And it is not something easily discussed with even your closest. She says that as long as I am happy it’s fine. She cannot understand for herself but she can only accept for me. I sense this with her when we hit certain issues, especially when it comes to sexuality. It makes me feel nervous, it makes it clear that I am getting ready to embark down paths only I can navigate myself through.

I haven’t even brought up the ‘you’re into girls right?’ part of the conversation to her yet at all.

10 minute bonus

(..continued from 45 minutes)

Afterwards, T makes a call and manages to arrange an extra 10 minutes or so for us. Which means we have 15 minutes before I must leave.

I take a quick shower and then he goes in to take one too. When he is done, he calls me from the bathroom, asking if I want to come inside. We don’t have much time to chat so this seems like a good way to grab a little extra.

He is naked, drying himself off in the bathtub with a towel. I’m probably licking my lips. I feel regret. Some other time.

I am hyper and giggly the way I always am after sex. Relaxed and reenergized, but still a bit dazed and blank.

He does look very appealing. I am insatiable. It distracts from conversation. He has this after shower hulky freshness I want to fuck. We talk about his tan from camping and he shows me the back of his neck to show the darkest part of it. I take the opportunity to look down at the rest of his body, broad back, curve of ass perfect for my palm. I reach out to touch his fluffy hair, it is always softer than I expect it to be. It’s all wet and spiked up away from his face like I haven’t seen it before. I joke that I like this style on him. I do though. I can’t help it, I’m watching him, appraising him. His blue eyes flash at the end of his smile, and I always forget that too, that you cannot miss all that live blue when he opens it wide like that. Yes I definitely want to fuck him again.

He talks about this girl he’s met on the Internet who wants to travel quite a ways to meet him. I just listen and nod. It’s not that I mind, I’m kind of interested to know. But it is difficult to know what to say to that, difficult to even know how to look. It is new and I wonder in fact how my face looks.

He tells me she is quite hot. There is surprise, mixed with pride and excitement, maybe a little bit of reluctance to accept the responsibility, that she should want to invest so much time and money to see him, to have sex with him. I just paid a mini-fortune in cab money so I could get to him in time, so I can sort of see why she would want to do it. I don’t say that.

I go into his kitchen for a glass of water while he gets dressed. He calls to me from the other room:

‘You’re kinda into girls right? Well I mean not into- maybe but-’
‘Yes kinda’

Kinda. There’s a lot in that kinda to explore.

‘I should show you this picture I got, you might enjoy it…probably more than me in fact’

He comes in with a photo. I see a flash of a sexy girl. Again, what to say? I possibly look a bit bemused. I ask only:

‘Story?’
He laughs.
‘Nothing… just a girl I might meet’

I look closer. She is sexy. Gorgeous in fact. Asian eyes, shiny hair, lovely skin, nice body.

We discuss how hot she is. I agree with him, even show some enthusiasm, but a little part of me holds back. I feel the strangeness of the situation. I feel a flash of ugly competitive jealousy. I want to know all of a sudden, I want to be as hot as she is to him in his eyes. I notice myself feeling it, I let myself think it, and then it passes.

On my way out. he says he’s used to my quiet routine by now, but he reminds me that if I’m not going to talk about it, he better get to read some writing about it later. I laugh, he doesn’t have to ask me twice to write, I do it because I have to.

morbid morning...III.

Wish I had started these some other time, there are much, much more pressing things to talk about. Anyways, I'll just finish it up and stick it in the archives.

You stir a little, sensing maybe this growingly alert presence next to you. Her lazy, rolling agitation has been swelling per second. She hasn’t tried too hard to stomp it down, for fear that it will backfire and burst, that she will find herself just climbing on top of you and laying herself hard and close, demanding.

You turn towards her, your eyelids still in full view, and you stretch your arm out. Your hand brushes on to her hand, and you leave it there. Nonchalant and friendly. Your feel quenches her, calms her briefly. But then she hates it because she likes it too much, covets this too, this simple touch of fingers. And then it makes her want more.

She cannot help herself; she begins to stroke hesitatingly with the skin right under her nails, right at the center of your palm, maybe almost imperceptible to you. But then you turn your back again, and your hand deprived from her too with it. She watches your back for a second or two, as you drift back into your realm.

She looks to her left at the night-table, just as the neon-red crystal strokes of your alarm clock spell out another minute past. Another minute ruined by her anticipating its end.


When you finally do open your eyes, you’ll find her lying like that, staring at the ceiling, and she won’t be aware, but she’ll look so morose and lost in thought, you’ll have to ask her what’s wrong.

And she’ll say ‘nothing’, and maybe it will tell you nothing, but it is true, nothing will actually be wrong at all.

She should tell you the simplest version of her thoughts perhaps, that she’s been lying here next to you, wishing you awake. But she will feel that it sounds like a petty complaint, and that you deserve more, you were so generous the night before.

And she will see your eyes, and she will reason that you do seem quite tired anyhow.


And besides, there is more than that, more than she can pin down, more than she could ever say.

That there is this greediness to her, that she cannot be sated, that she feels inhuman, or that she wants to be, that she woke up this morning, and her day seemed already over.

wow

Holy crap.

I was trying to finish up on some writing 5 minutes ago when the phone rang.

It was T.

I have something for you to hear. Do you want to listen?

Yes.

I did not even think what it was I was saying Yes to. I just knew, yes.

He started to breathe into the phone and I knew instantly. He was hard and getting ready to cum.

I realized this and I moaned.

He continued his breathing. God I love the sound of this boy when he’s about to cum, so incredible, fighting it, wanting it, taking it, expressing it in his throat.

My hands could not move to my clit fast enough. I answered his every sound with my own as I touched myself. His voice frantic, trying to talk in between:

..five more minutes before I have to go..

…this is such a turn on… so hot..

We became louder together, he was just this panting groaning wave, I didn’t fight him one bit, I was immersed in it and I began to cum as I listened to him let loose and cum too.

I was laughing as we both tried to recover our normal breathing.

He said he just thought he would call. He thanked me for listening, I thanked him for letting me. Then we said our goodbyes and shut the phone.

I’m still shaking.

45 minutes

I'm at T's door and I'm late and now we have only 45 minutes.

When he opens the door, he waits behind it, because he is already down to his briefs and shirt to save time. I smile and then we laugh.

We hug hello and I hug him a little longer then I would, push my body against his a little harder than I would. I think I feel his cock.

Butterflies have already organized frantic river dances in my stomach at this point.

'Are you good? Are you relaxed?'

I laugh, sigh and say yes all at once.

'Look I’ll show you, I’ve even got the bedroom all ready for you'

Down his already familiar corridor to his bedroom. His bed awaits dimly, towel in the center, sheets ready.

I see it all and I laugh. I seem to be doing that a lot.

He holds me again and asks me if I'm nervous.

'A little'

He twists into a smile.

'A little?'

He suggests that he leaves the room, that I take off all my clothes, and lie down in bed, and then he can come when I'm ready.

Alone in his room, I have to keep nudging myself to be reminded that this is happening, that I am here, and I am doing this.

I did not expect it but I feel like I'm drifting away. I'm wanting but I feel strange. Fluid is draining from my mouth, my heart keeps rising suddenly.

I peel off all my clothes in a rush. I slide naked under his sheets.

I think of the difference between fantasy and reality. How I can call him naked to bed with legs spread. Or how I can wait trembling under sheets.

But I need this cover again today, it is not shame or fear, but I still need some game, some uncovering by him.

I wait. The only other context I've waited like this is in a doctor's office but I shake the thought off.

Just when I remember that I was supposed to call him, he asks if I am ready. I clear my throat and give a yes that is fainter than I'd like.

He comes in. Oh god. He comes in and I can't look at him.

He approaches. He comes closer and I avoid his eyes. I laugh a shadow of a laugh. I wish I could breathe.

He climbs on top of me, straddling my legs through the sheets. He climbs on top of me, and I moan a moan that does not match his simple action. He climbs on top of me and my mind feels like an orgasm and I know that for the rest of the time, my body will just be struggling to catch up.

'So, what would you like to do with our time?'

His hand rests right below my stomach. I can only whisper.

'I don't know'

He looks amused. I laugh again.

'You don't know?' He begins to move his hand lightly. Only the sheet between us. I swallow and close my eyes. 'We can not do this, can do something else altogether if you like'

I smile shyly and answer only by reaching over to unbutton his shirt. Men's shirt, buttons on the other side. Every button gets me closer. More than anything I crave skin, his skin, our skin touching.

He pulls back when I get to the third button. He is above me now and I could cry with relief because he is touching me. I watch his palms at the swell under the sheet where my breasts are. They squeeze lightly and push my breasts together. I sigh and sigh though it is too soon to cum.

He pulls the sheet down gingerly and exposes my breasts, brown nipples turned hard, tinges of pink at the tips. He takes in his breath the same way I do mine. I gasp when he finally places his hands on me, on my breasts. When we finally touch, I do not even try to be quiet. I really do feel like I could cum.

He is kneading the flesh of my breasts in his hands. I try to maintain control but it’s been so long.

His hands move down in between my legs. He massages the covered spot as I groan.

He pulls off the sheet all at once with much flair. I gasp a little. I laugh too because suddenly, strangely, in that moment, it feels like I’ve been exposed all along.

My body is naked before him. A slow hiss, his face almost cruel. His hand slaps down on my stomach, traps the skin there and pushes it down to my hipbone.

He takes the sheet again and bundles it lightly in between my legs. Oh.

He moves the cloth casually, it doesn’t even touch me. Maybe the folded edge of one corner does, I think it’s right below my clit, I think it’s grazed my lips. I want to feel it more. I want everything right now. I want this torture.

I try to move my body to get something to touch.

Then he places his hand finally and pushes on to me and oh. Oh my cry is almost a complaint. Oh it should not feel this good. Oh god finally.

He gives me only a little taste before he takes my hand and places it there. He tells me:

I want to watch

I don’t want him to stop. But I want him to watch too.

I slide my hand down and find my clit. It balloons into my hand at my first touch, wet, expanding faster than I can ever remember.

After even the first few circles, it is difficult to keep touching. I am moving my fingers so lightly, but I still shake with each tiny motion.

He watches. He listens. He touches. God.

His mouth is at my collarbone. His hands are on my body. I can’t go on.

He’s murmuring:

Keep going, don’t stop… keep going.

I can’t go on. I won’t stop. My fingers are barely grazing me. I can’t go on.

His face is at my stomach. His tongue, his teeth are at my stomach.

He moves down to my legs, takes an ankle and places his mouth on it, the way I’ve imagined. Kisses a little further up too.

He waits with his fingers at my cunt.

His phrases waft up to me:

……keep going…. make your opening hot and inviting for me…

He starts to explore, pushing inside.

…when you touch yourself like that… so warm and wet…

I’m writhing, I really am. I can’t touch anymore. I can’t.

He’s fingering slowly. I’m dying. I may be dead already.

…. that’s it….. so good to feel an orgasm just from you stimulating your clit….right on my fingers

My smell is sharp and heady in the air. I feel myself start to tighten around him.

…pussy clenching …

My clit feels like an explosive. I can’t touch. I want to touch. I shudder and shake and shudder.

I’ve swollen so large. I am almost numb. I have to stop. My arms flop down finally to my sides with a sigh.

He places his hard cock at my entrance. He dips in a little. I whimper.

I am overwhelmed. There is so much more to experience. I can hardly keep track.

He enters me all at once and a grunt erupts from me. My insides have been trying to slough off old blood and there is this rawness to me. His every move has sharper twisting edges, pain taunting pleasure, alive, real, I feel it all more, I grab his back and goad him on, I feel perverse, I ask for this too yes, I dance free with these animal grunts, I feel like I am disappearing.

The pain recedes as fast as it appears; I quickly turn smooth again, just rolling pleasure again. He continues to move so my grunts turn to cries, getting more and more frenzied.

We have to take a break, my stickiness stings him, there is not much time, but we have to anyways.

I wait for him as he goes to the washroom. I try to catch my breath. Try to stay in the moment.

A little bit of chit-chat when he gets back but we don’t have time to waste.

He pulls my legs towards his cock again. Some of my intensity has worn off. It is almost a relief, it was so difficult to maintain, so fragile and ready to be shattered. I can lay back and enjoy more clearly now.

He enters me stiff and it is divine and spiky. He starts to fuck me slowly.

I wriggle my hand down between us so I can touch the base of his cock. I want my hand there touching him, feeling him in the moment before he goes inside.

I don’t realize that I am staring at him, searching his face for his want, until he flashes his blue eyes comically at me and I laugh.

His body is suspended above me, this skin, this feast, I must be biting, I don’t know, I keep finding skin, his arm, when I can manage it his chest, his neck, I want my hands, teeth, tongue on whatever of him I can find.

I keep grabbing him, my legs are wrapped around his waist, and I keep pulling him in closer with my legs as my pleasure rises.

…there you go…

There I go, yes, my pelvis keeps getting pushed up, and he has to warn me to lay flat so he doesn’t slip out.

But today I need him close, closer, close as he can get.

And maybe he knows because he leans down onto me suddenly, his whole body on me. He grabs my head and pushes it to the side so my one ear is exposed again.

He doesn’t talk at first. Just hot humid gusts from his mouth in my ear. He has me by the hair, pulling it up, little needles tingling all over my scalp, feels so amazing.

He licks into my ear, wet and wonderful, starts to whisper…

…don’t you wish my tongue could be on your pussy right now?…

I nod helplessly, cursing my bleeding. He continues to talk and I try to follow except he is fucking me and it is so hard to think.

… yes feel it…. feel how it is to have a man stuffing you….

Yes, he is stuffing me, harder and harder, filling me over and over. I feel almost beyond a need to cum, want to be here forever just so I can feel this.

My hand is trapped there still between us. There is the very tip of my fingers grating against the base of his shaft, the part that has not made its way in yet, just a smidgen of touch, I hope I’m not hurting him, because I want to keep it there, I don’t have to move, he moves for me, rubbing my fingers with a hint of warm ripply skin every time he thrusts.

… feel the weight of a man on you…

Yes the weight of his body crushes me so I can barely make noise. But I do anyways, and it comes out like I feel, desperate, wanton, trapped, at the height of my desire. He’s pulling harder at the roots of my hair now. My stinging head, my body, his body, our skin, bite again, only his arm, nowhere to go, lick, his voice, his thoughts, pull him closer again, cop a feel of his hardness again, my pussy pulsing, oh very deep for a moment, his cock giving and taking, faster… so dizzy, too much, too much, what was that about not needing to cum?

I need to cum and I do, I don’t know how many times I do, but I do, tiny little bursts of orgasms in series as he goes on, I cry my cums, this time I feel like I could cum forever. And then he says:

And that’s all we have time for today

morbid morning...II

She’s thinking of ‘nap-time’ back in kindergarten. In the morbidity of her morning mind, she’s picturing the scattered bodies, this bloodless battlefield, neatly cold, no one touching. She would drag her soggy brown mat and align it carefully at the edge of them all. In furtive glances, she would watch her world forced horizontal, everyone leveled across the scratchy school-gray carpeting, each captured still in the frame of their mat. Her once animated friends suspended, caught in their fall, submitted to a will greater than theirs.

How she resented this infringement on her playtime. How she hated everyone’s complicity in this utter waste. But she lay yielded to authority too, hoping, if not trusting, that It knew better than her.

Now she has only the paralyzing power of her uncertainty to answer to.


If you opened your eyes now, you would see her there, lying close to you. A frayed silken cape of black hair splatters down her head and onto where her spine starts, an arrow to her legs. The backs of her legs are soft and white, swelling at the top, a pulp of flesh you could really sink your teeth into.

Thick mossy curtains at your window hide the light of her legs, hide their darkness too.
Hide that shadow of a braided line at the back of her knees, her knees burrowed into the mattress. If you roused yourself now, you’d barely be able to make them out. These reversed protrusions, these dips dividing her at her bends. She’s thinking of those wisps of valleys now, and other wisps too, and she aches for them to be touched, tarnished by hands other than her own.

Her nightie has hiked up high on her thighs. She’s left it there, pleasing breeze from the fan on the naked pear curves of the beginnings of her ass. Her panties are lost, set free somewhere in your room, the way they like to be. She’ll have to look for them before she leaves.

She would wake you up but she doesn’t know you well enough. And if she knew you well enough, maybe she wouldn’t have this need to wake you up.


She flips onto her back finally, tries to relax her mind, tries to decide what to do, but she is trapped in the periodic circles of the ceiling fan.

If maybe she should just get up and take a shower, but if the noise would wake you up, if she was ready to abandon your possibility in the next minute just yet, if she should wake you anyways and ask for it, or just initiate and hope that you follow, or hope that you would tell her if you minded, if you would mind or not, if she could just read your sleeping mind, if you were too tired, if she cared to find out, if she would deal well with a rejection, no matter how small and impersonal, if she should make no choice and continue to lie here like this instead, thinking these thoughts, or maybe even try to fall back asleep, or maybe just give up on sleep, give up on it all, and get up and go take a shower.

7. my story - trapped

So picture me now if you will. In my mind, my relationship had trapped me between a wall of secrecy and a wall of marriage.

My final undergraduate year was going rough.

I was getting ready to graduate and still had no clue what I wanted to do afterwards.

I had already been pretty unstable entering into the relationship.

Things took a downward slide. It is hard to write about really. I’m trying not to sound overly dramatic about it, but I don’t ever want to feel like that again.

I went out as little as I could and when I did, I felt guilty. I didn’t go to most of my classes, preferred to remain under my blankets in bed, locked in my small dorm room. Outside, the world waited, another harsh sludgy Canadian winter waited outside, assignments, deadlines, relationships, lies, decisions taunted me from the window. I closed the curtains. Trapped myself in dark thoughts, and then pretty soon, no thought at all. It was irrational, and I cannot explain or fully understand it myself. I guess I started to kill myself slowly from the inside, rather than deal with that outside threatening to consume me. As it turns out, it was pointless, because, either way, I was destroyed.

It was a time that lasted surprisingly long, almost a year and a half, remnants of it lingering right until the beginning of this summer. A month or so before I started this blog.

It’s incredible how long I lasted like that. My calm face to everyone. I broke through once in a while and during those times I felt like I could make it. I would forget every time that I felt a little bit better, forget how easy it was to slip back, forget how deep I could fall.

Enough said about that. This isn’t the story of my depression. But I wanted you to understand, to imagine how it must have been to have THAT as a girlfriend.

He tried to help, like I’ve said before.

But even the most patient person would lose patience. When I cried on the phone for the umpteenth time, he would try to comfort me, tried to encourage me to get help, and when he couldn’t, when I was unreachable, a couple of times, he shut the phone in my face.

It kills me, even now. But not because I blame him.

I hurt X badly during this depression of mine.

morbid morning....I.

There is this greediness to her.


She’s lying next to you this morning. You are asleep and she’s wishing that you weren’t.

She’s wondering why she chose to sleep in your bed last night. She has not slept well, probably a couple of broken hours at most. She never feels rested when there is someone resting next to her.

Then again, if asked again, she would forget again, she would probably find herself here once more.

It is for this, for this moment of course, for this chance, so she can wake up and not waste a second getting back to you. Part of her hoards you, her time with you, like a child with a brand-new coveted toy, and feels ridiculous for it.

She’s calculating in her head, two hours left until she leaves, twenty minutes to get ready and catch the bus, if you sleep another hour that gives her another forty minutes still to have with you. To have you.

But if you sleep another half hour on top of that, only ten minutes left, not enough, if forty minutes, well then, obviously, no time at all.

It’s not like you’re going to disappear after this, but she knows all of it will soon enough.

It is not just her arousal; she could take care of that herself, perhaps even manage to do it without waking you up. Not just her need to cum, not just that you could make her cum harder, not even how she loves to be just touched. It’s not just you. All that is there, but no, it is more than that, a bigger hunger than just that.


She’s lying there, trying to pretend to be asleep.

She’s lying right near you on this particular morning, flat on her stomach, her neck purposefully twisted away from you. Because when her neck’s the other way, she grows tired of the strobe photographs she gets of you every time her eyes shutter open and closed. You never shift, no matter how frequently she looks. And she tires easily of this flipbook with the same unmoving image on each page, each identical page getting her closer to the moment where her hopes for that one more time will be dashed.

Her thoughts are dark on this morning, too dark for crack of day. Maybe she’s awoken from a dead dream, black.

eek

Too many little things going on for me to catch up on writing about them. Haven't written about my weekend yet. I also have a fantasy in the making inspired by a call from T. On an unrelated vein, T seems to be a little upset with me right now. X is just..being an ex.
I do want to write about these things to settle em down..But while I sort my mind out, I'll leave you with installment hmm 7 and 8 of 'my story'. They're not cheerful and unfortunately I have a whole lot of other uncheerful ones to write before I get to the 'good' parts.
I also have a story that I've written about my thoughts in T's bed one morning while he was sleeping. I know the whole woman waking up and thinking while the person she had sex with is asleep has been hollywoodised to death... but ah well, my (true) version of it. i'll post it in a couple of parts if i think it's too long.
I'm not a big fan of posts about what I'm going to post about either but I just needed to get organised a bit.

quite the weekend

Strange, less than an hour after my last (bitchy) post, I got a call from T. We were both horny. He said it had been a while for him too, though I couldn't work up the nerve to ask how long a while it had been... We got to talking about plans, we eliminated days when we couldn't make it and then realised it might end up that we have to wait another 10 days at least... Then just as I got ready to end the conversation, it occured to him that since I was in town anyways, maybe I could leave a little earlier and pop by to see him for an hour or two before I go see a friend.
There was no time to think about it. There was no sense in being proud, especially since I tend to get more out of our 'sessions' than he does. I left the house in a flurry so I could get there in time, like the shamelessly sex-crazed girl that I am. :)
It was an interesting visit. My first 'hi' and 'bye' with just sex in the middle..
I also had a somewhat painful encounter with X this weekend..
I'll write more about it...just need to digest a bit first... It's been a while since I've posted an installment for 'my story', might work on that a bit too..


Note: Does anyone know where rearview's blog has gone?

complain complain complain

I know this is a horrible way to make a return but this is for my sake, I really need an all-out bitching session right now. I promise there are more fantasies and stories on its way though.

The men in my life seem to be acting up.
Of course since none of these guys know each other, it is more likely that I am acting up, and reacting to them....
I talk to X now and then. We have less and less to say to each other every time. Still I'm going to be in town very soon and I thought I would ask if he wanted to meet up. It's been 2 months since our breakup, I thought we're probably ready for it, though now that I think of it, I'm not exactly sure why I want to. Just to see if I can do it? I was kind of nervous about it but I went ahead and asked. His response was to tell me to bring one of his videotapes I still have.
:S
I'm glad he reminded me and all, I just could have used a 'sure that sounds good, how bout this time or this place' or a 'no i'm busy' or even 'no i don't want to' or SOMETHING first.... But he didn't tell me anything.. Presumably he wants to meet since I have to bring the videotape.. But then he leaves the conversation, says he has to go read the news... and argh yes I know, it's not the biggest of deals... basically he still gets under my skin..so now i have to wait to see if we'll meet..well he can call, i've done my part. That's a lie, I'll probably call again when I'm in town.
And then, this guy I've been chatting with on the internet seems to have took it upon himself to send a book and a cd to my office. I didn't give him my address. He didn't ask. Didn't even warn me that he was going to send it. Nice gesture or creepy? It makes me damn uncomfortable, and now I have to figure out what to tell him about it...
And then of course there is T, lovely fuckable T. Lovely fuckable T who I've been waiting to fuck for 6 weeks. And still counting. I thought it would be this week but nope. I am not so much annoyed with him as at the situation. Although it would help if he did give me a day or time when he is free, he just keeps saying 'I miss you, we need a really good visit soon' and then not giving me any definite info as to when, even when I ask. And I can't keep asking cos then I just feel demanding.
I keep wondering too.. I wonder if T has been getting sex elsewhere, and if that's why it's less urgent for him to make a plan. I have to admit that does leave me a little resentful, not because he's getting sex, but because I'm not and currently he's my only source for it. I can't really complain though, I knew from the beginning that there would be this unequal power balance (if you will) between us. And I'm still not ready to just go pick up a guy at a bar, or meet with someone new over the internet. Maybe later, but not quite yet.
I realise what this is. I've just entered a new stage of my horniness: the bitchy stage. I was happily horny at the beginning, playing with myself and revelling in the horn. :) Then I was tortuous horny where I tortured myself with wonderful thoughts of the sex I could be having. But it was a fun torture, just a nice building up of tension.
And now, it's not so fun anymore. I'm just plain irritable and disgruntled hehe. I'm tired of this indefinite waiting.
This is probably too much information, but it doesn't help that my hormones seem to be out of whack lately and for 22 days of this past month I've been bleeding !! Doctors won't do much, guess they see it all the time. They did the standard most basic tests for infection and pregnancy.. They won't even test for anything like a hormonal imbalance due to other (some of them serious) conditions unless it happens to you for at least 4 months in a row. They recommend that I....wait. And see what happens. Hmm where have I heard that before? I'm not very worried about it, but when something in my body doesn't seem to be working quite right, it always leaves me antsy.
That's the ironic part out of all this, that even if T did give me a time, I don't really know if I'll be in any position to be having sex. Well a little bleeding should be fine, but.. if it increases...should I? shouldn't I? And of course it's up to him too... and it's just awkward talking about it with a guy you've only seen a couple of times over two months. Hell, it's kinda weird typing about it here.
AND I'm getting a roommate next week.. so no more random sex in various locations of the house and making as much noise as I want.
I think I'm done now.
I know partly the problem is that in the past two weeks I've really started to include T in my fantasies. I started off doing it cos I thought I was going to see him soon and it would have added heat to our encounter. Letting him in that way would definitely make our (currently elusive) time together more fun. But it's different than a normal never-gonna-happen fantasy. Knowing that these things I think of could actually happen, and that they haven't yet is what's driving me crazy.
So I've decided to pull back a bit, retreat back into just enjoying me. I'm gonna go buy myself a new set of matching bra and panties, new just for myself, for me to see. Buy that Durex tingling lubricant that I remember Anna recommending... And I'm definitely going to finally invest in a new hand-held showerhead and maybe even a vibrator, probably a bullet one, haven't really decided which kind I want yet.
This could be fun! :)

queen of procrastination

I realized I was addicted to blogging this morning when I was logging into my university e-mail account and used my blog username instead lol.

Notice here, how ‘my ramblings’ have increased and ‘my realities’ have levelled off?

This is because it has now been one month, three days and hmmm 6 or 7 hours since I last had sex.

I’m melting! I’m MELTING!

Clashes in our schedules have made a meeting with T impossible. And the worst part is I still probably have another week or two to go.

I know it isn't actually that long, I've gone longer before, but I had quickly gotten used to our every two weeks or so schedule.

I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve had sex I’ve practically forgotten how it feels.

Yes, I’ve forgotten how it feels to have him grab me when I’m in front of him and pull me suddenly towards him. So his erection grinds right into me.

I’ve definitely forgotten how it feels, all stretched up and pulsing, when my pussy gives into him and takes in his cock.

And how it feels to keep on giving in as he expands inside me, as I respond to him with my own swelling, my own flow, and he in turn responds to that flow from my swelling inward skin that strokes him. And we go on like that in circles.

These have all been forgotten.

Ahem.

What you are about to witness below (should you so choose to), this ridiculous onslaught of posts like it’s going out of style, is the direct consequence of my lack of action anywhere else.

I know… it ain’t a pretty sight, but all that horny-wonderful energy had to go somewhere ok??

I had all these random little things I wanted to write about and then I kept starting to write something else without finishing another. So what you end up with is a whole bunch of haphazard strange entries. Quantitity over quality.

It is fortuitous perhaps, consider it an advance, because I will be staying away from the blogging in the next week. I have a deadline coming up at uni that I have to work my ass off for. (I can’t even log in everyday just to post these, cos there’s no telling how long I will stay, where I will start to read once I step inside.)

Of course, I wouldn’t have to be working so hard in the first place if I hadn’t been spending so much time trying to finish writing all this stuff that kept popping into my head.

Ah well. With us procrastinators, if it isn’t one thing we just had to do, it’s another...

Have a great week!

PS Leave me comments while I’m gone though, they make me happy.
PPS. Does that make me sad? : )

letter

Dear T,

I woke up this morning and I was horny and I thought of you.

I thought about the funny dream I had just woken up from..

I dreamt that I was at a concert and it turned out that it was you who was playing. On the drums, for some reason. I pointed you out excitedly to my friends, but when they asked who you were, I wouldn’t answer.

As I sat there far in the back, far away from you, rows and rows of people in chairs in front of me, a huge crowd obstructing my view of you, I felt a hand pop up from somewhere under my chair, reach under my skirt, between my legs and push my panties to one side. I knew it was you. I was confused, I tried to look past the people to see if you were still there, I could hear your drumming still from the stage, but I knew this hand was yours.

Then it didn’t matter because your fingers slipped deliciously in and I let you. I didn’t look to the stage to see you, I didn’t look down to see you, your proof lay wonderfully inside me. No one could see this, everybody was watching you play your music, unaware that you were also playing with me.

It felt so good, whatever it was you were doing, it felt so amazing to throw back my head and just take in your music as you touched me.

You drummed harder and harder as the rest of your band played, and the music was loud enough that I could sigh as much as I wanted and no one could hear.

You didn’t need to thrust or go fast. You explored inside, deeper and deeper, soft and curious and wet.

When I came, over and over, it was the way orgasms always are in my dreams, like a warm cleansing bath from the inside, this gentle burning heat washing all over me in recurring waves, this empty clarity. This nirvana that cannot be realized.

And when I was done, your drumbeat onstage died too with a one-two.

And then I woke up.



I would have liked to have been played with this morning, thinking of that dream.

I would have liked to have been a body lying next to yours, for you to handle, prodded and petted to see what touch elicits which sound.

I wanted that anonymity again, my back to you, but this time I would know it was you because I could feel that hint of your morning hardness hit me right above my ass, at that moment when you woke up enough to grab me and pull me suddenly to you, like you have before.

Yes you would hold me far and then hold me close, thrusting your pelvis into me, this tease, this mock fucking.

And then you would reach again like in my dream underneath my nightie to my panties. This time you could grasp the scrunched up cloth in between your fingers, pull it up so it’s like a rope grating between me, rubbing against my pussy, controlling the cloth, jerking it back and forth a little.

I know it would feel so good. I would never look back, I would never even acknowledge your presence, sighing as if to myself as my panties caressed me, you would just be this arm and this hand, except of course I’d know it was you.

And when my panties were finally pushed down, would I have you just place two fingers firmly on my clit and let me masturbate against you? Hmm, would you let me use you like that, push my body up so my clit can meet your fingers, trapped between the front of you and your arm, struggling to take from you? Or would you rather move those fingers yourself, pulse against my clit yourself, and let me just lie back and take it? Because either way is fine by me.

And when the pleasure got too much, when I needed something inside me, I can’t decide, would I rather have you place a finger at my dewy entrance, and move myself around that finger so it slides in circles against my pink insides, or would I have you explore yourself as I lay still?
Either way I’d be just fine, either way I’d be moaning for you.

And when it came time to put your cock inside, would you be at your full capacity, hard and ready? Or do I want to feel you grow and expand inside me instead?

Would you part my skin first and then ease your way in, or would I have the skin be pushed back on its own because it had to, as you suddenly barged in?

And oh when you fucked me would I have you in long delicious strokes, moving in and out, so that part of the time we are connected only by your cock? Or would I have you bumping and grinding against me, ever so close, feeling the sweat of our bodies join as you rocked inside?

Mmm either way is just oh so fine for me, either way I’d be wet and dying to cum.

One thing for sure though, I would never look back to see your face, not until I came.

And after I came, we could start again, this time face to face, knowing what you had just done for me.

God I love mornings, sleepy, relaxed, hungry for anything and everything mornings. Starting off my day with pleasure.

I thought of these things, and then I realized I had left my computer on last night, so it was easy for me to set up the microphone, cozy back into bed and record this for you.

Enjoy!

Learn

5. my story -first love

And where were my boyfriend and I during all this emailing?

So far, I have told you little about my ex , my X as I’ll call him.

But really you must realize that until very recently, T was no more than a blip in the steady pulse that was my relationship with my boyfriend.

I could fill pages and pages about X. I mean, he was/is/was my first love. Do I need to say more? Much of what you read here will perhaps be far too familiar to you.

We discovered everything together. We dealt with things as they came along. We discovered sex through frantic fumblings. We discovered jealousy when I felt that he flirted with my girl friends, when he felt that I pranced around in skirts that were ‘too short’. We dodged every silly little thing thrown our way.

We witnessed the death of our initial burning need to spend every second together, did not pause too long to mourn it, matured for it. We learnt of the energy it takes to maintain a relationship.

Nothing shook us. We were a couple, known to be that ‘solid’ couple in our group of friends. Already, we bickered about how we would raise our future children. Mostly we understood the comfort we could find in each other’s arms, an anchor to each other. It was the part that I loved about him the most.

He really was a rock, he committed to me right from the beginning. I was his girl, and nothing could change that.

Damn.

Do I go on or do I stop to cry?

6. my story - differences

So what went wrong with me and X?

We did have one major problem. We came from families with different ethnic backgrounds, different religions too. And the one thing our families had in common was the one thing that kept them apart: they were both pretty traditional.

We knew it mattered greatly to our parents. So we kept it a secret from them.

The question of how much it mattered to us was more difficult to answer.

I was a sad in-between product of a world that was shrinking, but not fast enough. Poised between East and West. Stretched thin more like it.

Already, by the time I was 15, I had traveled around more than most. I was beginning to understand (and am still struggling with) my need to carve out my own set of values. I had to pick and choose from all the mixed messages I’d been given along the way. And when all those failed, propose new ones. Maybe everyone does the same to some extent, but I had a bigger confusion to deal with I felt.

I stood alone because I had to, questioning every boundary set my way. I had little courage though to show it, to stand up to everyone, to stand up to my parents. I needed more time anyways to figure out what I chose to believe in, before I could fight for it.

His was less a question of courage, though certainly he was frightened of how his family would deal with us. He seemed less prone to question his background than me, more inclined to stick to what he’d been taught, what his family had given him.

Would we make it together, despite the differences?

To me, it was clear that we could not call our differences our problem. We had to ask the right questions, because no matter how difficult, we could make it work, if our relationship was strong enough.

The real question became then, was it strong enough?

I didn’t know.

Certainly we seemed to do just fine together.

X and I saw each other every day, so I had a lot more to go on, but like with T, I questioned our reality. How much of it was real? How much of us was going to apply in the real world? When we got out of university? When our families interfered? When we tried to lead an actual life together, as opposed to these transitory scattered existences we led, inside the protective force field created by the walls of academia?

I thought about it non-stop.

The secret part of our relationship put a strain on me. My parents lived abroad but he lived with his. Maybe it was fun at first, but I quickly grew sick of the sneaking around, grew paranoid of ‘getting caught’. Two years was a long time to be keeping a relationship like ours a secret.

I was in my 20s, I felt too old for this silly adolescent secrecy.

But if we revealed our relationship, fought for it, then in some ways, we were stuck with it

Or at least there would have been a huge wasted cost of energy and pain to abandon it after that point .

And then I felt too young to be thinking about if I wanted to marry him or not .

sharing is caring

It’s so great to have that one best friend who can say anything to you and who you can say anything to.

I’ve known her since I was 10 and when we are together, we turn into the two giggly high school girls we used to be, dissolving into hysterical laughter at anything that is in the slightest bit funny.

I like to tell her all the juicy tidbits about T. No one else really knows about him except for her.

The things I’m learning. How I used a vibrator for the first time with him. How he knows before I can say anything when something he’s doing gives me the slightest tinge of pain. How he manages to maintain a steady stream of talk when we have phone sex. How he flips me into this position and that, murmuring the pros and cons of each position into my ear, things like:

‘The nice thing about this position-’
* thrust *
Insert my gasp here.
‘-is that-’
* grunt *
'even though it's hard ...to maintain...you should really be feeling this way back, deep, way….. at the back’
‘..mmmmmmm yes!’

Doesn’t that sound funny? But to me, it’s hot. Just like how I found that moment I described in the post before this hot.

(Ah to be rendered to the capable hands of someone who has more knowledge than me.

It’s so exhilarating.

An exhiliration in two parts, in the rendering, and in his knowledge…..

You’ll be hearing it again and again, because I’m milking to the max this teacher/learner thing we’ve got going! )

Anyways, once with my friend, it got to the point where she admitted sheepishly:

‘Sometimes, when you talk about...him, I kinda wish that I could… you know...'

She burst into giggles. And I joined her because I realized immediately what she wanted to say.

‘That you could have him too, right?’

We started to crack up, because she has a serious boyfriend, and probably shouldn't be thinking such things, because I knew exactly what she meant, because it was definitely one of the strangest things we’d ever said to each other, the first time either of us had expressed a desire to fuck someone that the other was already fucking.

'Just. so I could .. kinda… know what you’re.. talk-'

Gasping with laughter, I interrupted her:

‘It’s ok, I want you to have him to… ..so we could.. I dunno… Cos then we could both do him and then……compare notes!!!!’

‘Yeah!!! EXACTLY!!!’

We laughed until our stomachs hurt.

I know you’re not laughing, you’re smiling maybe, but you’re thinking, it’s not that hilarious.

You had to be there though.

lessons in the art of...

‘Oops, sorry’

My timing was off and I've let you slip out.

‘That’s alright…..open your legs again’

For you, anything.

I spread them out, craning my neck behind me to try and see what you're doing.

You're coaxing your cock back in. Not that any coaxing is needed.

‘Now close your legs again, really fast, please’

Please. Such a polite one that T.

A quick scissor shut, and you stay inside me, mounted on top of me, my two legs inside yours, my thighs squeezed closed around my cunt, adding extra pressure.

‘…there you go’

‘Mmmmmmmmm’

I feel like one of those faceless wooden dolls with the movable limbs that Sue Johanson uses on her show to illustrate a kinky point.

A wooden doll who is supremely turned on, dripping wet and writhing with pleasure of course.

My university education should be this fun.

slippery slope? ....part 2

I was talking to my best friend on the phone the other day and the conversation, as it invariably does, turned to sex.

‘You know what I need?’, I said to her.

‘What?’

‘Another guy to have around for when T is away…’

I can’t repeat what she said after that, not because it’s an expletive, we have enough of those here. But because it consisted of her exclaiming my name in surprise, and yes, a little bit in dismay.

I laughed too after I said it. I was thinking of what I had written, just days before.

But this was different, I was only thinking of one more man, just one more guy to keep the cry of the horny blues at bay.

And then if both the men went away?

Was this the slippery slope T was talking about?

I still maintain though that juggling more than one guy would be extremely difficult for me.

But I’m beginning to see how I might get tempted.

slippery slope?...part 1

He says wryly that he’s afraid of what he’s awoken in me.

That soon I will get to the point where I will be able to take a man and throw him on a bed and ride him relentlessly and walk away.

That he will leave for a month or two and when he comes back, he will find I have met and fucked man after man. That I will go on some kind of rampage. Reach insanely high levels of promiscuity.

That makes me laugh.

To me, nothing could be more off base.

There is so much at stake for me every time I interact with someone. That effort it takes to trust someone with my anything.

I don’t think I’ll ever be that brave.

Also, I tend to want to push the limits of how deep I can go with each person first.

I prefer rolling film to brief snapshots.

Having sex with that many people?

I can see how it might be fun, but mostly, it sounds exhausting. I need more focus than that… It’s not something I would get too much out of, I don’t think.

In other words, I don’t have the time, energy , courage or even inclination. .

Course if something (or someone) else came up I wouldn’t turn it down flat. But I don’t think I’ll ever find myself way on the other end of that spectrum.

When you’ve got as many caution brakes as I have, you could skid to a halting stop on any slope, no matter how slippery.

But I do wonder what kind of vibes I’m giving off, for him to be joking about that.

(...to be continued)

don't be cool

“We write in order to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.” Anais Nin


Sometimes before he wants to ask me a question, he’ll start with a pre-requisite:

‘I’m going to ask you a question. But don’t be cool about it’

And then when I laugh:

‘No, really, don’t give me the cool answer, ok?’

Usually for questions that pertain to him. About when I started to think of him sexually. If I had come to his house prepared to have sex that very first time.

How would he feel if he read here?

Of course this blog is for me and me alone, but it’s interesting to think about sometimes.

Would he be uncomfortable with how much thought I’ve put into him and me?

Or will he understand that I think too much about everything really?

That this is what I do with everything, every second I live, store it away somewhere so I can mull over it later on.

I cannot imagine being any other way.

My story, this whole blog, is one huge drawn-out instance of me being incredibly ‘not cool’ about it.

I’ve tried always to make sure that nothing I wrote here was because I thought it was the ‘right’ thing to say.

So maybe, even as he winced at the details revealed open here, as he grew indignant at my whining, surprised at my unexpressed insecurities, and yes disturbed at the depth of emotion, a part of him would still be able to appreciate it.

this is just to say

i've been wanting you all winter.

thank you God for ripe peaches.

learn

4. my story - across the digital rainbow

This is how T slipped into my life, as a side note, cosied up between two parentheses.

It would be another two years before I found myself naked in his bed, his finger slipped in between the bracketed walls of my cunt.

Before the moans we were just black font on a white screen.

You see, in the beginning, all I had with T was this curious ‘e-mailing’ relationship.

It is always odd to look back on our e-mails from those times. It is hard for me to even truly realize that we are the same two people today who wrote those emails back then.

Probably because we are not.

They stand on their own, these emails, in the own surreal bubble of our interchange.

We did not write frequently. He knew I had a boyfriend. These were not romantic emails. There was nothing sexual about our writing. We knew little about the real everyday details of our lives. Nothing especially profound. No flurry of deep soul searching pages-long emails about life.

(Well,I did write one once, but I’ll get back to that later)

Just two random people exchanging random thoughts.

Looking back and reading them all, it strikes me how, strangely, right from the set-go, we constantly showered each other with little compliments. He would admit that he found me beautiful. Would tell me how honest and genuine he found me. I would start off an email by telling him how great/witty/eloquent he was, or how I couldn’t keep myself from writing to him.

Yes, there was always that element of ‘we shouldn’t be doing this’ between us. I had introduced the element a couple of emails in when I had panicked and wrote to him, had put a surprising amount of thought into it, detailing why I did not want to continue writing to him.

I knew back then I suppose; I was already afraid, almost sure of the time when I would let myself succumb to his charms. His temptation, once presented, had to be consummated eventually, it was just a question of when and how.

(And he did tempt me. His warmth, his passion, tempted me then. As his want whispered in my ear tempts me now.)

He answered back telling me how he certainly had never meant to intrude on the territory of my boyfriend and me. And then of course, I had to answer back. And it went on from there. We stayed on ‘occasional emailing terms’ across the 'digital rainbow’, as he had called it once.

It all seems so silly, I know. But we really did miss each other when we didn’t write. And it’s hard to understand why. There was no real substance behind to back it up, little that we knew about each other, little that we had said.

But there was some kind of recognition, some connection. Maybe some hope for our lives that we projected onto each other.

I am debating posting excerpts from these emails so you get an idea of what I’m talking about...

But I’ll refrain because, despite revealing little, they are private, between us, and nearer to my heart than I can understand. Somehow more intimate then anything I can tell you about our phone conversations or sex lives.

I hesitate even now to talk about them. There is an innocence, a freshness to them that I wish to remain untainted.

What is this nostalgia I have, now that he and I have moved on to another chapter?

Most of all I wonder if in real life, he still finds me as real as he did back then, in the days of our virtual interaction.

3. my story - enter T

Around a year into my relationship, I got a response to my ad, which read something like this:

You have HONESTLY HONESTLY HONESTLY the most genuine profile here I have read in a long time

If my formal sounding profile or my age (he’s 5 years older than me) doesn't scare you off, then please consider responding to me. I have a huge love of life and a passion for living it. I have spent my whole life pursuing my dreams - not following a pre-determined path, and thus I message you - you with the mysterious look on your face and with such truthful things to say about life.

(…..)

Take a chance and reply - I promise you honesty and a few laughs - as that is all 'some guy from the internet' can promise!

Take a chance and reply. So I did.

20-something responses sitting unreplied in my inbox. But I replied to him.

It wasn’t even his profile that made me do it, because as he said, his ad was quite stiff and told me very little about him except that he was a professional musician.

But his response. ...A strange combination of energy, sincerity and flattery. Just enough to hook me in.

I replied back pretty flippantly. Something along the lines of how I was pretty busy with university but if he dropped me a note, I would probably get around to answering him eventually.

It seemed harmless enough. But I wasn’t exactly rushing to tell my boyfriend about it either.

So my life split a little bit, a tiny crack, a parallel existence to explore on the side. Two stories to tell and I’ll never really know how intertwined the two are.

All the events in our lives feed off each other, conspire to push us to where our minds knew we had to go all along. Call it chance, call it fate, call it intuition.

Call it what you will, but this much I can admit. I know a part of me wanted T to be the tiny Thorn in the side of my relationship. I kept him around as a little itch, a little reaction under a hidden area of my skin, to remind me of what else I could have.

I would be a liar if I claimed any different. And a fool.

Then again I haven’t always been wise. Nor can I say that I will ever be.

kiss me, kate

You know, he doesn’t kiss me.

And it kind of bothers me.

I brush my teeth pretty regularly, stay away from the onion and the garlic when he's around, keep the mint on hand….so I’m thinking it’s not my breath.

But nope, we just don't kiss.

And I think I know why. It’s ‘Pretty Woman’ syndrome, don’t you think?

Whores don’t kiss their clients. It might elicit ‘emotional attachment.’

(I guess that makes me his whore. Or vice versa.

It doesn’t really mean much to me, the word ‘whore’. It neither offends nor pleases me. It is like a piece of gum that has been chewed in too many different mouths too many times. It’s lost its flavor, it doesn’t stick to anything anymore. )

Anyways, if that is the case (and I will ask him one of these days), I do kind of understand his rationale. Isn’t a kiss is the most intimate thing we can share with someone?

How strange. That he has seen parts of me that the rest of the world hasn’t. That he can touch my hidden naked skin and put himself inside me. But our lips venture out into the world every day. Eyes have taken them in when we've talked, food has been pushed inside with a fork, the wind has chapped them and the sun has burnt them.…Yet he cannot touch his lips to mine.

He did kiss me once. I was pushed up against my living room wall by him, and his face was inches in front of mine. I looked right into his face and I know that I pleaded silently. I know my eyes were desperate for him. I might have even tilted my neck towards him. Really I was just screaming for it: ‘You’re here. I’m here. Kiss me goddamit!!’

I can say I need to be fucked. But ask for a kiss, and I’d be weak.

Maybe I read too much into it. But I do trust my instincts. I would have started the kiss myself if he hadn't looked so closed off all of a sudden. While my eyes were begging, his just seemed to hold back. I'm sure I didn't imagine it, his hesitation in that moment. I detected that hint of ‘I shouldn’t... but ah, what the hell?’ as he leaned over to comply. And he hasn’t kissed me again since.

But he took my lips briefly between his for a moment. For one lovely second the wet hot inside of his mouth surrounded my soft lips, distorted them upwards diagonally and then pulled away.

And then he moved down to my cunt.

I was more than happy for him to go there. But I do like to think about that one-second kiss.

Did the kiss become forbidden just by mere association? Because we know all too well how the formula goes? We’ve seen it in the movies: the couple falls in love, and then they invariably seal it with a soft openmouthed kiss. And then music plays in the background, and we are meant to understand that they are now happily bound to each other.

Usually a kiss is the first thing we can steal from someone. The first taste, the easiest part that can be taken. An opening, a beginning of something more.

Or maybe there is more to it than that. Are we uncomfortable with kisses because they bring our heads together? Because the blood rushes to our faces? Is that too close for comfort to our brains, to these reaching souls that drive the electricity of our bodies?

Maybe.

But it seems a shame. Because nothing turns me on more than a hot wet kiss.

My lips are a huge erogenous zone. I love how they rest every so slightly crooked across my face. The dip between two crests at the center when you trace your fingers across my upper lip. The points at the edges where the top and bottom lips meet, those points that deepen when I smile. And the feel of it, that different kind of skin, soft and rare, pink with pulsing vessels, tingling with nerve endings. And I haven’t even reached the inside of my mouth yet. The warm inside of my mouth, foreshadowing my cunt. That velvet raw smoothness of the insides of my cheeks, the contrast with my teeth. And my curious pliable tongue, waiting to explore slowly, to taste, to stroke and be stroked.

And when two mouths meet. Oh!

There is an equality to it that turns me on. Sometimes I think therein lies my attraction to girl-on-girl and guy-on-guy sex. Like when two women lean over for a kiss and push against each other, and their breasts smash against each other, and their nipples touch. That mirror image. Mmm…. that is the point where they’ve got me moaning.

That cymbal crash. That perfectly imperfect merging, mouth to mouth, lip to lip, tongue to tongue.

I’d like to kiss him. I’d like us to meet like that too, as equals. I like the challenge of being the yin to his yin, and the yang to his yang. I want to wrestle for control, bite gently on his lower lip as he tries to caress my upper lip, suck on his tongue as he tries to suck on mine.

I want to kiss and kiss and kiss until my lips are puffed and red, used and angry, while the rest of my body is pushed up against his, waiting impatiently to get in on the action. I want to kiss until I can take no more.

I think if he slipped a finger inside me afterwards he would discover just what kissing can do for me.

I want to kiss.

And as things tend to go, because it is the one thing I cannot get from him, I think about it all the time.

help!

I have a problem. I’ve touched on this briefly before I think.

Talked to T. (there, I used it!) on the phone yesterday. It was a nice surprise since I had expected him to still be away. But turns out he had a day at home in between two of his trips and he was just checking in.

I crave him the second I hear his voice but I am not really ready for him.

My brain has been so busy with boring practicalities during this week that he's been away. Do my tomato plants need fertilizer? Should I buy another fan? Do I want to take the bus to go grocery shopping today? Isn't it time I started that report for my course?

My day has been dreary. I have just had a long relaxed chat with an old highschool friend.

Feels like no matter what the case, I am always unprepared when he calls me. There is always something about him that puts me on edge.

He is an intruder in my life: 'l'etranger'. I cannot understand why, but every time I talk to him I have to reorient, I have to let him in once again.

It is precisely this kind of unsettlement that I have desired. But it leaves my thoughts turbid, and as an extension, because I cannot pick with clarity, my voice mute, my actions awkward.

He tells me he is listening to the audio clip I sent him. 'Just a sample', I labeled it. A three minute sample of how I sound when I masturbate. I do not quite fully cum but I do come damn close, and believe me, you can tell when you hear it, though I never actually speak.

He listens to it and he tells me it has his cock throbbing and he needs to cum.

I wish I had something to tell him when he asks me if I remembered what I was thinking of at the time.

I remember lying there on my bed, and just letting myself breathe into the microphone. Letting the microphone pick up the tiniest of my sighs. I know I was on my stomach and my hands roved all over my clit underneath.

But I don't know what I was thinking of. I'm not sure that I was thinking at all.

I listen to it again with him on the phone. I want to hear it, not to hear my sounds but to hear what he just heard. I know that later on I will go and listen to it again. Because now it will always hold that for me, I will listen to it and I will know that this private moment has touched his ears and aroused him. And that thrills me. I can tell him that much, albeit with a stammer here and there.

Lying on my bed, my free hand moves down and reaches underneath the material of my dress, underneath the elastic band of my panties. I am listening to him groan now and then. I know he’s stroking his cock now, stroking it and my sounds are there in his strokes.

The things he tells me.

I am amazed at this eloquence of his in the midst of his heightening arousal. I don’t know about you, but with me, it feels like the more I get off, the more I get cut loose from my brain.

So much so that I can’t even fully remember what he’s said afterwards. Much of what I am about to write here is just the gist of our talk, and doesn’t really do him full justice.

It makes for interesting conversation, incredibly hot at times, embarrassingly awkward at others.

This time was particularly bad on my part. I have never felt quite so brain dead before, and most of his attempts to engage me and have me take a more active role fell flat.

My attempt to reenact our conversation in writing turned out longer than I thought so I’ve put it in a separate post here.

Feel free to let me know how you felt your first couple of times having phone sex, difficulties you had, things you found that worked for you.

I know mostly I just need to relax.

But I could use some help.

our conversation

‘……………………..what are you thinking of now? What are you craving?’
‘ mm…I’m craving ….you?’
‘What about me?’
‘ I want… your cock …..in my cunt’

Oh dear. Pure. Simple. Easy. But that’ s ok. Right?

‘Are you thinking of me the last time I was at your house?’

I'm stroking away in circles on my clit with my head resting back on the pillow.

‘yes’

Liar. You weren’t thinking of that at all. You were thinking (and I use the term loosely) about how if you move your hips up against your hand right as he talks into your ear, you get a little shiver down your back. Your body was focusing on what you need to do to recreate that little feeling again. But now that he’s brought it up you wouldn’t mind thinking about it at all.

There’s so much to say about it.

What is there to say?

‘..hello? still there?’
‘hi’
‘….oh.. I thought my phone had died for a second’

Ahem. Nope nope, doing well on this side.

‘No..it’s just that.. ..my hands are... busy’
‘Yes…but you can still talk… ‘
‘I know.. I’m trying..’

The funny part is we’re still moving our hands through this little exchange, so our every pause is filled with the sound of our heavy breathing.

‘Come on, I’ve read your stuff. Take all that creativity, that sexual energy.. and channel it into this moment we’re having together’
‘…ummm…’
‘..This is ME you’re talking to… me.’
‘…I know’
‘-I’ve slipped my fingers inside your pussy’
‘mmm’
‘ I’ve …placed my lips on your nipples and sucked’
‘ mm yes’
‘ I’ve felt …your soft legs wrapped around me-‘
‘ohh’
‘- as I placed my cock inside you. Think about that. Think about it and tell me how it felt’
* tiny whisper*
‘it felt good’
‘sorry?’

Gotta raise that voice.

‘ahem.. it felt GOOD’

Lord but it felt good. I’ve told you in my writings how it’s felt. I’ve splayed it all open there. But now…

‘I know you like it. I know you like how when we’re together, it’s ok for you to just… if you feel like it…reach out for my cock… just pull it out and … ease yourself onto me. Just use me for your pleasure. Just ride me until you cum. And how right after, soon as you’re done, you can just get up, get dressed and go to the kitchen, for a drink or something’
* smiling *
‘mmm’
‘-and how if I wanted to, I could follow you into the kitchen. I could corner you in the kitchen and come behind you and just pull down your pants and panties. I’d be hard and I wouldn’t wait, I’d make sure only that you were wet enough for me to enter in. And then I could fuck you like that, with you leaning against the counter. Just fuck you hard against the counter’
‘oh god… yes…’

Silence. Some moaning.

‘Tell me something’

Something.

‘umm…. while you were away.. I wrote about that moment right before-‘
‘sorry, I can’t hear you’
‘oh.. I wrote about…. I was thinking about…us.. about that moment right before.. when your cock is....’

When his cock is what?

‘-that moment right before, when your cock is just about to – when I know that your cock is just about to enter me…..right then.. right before I'm about to get fucked...when that’s all that I want’

‘….. you like that moment?’

‘Yes.. I do…………………. I was thinking how I’d like to just spread my legs open for you… just… spread them ..and you would.. be in another room and you’d walk in and..and.. find me like that… waiting for you’

That's not quite the way I imagined it. But I am scrambling for words and I am thrown off by his ‘rooms’ tangent. Really I have imagined him already in the room with me. I would bring him into the bedroom and have him stand back from the bed. I would then take off my clothes and sit on the edge of the bed and spread my legs. And then beckon him. Just like in ‘a respite’

‘..yeah.. would you want me to take you then?’
‘..yes’
‘…tell me more’
‘….umm’

Silence.

‘Think of how I’ve taken all my sexual want and directed it all towards you. It’s your turn now’

He strikes a chord with that. In a vague fuzzy kind of way I realize something in the back of my mind and try to put into words.

‘…That’s all I can think about… your direction’
‘My what?’

Direction. Rhymes with erection. The direction of his erection. Giggle. Shh concentrate.

‘That’s all I can think about.. That direction..’

What a sucker for abstractions I am. But I go on.

‘I mean..I don’t have details to talk about when I think about us.. I think of you and I just think of ….SEX…it’s just.. SEX that I’m thinking of.. i'm getting off your want.. my want… that ..nothing else’

Fuzzy thoughts are fuzzily expressed.

If he were here now as I write, I could tell him. I could tell him that it is as though in the shock of my arousal all those free flowing experiences and details we've shared come together and crystalise..trap me in a hard shapeless solid tangled mass of want.

‘That’s because all our moments together have been just about that – they’ve been just.. to get off - we haven’t really gotten into a rhythm yet.. we've just taken.. we haven’t been together like that just yet'

That's not exactly what he says, and he says it far better than that. It isn't quite what I meant.. but it is so true.

‘Yes….’

We move on.

‘God I need to be naked inside you right now’

‘Mmm’

I put a finger inside when he says that. My soft wetness surrounds my finger. I creep it in and out.

'I just want to feel you again... that basic feeling of us again... All of our fucking has been just like that.. so basic.... no fancy fantasies yet.. just the wet feeling of your insides against me'

I love to hear him say that.

‘Oh god… this finger inside me isn’t enough’

His groan.

‘Do you want my cock instead? Hmm do you want my cock ramming into your cunt, taking you?’
‘…yes’

My motion is so desperate now. I am moaning. He’s getting louder.

'DO you?’
‘Yes ..YES.. I do’

Almost angry now, a hissing whisper.

Yes I do, now leave me alone.

No, don’t leave.

‘Then TELL me’
‘I want your cock’
‘TELL ME.. You’ve gotta be louder than that. TELL ME ’
'I….'
Oh god.
‘I want your cock…..inside.. MEEE’

Gasping. I want to move faster.

‘I’m going to move faster now’

Asking permission?

‘Ok’

I force another finger inside and then I move them shallow but urgently fast, in and out. I wish he could hear this series of sopping wet kissing noises that are coming out of my pussy as I move. I want to tell him about it but I don’t.

I just move and move and move. His talking continues, urges me on in a sexy blur.

‘- and I push in and that ridge along the base of my cock just strokes your wetness –*groan* - your wetness.. I want your wetness, I need your wetness against my tip ’

‘ mmmmm’

He's fucking me now with his words. Fucking me over and over.

‘I can feel the cum rushing to my balls now..Getting ready to let go inside you. Can I cum inside you?’

‘Yessss…’

‘Yeah can I cum inside you, let it all loose, give you everything right inside you-‘

‘mmmmmmmmmm yes’

‘then cum with me …CUM.. CUMMMM'

* unintelligible sounds*

I cum with him, crying out, buckling hard against my fingers.

I always do when he commands me, to hear him say that is always enough to make me cum.

And as I cum in little waves, as I am thrown into fragments, even as he is cumming, somehow he can talk, he tells me frantically:

‘Oh I’vecumhard all overyou, I’ve sprayed a huge load all ..over……. inside you ’

...

And then we are nothing but two people who have just cum.

I love to hear him after he cums. He is so unlike my ex, he continues to gasp and pant and sigh a little as he recovers. I love the novelty of it, love to be witness to his aftermath so blatantly. It always makes me want to start again, to put that finger back in, before my own recovering sighs can even finish, stroke myself back to orgasm as I listen to him whimpering after he cums.

Next time.

‘oh god.. that was ..good’

I haven’t talked yet. I continue to try and catch my breath. My head miles above me.

‘…say something.. doesn’t have to be a lot.. I enjoy the power of your silence after you cum.. but when I’m not with you like this, I need…just a little something..just to let me know you’re there. ‘

I suppose he means me.

‘I’m…. spent’

It’s all I have to say.

‘You’re spent?’

‘Yes..I’m just …..gone’

I am, really.

‘…I’m glad’

As I try to come back down, I look at my fingers, my fingers are wet, and the skin at the tip of my fingers has shriveled up from being submerged inside my soaking cunt for so long.

Finally I speak up.

‘I love lying here like this, with my hand soaking wet, after I’ve cum’

With you on the other side of the phone.

‘.. it’s a great feeling, isn’t it? ‘

‘Yes’

And then we are done.

2. my story - sun and clouds

I wonder if my mundane story has any place in a sex blog. Especially when I get to the darkish parts like this that I don't like to talk about.

Does he fuck my mind when he fucks my body? Does he penetrate the years that have gone by to get me here today? Should I string my every experience with him into a cohesive past-present-future to wrap around my neck? Or does it all go out the window when his cock is inside me and he tells me to cum ? Do I need to be deep? Can I afford to be shallow? Should I just take every moment I have like a rock to throw, to skim across some liquid surface, to forget about before it even sinks to the bottom?

I can't stop asking. So I just write on.

Two years passed.

University gruelled on me, wrung me out. The future thinned and I wasn’t in it, there was just an onslaught of life, with me swimming in a dilute mess. I began to lose grip. I cried more often than I should. And too often alone.

But I remained hopeful. I kept writing. I kept reading responses to my ads and never writing back.

I met a boy. I crushed on him for nearly a year, agonizing on whether he ‘liked’ me or not.

He did. We went out, finally.

He was sweet. We held hands through lectures, we wrestled on my dormitory floor, he gave me hand-made birthday and Valentine cards, I cooked him dinner. We said ‘I love you’ within weeks.

I was in disbelief. This was it, I was here, experiencing it. This was a relationship. This was kissing, and then pretty soon, this was sex. This was an argument. This was support. This was attraction. This was comfort. This was companionship. This was love.

This was it. I was happy.

But also I was still depressed. My high off of him lasted about a month… then life started kicking back in, and old habits of agonizing and worrying and procrastinating died hard.

He held me when I cried, and tried to offer solutions, tried to get me moving.

It helped, but it didn't.

And then pretty soon he started to wonder if I was better off without him... if he could give me this much and I could get so little out of it. If I just couldn't be happy...

1. my story - beginnings

I’m thinking of the beginning of him and me. The improbability of it all.

I put up an ad on a dating site four years ago. I’m not exactly sure why I had it up. I had a couple other profiles on other sites too. It was tempting and addictive and I meant for it to go nowhere.

I was 18 and had never been in a relationship. I wanted to know what it felt like to have someone attracted to me. I wanted to know what kind of guy would respond to a person with a profile like mine. It was an insecure selfish need.

I put all my thoughts and dreams into these profiles. Years of inexperience had left me hopeful. I wanted to be reached out and touched. I was tired of being missed out.

My ‘reasons to get to know me’ read something like this:

i would make u laugh, i'd always smile, i'd believe in you, listen to you, talk to you, i'd hold you, i'd set you free and if things were bad i'd make sure you pull through, i'd try to enjoy every second i had with you, i'd offer u gum, i'd find sexual innuendo in anything, i'd always answer if u called at 2 am, i'd play videogames with u and kick ur ass, i can probably eat more then you (and enjoy it more too), i'd travel the world with you, i'd speak to u in french, we'd go for walks, we'd count the stars, u could be urself around me, i'd mudwrestle with u if u like, or we could just sit here in my room on my bed and think of what to do next and that'd be cool too


I roll my eyes at it a bit now, but I could do every one of those things at the time, I could be this person, this was my ideal, untouched by life, maybe fed by a movie and a book here and there… but mostly mine.

Except it didn’t even feel like an ideal, just the future lurking around the corner, waiting to take me away.

And maybe I haven’t changed as much as I’d like to claim because I know in some ways, I'm still holding on.

But my imperfect ugly side has reared its head too many times for me to have complete faith.

And through it all, I never thought about what I wanted. Except that I wanted someone who could always bring a smile to my face.

I still don’t know, really.

(… to be continued)

Dedicated to his first poem

It starts with a sigh.

Her sigh starts guttural from her throat and ends breathy in her mouth each time his fingers come across the right spot.

Her voice carries the inexpressible weight of animal impatience and want. And she tries to unleash it a little at a time, because she is afraid of where it will go.

She punctuates the transitions between the phases of her sighs with other sounds.

There is the pursing of the lips she was biting as she sucks back her breath with a snarl.

There is the gasp where her mouth opens in shock, and for a second there is no noise… and then that high-pitched scramble of a gasp comes out. In that surprised rush of sensation she is like a record spun in reverse, suspended and then released.

There is the hiss of her tongue between her gritted teeth, accented by the incensed yet vulnerable want in her eyes. He can ignore her eyes but he cannot ignore that hiss, it warns that he continue, it begs that he do not stop.

And in between always, the sighs, his thrust, her sigh, his thrust, her sigh.

Maybe his hands are moving a bit faster now, maybe he has reached a little deeper than before, maybe there is just the right amount of heartbeats between his each motion, just the right amount of pressure in his fingers.

She is the commentator to his motions, the vocalist to his actions.

And there is increasing pain in her sounds, as there is always pain when she lies sandwiched so close between the beginning and end of her desire.

She knows he listens to her and how it arouses him. And it makes her want to be heard, to goad him on, to summon him closer to her.

Soon, as he moves, his voice joins hers, and she is thrown higher and in another direction. His accompaniment throws her out of herself for a moment. She plays to more than just her own need now and it excites her.

It is corny but she thinks of that moment when the guitar kicks in and the guitarist looks at the pianist and there is a flash of a smile and they nod to each other as they play and they say ‘yes’.

His groan is her yes, and she takes it greedily. Those groans when he closes his eyes to feel her even more, she takes full pleasure in them.

When he enters her, their bodies begin to converse in close harsh slippery whispers, his cock grating against her insides, her breasts smashed against his chest, her legs wrapped tight around him.

And their sounds converse too, incoherent organic communication that makes sense only in times like this.

They are so close now. The air around them need not be jealous because they have met there as well, the peaks and valleys of their vibrations have meshed in pathways all around them. They disperse and fade away in some corner of the room, only to set out again.

As the end draws near, her noises explode frantically against his own. She doesn’t mean to be loud but there seems no choice, and she cannot tell who started it first, except that his growl starts from somewhere inside her cunt and amplifies in her loosened vocal chords. Strange sounds, strange tones come out of her, dropping in pitch, and then picking up with his, to the backdrop of the sound of her cunt smacking wetly against his slapping balls. Miming each other’s crescendo unconsciously, belting out together now to the rhythm of their clashing thrashing bodies.

And then -



Words are useless here.

There are tom drum heartbeats. And there are their dying broken singing sighs.

A respite

When my legs are spread like this for you I know I can do no more.
I have conjured up layers of clothes on the floor like rabbit tricks. Peeled off little parts of me once hiding up my sleeves.
My arms are stretched up holding back my hair from my face. Because it is cumbersome all of a sudden, everything that hangs off of me in folds.
I want nothing of me to overlap. Nothing must eclipse the other.
And you could crease me down the center.
Or you could join me in the middle, draw a mirror line down in me with your cock.
When I spread my legs like this for you you better be watching.
You better fall into that section of me where light falls away.
You better penetrate because there is nowhere else to go.
You better take because there is no more for me to offer.
And it is almost a respite.
When my legs are spread like this for you I know that I cannot think anymore.
And I want only to be fucked.

my story

He’s going on holiday, which means I’ll have to fend for myself the next couple of weeks.

Not that that’s a huge problem, but I have the sneaking suspicion that I will miss him.

And not just the sex either.

I realize this is not ideal.

What is in the air these days? I sense this pensiveness in everyone. Like we've all been floating on the pollen dreams of spring and summer; we've had our chance to be careless, to ignore, to push back and just be.

But now we sense that it is time for our thoughts to take root and settle before we perish for the winter.

Probably just projection on my part. But I swear I can feel it.

Anyways I’d like to take this chance while he’s away to think more about things.

I think it’s time for ‘my story.’

silly me

I just realised I had comments shut off for my last post by mistake.

Silly me.

i laughed, i cried

I'm feeling lazy, but I also feel like posting. So here's an old one I wrote when I was still with my ex, and just discovering the joys of sex :


I lie, my back propped up with pillows against the headboard. My neck is stretched back and I am bouncing. In a daze, I’ve forgotten even that his two fingers are inside me, that he is moving them in and out fast. My mind does not wander, but it registers each moment briefly and vaguely, as if at a distance. Moments of complete blankness elapse in between. My hands may or may not be on my breasts. Time must be passing, but I cannot tell if it has been a few seconds or a few hours. From somewhere in my cloud, I realize that I am smiling. I find this funny, and my smile widens into a beam. I moan. I gasp and it is not the tortured ‘I want to come now’ gasp that usually comes out … It is a gasp of laughter, a drop of joy. I hiccup another loose breathy laugh.

He stares up at me, surprised. He asks me, his voice gruff with lust, if i'm liking it. I scrabble out of my ecstasy to give him a giggly ‘mmmhmm’

He moves faster. I thrust myself more into him, harder and harder. I am breathing funny now, and I listen to myself, listen to this feeling building up in me. I am so relaxed I am humming. I am floating on his fingers. I could go on like this forever, forever is too short, forever is –
I scream out. There is no meaning to it, no happiness, no pain, no fear. Just release. Like a period at the end of a sentence. Dimensionless and indefinable.

I an so loud, he thrusts his mouth onto mine and kisses it passionately. I pant into his mouth in bursts. I hear my muffled whimpers. He lets go of my mouth, and continues to creep his fingers in and out with deathly slowness. Bewildered, I reach my hand out like a question mark to where his head lies, hovering over my rising and lowering stomach. He takes my pinky into his mouth and sucks on it sweetly.

To slowly come back to consciousness and find him lingering gently on my fingers is the most exquisite feeling of all. Overcome, I feel my eyes well up out of nowhere. I feel quiet and peaceful. I shiver, as the corners of my eyes fill up with delicious cold tears of pure joy.

It’s not until later that he notices me wiping my eyes and asks me what’s wrong. He doesn’t know that nothing could me more right.

They're baaaack...

Incredible. Yesterday I finally start blogging here. Today IB comes back up.
Anyways, I'll be working on recovering the posts I lost (yay) but I'll be sticking to here.
Just thought I'd let people know...