snow

I got out of class late tonight, 9 o’clock.

Bear with me here. I feel an incredibly sappy ramble coming on.

It’s easier to write about these things than the actual events that are writhing and breaking and splintering through in my life. Later, I tell myself. Later, after it’s all settled. Maybe forgotten so I won’t have to write at all. Some parts written but too damn messy and unresolved to want to see put here.

(Sometimes I imagine X will find this blog, and he will think, but wasn’t this the time when we, when I, and then she, so then we….didn’t she want to stop to write about that? Didn’t she feel that pain at all? He’d put his hand through this X-shaped hole here, puzzled.)

Later, later… after it’s all over. Let me have a moment.

So I got out of class late tonight, like I do every time this day of the week. Got out at 9 o’clock on the dot, so I knew I had just missed the bus.

So I was in no rush. A half hour to kill.

It had just begun to snow again.

It was the kind of snow that dawdled on its way down, so you knew you should too.

Like the same snow that had whipped and cut at your cheeks, the same snow that had crackled and rustled all nasty in your ear through the fake-fur lined hood of your polar-bear coat, had suddenly decided to stop and just…make friends. Let you watch.

Quiet, so you knew you should be too.

I put my hood back down around my neck, let the large, friendly crumbs settle on my hair.

Looked at the closest bus stop…decided to walk to the next one.

I watched my feet for a bit as I tread through the glistening ground. Just enough to give my boots the lightest crunch. None of this ugly slipping business.

I noticed these little dark grey dots flit and sway across the white sheet of the pavement, right where I was about to step. The next time the spots began to jump around again, I looked up. The splay of the streetlight held a crystal spray of white against black sky.

The shadows of snowflakes, I realized. Cool, I thought, looking back at the dancing black on white ground. It's like a negative.

I looked down at my shoulder where flakes rested politely, having meandered down from the sky, unbroken and sparse. Actually delicate and lacey and glassy,…cool. The way you thought snowflakes were supposed to be when you folded your construction paper turned square and started to snip snip little holes with your safety scissors. (Cept I was always a screw-up and would snip snip along the wrong fold. And end up with diamonds and triangles.. lotsa lotsa triangles.. Oh and that one blunt solid kinda.. polygonish.. thing. .)

I kept walking. All the trees were torn down the middle, like masked mimes, one face somber, the other cheeky with whipped cream. Bushes were dripping with thick swirls of it, just downs of it. Snow you think you can pick up and shake like woven fabric.

And everything just shining, twinkling, reflecting off the edges of cut faces, yellow and blue.

I was non-chalantly ‘cool’ing in my head all over, but really I wanted to be like: OHMAGOD LOOK EVERYBODY, EES A WINTA WONDALAND!! (And yes, I'd say it with exactly that accent too.)

I kept it to myself. Campus was so dead anyways. Only the few odd people who put up with late night classes like me. Or maybe there were more of us around, and I just couldn’t hear. Snow really does muffle all. And greys really are kinda muted on a night like this.

And then I started to hear this ding-ding-ding sound behind me, sweet and clear, even through the muffle. Ding-ding-ding. I’m thinking a truck or something. Ding-ding-ding. Car alarm? I turn around and.. it's a train.

A freakin honest to goodness train.

That forgotten steel railtrack running right at the edge of the campus actually had a train on it.

You see, I’ve seen that track every day for two years, and I have never, ever seen a train on it.

And not just any old train. Old, rickety, lots of bits and pieces cargo train. Choo-choo train. Clang-clang-clang train. You get the idea.

I stopped to watch. It cut through the mesh of drifting snow slowly, all exposed, all dingalinging still, shiny lights shining grandly all over its metal. And then it turned round the bend of the tracks and was gone. I’m thinking.. . hallucination?.

Just when I thought it could get no cornier, I came to this little shortcut I always walk though to cut round the corner of the big old engineering building. There’s this big old striking sprawling black maple tree behind that building there that never disappoints. Well only black now cos it’s winter.

I adopted the tree this past fall when, while cutting through in a rush to catch the bus, it made me stop dead in my tracks. It had shed nearly every leaf it had, leaving a golden dark brown net of crooked branches capturing blue sky. Every single leaf that had fallen was this bright bright yellow, and every square inch of the ground was covered with it, not a peek of soil coming through, and then the sun came though and they all just sunshined, amber and opal, and I was like… holy crap.

I had a holy crap moment again right there under my tree tonight. I stepped off the pavement, and stepped onto the path, sunk my feet into the freshly piled up snow. And it was up past the top of my boots, staining my jeans. And I swear to you it was what you always imagined snow to be like growing up in a country with no snow. Five years here now and I hadn’t felt snow quite like that. There were giddy mounds of it, completely light and feathery. It stroked and powdered with every glide of my leg. I floated through.

I got to the end of the path, to the very corner of the building. Trapped between a boulder at my feet and the outside wall off the building at my back. Light from the building on the boulder, thick spider web of my tree above. And what was only muffled before went completely silent. Completely, there’s not a soul here but you, silent. And I looked down at the boulder. These ridged cubes of sparkle dazzle snow had patterned across the rock, having woven though the arrangment of branches above. Water crystals had layered themselves on top of the stone in jagged little towers. And because I’m a geek, a part of me couldn't help but think of all the different phases of ice. And of hydrogen-bonded networks. Except like never seen before. Like brittle equations had suddenly unmasked a tender face. So I bent down to take a closer look. Camera, camera, camera, I was thinking. And though I didn’t want to ruin it, I just had to reach my ungloved hand out and stick my fingers in carefully. And it just collapsed again, like when I was walking, except this time onto my bare skin. And I know you don’t believe me. I know you’re rolling your eyes already because I’ve taken this so far. But it was perfect. Just so perfect . This cold, dusty, soft caress of perfection. Not wet. Not sticky. Perfect.

Looking into skies outside from plane windows, and clouds, really literally clouds, on the ground, all this time. Who knew?

I told you it was corny.

his smell, my dysfunction

Have I told you he has the sweetest smell? Well he does. Or his cock does, to be precise.

It must be his diet. Health-conscious, all organic, fruits and nuts, careful him. I am more of an onion garlic chili spice kinda gal. I know how I smell, salt and sour and metal and bitter and ammonia and sweet and pungent all at once. I’m no walk in the garden. I change all the time. I smell and taste exactly like me.

I smell him all the time, like I’ve smelled no other. Those times I described sitting on top of him. Or I can think of one strident time when I was on my back and he was hovering over me. Right when he starts to get aroused, and his eyes shut a bit, or his head pushes forward a bit out of its skin, I start to sense it. I feel like a freak because I can smell it so stongly, yet I wonder if I am imagining it. But then I’ve always had a sensitive nose. I am hit with whiffs of it and I know it’s real, though impossible to describe...

(..make me faint
frankincense
with a butterscotch
drunken lick
twist,
chocolate it ain’t
but pheremone caramel
poison,
fill me myrrh,
musky fucky,
keep it coming,
sweet
and
never sour
you...)

I wonder how weird it would be if I gave in to my impulse to lean over, right in the middle of the action, and really take a deep breath of it in.

His redolence. His fragrance. His aroma. His essence.

Language fails me here, it really does. I think of the other language I know, and there is a word that is used for a smell that is pleasing. Except when you say it, it means delicious, mmm, ohhh ,oof, let me smell that again. No other word really comes as close in my mind.

I have not talked yet of the last time I was at his house and I finally tasted him in my mouth. It is a shame that I was distracted with the fact that I had my first date with N right afterwards. And that as per my usual when I visit him, I had just finished a paper the night before, was running on 5 hours of sleep, had all my Christmas shopping to do right afterwards, a lunch date with N, dinner with X and other friends, as well as my city to get back to, so I could pack my suitcases and clean the house, so I could then get back to his city and catch my flight the next day. (It never rains, but it pours, or rather clawing cats and barking dogs suddenly decide to make their debut from large gaping holes in the sky.)

Maybe as a result of this, it was the only visit where I felt a bit dysfunctional and lost with him.

He was still sleeping anyways when I arrived, it was so early. He had had a late night too. He’d got up earlier to leave the door unlocked for me. I felt shy and a stranger again at his bedroom door, unwilling to disrupt his sleep. I helloed at the threshold. Aren’t you going to come in?, he asked. Yes, oh, wasn’t sure if you wanted me to, I said. Well, yes, sorry, come in, he mumbled. I felt silly and walked in.

Did I take off my pants before I lay down on his bed? I forget. I remember he was cold from having just woken up. He drowsily told me he had a strange desire never there before, to have me licking and teasing all over his body, playing whichever way I wanted. Actually he'd told me this already once over the phone a long while back but I decided not to remind him of it. My mouth was dry. I’d always wanted to do this and now was the time. As I started, he reassured me that it was not about a performance on my part, that it was just to watch me enjoy myself.

He felt like this amazon valley of choice underneath me, and he was still cold so he was pulling the comforter over us, and over my lost head. I was so tentative you know. I was so awkward. Thick mats of my hair kept finding its way to my mouth, and I was getting annoyed, because I did not like the sensation. And it was annoying to hold it back with one hand and he wasn't holding it back for me. I was so distracted. And trapped under the sheets. It’s ok, have fun with it, he said, the feel of your hair and me in your mouth, it’s fun. I’m not sure why I could not fully. Just distracted I guess. I've been told I might have ADD. Do you think it's true maybe? It would certainly explain my writing. Maybe even parts of my life. Though not really my childhood. I thought we were all a bit like this.

But he had this very white clammy skin my teeth just slid off, I wanted to suck into it and pull up but it wouldn’t quite give way. It was smooth and clear like glass. Like butter you forgot to take out of the freezer. I don’t know what it was. I didn’t want to feel him fully I think. Maybe what it was? Or he didn’t want it? I was so very close. Tip of my tongue on his nipples, this I liked, little kisses I opted for finally which I liked, I liked it all, but why couldn’t I just give in?

Then he started to emanate his fabulous smell again. And I put my hand on the down of his stomach and groaned. Do I tell him now how good he smells? Shh. I started to move down bit by bit and stopped. Is there something else you want to do, he asked sleepily, heaving gently. Uhuh, I said. Say it out loud, he said. Feels good to say things out loud. He's right, but I didn’t feel like talking that day. His cock, his scent, thisclose to my lips. This, I said. And put my mouth around his cock for a brief moment. And took out and licked soft. My mouth was exploding with his flavor. And the thrill of having done it. He sighed and breathed.

I won’t get fully hard, he said. It’s ok, I said. No I mean, on purpose, for you, he answered. Oh, I said sheepishly. I realized I had no desire to give him a full-blown blowjob. I wanted to have him in my mouth, and I wanted to lick and hold wherever and whenever I felt. But no real desire to build and build him slowly, to ride him with my mouth and take him deep in as he lengthened. Not like with X, and afterwards with N. There was just this unusual fetish for his taste and I was unsure how to express it. I breathed all close around his head, nearly but never quite closing my mouth around him. I started to lick along his shaft, strings of yummy syrupy yes he was, smooth and satin. Wish my mouth hadn’t been so dry. My fingers were moving down to his ass where his balls started, stroking. This intimacy felt strange, you know, I’ve never fully touched him, only fucked. His head was poking out further and further and he was sharply sensitive to touch, and asked that I keep his skin pulled up and around his head to avoid pain as I sucked. Which was new. So I tried to do this, while still stroking at his base, and I was moving my head, and he was helping me, and oh I hate to say it but selfish me, really I just wanted to taste.

Not that I wasn’t turned on. I had unwittingly clamped my legs around his one thigh, his hairs tickling on me, as I started to grind against, and he groaned and pushed his thigh up to meet me, feeling a bit of my wet.

I realized what he meant about not becoming fully hard because the longer he got the more I felt like I was covering no ground. I used to love taking X into my throat past my gag so I was close to his balls. And I had no troubles with N. They were sizeable enough. But I was befuddled now as to how I would possibly get the right angle if I were to want to push down further with him. Dangled headfirst from a crane maybe? Was there enough neck for that? It made me want to laugh a bit.

Oh but I was distracted and silly and trying to adjust, and all I really wanted was him tasty in my mouth for a minute or two, so I stopped finally, tired, and sorried. And he pulled me up and said it was ok, and I kissed his torso for a minute or two longer, before he put his cock inside between my legs, my cunt finally filled and we fucked. And it was as good as ever.

And later on, after we had slept for a bit, he asked a bit about N, this mysterious date of mine. And I told him, but was kind of vague and curt because I didn't know what to say, and well, you know the rest.

We should try the first part again some better time I suppose, when I am more relaxed, if we feel like it. It’s a shame I couldn’t enjoy more thoroughly what I had been looking forward to so.

I wanted to write about it (even though there are much more important things to write about), because I realized I have made mention of our every single encounter here, phone, writing and real, if not fully, then at least in passing.

So here, for the record books, was that last one.

And I do so like and miss his smell.

clearly - silly and good (part IV)

He was all hyper immediately afterwards. More than I’ve ever seen him. Phew, he kept saying. Trying to shake it off with a sigh. He put on a deep voice, joked about trying to ‘play it cool’ , said he was trying to be like, well that was fun, enjoy yourself now, bye, but that no, that was good. No that was really. quite. good, he kept saying. Maybe cos it was unexpected, he said. I don’t know. Wow…. Sweeeet... Duuude..You know what I’m saying? I was gasping with laughter after each mock adolescent exclamation, always easily amused when weak. I volunteered a Whoa and snorted. He was laughing, rambling like the kid he can sometimes suddenly be. I was grinning and giggling through my haze. Phews were still being passed all around. He kept jokingly apologizing for being so annoying.

I was quite enjoying it.

I’ll leave you to enjoy your bliss in peace soon, he said. Gimme a few more minutes.

Even if we don’t fuck again, at least now we have this thought, he said as we shut the phone.

I got up later and placed my hand between my legs from behind, and found watery cum had leaked out, slippery on my legs, still wet on my hand. (And I’m not usually much of a leaker.)

And I was naked in the mirror, and I felt fantastic, happy, energized, yes doesn’t matter what happens now, that was just so good

clearly- yes (part III)

Then you’re telling me you’re stroking yourself, that you don’t usually like to stroke sitting down but that it feels soothing and good. I’m throbbing and quiet. You’re afraid you’ve said too much and I say no. Fuck, so horny, you’re typing. Fuck. Mmm.. is all I’m typing.

Then you want to hear more, want your ego stroked more as you stroke yourself, you want to be compared, and you know it’s bold and wrong, and I’m laughing cos I don’t care. I'm lightheaded and my legs are burning and I don’t care. And it’s subtle so I don’t know what to say but I want to tell you all… I don’t care, I’m shameless, I just want you to cum, cum from knowing what you do to me. I tell you how addictive and perfect and smooth and tight and warm you feel when you push inside me. I’m shameless. I tell you how it’s just a yes when you push inside me, and I laugh at my own silly lyricism. Fuck. I curse your pianist’s rhythm, laughing still, telling you how insanely good your rhythm is inside me, never mechanical, capturing me.. Fuck. You sound like you want to cum, I say. Are you trying to make me cum?, you ask at the same time. Always simultaneous, you joke.. We’re laughing. I was just saying what I felt, I say. K maybe I want to make you cum a little bit, I admit. We’re laughing. I’m wet. I hope you’re really hard.

Then you say watch this, you’re showing your cock on camera, we’ve only been talking like this for a minute, but you are longer and harder and thicker than even expected. You tease me with it in your hand. Mmmm. I’ve never seen you with it in your hands, alone, stroking like that. You shut the camera off, say it’s your first time on webcam. Tease. I’m asking if you liked it. You’re asking if I liked it, if it brought up any pleasant memories. Bastard. I just say yes. You type a moan, and you know it just won’t do. I have to hear you. I need to hear you. I tell you that. I say I’m gong to call.

Then we’re on the phone. So you need to hear me? I just say yes. Have you missed my cock? Yes. You ask if I have anything to show you. You say it’s only fair.

Then I’m on camera. The image is blurred, I’ m trying to fix it with shaking hands. My hands are inside my panties, I’m stroking my clit. I’m telling you about it because it’s hard to see. Show me your cunt. I’m standing. I’m pushing down my panties and lifting up my nightie so it’s hiked around my waist. Yes that’s it. I have the phone in one hand. You’re groaning. I’m standing, my cunt is there standing for you, my hand stroking it. You tell me yes, that’s the cunt I want to fuck. I can barely take it. I can barely take it now just typing it. Can you cum twice?, you’re asking. Yes, is all I can say. Yes? You tell me you want me to cum now like this, and then have me cum again with you later, enjoy it fully.

Then I start to really stroke, I start to gasp, my spine starts to collapse from the waist, my head lolling sideways down to my waist, phone tight in my ear, sobbing, yes, yes cum on your feet, you say, your knees weak, cum while you stand.. I’m moaning cos I’m going to fall, I’m going to cum, legs bending, cum leaning against the desk, I can’t scream, my roommate’s around, I collapse on to the side of the desk, my breath ,trying to catch, then you tell me to shut my webcam and lie down in bed and relax.

Then it’s just your voice, I’m in bed, I’m on my stomach, still panting, you’re telling me how you want to fuck me on my stomach, deep, you say you want to try and give me a different orgasm, make me squirt, put your cock deep and stroke my wall, find my spot, how I could let go to it, let it build, feel it strange, how I’d fight it, and you’d be able to hold me down, overpower me, how you’d love to see me fight it, moan, how you’d be fucking me, you’d see me, but I would just be there being fucked, and if I let go to it, I would just cum, feel it like a man does, ejaculate, maybe a little, maybe a lot, maybe a whole gush, but how gone I’d be right afterwards regardless, unable to cum again, completely emptied, just soaked onto your cock, would you like that you ask me, would you like for us to do that, I just say yes, dying, I’m going to cum, I tell you, don’t, don’t, sob, don’t cum babe, let me own your cunt, groan, move your hands in rhythm with my words, don’t cum, gentle and firm as always, let me own you, sob, you want me to own your cunt?, yes, you like when I own your cunt? yes, then don’t cum…moan.. you like when I control your cum?, yes, then don’t cum, I’m whimpering hard, trying to control my hands, zoning in on just you, whimpering, don’t cum, soon, soon you’ll cum, whimpering, tightening and tightening inside, feels so good to wait right at the brink, wait, hand slipping and sliding, thrusting onto my hand, listening to only you, faster, faster, fadingaway, cum, hard, you’re screaming it, hard, hard, hard, oh I wish I could scream, I hit hard against my hand, into my wet plush self, and I cry out, wish I could scream, cumming out of my lungs in a silent tortured aaaaaaa that I can’t sustain, breaking into a loud gasp, you’re groaning so loudly through it again because you're cumming too, groans I’ve missed, god that’s a drop, you’re mumbling between groans, god such a drop, I’m blanked out on my pillow listening and panting, barely there, you really focused on me there in that last bit, I could tell, thank you, thank you for that. you say all in one breath, I just say yes.

Then thank you.

..to be continued, last little bit.

clearly - i ache (part II)

The next morning I woke up and I felt calm. I saw the fear that had been clouding everything up and making everything needlessly impossible. The same panicky fear every time there’s a change.

After writing down of the intensity with T the night before, I realized it isn’t something to fear. It’s just what it is, and I enjoy it thoroughly. It’s what I want. It’s what I crave. It satisfies me. That was it. Why run away?

When I caught T online this time, I was ready to talk. He said if I needed more space it was fine, but no I was ready. I wasn’t doing very well, I was still a little all over the place, but this time I was calm. I told him how it had been startling to be filled with a huge, strong craving for him, after having sex with someone else. This was tricky area, and even typing it now I cringe a little. I told him how it made me feel bad for N a bit. Still, the craving couldn’t be denied. I told him about talking with N, told him about what seemed to be lacking. I didn’t write N off completely because I wanted to be fair to him, and I really hadn’t known him long enough to tell.

Long silence. He had told me from the beginning, that I could take all the time I wanted, but that I had to give him input, because he couldn’t come to a decision about us without hearing from me.

I tried to think of what I wanted to say.

T: Anything you want to say regarding us?
L: Hmmm

Long silence.

T: You don’t have to.
L: I know.

Just tell him what you were thinking yesterday, I thought. You typed it out before here. Now type it to him.

Still silence. And then…

L: I was thinking of how much I really do like to hear of your want for me. Like if you tell me you want to hear me cum. It's very.. real. I really feel like I’m always completely there… and you are too.
L: I guess we’ve mentioned it before kinda…
L: But it really does leave my cunt instantly aching when I hear that, every time.. It's powerful

Pause. I felt nervous. I was tingling though just from talking about it.

T: That’s hot
T: That made me hard at once, out of control

Oh. Unexpected. Yes, I was definitely aching again. And it was good.

Blurry and good.

to be continued

clearly - it doesn't matter (part I)

Things started to fall into place bit by bit suddenly today.

Last night I finally chatted with N. I told him vaguely of my strange, confusing talk with T.

I was in the middle of trying to remind N in my own hum-haw-errr kind of way that him and I had agreed that if this goes just the sexual way, then I would reconsider my current stance on not seeing T. Ugh.

He cut me short, praise the boy-

N: So basically you’re saying that rather than have two fuck buddies you would choose T.

I was a little askance at the titles, but relieved, yes this was the kind of choice I was attempting to talk about.

L: Well, I’m saying it would be a difficult choice. :S

N is fun, cute, lots of energy, super kinky, yet cuddly and tender at times. Incredible eyes, ever changing blue-gray with a fleck of hazel in the center. He DID make me eggs that morning, and he did fuck me hard and dirty, ramming his cock in my mouth, cramming his finger into my ass with lube, strapping me to my couch. It was quite good. It was new and exciting. I’m still very attracted. Maybe something light and nice like that would be good to have. Maybe it would be easier than what I have with T. (I suppose I have a strange idea of what constitutes easy and light and nice) But still, something missing, something that made him impossible to write about without just feeling like I’m just prattling off sex acts, impossible to really fully want.

N: Don’t sweat it babe. I’m just buggin ya.. I’m cool either way. You sort out what you have with T. If you wanna fuck, you tell me. You don’t, you can tell me that too.

I felt so relieved to hear him say that all of a sudden. It cinched it for me in a way. He really and truly didn’t care either way. He never did. I hadn’t expected a fight or a plea. But hearing it put like this, I realized fully what had been niggling at me the whole time. His general indifference. It’s what made some things feel like a pantomime. And I realized suddenly that it didn’t seem to matter a whole lot to me either. All our encounters had been fun. They had been impulsive. That was it.

We could do it again, or we couldn’t. It didn’t matter.

It was so obvious. I felt strangely like hugging him. The conversation ended pleasantly on that note, with no undercurrents of tension.

N: Rest easy pooks..concentrate on the important stuff.

Yes, yes I would. (Pooks?..Well, guess it’s cute.)


to be continued

inhuman

T,

Why can’t I talk about this with you?

I told you yesterday about the sex I’ve had with N. You were surprised. You thought I was going to be taking it slow. You thought I was after a relationship.

No, here we are T, here are the facts. I fucked N. No more, no less.

You were surprised. Not angry, not sad… surprised.

You wanted to know about it. Wanted to know my reasons why. I tried to talk, pedaling and backpedaling, nothing like the full truth seemed to ever come out of my mouth.

You were bruised. Your ego. You said you had thought our sex was inspiration and satisfaction enough for me.

It hurt to have you question that. After all this. Everything in this blog. But I didn’t blame you.

What could I tell you? That nothing but your cock in my cunt will do? Where does that leave me if it’s true?

This is not why N happened, is happening. What if it is? I know how wrong that is.

I couldn’t help but tell you I already missed your intensity.

As the conversation ended, you said abruptly, wow- it really is weird to think of you with someone so recently. Said you guess you’re only human.

I said, Better than being inhuman.

(But fuck it T, be inhuman, don’t let it affect you at all. Or be inhuman, be irrational and angry, cast me off. Own me, T, for just this second, for just this moment, I want this. When you respond to me right now, be inhuman, be fully mine, or be nothing.)

The feeling passed. We were us again, we were nearly theres, little grey bits of this and that. We were friends, fuckers, incompatible and intertwined. You said not to worry, that it is just that this is new for us. We just need to figure out how this will affect us.

You asked if I didn’t feel weird too. Our story goes a long way back, you said.

And I thought of ‘my story’ here that I could never finish telling. And I thought, yes it does, but what way does it go forward?

Weird is an understatement, was my only response.

I spent all night thinking it out in circles. There may be more to N or there may be nothing to N at all. Same goes for you, really.

I must have slept.

I woke up this morning and I still wanted to be in this closed empty ball of thought, under my sheets. My heart felt heavy. I put on your music for no smart reason, and crawled back in to bed. The phone rang a minute later, it was you. My heart felt heavy. I shut off your music, and picked up, throwing myself back into bed. You’d just got up too.

You asked me how I was doing, said that you wanted to check that I was alright. I chirped that I was ok, just a bit confused. The strangled cheerfulness was not me, but it was all I had.

You said you’d warned me about taking things too fast with N, that you knew a little bit of how emotional I was. Yes, I knew.

Not that I’m sayin- I’m not-you know, trying to... Yes, I knew.

It was not only N I was worried about though.

You really are quiet, you said. Yes.

Strangest thing, you said, after all that talk yesterday, I had a really erotic dream about you last night.

From our very beginning, I've felt nothing more seductive than hearing of your want for me. In all your different ‘I want you’s, I’ve felt so strongly the me in your you, the you in your I. It is not just general want for cunt. That kind of want, maybe the way it is with N, is fine, is fun, is free. But you want my cunt. Consuming. You want to feel your cock sliding between my walls. You want to hear my cries. Consuming. You want to fuck me, hear me, feel me build and cum, like you have before. So consuming. Why? Why is that so powerful? Why does it make my cunt ache, ready to be your want? You know I’ve wanted you the same way too. Can I ever admit this fully to you, how terrifying and wonderful this is, how much this blows my mind?

I wanted to moan all of sudden, but I held back. The dream is just the ego trying to reassert, I tried to tell myself. I fucked with other than it, and now it wants to fuck me more.

It is just like you though, the way you admitted this, in this darned if this isn’t the way it happened kind of way. You step over taboos with such gentle reassured ease.

I thought I might have just made it up at first. But then I thought wait a minute, I wake up, hard, pounding with this thought, that’s a dream. I ‘made it up’?? that’s what a dream IS..

I laughed, because I’ve struggled with this some mornings too. Even if it is a dream, how much of it is being remolded by our conscious self, as we try to recapture and retell it inside our mind?

It was practically a wet dream, you continued. I woke up ready to cum. I had to calm down a bit before I called you. But yeah, for a second there… I wanted to - rape you.

Your voice went quiet and breathy, a tinge of laughing shame, a tinge of laughing heat, saying that last part.

Ache. Throb. Ache.

Hmm, I said with a strained laugh, trying not to sigh. Quiet. Trying not to picture it. You didn’t tell me more about it thankfully. But I wanted you to.

You could tell I didn’t want to talk about it. You could tell actually that I didn’t want to talk much about anything. I knew I was just making this more difficult. I wanted to talk more about how I’m feeling. I wanted to answer your questions, because they do help, but everything that slipped out was just not what I was thinking at all. Or just a part of it. Short, staccato sentences with huge silences in between. I contradicted myself almost immediately, felt a panic building up, and you stopped, uncomfortable, and said, OK this really feels like you are not enjoying this at all.

I admitted that I really didn’t want to talk about this today. I didn’t want to talk with anyone about anything today.

I’m sorry, I told you, I'm just.. my head, it's not.. straight. I can't.. I'm sorry..we will talk.

You said it’s ok, though it did make it more difficult, for both of us. I knew.

Hey, on a lighter note, you said, your voice perking up, I had a really great dream!!'

That’s good, I said, smiling despite myself.

Damn good dream..

That’s good...

We laughed. Funny because I was glad for it, still am, ache or no ache.

I was still apologizing as we said our goodbyes, and you were telling me it’s ok and telling me to take care. We shut the phone.

I lay around all day… thinking… not thinking…

a billion and one ways to say 'we'll see'

Tommorow night N comes to my house.

Herpes issues have been pretty much resolved. Another doctor I trust told me the symptoms didn’t sound like it at all, and also I did turn out to have a vaginosis that might have lead to a blockage of glands. I’m going to stop talking about it now cos I didn’t want this to be some gross look into the things that reside in my vagina. I just wanted to clear it here, though of course you never can completely after a scare. All I can say is condom use prevails regardless, I’ve definitely learnt that much.

I also got to talk to T a bit more, as I’ve tried to mention here and failed. Mixed feelings would be an understatement. He seems to think that I am a bit more serious in what I want from N, or this is how he rationalises my reasons for wanting to do this. But in the very least, he knows that N is coming to my house, and it’s very likely that we’ll have sex, and well, we’ll just see how it goes from there.

I’m not sure what I want from N. Our talk has always revolved around sex, and if I look at him from a distance, I just see a 21 yr old boy who wants sex and who’s found a girl he can have it with easily. There’s nothing hugely wrong with that. I don’t need to have every part of me to be valued at all times. I think if this is all it is though, then he should value my sex, just as I would his. I don’t want to be a generic cunt for his anonymous cock. Yes, let sex be all we’re having, but I’d hate for it to be about how many girls he’s chalked up, and what kind of prestige his experiences with me are going to give him. He hasn’t given me cause to quite believe it’s like that, but I kind of worry all the same. I want real sex.

I don’t know if it’s worth giving up the more intense kind of experience I’ve had with T. I may be runining away from complications that intensity brings me sometimes.

I think N is confused about what more he wants from me anyways. We don’t put a name on it for now, friends with benefits, dating with a kink, what is it? We’ll need to soon. I’ve never dated you know. I’ve never understood it. I’ve had one two-year boyfriend and T. Deep down I don’t think anything that starts off this hugely sex-based can lead to anything more substantial. Maybe just an old wives tales?

Whatever it is, we’ll just be people and try to be careful and hopefully all will turn out fine.

The nice thing about N is I don’t feel like he’s a creep. Isn’t that a roundabout kind of nice thing? He was quite charming on our first luncheon date. I catch him online every day and he talks about his parents and his friends and his schoolwork. We talk about our exes. We talk movies and music and politics. He is overly smooth perhaps, but not malicious I don’t think.

And I will say this for N, his enthusiasm IS a lot of fun. He has a lot of things he wants to try, and though his motivations for wanting to try them are a bit suspect, he does really really want to try. He has this evil gleam in his eye that he knows he has, and loves to play up. And he is a bit superior about it in his ‘watch out for me’ kinda way, and I shouldn’t fall for these kinda games, but I want to. I want to be this little kink of a girl who he can try things on. It’s hot for me. What can I say?

His conduct when he came to my house was quite impeccable. We had sex because we wanted it. I would talk about it more because it was interesting at times, though not as consistently smoothly rich and sexy as it has been with T. It was a mixture of uneasy kissing, shy laughter and surprise, and raw, brutal, just doing this sex. I remember one particular instance where he whispered in my ear ‘I’m going to fuck you’ and proceeded to do just that, pushing me backwards onto the bed, while I laughed, partly from nervous excitement, partly cos I was brattily thinking, ‘Oh, you can do better than that’

I think I don’t feel like talking about it much cos of my guilt for not telling of it to T when he asked on the phone. I want to act like it didn’t happen. Maybe, maybe though, it was because it was nothing that inspired me to write about. We’ll see what happens this time.

I was chatting with him just now and he’s told me that I’m kind of 'innocent in a very corruptible way’.. It makes me laugh. I wonder if I’ve played at being that way. I don't think so. Something about being seen as something to be corrupted gets under my skin in a queasy way. It turns me on, and then pisses me off at the same time because things like corruption and seduction imply no choice and control. Well it is the dilemma of anyone who likes to submit some control during sex, I’ll deal with it. As I’ve told him, I have no hold over him, just whether I choose to stick around for it or not. That goes for anyone really. That is always my choice.

We should have fun. I’m writing this all so I can put it aside and just enjoy myself for once. Stop buying into every worry in the world and just do what I feel.

We said our goodnights a bit ago, and we both proclaimed that we were psyched, and we were both grinning in anticipation of what might come.

He’s going to come to my house late because he’s catching the bus after class. I’m going to be waiting for him. I’m going to be tidying the house and remembering to put water in the jug in the fridge and looking for extra sheets.

It’s going to feel sneaky and dangerous again, this tall boy with grayish blue wolf eyes ringing my door bell around midnight, me letting him in. Will we start right off the bat, or will we be shy and awkward and crack weird jokes?

I think we’ll have some drinks and unwind in my living room, find ourselves relaxed and sprawled in it, him sneaking off clothes from me like I didn’t want them off anyways.

Will he grab me like he wants to, will he hear me screaming again, will he really, really grab me, really just take and fuck me the way I know he wants to? I want to see him do it, really let loose and do it. I want to challenge him and fight it, I want to laugh at him, tease and goad him if he doesn’t give it his all. I want to feel a fury and see it be held down by him and squelched in his moment’s fuck.

Plus, he said he’ll make me eggs for breakfast.

(There's room to be cynical even there, but what am I coming to, if I can't just simply enjoy a man making me breakfast?)

what to write?

I want to write about what's actually going on in my life.

But the thought of sitting down and detangling this mess of fuck and feeling and putting it into words is so exhausting.

I want to write, but I don't want to know.

I want to write. About my immature N and doing this with him cos I can. About T finally talking of the lack of kissing between us, when I had already fully understood why 2 months beforehand, also roughly 2 months after whining about it here I guess. And being ok with it. And then a part not ok with it. About the heart in our mind that only wants to know 'what if?' About kissing N and feeling not quite right. But feeling excited still. Yes, 'what if?' About this thing we call a heart, just our hope in disguise, bloody organic sticky, merge my life, my thoughts, my codons with you disguise, keep knocking, keep living, the divine, the eternity in a lifetime disguise. About cumming loudly for T right after telling him it's time to hold off for a bit . About being glad for T and sad for T. About boundaries and whether we open them for love or love opens them for us. About the advice T gave me in this. About people who’ll tell you to unbunch your underwear whenever you show any alarming signs of giving a shit. (Hah. Even our idiom for caring is ugly.) About N possibly being one of those people, and still wanting to fuck him. About passion and earnest truth and lack thereof in me, N, and others.

Today, no learning. Just going.

(But then, this already has me thinking, so this is why they hide, we hide, I hide.)

forget

He’d wake up in her bed with the sun in his eyes. He’d complain that she had left the blinds half open again, and she’d giggle.

She was always laughing at the strangest times, and then forgetting the joke.

He’d part her grey and white striped legs from behind. He’d grimace half-blind as he slid himself in. She’d titter as he plunged his hardness into her. He’d feel kind of annoyed.

He’d roll her over onto her stomach, grab her by the roots of her hair, furling it into an angry French twist.

She’d arch her amused back, her ass sticking comically up. He’d be curled around her ridiculous curves, his teeth laid close, ready for her back.

He’d bite malicious marks all down her back. Punch purple brackets into her heaving back.

His annoyance would slip away, he’d be still inside her, a fact hard to forget, as she’d start to drip, patters of drips onto his cock with each bite and tug.

They would stay long like this, in this push or pull, this hard or soft, this moan or laugh, this bright or shade. Her cunt the shining wet on his teeth, his hard cock the cut in her back.

Until he could finally be still, leave the fist of hair threaded between his fingers, comforted on her head. Until he could leave his teeth resting in the place he was last, flesh caught gentle in between. Until he could finally move inside her, finally just –I’m here- thrust.

Forget her until the next sunny morning.

breathe

I’ve come closer in this past year to peace. It may not seem like it from my posts, but I feel it nearer every day, tantalizingly close. I feel a surrender to events that doesn’t have to mean giving up. I feel a smile that is neither happy nor sad. I flow, all I know is I go, one way or the other.

Sweet Anna tells me to breathe, to think back to a time when I was happy and breathe. It inspires me, and I thank her for it. And I think on my happy times, and on my bad times as well, and I breathe.

The good, the bad, the panic, the calm, the cum, the laugh, the cry, they’ve all taken my breath away, they’ve all held my life in their hands for a moment, and given it back. My heart’s pumped another day.

Time smooths you down, so my mother says, you stop feeling as much.

Age is a distance.

And I learn again and again that all the clichés are true, and every cliché can still be mine and mine alone. I learn to choose sappiness over indifference. Sincerity over uniqueness. I trip, but I fall forward.

This smooth marble feeling creeps up on me, begins to gloss over me, not in my grasp, but nearly there. I start to pearl over. I begin to realize this might not be a catastrophe. That there is a balance. A reserve. My center remains molten.

Day and night start to fall into place. My wants multiply until I want it all, and then needs start to feel irrelevant. Some things I will strive for and never get, some things will fall in my lap undeservedly. It feels so good to just desire.

So much more to go, and yet I’ve come so far. The realization that my life didn’t have to feel common, wasn’t, has wrought such a change over me. I’ve found the people with words and actions and faces that can touch right underneath my nose, me and you.

I start to love without trepidation.

I hope to come to the point where I can string love in garlands everywhere defiantly, and see the love that has already been strewn here and there on my path, in my every interaction with the world. I hope for no shame and no fear in this. I know I will feel those too.

I hope for courage.

I find myself in everything. I find everything in myself. There is so much hope for me. I pile dirty thing on top of dirty thing till I am overwhelmed, and then hope crashes them down, pushes me to move on.

Someone saw me over the holidays after a 15 month absence and told me I’d changed.

“Your face, something, you look different.. better.. your eyes or something “

“I grow old, I grow old”, I quoted with a laugh.

I have. I shed innocence in exchange for awareness every day.

lost

I’m in a whirlwind. I have herpes. I don’t. I’m irresponsible. I’m a slut. T’s words are in my ear fucking me. N is nibbling on my throat. N’s lips meet mine. X is hugging me tight. I need you. I don’t. I don’t need anyone. I’m telling lies. I want the truth. Did I trick N? Did I trick you? There are no words. I try to speak. N maybe we should. X you shouldn’t have. T I don’t think I should. I don’t need your intoxication. I want it. I crave it. I crave you too. Do I need him to hold you away? Why did I start this? Why are you you? No courage in these thoughts. I can’t walk away from you with your cock still in my cunt. And they all think something that’s not, and it’s all my fault. I don’t even like N that much. Why am I doing this? Well I like him. But still no trust. Too volatile. Too reckless. Too immature. Like me. No love. No need. Just a vague interest. Feels like a pantomime. Could be real. I’ve missed kisses. I’d forgotten how. His face is vulnerable. Yours never is. Not with me. Which do I prefer? Which is scarier? What am I doing? Lost. Why have I been doing this? Why do I let things move so fast? And still be so cautious? Because I can. I can’t admit all even here. I don’t want to, I was doing so good. You all are reading, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. I just get off being someone’s hot fantasy. That’s all N is? T T T T you’re worth more than an initial. I am so overwhelmed by you sometimes. I want to run so far. I should. I think that’s what I wanted. A distance. Hah. So glad you called me back two times. I missed that voice telling me when to cum. You floor me. I flirt with N. I’ve already fucked once with N. I haven’t told you. You floor me. I haven’t told you. Everything you are. My fucker. Not mine. I talk to you on the phone and you make my cunt hurt with a sentence or two. None of this N like easy generic teasing with you. All my yous here are Ts and that is scary. I tell you I think we might have to hold off the sex for a while if I am to date N and I think, what the hell have I just said.?? I haven’t even thought about this. I’ve thought of it too much. You understand. What you can give, what you cannot. You miss hearing me cum. You’ll say no more. We wish each other a nice day. I sit there wanting to fuck you. You call back, because you know, when have you not? I tell you we can play but I don’t want to have sex with you. Don’t misquote yourself, yes you do, is your answer. I stutter. Let me rephrase that for you, you say, you want to fuck me… Well I want but I don’t want to because. I want but I can’t. There are things holding me back. These are my answers. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have said anything to you from the very beginning. I shoot the gun and I make things difficult. I owned up too late and not fully enough. You call back again. We cum. I’m loud and you want me to be. You are always so good. You always bowl me over. I miss the effect your words have on me. I'm afraid I'll be 50 with a husband and I'll still have thoughts of you. Intensity leaves marks. Maybe not so bad. Maybe it won't detract. Just chalk up. Chalk up another good experience. Chalk up another mistake. I can date N you know. He’ll take me on a date. Dinner and a movie and a hotel. I like N. He's younger than me. You're older. I'm stuck in the middle. I fucked with N. I haven’t told you. I just told you I might soon. N laughed at how loud I was during sex. It surprised and amused him. He knew about the possible herpes scare and didn’t care. Said we’d be careful. We used a condom and no oral and he washed up afterwards. Why the pointless lies? Stupid near truths and missing information. Stupid when the truth isn’t much worse. Shame. And I know you, I know I could have told you all. You deserve it. I try, I’m not proud, I try and I’m nowhere near what I want to be.. Happening fast, didn’t know what to say. I fucked up, I didn’t want it like this. It was good. He has potential. You are already there. I like his enthusiasm. The evil glint of oh the things we could do. You have it too. Deeper. And I want to say it’s not that you’re better than N. Cept you probably are. In many ways. Where’s the dilemma then? I hoard people. I want it easy. I like N. I want to know him. I want to be the girl who shows him. I want to be free. This is all so predictable. All so whiny. What will I tell everyone? What will I tell you? Him? What will I tell myself?

I keep wanting to cry all day and it’s back to wintertime here again. Wanting to get back to another time again.

Breathe.

I might have herpes. I can’t think of any better way of starting this post, even if it is a new year, and after a long absence.

A round bump on my inner labia appeared, swelled up painfully and then disappeared over the course of three days. I was still away and with family, so I didn’t go to the doctor. The country I was in isn’t very open in its attitudes about a sexually active woman anyways. I feared taking into confidence a possibly hostile and unprofessional doctor.

I should have just gone.

I got to a doctor here as soon as I came back, but the damn thing had healed. I was told it might be herpes but I would have to wait to see if it happens again and get the lesion tested. There are blood tests, but they seem to only work a couple of months after infection, if at all.

It could come again in a month. It could never come again. It could be nothing. A blocked gland or something. I could never know. I’d still have to tell every potential partner about it.

I told T of course, and he’s perplexed, seeing as he’s never had any problems and has never heard from any partners. Apparently something like two thirds of those who have sex have it and around 80% of them don’t show any symptoms. So it wouldn’t be very surprising.

The weird thing is I don’t really care for myself. It sounds pretty harmless. Even if I get a symptomatic outbreak every month. A little extra pain in my life, a little more risk for a baby during pregnancy unfortunately, but whatever, I’ll deal with it.

But who the hell is going to be willing to deal with it with me?

I was going to meet up with N (new boy, initial worthy after all) and well, we were really rearing to go. Now I had to tell him about it, and of course it put things on hold. I think he’s hoping that I’ll somehow find out it was nothing. But I don’t see that happening any time soon. And I don’t see him sticking around forever, or commiting enough to take the risk, no matter how careful we are.

I’m not so near-sighted as to be complaining just about not being able to have sex now or for the next few months. The question is when then? And with whom?

Someone else with herpes I suppose. And with the same type as me. Though testing for the type in Canada seems a bit difficult.

I can’t do any other way I don’t think. I can’t imagine forming a solid long-term relationship with someone without having sex with them. I can’t imagine being with someone who doesn’t want to have sex with me. It’s a vital part of my life. I don’t want to lose it. Is this shallow? Should I rethink this?

I’ve been calm about this whole thing, trying to swallow the consequences of actions that were my choice.

But last night in bed, I started to think about how N may be coming down for dinner today, and of how badly we’ve wanted each other, and how little we could probably do now. (I don’t feel ok enough to talk more about N and implications for T. Maybe later.)

I thought maybe we could kiss, then I thought maybe I had spread the infection to my mouth (happens, but rare) and maybe he wouldn’t want that risk. So no blowjob either. Handjob maybe. Maybe just slip his hands into my pants. Wash them with soap afterwards. Maybe just through my pants. Maybe just my breasts. Just a hug. A hold? It hit me all at once, I felt like a leper, I started to cry.

All this, for something that might turn out to be nothing. I’ll go get a second opinion.

away

I'm off on a two week vacation.... wohoo.

Enjoy your holidays !!

Stay hot,
Learn

yay

T messaged me just now and he's feeling better and we made plans for this week.

LOL. Life is funny.

(chain posting today I know)

random

I remember suddenly how he grabbed me behind my knees that first time, and he pulled me up to his face, and he looked like a boy digging into a dripping watermelon slice on a sticky summer day.

gah

hallo? poke, poke.. sex? ..err.. are you there?

T is down a bit and I am sad for him. Think he may feel like wanting to avoid me a bit these days. I could be wrong, I can't tell. He's beginning to feel like a distant memory I can't recreate. I must see him before he dissapears. I think I'm writing this out of a superstitious hope, because every time I've complained here about not seeing him, I've ended up meeting him within a couple of days. Now that I've cracked the system it'll stop working, I know. :)

There is a new boy in the horizon. I don't know if he is initial worthy yet hehe. I don't trust him. I have this insatiable urge to turn him on though.

A chat with him made me realise the main reason why I don't want to date in the more conventional sense. I don't feel like having anyone put up with my lows again. I hate the reponsbility people I'm close to take for the way I can act.

I want to be able to dissapear when I want to.

dead time

she’s paused
with her mouth slack
she’s waiting
on her still ringing
phone call

watching across from her
i feel a sudden fear
i've failed to see the hand
held up to her ear

her bronze hair
a wiry shock
her gray eyes
frozen blank
her blanched skin
folded gaunt
motionless
i can't look

has she stopped
and we have gone on?

she suffuses back
all at once
flashing eyes
‘yes five more
minutes now-’
raising brows
‘yes make sure
you keep- ’
smiling

she’s not so ugly
after all

we rattle and shake
we lurch
no one moves
we’re bus people
we’re already home

i’ve got a mind for
dinner menus
and dry socks
no time for talk
shh
much awaits
shh
how much time
has passed?
shh

is it time to pull?
did i stay too long?
has it passed already?

whipping winds
waited for
maybe behind her talking head
maybe behind this black sheet
i can’t feel

i can’t hear
you anymore

are we here yet?

scalp.

neck.

shoulders.

back.

lower.

ass.

thighs.

ankles.

toes.

i need kneading.

needling

i seem to have lost a friend. or the beginnings of a friend.. i can't think of any reason why. .. i'm not even sure why i'm posting about it except it seems to be on my mind.

so easy to turn someone invisible on the internet. i've done it before. to a couple of people. for many different reasons.

shame.

retribution.

i don't mind that she did, or how she did it, i just can't figure out why. i make too much. sigh.

well then.. a smile and goodbye.

I will get this ball rolling.

I will not be passive.

I will not be shy.

I will talk.

I will take command if I must.

I will get this ball rolling.



Wish I knew how.

why me?

I don’t know why that last post came at a time like this.

I am in dire need of T right now. There’s no way around it, I’m consumed with the thought of him. It’s kind of terrifying.

Amidst all this deep down dark craving, my thought unexpectedly turned to X and I wrote. And maybe in some strange way, it was almost a comfort, this missing, this gentle tenderness. This I am used to by now. I miss him every day and you know, it barely hurts. It can’t. It was my own choice.

Maybe nothing more than one last attempt to hold on to my old safe life?

But this need for T right now it is just enough to bother me hard. It sits like a lead lump in the very center of my chest.

I wonder if this is what T meant by feeling something and needing it so bad it hurts. I wonder if I am as suggestible as all that.

It is more than that though. It’s my life right now that makes me want him. It’s being polite day in day out with my mom these last three weeks. It’s going to school, studying day to night. Sedated, calm, studious Learn.

I want to masturbate at night without having to quiet myself. I want to stick the first thing I find and ram it inside me. I want to feel plush and soaked. It bubbles up, I’m seething and this is what it is: anger, almost in tears from it. I toss and turn at night with thoughts of waking up and knocking everything in my room down, smashing the doors, screaming, and yes this too: being fucked hard, and cumming harder. I want to be me in all its intensity.

Threesome talk again with T. He wants it. I do too. I want it badly but I have the attention span of a monkey, and events in my life keep distracting me. I know he thinks I’m putting off because I don’t want it. I just want to feel ready. It’s a big thing, I want it to be good. There are lots of details to work out, and many things I probably won’t be able to decide about until I actually try. I wonder why I’ve been so shy to talk about it.

He tells me he needs it very strongly right now. Very strongly. He's not pressuring, just telling me. I tell him what I’ve been meaning to tell him, that the fact that I am not around or that I’m delaying should not stop him from carrying his want out. I’m not quite that selfish yet. Besides, doesn’t really stop us from doing it later if we both still want it. Obviously I’d be disappointed, especially since the idea of doing this when he is in such need for it is very hot. But I’m not here to play that kind of limiting role in his life.

He says he knows, but that I am his first choice. I tell him ‘thanks, that means something’.

Truth is I’m not too sure what it means. I’m not sure why I would be his first choice in this particular fantasy. He’s said he wants to watch me break a boundary. Virginal moi. And yes I’ve always been a leetle crazy when it comes to breaking boundaries. I never feel so alive, never get so excited, as when I’m doing something new. Aren’t we all like that?

This ‘why me?’ feeling is irrelevant I know, and it’s nothing I have control over. It’s something that’s already been floating around though, before all this talk. I had to ask him finally if he felt it’d been worthwhile meeting me. I’m not THAT insecure, but I feel like I need to know for sure before I can proceed any further. Like I’ve said before, I need to be where I’m wanted. I refuse to stick around where I’m being settled for, or worse yet, put up with.

It’s been a while, 6 months I think since I first met him in person. Another two years before that. We’ve grabbed moments here and there between ups and downs in our lives. Maybe I’m surprised we’re both still around. Then again, why should we not be?

He said ‘yes of course, it's been great...what a circle from where we began.’

All the answer I needed, I won't ask him again. At least, not for another six months hehe.

Argh so much to sort out, so little time. To be continued later I suppose.

one of many

I found a silver hair
In my mind today
I swear
I have a slowing
tower heart
Beats in shivers
I swear
This must’ve been
One of many

Times I’ve craved
a shower
for a lonely trance
a tiled dance
with myself
I’d disappear
out in a storm
with this
if I believed
I wouldn’t be seen

I found a torn page
In my thoughts today
I swear
You have a dying
lightbulb face
Beats in flashes
I swear
This will not be
One of many

Times I’ve craved
No one other
to feel lightning clean
No I’ll turn
into myself
I’ll disappear
into a mist
with this
I’ll make sure
You won’t be seen

No more
pacing the floor
where you first
kissed me
on my stomach
bare
I swear
My hair near the bottom
Of the stairs
Beam from the balcony
On our pair
of bodies
I swear

I took a dreamless nap
I took an empty shower
I found a silver hair
In my mind today

It must be
One of many

higher

Sitting in a moving bus, your hand above one of my knees, I whisper to you, ‘Could you move that hand a little higher please?’

(25 words)



My first official '25 words or less', a la Figleaf. So much end of term work, I don't have time to write much longer. (There is much to say...)

asking

god i'm horny. i'm sitting in a computer lab, everyone around, and i'm positively squirming in my chair. squeezing my thighs together. so much work to do. maybe i'll go to the bathroom. same bathroom i called T from. giggling silently with my finger on my clit and another's girl's shoes in the stall next door. he's not online. wish he was though i'm not sure what i would tell him. i had a nice fantasy about him last night. not a dream a fantasy. simple common one. hot one. he denied me again. why do i like to be denied? he denied me in the best way possible. i was on my hands and knees again looking behind my shoulder. i was begging and begging with my face and he was laughing and asking what's wrong. asking me what i want. he was moving the vibrator all around my clit but never on. the dildo was being pushed in and i was sucking it in and i was stretched and wet. but not the same. and he even stopped and said it was my turn. so i had to take it and do the pushing myself as he watched. and it felt so good but not the same. and i kept stopping and he would ask what's wrong. asking me what i want. and i was cumming all over the dildo despite myself. asking me what i want. dildo gone and now his gentle searching fingers. slick with thin cum. smooth slender fingers all over inside me but not the same. cumming all the same. asking me what i want. asking me what i want. pushing pushing. asking me what i want. cumming. asking me what i want. just please. just please coming out. asking me what i want. flat on my stomach. please. his hardness on my back. please. stroking without hands soft gently hard on my back. please. thin skin on my back. thick trace on my back. please please please. asking me what i want. your cock.

painted

We lost layers, you and I, first you then me, as I sat straddled on top of you. I forgot that we had been chatting casually. I forgot to reopen my eyes, until you asked me if I was getting wet in my panties, still teasing your bare cock upwards so it rubbed against me, me still pushing back onto you. And I managed to open my eyes a crack and say mmhmm.

Soon after the panties had to come off, damp, so that final layer was lost too, though my bright pink sweater remained. And I wouldn’t remember it until quite a while later, when it started to cling to me and trap the sweat and heat springing from my body that held your cock inside, and I had to throw it off.

You had placed your hands on to that sweater before our layers were lost, like I had placed my hands on your shirt and then under it, so I could feel the sexy down on your stomach. And I had wanted to feel further down, but I hadn’t, not just yet I had told myself. You had placed your hands on my sweater where my breasts were and you had tugged and grabbed, and jerked and controlled my bra, so my nipples were flicked up and down like switches. I must have looked almost in collapse from this exquisite torture, who can explain that kind of mmphh satisfaction from that kind of squeeze and touch, I had looked almost in pain, groaning, and you had asked me if I was ok and I had smiled and taken your hands in each one of my hands, and said lighter than I felt mm yes, very much so.

You had asked me if I was ok even before that, even before we had walked into your bedroom. Yes, I had said, I’m just tired. I was tired, tired from a week of incessant work with little sleep, tired and scooped out, feeling like I had come close to some edge again and pulled back, tired but trying to stay in the moment. Just happy to be there, still, not able to think about much more. Tiredness wouldn’t stop me, couldn’t, and I wouldn’t watch and let the gulf between me and my life needlessly widen again. So I didn’t lie by your side, like I asked to, for long. It wasn’t long before I climbed on top of you in bed.

But when my panties came off with your help, pushing myself up onto my arms, my legs a pyramid for you to slide them down, I paused like that. I delayed a little bit before I sunk back onto you. Though not much, because I can’t ever wait much for you, not when I am like that. But I stopped to remember how it would feel, for cock to meet cunt, yours and mine. And when I settled down finally we sighed, louder than the sigh when I had first sat on top of you, and it was in fact better than I remembered. My moist lips propped slightly open and on top of stiff you.

Of course I had to take your cock in slowly very soon after that. I took you in clumsily, haunching myself up on my ankles and then back down, dying at the feeling of that first stretch. You asked me if I had missed this and I said yes, and how could I not, sitting on your cock, filled up, and after such a long time too.

After that I started to ride you, first working forwards, then leaning backwards on to your legs so my head could loll back, my hair falling away from my face. You told me I was getting good at this I remember and I laughed because I was tired and wanted to do better. And I went on and forgot myself and grasped onto your legs so hard it hurt you, and then I righted myself back up and you guided me straight up and down your cock. Your cock just kept growing, I could feel it, and your face began to wash with lust. I was trying to move up as close to the very tip of your cock as I could before pushing back down, but I was impatient, and then you guided my hand down to my cunt, and pushed it inside to join where your cock was, and I remember you were telling me the whole time that this is what I would do, like this, this is how I would ride, if I wanted to take and use you for my pleasure. Which I did.

You slid my fingers in and all there was was my cunt and your cock, and what I wonder at always is how you render my cunt the way you do, because I have not learned yet how to leave myself like that. When I push my fingers in myself at home in my bed, I am never like that, I am wet, but never like that. With you right then, my fingers slid in, and I was open and gliding and soaked, and your cock was this slippery ridged skin on one side, coated from being inside me, and the source of the wetness, my cunt’s folds, were melting onto the other side.

Later there would be time for us to flip so you stayed inside me, and I would lie where you had lain, and we would be washed in each other’s sweat. And there would be time for a wet deep orgasm on hands and knees, time for a hard straight fuck like you already knew I wanted, time to see ourselves in mirrors, time to look away and just take, time to manoeuvre my slow mind and body so you remained squeezed between my legs, and I would just lie there and think of how lazy I could be because this seemed in that moment like the best kind of fuck of all, to lie still and flat on my stomach and just cum from your motion. And when you came later like that inside me, there would be time to feel you dripping out, to feel you kiss soft at my shaking back all over in the immediate wake of your release. And my hand would be shimmied backwards touching at your cock again the whole time as it moved in and out of me, you would put my hand there too, and even after you stopped moving, I would stroke slowly at your cum-covered base and I would feel like I wanted to purr, dazed and pleased.

But in that moment, before all that, it was just my fingers between your cock and my cunt, it dizzied me, till I couldn’t tell what was what, just these differing grains of skin, soaking up my liquid at different rates, the pleasure from the touch of my finger and your cock merging. And when I thought of it later, when I think of it now, I feel like I want to paint it, paint those different textures in dripping red and pink on a white canvas, paint a picture that could describe how this tiny moment felt, though I never could, just like I can’t describe it in words now. In that moment, all I could mumble with my head tilted back from you was that feels so good and you said only yes..I know, I know it does…

watching

Now get on your hands and knees, he says.

I look at his face, smiling, and then I turn and comply without a word, sinking my palms into his bed as he positions himself behind me.

He pulls me up from the waist and pushes down on my back suddenly. My naked ass gets thrust up and my head bows down like a human seesaw. Moaning, I stay as I am.

He disappears behind me, and I don’t look to see where he’s gone. I just wait, head still down, ass in air, breath shortening in anticipation, feeling deliciously exposed.

Do you see? he says when he returns. I lift my head up and look to where he’s looking.

We are in the mirror on his side wall.

Can you see? he says.

Yes.

All I can really see is my ass, an unfamiliar pear of an ass, gripped by his hands on either side. All I can see is him, straight and tall over me, the muscles of his body a wall to fall backwards into. And I watch him begin to fall over and over into me instead, anchored by his arms and knees, the beginnings of my back tensing with pleasure at one edge of the mirror.

All I can see is this pushing and pushing again, this taking and taking again. This is all I can see, and I wonder if I should ask for us to move down so I can see more, see my face.

Look, he says.

I stare, transfixed, my neck twisted towards the mirror. He’s watching together with me. I realize this is all I want to see. I want to watch myself like I’m not there, see the part of my body getting fucked with no other part of me present. So it could be any woman he's hammering away hard into in recurring slaps. It could be anyone, except the burning satisfying heat I feel from this action that I’m watching is in my cunt, is mine.

Do you see?, he asks again.

Yes.

And I don’t stop seeing, even after he pushes my head gently back into the bed.

thanks

Thank you all so much for the support.. *BIG HUG*.. It means a lot.. a surprising amount actually.

Just wanted to check in to say that I'm feeling much better. There is much catching up to do in the wake of all this though.. so I've been working hard at it..

I'll be back with a vengeance soon..

Love and kisses,

Learn

what to hold, what to let go

I’ve been hanging by a thread for a while now. It’s been difficult to tell that this is how I’ve been feeling, even to myself. The thread thins at night, reveals itself for what it is. I am too close for comfort to say that I’m fully ok.

This is how it starts. An edge of panic that paralyses your actions. An uneasy, obsessive immersion in distractions. A seductive voice whispering at the back of your head… give up, give up, give up…

I try to surround myself with people. I am ok when around people.

But I want to be left alone.

It begins selfish like this, when people start to feel like complications.

A close friend begs you to come over on the weekend. You’ve been putting her off for a month, for valid reasons. Assignments, marking, calling parents, bills, laundry, cleaning, buying food, classes. You’ve been trying to figure these simple things out through your fog . Now she’s in the equation.

Accept, refuse, make time for, or not. A hope that she’ll understand if you can't make it, that it won’t be held against you. The thread sags, smallest of sags, but you can’t help but resent a little how she’s shaken up your balancing act.

Go away, you want to say. Go away. I’m trying to be.

I have to be, before I can do all the rest.

Hoping for a message from T yesterday after messaging him, watching him go offline without a word, I realise this. I don’t have the energy to maintain this, whatever friendship, relationship, whatever we have. I hate to take leave when he’s down too, but a little part of me says goodbye, or at least au revoir. See you when I see you, I’ve got to stop looking and waiting.

We used to play a game when we were children at the beach. We would build sandcastles right at the edge of shore, close enough for white waves to crash on top. The challenge was to dig a moat deep enough, to keep the smaller waves off for long enough to build something worthwhile in the meantime. At least before that larger wave that no moat could capture finally came. Digging and building and rebuilding, a race against waves.

Life keeps crashing on T and me. We’ve been like this from the beginning. We’ve done well with what we could get, but little complications are always holding us back.

I don’t feel like digging right now. Maybe I shouldn’t have seen us as something to build in the first place.

It’s not that I’ve given up on him, or that I plan to cut myself off. I just feel myself utterly distanced all of a sudden. He’s ceased to matter. Again, I know he shouldn’t have anyways, not so much.

I figure we’ll stumble back into each other again some time if we need to.

I’m hanging on though. I’m ok. I focus on the thread. To keep it there.

I’m trying to take steps. I’ve made an appointment, hopefully I can get a doctor’s note for my missed assignments and classes. Maybe I’ll be getting back on meds. I’ve asked my sister for help with my work. I’ve talked to friends who do matter.

If I don’t post for a while, it’s because I’m picking up the pieces. Wish me luck.

distraction

Masturbating my slick clit with the swollen tip of your cock...

nightmare

One of the posts I didn't have the courage to put up.


'I wanted only to try and live in accord with the promptings which came from my true self. Why was that so very difficult?' (Herman Hesse, Demian)


Less than a month left until my mom moves in with me. And so my nightmares begin.

I have this guilt.

I am still financially dependent on my parents. The money I make from TA'ing is not enough for me to live on. I am having all this sex, and enjoying myself immensely. T has come to this house that they own. I have spent many a bus ticket to visit him. They have not a clue of the goings-on going on at their expense.

This makes me guilty.

I am the youngest of three. And I have always been ‘the innocent one’ of the two sisters. My sister is married now though, so she is saved. And forever safe.

From my mom’s point of view, she was saved from that hushed, evil disaster that we had grown up hearing about, but that was always left unnamed. My mom was so mysterious about this, it took me years before it clicked that this foggy catastrophe she tiptoed around was an ‘illegitimate’ pregnancy. Or maybe just being lost to a life of sin.

I believe that my sister is forever safe too. Safe from the intense gnawing worry of my mom. And now, all the focus is on me.

I should have dropped the pretense of innocence a long time ago. But it’s worked for me in the past. And I’ve been doing it for so long that now, I am not quite sure how to begin to end this act.

My parents still have, anyways, not just a financial, but also an emotional hold on me.

I really do feel sometimes like I have failed them. Not just in this, in the secrets that lie here in this blog, but in many other areas of my life.

I worry that I depend on them too much. And that it is out of pure laziness, because it is just easier for me that way, the way it’s always been done for me. So that I want to beg them sometimes to stop, to do this one last thing for me. It would be the biggest, greatest thing they could do for me, to help me out of my lethargy.

Just stopping. So I can feel myself, so my actions, my thoughts, can belong to myself.

But then, even in this, especially in this, it is not up to them to stop, but up to me to withdraw.

I am being tested. And I am failing. This feeling always that I am failing myself.

I tell my mom I want to make enough money so I can move to Japan, teach there for a year or two. It is a bit random. It is not the most brilliant or even most original of ideas, but I have the need for it. I need to get out of Canada, as much as I love this country, my country of birth. I am stuck, smothered, stagnant. I need to do this, something different, my idea, on my own.

My mom is an intelligent, articulate, educated woman. A scientist, a teacher, but well-read on a huge range of other topics too. People tell her this, often. I respect her, and it is very hard to argue with her.

She scoffs at these attempts of mine to break free. Like when I tell her that whenever she persists and nags to tell me what next step it is best for me to take in my life, it only serves to make me want to do anything but that.

Because even the best of her ideas are not my own. And now that she has owned it by putting her stamp on it again and again, even if I were to find this idea myself later on, it would still be forever hers, and not mine.

It is strange to be aware of this, to realize that maybe it is a trick of the mind, that maybe there is no real reason to feel like this. But it cannot be helped.

She gets offended and deems this nothing more than a foolish sentiment.

‘Independence is highly over-rated. Don’t tie yourself to trivial Western concepts. We are not like that.’

How do I argue with that? How do I deal with my wants being slung into over-simplified categories of East and West? These are two flat characters of a play, characters whose lines I’ve memorized and understood too well. They are not my lines and I am, quite simply, neither.

How can I explain that her words are a dismissal of my own inner stirrings? And these are stirrings I’ve tried to stem from my own self. Whatever that may mean, whatever that self is which I somehow deep down believe in. Whatever readings, thoughts, exposure has led me to my beliefs, Western or Eastern, as ultimately arbitrary as her own.

She tells me, ‘There is no shame in making use of my life, of what I know.’ And I do want to trust her life experience, except, it is not mine.

She says, ‘You listen to career counselors and the like. Why not me? I may not have all their training, but I have traveled, and taught many, and seen my share of this world. And you’re my child, I’ve known you since birth, I know you. Not just as a parent, but as an educator. I’ve watched you and I know you. Better than anyone.’

Her every word binds her to me.

She is right, I would prefer a trained stranger’s advice to her own. Partly because her advice from her times past may not work on my times to come. But mostly, because I am her child.

She does not know me fully anyways, no matter how impartial she says she is. She does not necessarily know who I’ll be from who I was. She’s seen me but she does not see me. She does not know who I’ve come to be right now.

No one does, everyone knows only a part of me. And she has too long been a part of me, from the womb, feeling never apart from me. But we are apart, and I have lived apart from her and I have grown apart from her.

As it should be. We will be torn apart from each other one day anyways.

It is not to be far from her that I want, but to be our fully realized separate selves. Is it strange to know this, to feel this so clearly?

If my mom should ever find out about my shameless involvement in premarital sex, with no intention of commitment either, she would, to put it in teenage terms, ‘flip’. I would lose her trust forever. I would lose her esteemed approval of my moral character, the one she has judged impeccable. I don’t know how we would deal with it. I don’t know really if I am ready to deal with it at all. To really fully admit who I am. Separate.

Weak.

I’ve seen it happen to my sister. I was young. It was scary to watch their fights. To see my sister cry day after day. To hear my mom tell my sister in anger one particularly bad time that she wished my sister had never been her daughter at all. I’m sure she regrets saying it. I don’t know if my sister will forget hearing it. I don’t.

I’ve heard her say many times, ‘But you, you are different, I know. You would never think of doing such things.’

I almost believed what she believed of me. Or what she wanted to believe. Or what she wanted me to believe.

I remember I wanted to believe too once anyways. To be that angel. No risks taken, heaven guaranteed.

But a curiosity and joy for life won over, and it did not push me to be more outspoken, like I wish now that it did. It backfired. I hid. I did not do a lot, but the things I chose to do, I became sneaky about. And the thing about sneakiness is, so long as you’re not caught, you only know of its reward.

Except for this guilt. And these nightmares.

My nightmare last night was gross, and I’ll be graphic about it, so you’ve been pre-warned. Walk away, while you still can, it really is gruesome. But this is all the therapy I have right now.

It started off innocently enough, with my mom asking me if I had been taking my vitamins. She asks me this often.

I said no, that I had forgotten to again. This is my usual answer.

She started to get incredibly angry at this. She started to rant. A painful, cutting rant, of the kind I’ve never heard come out of her before, especially not towards me.

We are, on the whole, a quiet, reserved family. My mom the most expressive one out of us all, the least afraid of confrontation. This must be hard for her sometimes, must make her feel pitted against her own family. When she is the one angry, and we are the ones always seemingly calm, always just running away.

But in this dream, she was harsher even than her usual.

I’ve had it up to here with you. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of taking care of you. I am just sick. Absolutely sick of you, everything about you, everything you do. It’s all wrong. Always wrong. Everything you do is wrong. Everything you do is a mess I have to take care of. I’ve had enough. Completely enough.

She went on and on. And here’s the thing, I wasn’t trying to appease her, like I would be in real life. I wasn’t hurt or scared or reduced to tears like I would instantly be in that situation. Like I always am if she so much as slightly attacks me. Though she would never attack me this way. And she would never complain about having to care.

I did not step down. I kept screaming back, first with words: ‘WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?’ And then just the scream, all words dropping away. Just this roaring, screeching scream that wouldn’t stop. Trying to block her out, trying to shut her up. She kept complaining bitterly about me, and I just kept howling back, as hard as I could.

I felt like I was possessed. And the way dreams are, with this thought, it turned into exactly that. It turned suddenly into a scene exactly like from The Exorcist.

My screaming turned into puking, my mouth just opened wide, and it all rushed out, this disgustingly brownish steady waterfall, pink with blood, and I was surprised but I couldn’t stop. I was evil, looking my mom straight in the eyes and I couldn’t stop. And my sister was there somewhere, sympathetic, in the background, pleading silently with sad eyes for me to not do this. To not do this to myself.

But I had to, and I wanted to, to shock everyone, to do the worst I can. And it just went on, and it wasn’t just bile forced up, it was solid and chunky, it was everything inside, all my organs mashed up, all that I had ever chewed, swallowed, tried to digest, just everything, it just kept pouring out.

My mom didn’t even flinch, didn’t even stop from her grumbling, she just looked down at the growing pool of filth at my feet and said with disgust:

See? I’m probably going to have to clean up that too.

I just threw up some more. I was throwing up still when my feet slipped in my own mess, and I lay there, alone, in my own puke, afraid of what I’d done, heaving, finally done, crying in sobs of exhausted abandon.

And my mom just looked down at me, this look of utter revulsion on her face. So I felt like I was lower than nothing.

Then she shook her head and walked away.

I was left right there, right in my pile of blood and guts and filth and bile and pain.

By myself.

Waking up from that vivid dream, shaking with fear, revolted, my mouth sour, was not a good start to my day.

Some dreams are too obvious not to decipher. And my mom’s dream accusations sound too much like my own ones towards myself.

Is 23 too old to be having scary growing pains?

missing mojo

What do you do when the friend you’re fucking feels like he's lost his mojo?

I am quite at loss. I’m slipping and sliding and bumbling. It’s delicate. I want to help as a friend, because he seems quite bummed about it. I also cannot deny wanting to help for my own ulterior motives. I’m trying. I don’t want to try too hard.

I woke up late this morning, groggy, saw him online, sent a hello.

T: I want my sexy confidence back. :(

A quick pause.

L: Maybe I can help. :)

It was that same silly thought lingering from the post before. It’s the first thing that popped into my head really. I’m a bit of a ditz that way sometimes.

Did I have this idea that I could follow with this incredible, absolutely sexy declaration that would just make him go ‘sproing’? If this was possible, I sure couldn’t think of anything to say that would have that effect.

I hadn’t thought it out. The second I pressed enter was when I started to.

I suppose I was thinking that maybe it would help to just jump right back into the swing of things, hope for the best.

Come to my lair baby, I’ll show you a good time ??? As much as I’d love to believe that I have this sexual energy that’s utterly contagious, that there’s something in me that might help, I have to be realistic. An overzealous female in heat might just send his cowering libido further into its corner.

No, there should be no pressure from me.

And I suppose it's not really up to me either. I think that’s why I’m so nervous. If this was with someone I had commited to for the long haul, we could just take responsibility for it together, sit down, plug at it, try to figure something out. But as is, it’s not really my problem. My loss definitely, but not my problem.

I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, take on the role of his ‘caring girlfriend’. But fuck it, I do care, I do want him happy. I’m like this with everyone I know, never mind the guy I’m having sex with who I’ve exchanged emails with for two years.

But too much concern and it is just another weight on him.

I want to tell him too that he has so much going for him, he should never feel any thing less than confident sexually. He has a splendid imagination, he has rhythm and pacing, he has strength and stamina, he has excitement and passion, he has a sensitive eye for a woman’s cues. (Well at least my cues.) And the package that all this comes in sure helps too. Not to mention the yummy package he's been endowed with. :)

It doesn’t feel natural saying all this to him like that, as though he’d been trying to fish for a compliment to boost his ego. And he’s worried about how he’s feeling now anyways, not how he’s been before.

I have this sudden urge to ask: Isn’t there anyone else around who lives closer by who you can call for a little bit of play?

Strange thought. Strange suggestion, like I'm his play coordinator or something?? I sense in it a bit of just me wanting to run away from what I just said about helping him, rather than just looking out for his welfare. But some sincererity in it too I think.

Again though, I’m not even sure taking the plunge, despite not feeling it 100% ready, is a good idea in the first place.

Maybe he should just take it slow. Maybe I should just leave him be.

Maybe I should try to help him figure out what it is about the accident that is deep-down bothering him so much….

What am I, an analyst?

An over-analyzer maybe.

Please don’t ask me how I might help. Please don’t ask me how.

T: how?

Crap. A long panicky silence.

L: See (L) says these things, but she doesn’t actually think about how.
L: Um.. I’ll think of something though.

Crap.

T: lol

Ugh. Escaped to take a shower, hoping for increased blood flow. Came back to ask him a question about thoughts on his accident, watched it belly flop with a magnificent splash.

Finally I settled on admitting that saying ‘I can help’ earlier had been a little presumptuous of me. But that if he could think of anything I could do to help, I was around. That if he thought a visit together with no expectations, or just light play, or anything else might help, I was all for it.

I think that’s good enough. What would you have said?

pushing back

Just found out, no T for me tommorow. :(

He’s said that he is still feeling really un-sexy from the accident. That he feels a little antsy, anxious about a ‘for-sex’ visit. He’s assured me it has nothing to do with me. The fact that I have to travel to see him, and that it would have been a shorter visit also does not help.

I understand. I’ll be a little worried for him though, if it goes on for much longer. I believe him for now that it’s nothing serious. I understand that it’s the smallest of feelings. I just think even the littlest trace of worry that niggles at you underneath can start to do some damage after a while.

I want to tell him, maybe I could help you, maybe I could fuck you, maybe I could help you feel a little more alive.

How presumptuous would that be?

He is so cool in my books, I feel the drips of passion and energy and thought he has put into his life. I hate to see him at anything less. I’m not saying he can’t or shouldn’t be any less. We all are from time to time. I just mean that the smallest of losses is more marked because of who I believe him to be.

It is too bad we can’t pluck friends out of their clouds. We can encourage. We can distract a bit. We can even offer advice. But really the most of what we can do is stick around and hope.

I’m pretty disappointed though I must say. I was quite frankly rearing to go. I was even going to refrain from touching myself today to build up some tension, but luckily I decided against it last second. :)

I was also ready to kick up some kink. Try something new. I won’t say more, let’s see if it happens, and then I can spring it on here as a surprise.

I have to admit too that it bugs me a little that he said he’s been trying to push this feeling back. We’ve had a couple of sexy talks since then, I’d hate to feel like any of them were forced, or him going along for my sake. That has to be my biggest pet-peeve. To feel like you’re bouncing off someone’s energy. And then to be told later, yeah actually, I wasn’t that into it at all. Maybe it’s my pride, and also partly a bad experience I had, but I never, ever want to be around someone, unless I can know and trust that I’m completely wanted there. With no fronts.

This fear of mine makes me overly shy and sensitive and unwilling to make a move sometimes.

So it makes me happy that he told me this now, instead of discovering when I got there, or afterwards, or never at all. Like he said, it really could have made things weird between us if it persisted and he kept pushing back.

God knows I’ve had to push back a lot of stuff too these past two weeks. Sometimes you’re able to break through, sometimes you’re not. Sometimes we force ourselves, for personal reasons we can’t avoid. Not to accommodate another, but to feel like things are still going on as always. We play along with whatever’s in our lives, hoping life will play back, and it helps sometimes, when it turns out to be more real than we expected. When we can still get something out of it.

I tell myself it doesn’t diminish the past few encounters we had.

Do you know, it’s funny, or maybe it’s not, I’ve been doing something similar in this blog a bit these past two weeks?

I have a confession. My flu only lasted a week. I stayed at home during that whole time. The week after that I was better. I just didn’t go to school.

I sat here and wrote. I still have all the stuff due from two weeks ago. And now the stuff due for a week from now. I’m still sitting here and writing.

There are a couple of things I wrote I couldn’t even post. I’m thinking I should just put them up here though. For me. Because somehow posting it up is a lot different than having it stew as a word document on my hard drive.

I’m avoiding. I feel completely setback. I don’t know how to dig myself out of this hole of schoolwork. I’m not sure I want to. No motivation again. I feel little licks of depression at my toes, days are so short, it’s so cold outside, I haven’t been out in so long. I try to ignore it.

My assignment is just an assignment. But it looms like a noose ready to wrap around my neck. I step up to it, and I want to run away.

I look like I’m having fun in the meantime. I’ve in fact sometimes been overly jovial.

These are great distractions. And then these are great guilts, for all I’m not doing. For all the screw-ups.

I’ve started lying again. Avoiding phone calls.

I don’t know what it is, if I just feel like I’m in this constant struggle to prove myself, because I have this burning desire to be a fucking hero(ine) in everything I do. And every setback I encounter is an excuse for relief from that fight. Yes, you’ve failed, at least now you know it. No more questioning and doubts.

Sigh.

If I can know all this, if I can see how negative and damaging and irrational this is, and I do, then I should be able to walk away.

I can do this. I don’t have to do that to myself again. I can step out of this trap. I don’t have to go there again. I don’t.

I can push myself.

I can.

correction

When I send T my 'inevitable' fantasy, he says it’s hot, but then he reminds me that he doesn’t usually touch himself when he masturbates. That he just lies back in bed with his thoughts, and maybe the occasional friction from the sheets.

He has told me this before. So I hadn't included any descriptions of ‘pounding’ or ‘milking’ and such in the piece. Still, I had thought that at least some stroking, some handling, just now and then, was involved.

I stand corrected.

My response was to crack some silly joke about having to stick my head under his sheets then. With a flashlight, now that I think of it.

I joked, because I was in that kind of mood.

But really the thought of it drives me absolutely insane. I don’t know about you, but I find that pretty fucking HOT.

To think yourself into ejaculation. To lie back and just CUM.

Who does that? What goes on in there?

I mean I can get pretty close that way. But never all the way. Never without at least a little flurry of fingers pushing on my clit, especially towards the end.

I am so awesomely arrested by this image of him cumming like that.

Does this make me a ‘mind snob’? I mean, I do love the touch, the feel, the grab, the squeeze. But still, this fact about him makes me so damn horny for him.

If I said anything more to him, who knows what overblown thing I’d be gushing in the rush of that moment?

I am in sexual worship of your intellect.

I genuflect in the giant shadow of your mind’s eye.

Wet me with your appetite. Fuck me with your psyche. Trap me inside your head. Pin me to your dreamscape.

I want to jump your imagination.

I want to grind vivid thought to thought.

I want to have your mind’s babies.

LOL. OK, scratch that last one.

inevitable

To watch you masturbate. To see it close up. To have you lie down flat. To let me watch. To have my head between your legs. To be right there. Right there. My head sideways, our bodies a loose L. To see what I’ve only heard. To witness the hand that moves with your sound. To see you stiffen. Under your own touch. Under your own thought. Close enough to reach out. To touch. To smell. To taste. To refrain. To just take in. To take in as you feel your head begin to swell. To watch your shaft lengthen. To see your tip engorged. Ready. To see you ready to lose control. To lose my own. To cry out with you. To press my hand, sudden, gentle, on your balls. To feel. As you cum. As you surge. To see you spill out over yourself. Your cum. Drops of it. Right there.

My cum. Right after. Inevitable.

stilled

T has been understandably shaken from his accident. It is difficult to know what to tell him. I have always been a good empathizer, but a very poor comforter. I just tell him that it’s normal to feel shaken, and that it can take a while sometimes, but that he will feel better eventually. This from my experience, albeit a less significant one. But I don’t go into my experience with him at all, the last thing he needs is more talk of accidents.

Between his accident and me being sick, our sexual energy hasn't exactly been off the charts. Or even on the bottom of the charts. At least not until our 'devious' incident.

But the morning of that day, he said there was one nice thing to do when we felt this way. To push inside me just barely hard and just rest there. Inside my warmth and wet. Just stay there. And that it wouldn’t matter if he went soft after a while. That I would just be there surrounding him, and that there would be a comfort in that.

Mmm this kind of comfort, I would have no problems providing.

I remember asking this sometimes of X. He would push in eager, immediately beginning to thrust. I would hold him down selfishly with my arms, stilling him. Just stay, don’t move, just stay inside me. He would look a bit confused, but he would always comply. Only for a second though, he would always start moving again too soon, afraid of losing his erection.

I remember he stayed once like that long enough for me to be satisfied. I had him trapped in my arms, and he was finally relaxed and still. There was this silence, the silence of suspended animation. You could hear only our breathing, our chests pushing against each other. My eyes were closed and I sighed slowly. I was fully taking in for the first time the feel of him inside me.

He admitted later that he was surprised at how long we had stayed like that without him going soft. And of course, I had been more than willing for some fast motion right afterwards.

But actually it wouldn’t have mattered if we hadn’t gone on to that. It might have even felt good, at least for me. To have him surrendered inside me, soft, gentle, sleeping. Just for me.