of strength and riding

When I tell T of how utterly exhausted my flu has left me in this past week, he says, ‘Yeah, but you’re strong...’

I like the matter of fact way he says this. Not dismissively, but with a quiet confidence.

Any good teacher knows of the power that lies in positive suggestion. I know, because I was raised by two teachers. And I think, if I’m not mistaken, he told me way back at the beginning that he was too. I know for sure that at least one of his parents was. (There are many details of our lives that we do not discuss with each other. Mostly because it doesn’t come up.)

The trick to this tactic is that you must first believe in your own suggestion. Or believe at least that it has potential to be true. It will not work otherwise. To teach is to reveal; it is based on the ability to make constructive perceptions about another to his/herself.

If that's not sexy, I don't know what is.

I smile at his response because it makes me think of the other time that he said this to me.

It was recently, the last time I was at his house. We were on his bed, and I was straddled on his resting body, his cock comfortably inside me. I was naked but for a dark chocolate brown tube top that had slipped down just enough to expose my nipples. I was riding him.

This is something I’ve never really gotten down. I’d like to be able to, because mentally, I love this idea of taking control of what I want. In practice, it is more difficult. I’m not quite sure how to move. It is hard to keep at a rhythm. My leg muscles start to shake and strain very quickly. Most of all, as I get increasingly aroused, I get overwhelmed. I stop to feel my pleasure, but then it ebbs back, and I have to remind myself to go on, to keep moving, keep ‘working’ at it. My loss of focus only gets worse as I go on. He is well aware of this.

(I send a little corny thankful prayer out always as I do this, appreciation to all the men who have true ability to fuck.)

I rode him like this for a while, my torso tilted towards him, still keeping pretty vertical.

But too soon, I felt myself losing the battle, collapsing closer and closer down, until my face hovered close to his left ear, barely able to move, moaning for control.

It was then that he said it. He pushed me gently back up, and murmured, almost hypnotically:

You’re not weak…You’re strong

I answered back quietly between gritted teeth, starting to move again, saying only:

I know.

Still it was good to hear. It sounds a bit strange described here, but it actually fit the moment quite perfectly.

It is good that maybe he has enough experience to know that this is good to hear. To know maybe a little bit of what every woman wants, or at least what I want, to be strong even at my most vulnerable.

And it was good to hear his tiniest of moans, and to see his tiniest flutter of eyes closing, when I proceeded to mesh my fingers into his hands resting by his sides, flip them upwards and level with his head, and press hard against his palms as I went on.

your eyes are green

Your eyes are green.

Green is for tender and young and moist. Green is for envy of what we have yet to live. Green is for grow and glow. You are a delicate leaf in the light. You are a firefly dance in the dark.

There is nothing else I can picture of you. You are the anyone to my noone. You look like no other. I could not begin to see you.

I clutch this crayon anyways. All I have is this green. All I’ve pictured since I was just barely no longer a child was this.

But do you remember? Do you remember what has yet to happen for you and me?

Do you remember my Mediterranean town where I used to look for you?

Were you there in the seaweed that I used to run though?

My summer cousins and I, we would sink beach-burned heels into the relief of wet sand, seawater lapping at our ankles. There was always that spot we could not avoid as we walked deeper in. They would wince at its touch; they felt only its trap, sticking to their feet. They would shudder; they would run to get free, run away to diamond blue depths of salt and ice. I ran with them too.

I should have lingered, as I wanted to. Those dirty green licks at my feet, soft and gentle. Those beating caresses in the waves. Rooted in one spot, always in motion. If you were there, I did not want to know it, I did not stay.

Do you remember how we could have chased and circled and tangled and fell into each other like vines? Plucking pleasure from my pussy with nimble fingers. Turgid, rooting and surging inside of me. Thrusting at me in strokes as I caved in like mossy earth to you.

Growing and pruning together. Touching, always touching. You were no choke, you were no competition. Would I have known this, that you could never have stolen anything from me? That there was room for each other? That you took my air and water and light, and that you were my air and water and light alike?

If I found you, would I have known this? Would I have stayed?

This is always how I pictured you, reaching to both sky and earth, steady and swaying, changing with the elements, dying many deaths and never giving up, deep-seated by my side.

Did I find you, and forget? Forget this early dream?

We had a flat roofed limestone house with bougainvillea creeping up one of its outside walls. We spent summers fanning each other to keep us cool, winters fanning our fires to keep us warm. We talked and shared and kissed and embraced under the shade of grapevine pergolas. We shopped at the local market, fresh fruit lined up on white sheets under muddy tents. Crouching villagers their vendors, shouting for us to buy. We taught grubby, grinning children at the peach colored primary school nearby. We walked to the tiny tobacco-scented town library. We jangled at our mandolin in our olive tree orchard. We created and birthed children, tangy, emerald, difficult children. We were farmers, we were builders. We were singers and seers and composers.

We were this. We could have been this. We were never this. We were never found. Could you hold on to that memory of us until ever and never?

I should have known to separate these deja vu salad dreams from you. But I couldn’t. I looked for you, and I saw all this.

But I tell myself this is all dead bark, gone and past. I tell myself I could not have born to be caught like that at all.

I look to open seas. I look again to float and drift free, untouched, away from it all.

I think now that I was wrong about you. You were everywhere. You were embedded and liberated at the same time. You were living firm in the sea bed, you were diffusing free in the sea. You were there, even as I ran away from you, I ran towards you. You were that hint of green warmth in the Aegean aquamarine.

I did not want to see. I needed to be blind, to separate. This you without limit scared me, so terrified always that you will be found and I will be lost, that you will never be found and we will be lost. That you exist, that you don’t exist: I don’t know what frightens me more.

Will you show yourself? Have you already been shown? Have I missed you? Do I miss you now?

I stroke like a wheel in and out of water, asking countless questions, I suffer to keep kicking, never wanting answers, so long as I am here, alive and afraid, moving always in a boiling sea.

If you are there no matter where I swim, if there is nowhere to swim to but you, should I swim faster, or tread in my spot?

Find me. Quench me. Swim by my side in this tempting turmoil. Tell me we can live happy in the eye of this storm. Tell me we need not travel, we need not run, we need not feel too grounded, we need not feel too high. We need not feel stuck or swept away.

That it is not us who has to move, but the world that will shift, whirlpool swirling oceans around steadfast us. Tell me this.

My green.

Note: Just a rough draft. Indulgently sappy. For the record, I really have been to that town, or a town just like it, many times, both as a child and not.

devious

Oh I was so bad. Oh he was so bad. Oh but it was harmless and oh I’m so glad.

I wish I could say more here, wish I could lay it all down, but I can’t. His secret, not mine.

L: tell me again that my words gave you an erection
L: tell me again
L: or just say yes

T: your words made me hard - the blood is flowing out of control to my tip - the head needs to burst

L: mmmmmmmm
L: good
L: that's all i'll need before your call

T: my call will need to find you ready to boil

L: it will

It did. We had hardly any time and still I came too soon.

T. Hot T. Hottie. Sorry, sorry my first cum was not together with yours.

I lost my head. Your devious timing. That whisper. That whimper. That cock. Those two fingers inside me like you asked. Spread wide like you asked. Finger on clit like you asked. I lost my head.

I told you like you asked. Once, twice, thrice. Broken, frantic, changing every time.

I- need- to- cum

And I did not lie, I did. The more I told you, the more I did.

It took me before I knew it. It grabbed me by surprise.

My body came before my mind knew it. I felt it like a rush that did not wait for yes or no. I was squishy and wet and wonderful on my fingers. I was this wide range of gasps and cries as it let itself out. You heard me.

And though I was too soon, you were there through it all, I heard you through it all. These are all I heard, or maybe this is all you said.

Cum- orgasm- cum

My orgasm came and my body was in that second satisfied. Yet in that second, my mind was rearing for more. Turned on by my speedy cum, turned on by your cum waiting, turned on by it all still. Greed, a woman’s blessed greed: if only I were not so full, if only I could feel that again, feel that filling again.

A greed blessed, because I could. In that heart-pounding second, I could be wiped clean. Praise. I could put my hand back on that clit. Praise. I could start again. Get there even faster this time. Starting to gasp and gasp again.

You told me,

Yes- cum – unh- cum – cum so I can cum

You told me that you were cumming, you told me you were spurting. I was there, I was there with you this time. I was cumming too. I was sighing and shaking too.

I was so wired, so on, it had been so long, this was all so exciting, I think I would have cum again on top of that if we had time. And again. A loop with no beginning or end.

You were rushing words so fast, so quiet so as not be heard, so breathy from your cum, so hot. I tried to catch them but I was still sighing, still living my cum.

I have to go – You’re going to get me in trouble- I don’t know if that thought of getting me in trouble turns you on- but I have to go

My low throaty laugh was your only answer before you shut the phone.

Later, when I crawled out of my bed, smiling, I found your message on my screen:

T: thanks babe
T: you are soooo sexy

L: mmmmm as are you

That smile stayed on my face for hours.

struggle

In some strange way, this loosely argued ramble here is what directly led me to writing my last post.

Act 2 was an easy write because it was about conflict.

A struggle that ended happily. A struggle that made my cum all the more worthwhile. But still a struggle.

(I laugh to call it a wrestle. I get images of T lifting me above his head and doing a Double-Spin WhamBammer or something. Insert some trademarked name for a professional wrestling move there. I don’t actually know any…Promise. )

The clash of our sex in that particular moment was sandwiched between two other completely different episodes. During those two times, it was the harmony, the ease, the lack of conflict that overwhelmed. The just-happy-doing , no-matter-where-they-lead, no-matter-how-they-go, Sex Acts 1 and 3.

Precious times. I felt through them both pervaded with a sense of thankful life-joy. I wanted to sing praises to the Deity who sent such easy little wonders in such unique, unexpected packages my way. Blasphemous girl that I am.

I felt fully aware, actually savoring time as it unfolded. With no real rush, with no real regrets for its ending. How often does that happen?

T got into a bad car accident a couple of days afterwards. He got out unhurt. My gratefulness in my moments with him took on whole meaning when I heard of his scrape with death. Became less of an abstraction and more of a tangible reality.

Still, they are so difficult to write about, this 1 and 3.

I pick at healing scabs constantly, but when my trembling hands are faced with seemingly flawless, inviting warm skin, I balk. If I touch, will it disappear?

And this thought digresses me off into another. That it so much easier to be sad and conflicted, then it is to be happy and at peace.

That we are naturally inclined towards suffering should come as no surprise to me. Then again, maybe I should not generalize, maybe it is just me.

My light, I have tended to, I have pruned and directed and watched warily its growth. My dark, it has never needed any feeding.

You turn off the light to get to dark. You cannot turn off the dark.

And it is that way with everything anyways. Everything must fall. Potential must be lost. Order to disorder, high to low. We may seem to skip and jump back and forth. But eventually we all go from life to death. At least in the confines of this world.

The direction of the waterfall stays the same. Some of us are better at clinging on as compared to others. Some are lucky, born with enough anima to not even feel like they’re clinging. They are not aware, right until the moment when they are swept away. Some culminate energy, gathering strength as they go along. They will leave too, but strong, and knowingly.

Our ability to see the coming of this fall, to see too how deep our darkness goes differs from one to another. We can prefer to be blissfully ignorant. We can play at its edges, daring ourselves close. It may not actually be a choice sometimes.

Me, I stumbled upon it, or maybe it stumbled upon me. IT. In all its dizzying entirety. I was drawn in. It was vertigo.

When I surrendered fully into depression, I felt only an utter weariness of the soul. I had no real reasons. I led a sheltered easy life. I had people who loved me. I was just tired, tired of where I had found myself. Tired of searching for a source to go on. Quite simply, and quite horribly, it was easier to die. This is always the case perhaps. But it becomes a temptation, the only temptation, for the one who cannot look away.

I looked down. It was a mistake. Inevitable or not. Ingrain or not.

I fell in. Like I have been tricked into falling in again as my mind takes this path to write these words down. But nowhere even remotely close to how far I fell then.

Does this all sound morbid?

I love life for its tragicomedy. (As least it is not a commie tragedy hehe. ) I love life for its flip sides that fit, its duality that is not a duality at all.

There is something to what they say. A triumph is only a triumph in the wake of a struggle. And we would not struggle if we did not want to triumph.

And that is why Act 2 was hot, for me at least.

Still my other fight. To find unafraid, living words for the barely veiled joys of my 1s and 3s.

everything in between

silhouettes
cracks

secrets whispered
to break silences

in writing this
sudden

lies an urge
sodden

to make out
a bare body
in dim flame

and fuck
between shadows

like a discovery

welcome

I stared at my screen for a long time. I really did.

When my stats showed 600-something people had visited my page in the past two days, I figured someone somewhere must have miscounted. By a LOT.

But a thump at the back of the monitor, a pressing and repressing of the 'refresh' button, and nope, it was still there.

Turns out I've been mentioned in the Sex Blog RoundUp on Fleshbot. For my 'crazy intense wrestling sex' in Act 2. Wow. And woohoo! Thanks Bacchus.

I have to admit, seeing my blog nestled amongst the luscious likes of FigLeaf and Red and PussyTalk and DesireX gave me quite a pussy tingle.

(Funnily enough, I had already read most of the entries in the list. I really do have to get around to linking to all the places I read)

Thanks for coming around all. And do say hello if you feel like it.

I bite, but only in the heat of the moment.

Act Two

We are supposed to be taking a nap.

I am trying to fall asleep when T sidles up behind me. His one arm hooks me in towards him, his fingers pushing a little at my mound. He slams into my ass, slowly, with increasing force. No penetration. Just mock fucking.

And I do feel mocked, mocked for my surprised flaring want, a want he purposefully falls short of satisfying. I wonder how far he intends to take this. I mask my moans, mixing light laughs into my sighs.

But when he continues, I push back against him, pushing back defenses. I trust and give in. Just as I start to moan in earnest, he stops, rolls back away from me. I hear him say, devilishly casual, his back already to me:

‘Alright well… have a nice nap’

I am livid and laughing. I kick and swat at his back. I swear at him freely and loosely. But of course I don’t ask for him to come back and continue.

‘You bastard!’

He laughs, delighted.

‘You complete bastard!’

‘Oh..’ he chuckles. ‘It is so fun to be a man sometimes’

I am smiling, and I am thinking that being a man has nothing to do with it. That there is a woman who can tease him as mercilessly as he does me. Who sneaks up to him as he is trying to sleep. Who takes his cock in one hand, and pushes her cunt against the skin above his ass so he feels it, ever so wet and warm. Who breathes words into his ear telling him just how good she will feel pulsating around his cock. Who forces him to tell her just how much he wants her to fuck his cock with her cunt. And who can then hold that pleasure in her palm, refusing it and dispensing it at her will.

I am not that woman yet. But maybe I can be. Given a little more confidence, a little more experience, a little more control, maybe some day, if I feel like it, I will be.

But for now, I calm myself down, trying to dim the tingle he’s awoken in my ever-ready cunt.

I satisfy myself with one last pinch at his leg and a mutter of ‘Fucker…’, settling my back down into the mattress, and re-closing my eyes.

Even as the word leaves my mouth, he is upon me. He is trying to flip me on my stomach and I am resisting.

No no no, not again, not at his whim again.

But my resistance is doomed from the start, it loses heart even as it begins.

I am flipped easily, bounced onto my stomach with the extra force, and when I try to flip back I am kept most easily there, and though I cross my ankles to entangle them at first, my panties are most easily and quickly and thrillingly yanked off. And when he forces my ass up in the air, when he pauses to pull out his cock, when he holds me by the hip to keep me still, when he begins to push in at my entrance, I squirm both away from him and towards him, torn and panicked.

And his voice taunts me from above, infuriatingly calm and soothing:

‘It’s ok…Go ahead..You can resist if you want…You can resist… if you don’t want this’

You know I do, goddamit. Though I won’t say it. I may tell you all the time. But not now. Not this way.

Oh but I am already incredibly wet from it all when he pushes his hard cock roughly inside.

Silly girl. Fooling no one. Struggling against yourself.

I allow myself finally to grudgingly scissor my legs closed when he tells me to, so that I am lying completely flat under him, part of my face muffled in the pillow.

And he fucks me like I need right then, hard and deep and slamming.

My cries lose protest and gain pleasure with every thrust.

I cannot believe how insanely wet I am becoming. I actually feel it welling up from a spot inside my cunt, more distinctly than I’ve felt before. It is divine, this surging leaking feeling. Even in the animal moment, I want to tell him about it, I struggle to tell him about how wet this is making me.

It is not long before I start to get really frantic, and he is again telling me to cum.

I am not ready quite yet when he commands it, I need just a second more or so. So I take it. He gets louder and more enraged above me during this delay, still ramming hard into me:

‘..Cum. CUM. You better fucking CUM for me….’

Yes, it is his rage, the rage in his cock that gets me there, hitting against my shivering insides, bringing me to a deep and flattening orgasm, my expanding ribs feeling almost about to break from the collapse, leaving me happily gasping into my pillow.

He stays resting on top of me for a minute, and then throws himself on his back next to me, saying he will save his cum for later.

Peace and calm and clear is suddenly in the air between us as I lie there breathe breathing away. We are quiet but I cannot tell for how long.

I battle the sleep that my bliss always attempts to immediately tide me over to.

It is an attempt to preserve, a fear of spoiling a moment, because I feel that what I want is to fuck like this and then just drift into sleep side by side, without a word exchanged.

But we do end up talking for a bit, and although I am mostly incoherent, and not very enlightening, as it turns out, my bliss and my memory of it is left intact.

And my sleep, when I do give in to it, is wonderfully unbroken.



(Act 1 and 3 of my freaky Friday is underway...)

orgasm - study I

T has a recording of me sitting on his computer. (No not a recording of me while I sit on his computer. The recording is doing the sitting. In so far as recordings can sit.)

Anyways… It is a recording of a talk of ours that took place 20 minutes before I was about to leave the house to go catch the bus.

It starts off with a rustle of the microphone being adjusted. Then you hear a girl’s voice, nervous, expectant. She sounds small but calm, and she says

yes… yeah…alright.. ok I’ll try

If you could listen on the other side, this is what you would hear:

This time around I want you to tell me when you’re cumming.. It’s an incredible feeling to be able to communicate right before an orgasm. So tell me , let me know, right when you’re going to cum.

I have always enjoyed actually my collapse of language (and many other mind functions) in the moments right before I come. I could see though how it might be fun to try and find words anyways. Ok I need a subject, me, me, I’m the subject, I, now a verb, it is a verb next right?, Quick, quick the verb. Hurry, I’m cumming and I’ve got to say it. (Alright I’ll stop being corny, sorry.)

And then of course, there’s the working of the larynx that has other noisy plans, so you can actually get the words out. Yes, I could see how it could be interesting. Embarrassing maybe.. (‘I’m cumming! I’m cumming!’ I mean really, it’s been done. And where are they coming from? That’s what I always want to know when I hear it.) But still… interesting.

I won’t go through the whole recording because I think you may be getting tired already of hearing about our phone sex. It must sound repetitive at times, although of course it is not, there is a different feel to it every time. But suffice to say I did manage to say something that sounded like ‘I’m cumming’ before I was about to cum. I might have heralded it a second too soon, but for a first try it was not too bad. (I also managed to land on the phone right afterwards. So actually what you really hear in the recording is ‘Imcumming…aaa…*dial tone*… fuck!’ No one said I was graceful.)

God damn, I’m in a goofy mood. It’s too bad. I had some ‘serious’ points to discuss here.

Oh yes, my first point was that actually there was a power to the experience. The power of communication, yes. But also the power of being able to identify exactly when an orgasm is coming on. Which actually, I’ve never been really good at.

There’s another thing I’m not really good at, and it came up, when I finally managed to call him back. (I have a finicky phone.)

He asked me how I would rate my orgasm. On a scale of one to ten.

I was befuddled. ??There’s a scale for these things?

How much on the scale do I drop my orgasm if I couldn’t enjoy it fully because I landed on the phone?

So I gave him a number, pretty arbitrarily. I went for 8. If it were up to me, as opposed to the rules of scaling, I’d give every orgasm a 10. And then just add pluses now and then for fun, when I felt more enthusiastic than normal. (And there could be many intertwined reasons for that enthusiasm: my body, my mind, the weather)

But he had another question. What was my favorite orgasm?

More kerfluxion. (I don’t think that’s a word. But doesn’t it just sound confused?)

You can hear my answer on the recording, because I was still lying in bed and hadn’t bothered to get up to shut off the mic.

‘My favorite orgasm? I don’t know.. I never thought about it… that way’

I really hadn’t. He let it go, because we were both worn out, and I had to run to catch my bus.

I really never have tried to compare different orgasms. Partly because I am very much a mind fuckee (and fucker). And though I’m trying to be more aware of it, I do not actually listen to my body much during sex. I respond to it, but I don’t know exactly which parts of it are working or why or in what way. This would be a good skill to acquire, I know, and I’m working on it. So I thank him for bringing it up.

I know some orgasms must be better than others, but when I try to compare, it is like comparing apples and oranges.... and bananas and kumquats and carambolas.

(Mmm carambolas.. OK I just like saying that. Say it with me - carambolas. Also known as star fruit. A very pretty fruit too, five pointed corners when you cut it transversely, not much of an odor, sweet and sour, flesh not too soft or hard, kinda stringy but juicy. I’ll tell you when I get an orgasm that’s like a carambola.)

Some orgasms are soft and gentle and make you smile. Some are hard and intense and make you scream. Some roll and unfold, some just explode. Some are big and expansive and steamer-roll over you, others are small and contained and pin you to the spot. You may prefer one over the other, but me, I have difficulties choosing. Anyways, I shouldn’t have to. They are all good, all all good. I wouldn’t want to offend them by choosing one over the other. The only bad orgasm is no orgasm. (Although I must note too that sex without orgasm can also be a happy thing as long as you’re having fun)

But now yesterday on the phone it came up again, but in a different form.

When I was writing 'at the doorway', I actually got myself quite worked up. I had to stop. I had to stop and take a break. A busy break. I wanted to feel an orgasm too, so I could put the steam of that into the last part.

Things were just on that day. I don’t know whether it was just like that from the beginning, and that is why I started writing, or if it was the writing that got me to that state. But I could feel it as soon as I started, that I was going to cum, and cum very fast, and maybe because of the fast, it was going to be very intense. So I stopped and set up the microphone again. And I was right, because what I got was a (wincingly embarrassing to me) recording of me moaning like a screaming banshee (screaming like a moaning banshee?) right when I came. And I managed to announce it right before too, quite coherently, made me proud.

So I sent him this recording. (He’s going to have quite a collection soon!) And I told him about it, how it was very intense and how he will be able to tell when he hears it.

He liked it, and he told me later that he had to go to his room and make a wet mess upon hearing it . (Wet messes, mmm) But he had an interesting question to ask as a result of my description of it.

Which of my orgasms were better, the ones during sex with him, or during masturbation? And (here’s the even more difficult part), I had to put aside the mental aspect (he called it emotional, but I prefer mental) of two people sharing an experience during sex, and just talk from a purely ‘physical’ point of view.

Errr.

Don’t be harsh on him, because I know he doesn’t ask in the normal jealous way. He has admitted there is some insecurity in that question, yes. But mostly he is just curious, and wants to know where things stand.

So it has been decided.. I will study my orgasms for T. (Actually mostly for me, but he's the one who brought it up.) I will dissect them and report to him my findings. And to you as well of course.

(…to be continued when I am feeling more sane and less silly)

(and less obsessed with annoying parentheses)

at the doorway

as soon as you see me slip a finger inside slide do it before you do anything else yes when you see me find a wall to trap my back against lift my skirt and do just that yes wet i’ll be wet don’t doubt it don’t question it just do just that invade me with your index warm wet around index warm our breaths mmmm yes just like that feel me parting just like that hold my one leg up against your side so i part more give me something to hold on to your back your neck your mouth mmmm suck sweet on my fingers yes let my other arm be up extended spread fingers pressed against the wall for balance for control hear my cry as soon as you see me and let it be from that finger move closer slide my leg back down to move closer stay inside but move closer touch your tongue first in between my spread fingers then inside my mouth my already open panting mouth i’ll close it to hold your tongue holding and sucking parted lips parting a quick soft bite on the way out so hot hot your earlobe to tug between my teeth push another finger inside push the third in yes my cunt yes just keep it there bring your thumb onto my clit and push yes just a little gentle gentle push slide left oh move the rest of you back now be just that hand now let me see you do it doing it to me want you to see what you’re doing to me (lost face lost lost moment) feel what you’re doing to me (feel it on your fingers a little wet when you slipped inside when you saw me now just a dripping mess of inside skin burn) hear what you’re doing to me (un-quieted) give me just a bit of your noise face too you make me wet with your i want this groan and your i’m taking this look (except you’re giving and i'm taking) wait let me pull you in just a bit to tug it all down let me see that too so i can reach out enough to feel that too cock in hand (your cock is in my hand) the things the many things the many very yes the yes we will do with this in hand so so warm and thick were you this hard already before you saw me and slipped inside did i do this to you is this mine is this hard cock mine do you give it to me now for me to use on me in me i do so want it in me pause with cock in stroking hand pause with breath in throat (just pause) your fingers push away from each other pushing me apart god yes my parts pushing open wide you prop me open wide with your fingers god (disquietingly loud) push still furrow in still your cock frozen still in my hand gripping so so deep begin to lose a part of your hand inside chunnel in deep deep wet oh so wet oh relentless you taking my hand and placing it on my clit like i could oh and i could (be pushed up higher under my own fingers) throbbing heat pleasure heat throbbing fuck fuckfuckfuck panic where are you reaching what are you touching please push harder please don’t stop almost fuck oh god fuck me please don’t let me cum like this so easy fuckmefuckme Fuck Me Now let me cum from your fuck yes from your still in my hand fucking cock swollen oh thank you you’re turning me around thank you you’re grabbing my hips towards you thank you holding my wrists against the wall pushing in ooo always so fucking warm and smooth and perfect and full when you push in so past ready for this this one is just for my cum later (soon) later we will walk away from this doorway and find another place to fuck so i can enjoy you fully finally fully exploding inside me (white white and hot and sticky- will it dribble out- i want to know) but now just do this just for me skin of your legs bumping on my ass pump piston push blank wall joyful crying just your pushes just your cock just you for this for this i ask you to slip a finger inside when you see me so it can cum to this so i can hold your cock in a slippery tight embrace like this not long now not long just a little faster harder just a little more yes yes YES i c u m (cum cum ummmmmmmmmm)…everything jostled and shaken and released trembling hold me up keep me here i’m gone o.

power play

This time when T tells me I cannot cum until he is ready, I resist.

I resist because it has been a while since we’ve interacted, and he is not enough in my mind for me to give in.

I’ve noticed anyways, and it’s manifested itself in the last couple of entries, that I’ve begun to harbor a certain animosity towards his sexual power over me.

There is a spirited stubborn Hot Bitch hidden somewhere in me. If cornered, the Hot Bitch does not know foe or friend, she kicks and claws to break free. If struggling with something, she snarls at attempts to help. If told to do something, she wants to do the exact opposite. If you want her, she wants to laugh cruelly, and dangle what you desire just out of your reach, to see how much you really do. And if you hold her in your power, she wants to fight and push the extent of that control, find out what she may gain or lose out of it.

But mostly her hostility, my hostility, is just game, so I shrug, and I play with it. He tells me not to cum and for the first time, I ignore him. Completely and consciously. I continue my self-ministrations, working myself up quickly. And he hears my cries begin to rise, dangerously close. And I am almost completely lost in it, lifting, lifting, my voice close to breaking, when his words fall like slabs into my reverie-

DON’T CUM.

I pull back so quickly, that I thrill at the pull, thrill too that I had to make him command it again, and command it so hard and cold too.

He is taking his time now. And he tells me so, that now he just wants to make me wait.

I know his cock is hard and ready. I know he does not need more time to go down this cum path with me.

I need.

But the Hot Bitch is strong in me today, and she does not plead. So I continue in quiet whimpers, touching light and slow, gulping for control. My previous headstrong rush to orgasm now has me teetering and tottering painfully closer than I would have if I had just taken my time. And the sounds he is making along with me do not help.

I tire of the struggle. I may not plead, but I can ask. Or do my Hot Bitch’s version of asking.

Let me cum now, T

I’m sorry?

Let me cum now..?

I add the question mark as an after-thought. But his answer is a swift growl, like I’ve never heard before.

NO. You’ll cum when I want you to. Only when I want you to.

And oh this just makes me breathe harder. I let him catch my broken breath after broken breath. And the fly of my fingers and the rise of my cry this time round is not voluntary at all.

Faster, he murmurs.

And we both do. And I wait and hope for his cum, so I can have mine too, and I know it is coming when his words become a rush to block out my growing moans.

Don’t cum. Don’t cum. Dontcum, dontcumdontcumdontcum. And then suddenly flipped in the second before he loses it. CUM. NOW. CUUUUUM. And then just his roar.

Underneath his roar, underneath the picture of white cum spurting out of his cock, maybe some getting on his hands, underneath my puppet fingers, underneath his command, I finally get my cum. And the Hot Bitch hers too.

I break unexpectedly long and wonderful and slow and drawn-out, fingers moving through it all, as if trying to shake out all lost cums.

And even in the pleasant gasping stupor of post-orgasm, or maybe because of it, because of this surrender of my powerful cum, the thought is still whispering there. And it is so unwarranted that I have to smile.

I hate you.

coincidence? I think not!

It must have been some kind of premonition because two minutes before he called, I pulled down my pants.

I wasn’t changing into anything else. I was in front of my computer, checking my e-mail. But I looked down and my jeans were heavy and my legs needed air. So I unbuttoned, and released myself from my jeans, tugging them down to the ground and stepping out. Leaving me in lacy racy indigo panties. (Yes I've got every color in the rainbow)

And then he called.

Premonition or not, it was certainly convenient.

dessert

It is a sepia dream and I am stripped down to burnt umber skin.

You’re sitting on a peeling wooden chair, just in jeans, your crème brulee torso a frame to push against. I’m looking at you with a slow smolder. I sense a vague reproach in me. I want you to know how it has been to be burn, burn, burning like this. You will understand how it has been to be wait, wait, waiting like this. Determined copper in my eyes.

This time I will not bend to you, this time I will not be weakened. I am resolute, do not let my raw sienna smile deceive. You will be branded at the point where this incense burn ends.

You smell the smoke of my sex as I approach, feet landing pointed in a straight line.

I kneel down at your feet. Do not be deceived.

My hair falls in singed rolls of cinammon onto your lap. My face is just breathe, breathe, breathing there, hot on your lap. You want to take a palm and place it under that hair, at the point of my neck where it all begins. You want to trace a triad of lines on my stretched neck with three fingers. And then further down, all the way down my brandished brandy back.

Hands to your sides please. I combust your plans with my own and you laugh, but you obey. I finger the thick material of your jeans at the waist. I take the cold shiny top button in between a thumb and finger. I thread it through and out. I pull down the rusty bronze zipper. The buzzing sound of its descent is a familiar call.

I lean back away from you, on the floor, elbows on a polished pine floor, stomach taut. My legs are spread slightly open, a pointed cliff peaking at my knees, waiting above your feet, left and right. When you look down, your first view is of my maroon sex, waiting below you.

I look vulnerable like this. Do not be deceived.

I play with myself, smiling stickily, looking right at you, fingers circling at a secret nub, syrups of pleasure beginning to form and coat me.

Touch yourself please. You grin and wriggle down your pants and push them aside. Your shove down your briefs and push them aside. My smile deepens cherry red, pleased. Your caramel cock is revealed, and it is golden, and its melted form is stiffening, and it is beautiful to watch, and it is all I can do not to taste to see if it’s as sweet as it looks, to stop and lick sticky spirals around it with the tip of my tongue.

I watch your luscious sight for a while instead, my fingers still probing at me. Your hand is at your base, because I want it to be there. You are stroking, because I want you to be.

I stand up finally. I straddle you, keeping one leg rooted on one side, and throwing the other one over your lap. I do not touch you still, supporting myself with my hands at the back of the chair, my body struggling, my ginger nipples straining close to your mouth. Hold my hips please. My warm whisper drips like nectar into your ear.

You let go of yourself and your fingers dig candy cane stripes into my hips, holding me up. I take your cock with one hand. Your touch from before has you hard, my touch now has you hard, and my dark plum core is hovering right above you, and this has you hard too.

I inch my way down, tensing up my knees, closer and closer. I waver in the flash moment before we touch. I imagine you flinching at the shock to your nerves from what feels like my fire. I picture myself reduced at our first touch to a pile of sawdust ashes under your feet. I know I must keep this all in, I know I must maintain control.

I am joyful inside, but I look at you grimly, and I descend on to you, guiding you in with my hand. And it is just fine, more than just fine. The excess heat is there in our joint gasp as we meet, and it is there as my cunt captures your cock like a parted baked peach, my cooked apricot flesh cradling you tightly. I move down slowly, and you plunge your way slowly up into me, pushing everything back in my mind. My razed insides respond, molten and soft, and you respond back, stiff and unyielding. I withdraw my hand, and, gripping tightly at your shoulders, I begin to ride you, sweeping you, as your hands slide down closer to my ass, guiding me up and down.

It is so sweet and it is so delicious, and our delicate skins are so wet and smooth against each other, and it is just exactly want I wanted from you. To be filled by you, to have your friction to myself again, to use your pleasure as my own and oh there is nothing to know but the next thing I know – next thing I know- there is nothing I know but the next thing I know-

Next think I know, I am not just sighing anymore, I am gripping you tighter, not just with my hands but with my cunt walls. And I am squeeze, squeeze, squeezing on your cock. And I am strokes of dark blackberry stain wet all over you. And next thing I know, I am moaning with a loudness my shattering mind cannot gauge, and you are groaning too. And next thing I know, my knees are useless, and we have melted off the chair and we are on the floor.

And I am shaking but I am filled with a sudden want. Lick me please. And you pull out, and your expressive face is quickly lost between my legs, and your tongue is burrowed inside my still pulsing pussy, our musky spice dripping onto your tongue.

Your roving tongue jolts desire anew in me, and this time you do it before I can ask for it. When you do it this time, you are not thinking of my want at all. You pull me up from my legs, away from the solid pine floor, my ankles to your sides. You jam yourself inside, encountering little resistance, shoving me over and over towards where you start. So I feel I never end, my liquid brown eyes wide, my chocolate mouth open and open, my wet cunt splitting open and open as your thickness grows. And your face alone in this moment could make a girl cum. So I know I stand no chance.

I make my last request, before I lose the last of my control. I push it desperately out of my contorted mouth. My worn-out throat. Cum inside me please.

And you do.

Icing on my cake.


Note: I was hungry when I wrote this (in more ways than one). :) And I love being silly like this and going over the top with a theme.

changes

My mood has taken a bit of a nosedive and my zest for writing along with it. I thought I would force myself to sit here and write though. Whatever may come to my mind.

Memories of long silences are not far away enough for me to forget. I can’t afford really to stay silent. Not again.

I do not handle changes in seasons well. Maybe it is a childhood spent in a country where the seasons only changed from hot to hotter to hottest. Changes in temperature, not knowing whether to put a jacket on today or not, shifts in the hours of darkness, trivialities like these all unsettle me like you would not believe.

I always forget it but then just when I realize what may be making me feel so out of sync, fall is already upon me and leaves are already crunching under the boots that I finally had to force myself to wear again.

Have I caught it early this time? Or are there other things?

I’ve been on birth control pills for three weeks now. My first stint with them years ago was not very pleasant. It coincided in fact with the start of my depression; make of that what you will. Doctors certainly do, pulling it left or right, cautioning me to weigh in all the factors before blaming it on the wonders of medication.

Not that I blame them, the doctors I mean. I am much the same. It is maybe the first thing I had to learn when I tried to take on this funny identity of a ‘scientist’. There are no reasons, only possibilities, likely or not.

And likeliness means nothing when you are a minute dot on a curve.

Anyways, this new batch of pills, is supposed to have hmm what was the phrase ‘little to no side-effects’

I was doing all right, except I weighed myself and I seemed to have gained ten pounds in two months. Maybe even in less time than that, that is just the last time I happened to have weighed myself.

I am a hypocrite because I am the annoying girl who claimed to never care about my weight at all, and ate whatever the hell I wanted to until now, when I realize that it has changed quite a bit so suddenly. It is not really noticeable, clothes a little tighter around the hips, stomach not so flat anymore. I recall suddenly that my body used to feel a different way under my hands before. Subtle changes. I used to like the round hard feel of the contours of my hipbone and ribs. Not because this feel is necessarily any more attractive than another, but because it is the way I am used to being, for as long as I remember.

It is changes I fear, just when you realize you actually liked a stasis, it has shifted.

Although yes I will admit this too, that a part of me is remembering being stripped down to just my skin that first time in T’s bed more than two months ago, and how afterwards we lay and his hands were on my hips and he was stroking absentmindedly at my soft skin stretched across my hip bone, discovering a new body, and he said, ‘I like this. Right here.’ And I said ‘Yes me too’

Forgive my vanity. And the dependent weakness of that thought.

I had this coming. I’ve lost little loved quirks of my body. I’ll get over it. I’ll find new ones again at some point.

I just have to watch for my mood now again with these new pills. I have to balance watching it too much with watching it too little. And I was always a clumsy one when it came to balance.

When I was on anti-depressants before, I could not orgasm anymore. I would be there in bed in my normal position, hands rubbing on me. I would buildbuildbuild- roll back down. Buildbuildbuild- roll back down. Relax. Breathe. Enjoy. Think. Build build buildbuildbuild- so close- roll back down. Again and again. Sometimes for hours. Exhausted. Past the point when I knew I wouldn’t be able to cum anyways, under normal circumstances.

It scared the shit out of me. The punishment of my mind gone awry, maybe I could not deal with it alone, but deep down somewhere there, it was still somewhat in my control. It was just me. Wrong or right. What could I control of these administered chemicals? What else might I lose? Should I change medications? How long with this next one? How many to try?

Same impatient questions always.

I’m listening to T’s music right now. I haven’t talked to him at all in more than a week, haven’t talked to him comfortably and unrushed for three weeks or so. Our last talk was quite sexy but it got cut short because I had to leave. And then he got a cold that changed into messy bronchitis. Which I felt surprisingly bad about, it did not sound very pleasant for him at all.

And now I don’t know if he is better or not, because I just haven't been able to reach him. He has flashed on and offline, so he cannot be that bed-ridden. And I’ve called and left a message or two, but I wasn’t really feeling too energetic about it.

The wonderful weary weakness of flesh, it brings us to each other’s bed, and then keeps us away from it. And my proud spirit that wants him will keep me away from him now, because I do not want games, but I cannot keep calling, I really really can’t. If I ask too much from what he wants, or he gives too little from what I want, then I’d rather go think about that, instead of continuing to kick the same wall.

I’m taking birth control pills because I have this fantasy of a man cumming in me. I’ve never felt it and I really want to and I seem to want it especially with T. It’s a risk though. He has told me that he has been tested recently. And though I think we have established that this meant that he would not be sleeping with other women, I still have to fully clarify the situation before I go through with this.

If a friend told me this, I’d be worried for her, and think she was being a bit foolish. A lot of this depends on how much I trust him, and I do. So I would feel like such an idiot if anything bad came out of this.

So much feels off tonight. I was craving his cock in my cunt so badly before, but it feels even that is gone. The changes I was thinking of making, the ones I was hyped up about, have been put on the back-burner. It is like that with all my so-called needs. Ever-changing.

I need our sex to feel a little more established, before I can move it in another direction.

Right now though, all this is gone, because what I desire at this moment the most is intimacy. And it makes me sad, because if that is the most of what I want, I am probably on the wrong path.

I am not a big fan of that word ‘intimacy.’ I use it to mean a closeness that borders on a startling pain, a stepping past a boundary of yours by someone else, whether that be in mind or body.

It is not that an intimacy that is not tied to a deeper love is nothing. What a roundabout way of putting it. What I mean is, an intimacy contrived without love gives me something, but like my medicated attempts at orgasm, it falls just short of being truly satisfying. It never takes me all the way there. Wherever that there is where I want to go.

Again that first time in his bed, and also when he came to my house, I’m remembering the mornings as we were waking up, and I am fixated on one point. How he reached over sleepily and held my hand. T’s hand in my hand. I wish I could say his real name right now, I want it savored on my tongue in that sentence.

How many hands have I held since I stopped being a child? I feel like when I am old, and looking back on people I’ve met, I will forget the cocks, the talks, forget it all, except for the hands that my- by then gnarled- hands once held.

My girl friend and I encountered a skunk one night-time walk a couple of weeks ago. We startled upon it and we found it as startled as us, hissing, on its tip-toes, hair raised, ready to spray. I was the first to hear it and I pointed it out and froze, and my friend grabbed my hand and we ran like crazy like that, as far away from it as we could, laughing adrenaline laughs.

There was a certain thrill to it, but not a sexual one at all. The thrill of being inextricably meshed into someone’s life like that for a moment. So that her skunk was my skunk.
: ))). And our clasped hands a signal of it.

It is what I secretly crave from everyone, T especially. I have this hunger to be submerged in people, like experiencing them will help me better understand something. It does not stop either, once let in, I will only wonder if there’s more. Not that I’m obsessive about it, but if given the opportunity to step in a little deeper and the person is interesting enough, I will take it. I do not know whether I am proud or ashamed of this part of me. I know only, our sex is, amongst many other things, a way to me of doing just that.

There is not much time left for us, though I haven’t told him yet. My mom’s visiting in less than two months, and then during the two months that she’s living with me, a lot of this is going to become very close to impossible. And when I get back? We will have to see how it goes.

So many changes happening. So many coming ahead. And then still the ones that I think I should make. Mend, mend, mend so I can sleep.

T, it is a horrible thought, and I know I do not mean it, because even thinking it feels so wrong. But the thought comes to me that if you were rewinded back to the invisible unfound dot you were before we met, I would not have to sit here like this, wishing you would make a reappearance, hoping for a call.

I'll publish this in all its unedited blah disconnected glory. There is writing that is meant to be read, and writing that is meant to be just written, a messy upheaval to be wiped away. This, I think, is more of the latter. But I will keep it here anyways.

sweet tiresome skin

Earthy hot chai. I make it creamy. Sipping my cup of cardamom and clove sweetened with warmed drips of honey.

I’m sleepy but I’m too tired to sleep. So I thought I would write instead.

Past few nights I have been having these flashes of ugly. I want my skin to be milk and mead when I run my hands down my body. The reality is more like a hive, angry and buzzing. I’m breaking out again like a teenager. My shoulder, my neck, my back, the parts I love, so smooth under my -well except for that spot – oh and that whole itchy part there – and ugh that part I know must be red and throbbing.

Body shapes, weights, lengths and curves, each to their taste. But poor skin is to no one’s taste.

It shouldn’t matter but it does. It is superficial but it bothers me. For a moment my marred skin is my marred sex.

So I know I will now work to try and get rid of it. Will wonder what doctor to listen to, what cream might work, what home remedy that countless people have seen fit to tell me about. I will try this and that, and then I will check every day, is it less, is it more. I’ll never know what worked, but it will disappear for weeks, maybe even months on end. And I will forget. And then it will just come back again some day.

Polishing and preening. Finding and thwarting. For whom? For how long? I am tired at the thought.

need

T,

Today again I need your cock in my cunt.

Here it is again, I am struck by it again, and I can find no other way to put it. I wake up and I need your cock inside me.

What is this that you seem to have awoken? I don’t recall ever needing so intensely a man’s cock buried deep inside me.

Not that I have anything near a long line of lovers before you. So I should say maybe just that I don’t remember being quite so hungry for his cock before. I remember wanting, I remember enjoying; I do not think I had this need.

There are still dreams of my skin to yours, of your muscles that need to be touched, of our wet tongues leaving wet paths, of my squeezed breasts topped with erect nipples under your hands, and there is still, always, the rippling pleasure of my clit being ground against some part of yours.

But these are ashes and smoke in the burn of my need.

You have suggested this need to me with your words, suggested to me the pleasure I get when I am filled by you.

But I have noticed it from the start anyways. That your cock felt as hard and thick and hot and long and forceful as I needed when you first pushed inside. Fuck but I remember it clearly. The parting of my wet skin and the coming in just right.

And I knew, I knew very clearly, that so long as you were there to give it, I would turn to you again and again to feel just that.


I had all of this written already before you could ask me your question that you knew the answer to. Asking me which I would choose if I had the chance today, any one of our fantasies, or just a simple fucking.

A simple fucking. Any kind of fucking. I can't be picky when it's all so good. Against counter. Backed up on living room wall. On my bed, flipped back and forth in all directions.

Time later for all the rest. No matter if we meet again and again for just this. Just to have you inside me.

How long until you finally cum inside?

reading is fun

The other day, when I again had nothing to say, I told him maybe I could read to him again.

I love to read out loud to someone. It is always a bit of a performance.

In this case, my performance is made all the more interesting by the fact that I am reading my own dreams, in my own words. It is the closest I get to saying exactly what I want. Though I wonder if it hampers me, if it has become a safety net for me to fall back on to. If I could script my own life, I’d have no problem acting it out, but since I can’t, what’s the point?

I like it though, because it provides focus too for my scattered mind. These days I have not been able to focus on a fantasy long enough for me to cum from the thought. With the words already laid out, I can just concentrate on them being read, hear them be said out loud. Touching myself at the same time, I am made to really enjoy the thought fully, as if I were there living it. And of course the fact that I write most of these words with him in mind, and he is there listening to it, maybe enjoying it too- that is what pushes me right to the edge.

So I read him 'my shower', which isn’t the most explicit or heated piece of writing. But I read it with my hand pushing lightly been my legs, and I found myself really lost in the moment I described. And I found too, another thing that I like, my words polished and brandished anew in his ears as they came out of my mouth. Some more awkward than I remember, some hotter that what I first felt.

I fumbled with sentences, I had to stop to sigh frequently, and by the end, again, my voice was a shaking, desperate, uncontrollable mess.

When I was done, I just stopped and tried to catch my breath. Usually I whisper a light ‘the end’ or ‘that’s it’, but I was unwilling to end the spell. And he said immediately-

‘You have to fuck me right now’

I groaned a laugh and I said in a voice that was still the voice I had been using while reading:

‘How would you like to be fucked?’

And he told me. And he told me actually how it was him who was going to fuck me. And how in that moment all my words would be gone and I would be all his. And he told me to imagine how it felt for his cock when he put it in my cunt. And then he told me exactly how it felt. And oh he went on and on and on so that even as I came closer and closer to cumming, I had this tiny urge to stop and applaud.

And after we both came, breathing and gasping and breathing, he caught his breath before I could catch mine. He asked me, all calm and cheerful, all husky with a cold, how I was doing, and I wouldn’t have known I was capable of such Harlequinesque hyperbole, but I said,

‘..that.. was … incredible’

And he quipped back lightly,

‘Yes I know… I’m good at this aren’t I?’

And I laughed and swore at him for knowing this, under my breath, though he might have heard.

‘Fucker’

Which is exactly what he was I suppose. And I heard his smile over the phone as he continued.

‘Yes I know a little bit about how your perverted mind works. As a pervert myself of course’

I sighed a laugh, still recovering. Not really wanting to recover.

‘And the more you keep feeding me your words, the more I’m going to use them, and the better and better this is going to be’

Deal.

And he was right about another thing too (the fucker hehe). He was right about what he said as we shut the phone, that I loved lying there afterwards like that.

Snuggled under blankets because my body was suddenly cold against the air in my room, just drawing in the glow of my sex close around me as it faded.

this one is his

He said-

You brought her in like you had laid this all out in your mind before. You had already planned your commandeer. You had already seen before, already been right here.

You told me your fingers had already tried her cunt. And found it snug and tight. And found her just right. You were so blunt. I was surprised.

You told me how it was going to go. How I was going to fuck her and you were going to watch while she fingered you. I was surprised.

You said I had to fuck her to fuck you. Fuck her if you want to fuck me, you said.

You said I had to fuck her until she cums. You had a catch. You said I couldn’t cum.

If you can make her cum without cumming, you can fuck me. You can fuck me right after. Cum right after, right inside me.

That glint in your eyes. You offered me this challenge, yourself as a prize. I was surprised.

You knew my condition too, before I could state it to you. You laughed because you already knew. You said, Yes, yes, I know, I cannot cum either. No, I said, not from her.

She was pretty and shy and willing. And so we started fucking.

She was just as tight as you said you had found. She was just as wonderfully snug and tight as your fingers had found, before my cock could.

I rose with a thrill to pick up your gauntlet. She lay like a moaning icon. A writhing symbol that we had let lay between us. I fucked her and it was your face I looked upon.

She thought-

Yes my face. Would you be able to read my confused code of hope and pain and pleasure? The crissed crosses of desire and curiosity and control etched across my face?

I would be looking at your faces too.

I would look at your face trying to hold back. I would wonder how she felt to you. I would look at her face and wonder if my face looked a bit like hers when you fucked me. If she got as much pleasure out of you as I. I would wonder if you were feeling the part of her I had already had in my own way, if you were giving her a part of you I had already had in my own way.

What would be different? What would remain?

Between her and me. Between you and her. Between you and me.

He said-

This was your game. This was your test. You waited, pleasured, like you couldn’t care less. It was me who knew that I must. It was me who had to win to get to us.

She thought-

Oh but you know I’d be rooting for you. You know I’d be thinking of my spasming cunt absorbing your cum. As I tried to contain the pleasure of her probing fingers.

You know my fingers would be crossed for you and I’d have to hide my hands.

You know this would be just another form of my perverse pleasure. Just another level of willingly surrendering to your hands the pleasure I take in us.

He said-

I swear this is just as I saw it. I swear this was my dream,with you and me in it.

She said-

I like your dream.


Note: Though I took some 'poetic' license, I can take no credit, this dream is all T's and most of his thoughts about the dream put here are his too.

my shower

Join me under my shower. Or anywhere else. At any liquid location. At any delta, any ocean, any spring, any waterfall. Any windy creek in a secluded park. But for now, today, only this shower. Only my shower, that used to be just mine. I would wait, caressed in the sprinkle, heels on porcelain, blinking for you.

Meet me under the spotlight of my shower. Surface tension would break softly on our skin where you joined me. An ellipse of spray where our shoulders took the water’s place. Water of my shower to touch us. Water to dissolve everything, stick to nothing, wash away. As close as we stood, expanding chests meeting erratically, water to slip in streams between us.

We could bathe at my shower. Turn my harmless poof kinky. This time have you controlling its soapiness down my body. Taint my daily wash for when you’re gone. My every look at your naked body would shed hunger. I’d stare at your cock and know it was made for lather. You’d need work to clean my cunt’s hidden reaches. But your cock would wait conspicuously for buff and polish. I’d be there, wanting to climb you rainy with everything I had. I’d be there, gentle, squeezing soap bubbles out of the poof, onto my hand, onto your shaft. My fingers sliding differently across your warmth. Just lightly playing, only to get a little rise out of you. I’d rinse you and the water would be nothing like the wet of my mouth, nothing like our sex, our smell. Nothing like my cunt surrounding you. I’d lick and bite your skin and you’d taste like a commercial, aqua fresh and irish spring. Nothing like your taste at all. Nothing much left of us, nearly everything gone, meandering down the drain. Your clean finger would squeak into my fresh pussy, hook into a crevice that was becoming wet another way. But as dirty as I flowed, the water would just slip it away. I’d close my eyes, and close my mouth in a content hum, holding in a gurgly moan of pleasure. You’d pull me out the way. I’d open my eyes and see you blurry, elusive crystal dots and dashes suddenly exposed all across our bodies when we moved out of the splashing current’s way. Our sex transparent. Our sparkling noises echoing. Robbed of real lubrication, skin sticking to each other, like bare thigh on leather couch. Stripped of our gritty grime, our dirt, our sweat, we’d be surprised how much had left us. Surprised too at how much still left behind. Surprised at this drenched clarity. Our smiles simple, our moans laughter, our pleasure slipping and sliding under our feet, coming and going easily. I’d bend over against a tiled wall, spread my legs enough for you to enter in. Your hands plastered to my breasts, you'd push inside. Against my cleansed insides, your droplet studded cock would be friction clearer than I can remember before. Reluctant to move, skin holding back. You would fool around with that tugging rub slowly and teasingly, showing what we could build in no time to make it less so.

Our game would ruin us, what we had played to get rid of would only taunt you and me. We’d have to leave it all, we’d have to shut off the water with a thud, step out onto a towel to dry our feet in vain, in a hurry, so we could run, dripping, somewhere away from this steamy place, build up frantically a new layer of real life and dirt to coat us. And I’d be happy to coat you, happily give up sweet and sticky salt liquid onto your cock to coat you. I’d be happily fucked by you, rough and quick, thrown prostrate on to my bed at the waist, kicked away from the memory of that hot wash as fast as we could, as fast as we could cum, we would, we’d be surprised at this too, at how fast it could all come rushing down with your every thrust, how easily we could become soiled with sweat and moans and bumps and groans and cum again.

But first, meet me in my shower.

wanted

T has made it clear that he wants to leave this venture completely up to me. No persuasion, no coercion. Just me, doing what I want.

He’s left it up to me to find someone to watch or listen to us.

My inexperience makes it hard for me to pin down what it is exactly that I want. I will probably have to try around a bit before I find it.

I would like to dip my toe in a bit first and just have someone listen. I’m not sure how that would work. I’m afraid of the person calling on the phone to listen, and then the phone getting disconnected at some point of the way or putting it too close (like I’ve occasionally done with T) so all you get is this distorted wind tunnel sound from my heavy breathing lol.

No but it would be hot, T’s cock in me, fucking me, the receiver nearby, so a near stranger on the other line could listen and imagine, so we could be a little spark for his or her arousal too.

I tend to picture an attractive female around my age (20s to 30s) on that other side but I am not averse to any one else. Just depends on the specific person I guess. I do not need to know much, just so long as it becomes clear you have a positive, fun view on sex. It would have to obviously be someone who respects my boundaries, my relationship with T, who is content only listening for now. Everyone would have to be doing this too knowing that it could be just a one-time thing only.

My circle is a fairly conservative one, I don’t see myself finding anyone up for this amongst people I already know. So turning to this blog seemed like an obvious choice. There are so many wonderful, sexy, adventurous people out there.

If you’re somewhere in Canada, (or you don’ t mind long-distance charges) and this sounds like something that you might be interested in, do drop a comment. This blog says a lot of it, but I would be happy to share more details about us and find out more about you.

Phew, feeling a bit charged right now.

Note: I didn’t start this blog intending to use it quite so interactively. : ) Those of you who read more regularly and aren’t interested, please, go right on reading. Normal schedule will resume. I just had to put this out there, in case my wants aligned with anyone who happened to stop by.

possibilities...V

I’ve built up these entries one by one, telling every last detail, but nothing has yet to come from any of this and the truth is I am just waiting, wondering where this will go.

T was away, busy with work for the past five days. I have yet to hear even a comment about the message I left him. I understand because his business is all or nothing, it isn’t the kind where you can restrict how much of your time it takes on a given day.

Still, my days have felt longer. I continue to write all this instead. I wait.

I’ve needed all this detail mostly because it is all new, and I have a fetish for beginnings. I needed it all on record. I love reading most everything here, but I do have a penchant for descriptions of a moment when a curtain got drawn back. How it got drawn, what led up to it. Your first dom/sub experiences, first homosexual encounters, even the first time you had sex, or had your first orgasm.

(These days I find myself thinking a lot about that first morning with T too. I wrote about it here and here, but I could write about it forever. I remember parts of it too clearly. It still gets a rise out of me, remembering that intensity. Two years of mostly innocent talk turned over in the moment when his fingers stroked down on my shorts. Or rather his shorts that I was wearing, borrowed from the night before.)

See, I’ve been only vanilla until now. More like vanilla waferish, mind you. Crispy and crunchy, creamy in the middle, dissolving sweetly in the mouth. I love the basics of sex. It’s here in my every word, I love the fundamental feel of it, I haven’t needed much more. He’s felt that too.

But reading sex blogs here, it has all felt close to my heart and mind, nothing strange, nothing taboo. It’s just reminded me of all the things I’ve always been curious about.

Maybe my curiosity has only just begun to cover the gap between my thoughts and my possible actions. All I know is, clinging to whatever courage I have garnered so far, whatever change I want in my life, I wait.

And even if I make it, even if I can take that step, there is still what is left to chance and that which I have to leave up to him.

I wait. I probably presume too much, but maybe you feel it a bit too, wait a teensy tiny bit with me too.

Because I’m at the brink, almost accustomed to the pit in my stomach, the tension in my knees. I could roll back down or I could take this, depending. I'm wondering what factor will become most important in the end, where I will end up. I'm trying not to make too much of it.

But possibilities await. I wait.

interlude

Just a gloomy interlude, needed a break from my story. I don't feel like this now but I do have my moments.





i sit in my candy underwear on a piano bench wondering if your inadvertent gift of hope will be my curse.

i've been too sad to ever really trust my sadness and fully give in to it again.

but happiness nags at me still. i'm not quite as citrus sunny as the warm pink and orange stripes on my panties, the shiny satin bow on each corner of the straps of my bra.

there are sharp and flat notes in pairs and triads for my fingers to run down in insigificantly minor scales. i'm running through, black and white. your genius nags at me still. i question what i thought i could gain by associating with it.

i'm trying to combine sounds except i can't seem to work at it hard enough to get to what i want to hear. i don't care enough to make it work. more truthfully, there is nothing i can think of hearing.

it will be the same you see. you will ask me, i will say nothing. i will sit here and try to play. i will have nothing. i will ask myself what i contributed that was new. and get nothing.

when i first started talking to you in real life, i felt you and i used you. i needed to feel that again, feel like i could be all that again. i listened to new music, starting with yours. i had one haunting tune and wrote the same bar over and over again. i wrote a poem or two and thought it meant i was being reborn.

i was just patching. your inspiration my cover. maybe you were used to people plugging into you. maybe you took your livewire for granted, as a matter of course?

it didn't matter that you were real, not the spotless beacon i seem to paint you as here. your talent at engaging me like i was already a part of it all felt real enough, was all that mattered.

i've felt alive by association, dead by comparison, a billion other things in between.

and now just nothing, you can't do anything for me if i can't do it myself, i should have known this all along.

i have woken up some mornings and understood and felt just right and stepped into a day that sat well within me.

but these have been immediately followed by days i can't remember, sandwiched between mornings and midnights where thoughts on clothespins got hung out for me to watch dry, detached.

i've felt like something's been muddied and i cannot remove the stain.

today has been such a day, tonight, such a night,

i look at my hands, my underwear, my vision of you, the piano keys. it is all brown.

i feel something like a cry come on, and i stifle it with a yawn. i go to bed.

possibilities...IV.

After that phone call, we talked again, this time more calmly, orgasms out of the way.

We discussed how we might find a girl who would want to either join, or watch, or listen. How it would have to be someone I trust. We discussed whether I was bi or just curious. I talked about how nervous I was in general . How I was afraid the scary part of this venture would block me from enjoying it. He reassured me once again that it was my call, that there was no rush or requirement. That there were all the other options too. But he promised too that he would make sure to do everything in his ability to make sure I wasn’t ‘blocked’ at all. He tried to be subdued as we talked and I understood his attempt. His excitement even when contained was contagious, and I didn’t want to do it for his reasons either.

I thought about it for two days straight. It seemed like any time my mind was not occupied with the demands of the day, it just came rushing in.

And I wasn’t even thinking anymore about if this would help my sporadic confusion with him. I couldn’t deny I wanted to do it and I figured it was worth a shot when it came to the relationship. But was I ready for this? Did I have the prowess, the strength of mind? Would I still enjoy ‘normal’ sex after this? I kept searching for and finding excuses not to take this jump, some valid, but none strong enough for me to abandon the idea. And if I couldn’t abandon it, what would I do with it? Let it sit there and burn forever?

Finally, my mind was made up and I decided to leave him a phone message:

Hello!
Yeah sorry, I fell asleep early last night so I didn’t get a chance to call.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what we talked about.
I don’t think I’d be able to really deal with having someone directly involved in our sex quite yet. The dynamics of a threesome would be kinda hard for me I think.
But –and you knew there was a ‘ but’ coming- I do like the idea of having someone watching or listening while we’re having sex. Probably a girl. It’s really starting to grow on me.. Really starting to excite me in fact.
I think I want to try it.
Well, we can talk more about it, how we might want to go about it, when you’re around.
So hmmm guess this means I’m going for option 2 for now.
I still want a long, really intimate session with you some time. Like we talked about. mm.
Still have that image you gave me of licking you, tasting you from head to toe.
And yeah you’re right, I haven’t quite done this yet, but I'd like to. I want to. I really want to take control too, just really ride you… I want to be the one taking full pleasure in every part of you.
Oh, and on another note... you can tie me up anytime!
Well, guess that’s all I have to say…talk to you later..
Bye.

possibilities..III.

As I sat there in the minutes before I called him, I had the strangest impression, in a way I have never had before, that I was cumming already.

I think you'd especially enjoy being watched. Especially by a girl masturbating while watching.

My mind moved so fast, I was still. I tried to take a deep breath but the breath was instead taken from me, shaken down through me. A lump in my throat was all that held me back, all that prevented me from diffusing into the room.

In that unexpected moment when fantasy became most faintly tinged with possibility, I was rendered useless. Nerves and lust, excitement and fear embroiled in dangerous beauty. I didn’t know if I could talk at all, if I could make it past our hello.

Somehow I did. Somehow I lay on my bed and we talked over the phone.

Talking distantly like in a dream, I tried to join him as he went over again the possible pros and cons of each option. How I could do neither if I wanted to, even stop having sex with him altogether. The last choice seemed unlikely in that moment.

I tried to tell him how I was feeling but my mouth was dry.

We started to talk about involving another woman. The idea excited him. He said it wasn’t so much that he liked seeing two women together, it was more that he found the idea of watching me stretch my boundaries like that hot. Stretching my limits comfortably mind you, he added. He was wonderfully conflicted, insisting that he did not want to put pressure, talking about how exciting it would be for both of us, not wanting to feel like the ‘corrupting ‘ one, not wanting to put his desire on me, but hoping deep down that I would agree.

I just listened. My mind wanted to stretch around all of it, like my pussy yielding to his cock. I went to my clit. My clit was swollen like I had been rubbing it for hours. I told him how wet I was already. I could not say much more.

‘One of the things I hope to show you is how to talk out loud about what you want, your fantasies. I want you to enjoy the sound of your voice, the power. Tell me, what do you want? ‘

Silence.

‘ You told me you liked that feeling of fantasy becoming possibility. What fantasy are you thinking about? A woman? A threesome?’

‘Yes, a threesome’

‘What kind of threesome?’

‘A guy and a girl.. well I mean, you and another girl’

‘Are we taking turns? Or are we all involved at once? What are we doing?’

I could not think at all. My nighttime fantasy had slipped my mind entirely. My voice was trembling.

‘I think I want… you both..pleasuring me’

I laughed because it was selfish.

‘How? What is she doing?’

Silence.

‘Tell me’

Gentle, firm. I bit my lips.

‘Tell me… Tell me.’

I choked out the words in a whisper. The first ones I could think of.

‘She’s eating me out’

Fuck. I want to pull back. I want to rage on.

‘Strong and hard, or just teasing?’

‘….teasing…just.. licking softly’

‘What will she do when your pussy gets hot?’

‘She’ll… keep licking softly’

‘And when it gets even hotter?’

‘She’ll stick her finger in me’

‘I thought you wanted to be teased’

Smiling despite it at all.

‘I don’t have that much control’

‘What do you see me doing?’

‘Maybe just watching at first.’

‘What else?’

‘Stroking your cock… mmm…Would you be hard watching us?’

‘Yes.. I would.. but I wouldn’t be able to just watch for very long’

He asked again.

‘What am I doing?’

I think.

'Tell me'
‘.. you're fucking me’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah’
‘So I’m fucking you, the girl is licking and fingering you.. what is she getting out of this?’
‘Umm..my pleasure?’
‘Nothing more? We're both getting more than that. Don’t you think she’d want something more?’

I was panicking. I was resisting. I saw it all too clearly, like I was there. I felt my arousal, my fear; I felt her body next to mine. What do I do with it?

‘I might.. help her out’
‘How?’

Silence.

‘How?.’
‘I’d be… afraid…..’

Damn. I tried to continue.

“Maybe I could..touch her’
‘And then?’
Silence.
‘Tell me’
Silence.
‘Tell me’

I was too far gone for this, it was too sudden, too shattering. I gave up, writhing, my silence final.


He took over. He told me how we could touch her together. How my hand and his hand could meet at her cunt. He told me how her skin would feel, how soft a woman’s skin was.

His words became a blur, my desperation, my shock was wrenching me apart. I started to heave in sobs, working my fingers as he talked.

He told me to control it.

I wanted to cum so bad, I was crying and crying and crying for it.

He told me he was going to do something next that would make her cum. And that when she came, I could cum too, around his cock.

When she came, I could cum too.

When she came in his words, I came too. I came so loud he told me later he’d never heard me cum like that before.

I came like relief from guilt, like a breakdown. I came like I was falling apart, like for one moment, every part of me was lost.

He came too in that moment, listening to me cum.

(…STILL more to come)

possibilities..II.

When I left you last, T had just suggested the following two options to me, to help me have a better handle on both our friendship and our sexual relationship:

T: one idea is that we find a way to make our sexual encounters a bit more intimate - adding a bit more talking and openness
T: the other idea is different
T: it is that we actually further increase the separation between the two - fucking each other for pure enjoyment - then when finished, resuming friendship within minutes or hours or whatever is required - in this case we may want to consider some more sexually adventurous ideas to make this separation clear - tying up, role playing, involving others - watching or even joining in

I read it all and sat silently. Unsure of what I was thinking or feeling. I tried to consider the two options calmly. But I was just thinking of the last part, the fact that it was there.

Tying up, I was all for it. Role-playing, with my scattered brain and shyness, it would be hard to immerse myself in. Involving others kept waiting to jump out at me. Monster hiding under my bed, can it hurt, can it seduce, can it ruin, can it please. I only know it can scare.

T: thoughts?
T: just tell me u r here pls
L: yes here, thinking
T: no need to decide now - only discuss pros/cons
L: first one sounds good to me. i recognize that there is room for more talk and openness, i'm not sure how well i will do managing it
T: but if you're not sure how well you'll do - then why does it sound good?
L: it sounds good because i see that it might help the 'integration' so to speak
T: but is your goal integration or separation
L: yes, that's the question
T: I have concerns with both options but my main concern with the first is possible emotional pain
T: possible loss of both… due to.. too much impossible integration when you are unequipped for it (potentially)
L: yah. same concerns i have probably
T: go on then :)
L: lol eek
L: second option sounds exciting but im worried about just feeling more confused at the end of it
T: my concern with the second option is putting you in a position that would make you uncomfortable

We were still talking normally, trying to make sense. But my mind kept wandering.

Involving others. Watching. Or even joining in

I was mesmerized by the glare from the tail of each comet suggestion.

L: right, yeah there's that too.. it's kinda scary/excitement
T: a rush i can't even describe - don't get me wrong i'd love to show it to you - pervert you for life - lol
L: lol yeah felt tingly just reading it

Very tingly. I was very conscious of the space between my legs all of a sudden.

T: i think you'd especially enjoy being watched
T: especially by a girl masturbating while watching

I’m so turned on. I’m so afraid. I could faint.

L: yes
L: i know i would, that's the thing lol. but don't feel like i'm ready for it just yet
T: i completely understand
T: one way of testing the waters so to speak is to
T: call someone - have it previously arranged - and just let her hear
L: hmmmmm
T: :)
T: all good
T: don't get worried
L: that was a 'hmmm' and a 'mmm' combined by the way
L: hmmmmmmm
T: lol
L: hehe
T: it is making me very horny to be honest (sorry - i know bad time)
L: me too lol.. quite unexpected. i was in the midst of trying to figure everything out, and then i'm like 'fuck'
T: i might cum just to clear my head

I needed to cum too. If I called him now, we were going to talk about everything. Was I ready for this?

T: silence?
L: trying to decide if i'd like to join in

A minute later the tingling is still there, everywhere, relentless.

L: call me?


(… still to be continued hehe)

possibilities...I.

The conversation began when I told T casually about how the way I talked about him to my friend once made her express a desire to ‘have’ him too.

He was intrigued about what exactly it was that I was telling her. I had my blog entry on it, but I hesitated to send it. I said I would look over to see if it was ‘showable’ first.

He wanted to know what I might have to hide. I couldn’t give him a clear answer, and he was left a bit miffed.

T: i guess it just feels (to be honest) slighly unfair.
T: I try to be very open and giving with you sexually - often
T: my best "reward" is your words.
T: please don't misunderstand. i'm just wishing you didn't feel that I would judge, or misunderstand anything you'd say

I understood but I hadn’t been meaning to imply that I hid how I feel about him sexually. Although it was sometimes difficult to bare it all I had tried my best to let him know what I felt after every encounter. From my blog, he had read most of ‘my fantasies’ and ‘my realities’. My ramblings still felt a bit too personal to send. I could be stupid, say the wrong things, be overly emotional in these writings one moment and forget about it all later. Did I really want him to hear all that?

My response was slipshod and it came out like I didn’t want to share at all. The exchange ended on a bit of a down note.

The next day we picked up again on MSN, and I tried to re-explain.

L: been thinking about what you said yesterday.. don't think i did a very good job of answering you
T: you were honest - we're not always going to agree
L: no it wasn't a matter of agreeing or not.. i think i just bungled up issues a bit

I told him I thought I had been doing ok with all my stories, phone calls and audio clips. He pointed out there hadn’t been too much of that of late. I admitted that he had been away for a while, and I had been busy, and when he returned, I had felt a bit disconnected from it all. There were other admissions to be made.

L: i think i have been more censorious on the mental/emotional side of things.. nothing has really felt wrong, but it's required some adjustment for me..
T: i can only imagine - please never feel that i underestimate or under-appreciate that
L: no i know
T: i am quite an emotional person myself - though you'd probably never guess it
L: you can kinda tell :)
L: i'm missing my ex a lot lately, and sometimes i just miss the intimacy of commited sex.. but i don't want to tell you that, cos it's not like i'm asking for that from you.. it's just. facts
T: i understand
T: and i would never ask you to remain intimate with me beyond your comfort level
T: are you sure missing your ex does not relate to this past weekend?
L: no well this past weekend didn't help.. but it's been hitting me for a month now.. once i got beyond the relief of a dying relationship kinda
T: time will no doubt bring you amazing things…though it always feels hard to look ahead when the present has such weight from the past
L: yes, nicely put

He had a comforting way with words. It made me think of how I valued his friendship and how it could sometimes leave me confused.

L: i missed talking to you while you were away.. it worried me a bit, like i had a friendship with you, and i had sex with you, and i was afraid of plugging them all into some fixed formula.. u know what i mean?

(…gap where we had to leave...)

T: what i want to ask is if you feel we are risking anything with the sex - as in do you feel a let down in our friendship? (keeping in mind we haven't seen each other as much)
L: no, i don't feel like there's a let down really
L: hmmm
L: sorry thinking
L: no i don't see it as a risk.. i have trouble integrating the two maybe.. sometimes?
T: integrating?
T: please explain

Clearly defined limits are easy to deal with but boring. The balance we had was bittersweetly brinking back and forth. If nothing touched us, we could maintain it. And we did, we had no problems. But even with nothing throwing me off, I worried about it all the same.

Maybe I cannot be fully happy, maybe I watch my back so much I cannot walk straight.

L: well.. there are fixed prototypes that i'm used to right? there are friendships with no sex, there are romantic commited relationships, there's fucking a complete stranger
L: and we fit in none of course
L: don't get me wrong, i love that.. cos noone ever fits in one. i love that about any interaction with a person. kind of making sense of it, and just 'being'
T: you are used to fucking a complete stranger?
L: i'm not used to it.. maybe the idea of it?
T: i c
T: well
L: makes any sense?
T: i am also glad we do not fit any perfect stereotype

T: how important is our sex to you?
L: herm. it's pretty much on par with the friendship. probably why it's confusing
T: do you feel you have to choose?
L: no
L: not right now.. maybe i worry that i will feel like that at some point
T: soon?
L: no
L: lol sorry, this is wishy-washy, i know.. they're all just small worries that come and go..

I was wondering where I thought I was going when I brought this up. I felt strangely better already having come out with it to him. He had done this all before, and it was a comfort. I might have been satisfied maybe to just end it there, with that discussion... But it would probably just come up again.

And so, arising out of all this of this, the suggestion came up.

T: i have a possible idea
T: one of two ideas in fact
L: k
T: one idea is that we find a way to make our sexual encounters a bit more intimate - adding a bit more talking and openness
T: the other idea is different
T: it is that we actually further increase the separation between the two - fucking each other for pure enjoyment - then when finished, resuming friendship within minutes or hours or whatever is required - in this case we may want to consider some more sexually adventurous ideas to make this separation clear - tying up, role playing , involving others - watching or even joining in

(…to be continued)