So picture me now if you will. In my mind, my relationship had trapped me between a wall of secrecy and a wall of marriage.
My final undergraduate year was going rough.
I was getting ready to graduate and still had no clue what I wanted to do afterwards.
I had already been pretty unstable entering into the relationship.
Things took a downward slide. It is hard to write about really. I’m trying not to sound overly dramatic about it, but I don’t ever want to feel like that again.
I went out as little as I could and when I did, I felt guilty. I didn’t go to most of my classes, preferred to remain under my blankets in bed, locked in my small dorm room. Outside, the world waited, another harsh sludgy Canadian winter waited outside, assignments, deadlines, relationships, lies, decisions taunted me from the window. I closed the curtains. Trapped myself in dark thoughts, and then pretty soon, no thought at all. It was irrational, and I cannot explain or fully understand it myself. I guess I started to kill myself slowly from the inside, rather than deal with that outside threatening to consume me. As it turns out, it was pointless, because, either way, I was destroyed.
It was a time that lasted surprisingly long, almost a year and a half, remnants of it lingering right until the beginning of this summer. A month or so before I started this blog.
It’s incredible how long I lasted like that. My calm face to everyone. I broke through once in a while and during those times I felt like I could make it. I would forget every time that I felt a little bit better, forget how easy it was to slip back, forget how deep I could fall.
Enough said about that. This isn’t the story of my depression. But I wanted you to understand, to imagine how it must have been to have THAT as a girlfriend.
He tried to help, like I’ve said before.
But even the most patient person would lose patience. When I cried on the phone for the umpteenth time, he would try to comfort me, tried to encourage me to get help, and when he couldn’t, when I was unreachable, a couple of times, he shut the phone in my face.
It kills me, even now. But not because I blame him.
I hurt X badly during this depression of mine.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
morbid morning....I.
There is this greediness to her.
She’s lying next to you this morning. You are asleep and she’s wishing that you weren’t.
She’s wondering why she chose to sleep in your bed last night. She has not slept well, probably a couple of broken hours at most. She never feels rested when there is someone resting next to her.
Then again, if asked again, she would forget again, she would probably find herself here once more.
It is for this, for this moment of course, for this chance, so she can wake up and not waste a second getting back to you. Part of her hoards you, her time with you, like a child with a brand-new coveted toy, and feels ridiculous for it.
She’s calculating in her head, two hours left until she leaves, twenty minutes to get ready and catch the bus, if you sleep another hour that gives her another forty minutes still to have with you. To have you.
But if you sleep another half hour on top of that, only ten minutes left, not enough, if forty minutes, well then, obviously, no time at all.
It’s not like you’re going to disappear after this, but she knows all of it will soon enough.
It is not just her arousal; she could take care of that herself, perhaps even manage to do it without waking you up. Not just her need to cum, not just that you could make her cum harder, not even how she loves to be just touched. It’s not just you. All that is there, but no, it is more than that, a bigger hunger than just that.
She’s lying there, trying to pretend to be asleep.
She’s lying right near you on this particular morning, flat on her stomach, her neck purposefully twisted away from you. Because when her neck’s the other way, she grows tired of the strobe photographs she gets of you every time her eyes shutter open and closed. You never shift, no matter how frequently she looks. And she tires easily of this flipbook with the same unmoving image on each page, each identical page getting her closer to the moment where her hopes for that one more time will be dashed.
Her thoughts are dark on this morning, too dark for crack of day. Maybe she’s awoken from a dead dream, black.
She’s lying next to you this morning. You are asleep and she’s wishing that you weren’t.
She’s wondering why she chose to sleep in your bed last night. She has not slept well, probably a couple of broken hours at most. She never feels rested when there is someone resting next to her.
Then again, if asked again, she would forget again, she would probably find herself here once more.
It is for this, for this moment of course, for this chance, so she can wake up and not waste a second getting back to you. Part of her hoards you, her time with you, like a child with a brand-new coveted toy, and feels ridiculous for it.
She’s calculating in her head, two hours left until she leaves, twenty minutes to get ready and catch the bus, if you sleep another hour that gives her another forty minutes still to have with you. To have you.
But if you sleep another half hour on top of that, only ten minutes left, not enough, if forty minutes, well then, obviously, no time at all.
It’s not like you’re going to disappear after this, but she knows all of it will soon enough.
It is not just her arousal; she could take care of that herself, perhaps even manage to do it without waking you up. Not just her need to cum, not just that you could make her cum harder, not even how she loves to be just touched. It’s not just you. All that is there, but no, it is more than that, a bigger hunger than just that.
She’s lying there, trying to pretend to be asleep.
She’s lying right near you on this particular morning, flat on her stomach, her neck purposefully twisted away from you. Because when her neck’s the other way, she grows tired of the strobe photographs she gets of you every time her eyes shutter open and closed. You never shift, no matter how frequently she looks. And she tires easily of this flipbook with the same unmoving image on each page, each identical page getting her closer to the moment where her hopes for that one more time will be dashed.
Her thoughts are dark on this morning, too dark for crack of day. Maybe she’s awoken from a dead dream, black.
eek
Too many little things going on for me to catch up on writing about them. Haven't written about my weekend yet. I also have a fantasy in the making inspired by a call from T. On an unrelated vein, T seems to be a little upset with me right now. X is just..being an ex.
I do want to write about these things to settle em down..But while I sort my mind out, I'll leave you with installment hmm 7 and 8 of 'my story'. They're not cheerful and unfortunately I have a whole lot of other uncheerful ones to write before I get to the 'good' parts.
I also have a story that I've written about my thoughts in T's bed one morning while he was sleeping. I know the whole woman waking up and thinking while the person she had sex with is asleep has been hollywoodised to death... but ah well, my (true) version of it. i'll post it in a couple of parts if i think it's too long.
I'm not a big fan of posts about what I'm going to post about either but I just needed to get organised a bit.
I do want to write about these things to settle em down..But while I sort my mind out, I'll leave you with installment hmm 7 and 8 of 'my story'. They're not cheerful and unfortunately I have a whole lot of other uncheerful ones to write before I get to the 'good' parts.
I also have a story that I've written about my thoughts in T's bed one morning while he was sleeping. I know the whole woman waking up and thinking while the person she had sex with is asleep has been hollywoodised to death... but ah well, my (true) version of it. i'll post it in a couple of parts if i think it's too long.
I'm not a big fan of posts about what I'm going to post about either but I just needed to get organised a bit.
Monday, August 29, 2005
quite the weekend
Strange, less than an hour after my last (bitchy) post, I got a call from T. We were both horny. He said it had been a while for him too, though I couldn't work up the nerve to ask how long a while it had been... We got to talking about plans, we eliminated days when we couldn't make it and then realised it might end up that we have to wait another 10 days at least... Then just as I got ready to end the conversation, it occured to him that since I was in town anyways, maybe I could leave a little earlier and pop by to see him for an hour or two before I go see a friend.
There was no time to think about it. There was no sense in being proud, especially since I tend to get more out of our 'sessions' than he does. I left the house in a flurry so I could get there in time, like the shamelessly sex-crazed girl that I am. :)
It was an interesting visit. My first 'hi' and 'bye' with just sex in the middle..
I also had a somewhat painful encounter with X this weekend..
I'll write more about it...just need to digest a bit first... It's been a while since I've posted an installment for 'my story', might work on that a bit too..
Note: Does anyone know where rearview's blog has gone?
There was no time to think about it. There was no sense in being proud, especially since I tend to get more out of our 'sessions' than he does. I left the house in a flurry so I could get there in time, like the shamelessly sex-crazed girl that I am. :)
It was an interesting visit. My first 'hi' and 'bye' with just sex in the middle..
I also had a somewhat painful encounter with X this weekend..
I'll write more about it...just need to digest a bit first... It's been a while since I've posted an installment for 'my story', might work on that a bit too..
Note: Does anyone know where rearview's blog has gone?
Friday, August 26, 2005
complain complain complain
I know this is a horrible way to make a return but this is for my sake, I really need an all-out bitching session right now. I promise there are more fantasies and stories on its way though.
The men in my life seem to be acting up.
Of course since none of these guys know each other, it is more likely that I am acting up, and reacting to them....
I talk to X now and then. We have less and less to say to each other every time. Still I'm going to be in town very soon and I thought I would ask if he wanted to meet up. It's been 2 months since our breakup, I thought we're probably ready for it, though now that I think of it, I'm not exactly sure why I want to. Just to see if I can do it? I was kind of nervous about it but I went ahead and asked. His response was to tell me to bring one of his videotapes I still have.
:S
I'm glad he reminded me and all, I just could have used a 'sure that sounds good, how bout this time or this place' or a 'no i'm busy' or even 'no i don't want to' or SOMETHING first.... But he didn't tell me anything.. Presumably he wants to meet since I have to bring the videotape.. But then he leaves the conversation, says he has to go read the news... and argh yes I know, it's not the biggest of deals... basically he still gets under my skin..so now i have to wait to see if we'll meet..well he can call, i've done my part. That's a lie, I'll probably call again when I'm in town.
And then, this guy I've been chatting with on the internet seems to have took it upon himself to send a book and a cd to my office. I didn't give him my address. He didn't ask. Didn't even warn me that he was going to send it. Nice gesture or creepy? It makes me damn uncomfortable, and now I have to figure out what to tell him about it...
And then of course there is T, lovely fuckable T. Lovely fuckable T who I've been waiting to fuck for 6 weeks. And still counting. I thought it would be this week but nope. I am not so much annoyed with him as at the situation. Although it would help if he did give me a day or time when he is free, he just keeps saying 'I miss you, we need a really good visit soon' and then not giving me any definite info as to when, even when I ask. And I can't keep asking cos then I just feel demanding.
I keep wondering too.. I wonder if T has been getting sex elsewhere, and if that's why it's less urgent for him to make a plan. I have to admit that does leave me a little resentful, not because he's getting sex, but because I'm not and currently he's my only source for it. I can't really complain though, I knew from the beginning that there would be this unequal power balance (if you will) between us. And I'm still not ready to just go pick up a guy at a bar, or meet with someone new over the internet. Maybe later, but not quite yet.
I realise what this is. I've just entered a new stage of my horniness: the bitchy stage. I was happily horny at the beginning, playing with myself and revelling in the horn. :) Then I was tortuous horny where I tortured myself with wonderful thoughts of the sex I could be having. But it was a fun torture, just a nice building up of tension.
And now, it's not so fun anymore. I'm just plain irritable and disgruntled hehe. I'm tired of this indefinite waiting.
This is probably too much information, but it doesn't help that my hormones seem to be out of whack lately and for 22 days of this past month I've been bleeding !! Doctors won't do much, guess they see it all the time. They did the standard most basic tests for infection and pregnancy.. They won't even test for anything like a hormonal imbalance due to other (some of them serious) conditions unless it happens to you for at least 4 months in a row. They recommend that I....wait. And see what happens. Hmm where have I heard that before? I'm not very worried about it, but when something in my body doesn't seem to be working quite right, it always leaves me antsy.
That's the ironic part out of all this, that even if T did give me a time, I don't really know if I'll be in any position to be having sex. Well a little bleeding should be fine, but.. if it increases...should I? shouldn't I? And of course it's up to him too... and it's just awkward talking about it with a guy you've only seen a couple of times over two months. Hell, it's kinda weird typing about it here.
AND I'm getting a roommate next week.. so no more random sex in various locations of the house and making as much noise as I want.
I think I'm done now.
I know partly the problem is that in the past two weeks I've really started to include T in my fantasies. I started off doing it cos I thought I was going to see him soon and it would have added heat to our encounter. Letting him in that way would definitely make our (currently elusive) time together more fun. But it's different than a normal never-gonna-happen fantasy. Knowing that these things I think of could actually happen, and that they haven't yet is what's driving me crazy.
So I've decided to pull back a bit, retreat back into just enjoying me. I'm gonna go buy myself a new set of matching bra and panties, new just for myself, for me to see. Buy that Durex tingling lubricant that I remember Anna recommending... And I'm definitely going to finally invest in a new hand-held showerhead and maybe even a vibrator, probably a bullet one, haven't really decided which kind I want yet.
This could be fun! :)
The men in my life seem to be acting up.
Of course since none of these guys know each other, it is more likely that I am acting up, and reacting to them....
I talk to X now and then. We have less and less to say to each other every time. Still I'm going to be in town very soon and I thought I would ask if he wanted to meet up. It's been 2 months since our breakup, I thought we're probably ready for it, though now that I think of it, I'm not exactly sure why I want to. Just to see if I can do it? I was kind of nervous about it but I went ahead and asked. His response was to tell me to bring one of his videotapes I still have.
:S
I'm glad he reminded me and all, I just could have used a 'sure that sounds good, how bout this time or this place' or a 'no i'm busy' or even 'no i don't want to' or SOMETHING first.... But he didn't tell me anything.. Presumably he wants to meet since I have to bring the videotape.. But then he leaves the conversation, says he has to go read the news... and argh yes I know, it's not the biggest of deals... basically he still gets under my skin..so now i have to wait to see if we'll meet..well he can call, i've done my part. That's a lie, I'll probably call again when I'm in town.
And then, this guy I've been chatting with on the internet seems to have took it upon himself to send a book and a cd to my office. I didn't give him my address. He didn't ask. Didn't even warn me that he was going to send it. Nice gesture or creepy? It makes me damn uncomfortable, and now I have to figure out what to tell him about it...
And then of course there is T, lovely fuckable T. Lovely fuckable T who I've been waiting to fuck for 6 weeks. And still counting. I thought it would be this week but nope. I am not so much annoyed with him as at the situation. Although it would help if he did give me a day or time when he is free, he just keeps saying 'I miss you, we need a really good visit soon' and then not giving me any definite info as to when, even when I ask. And I can't keep asking cos then I just feel demanding.
I keep wondering too.. I wonder if T has been getting sex elsewhere, and if that's why it's less urgent for him to make a plan. I have to admit that does leave me a little resentful, not because he's getting sex, but because I'm not and currently he's my only source for it. I can't really complain though, I knew from the beginning that there would be this unequal power balance (if you will) between us. And I'm still not ready to just go pick up a guy at a bar, or meet with someone new over the internet. Maybe later, but not quite yet.
I realise what this is. I've just entered a new stage of my horniness: the bitchy stage. I was happily horny at the beginning, playing with myself and revelling in the horn. :) Then I was tortuous horny where I tortured myself with wonderful thoughts of the sex I could be having. But it was a fun torture, just a nice building up of tension.
And now, it's not so fun anymore. I'm just plain irritable and disgruntled hehe. I'm tired of this indefinite waiting.
This is probably too much information, but it doesn't help that my hormones seem to be out of whack lately and for 22 days of this past month I've been bleeding !! Doctors won't do much, guess they see it all the time. They did the standard most basic tests for infection and pregnancy.. They won't even test for anything like a hormonal imbalance due to other (some of them serious) conditions unless it happens to you for at least 4 months in a row. They recommend that I....wait. And see what happens. Hmm where have I heard that before? I'm not very worried about it, but when something in my body doesn't seem to be working quite right, it always leaves me antsy.
That's the ironic part out of all this, that even if T did give me a time, I don't really know if I'll be in any position to be having sex. Well a little bleeding should be fine, but.. if it increases...should I? shouldn't I? And of course it's up to him too... and it's just awkward talking about it with a guy you've only seen a couple of times over two months. Hell, it's kinda weird typing about it here.
AND I'm getting a roommate next week.. so no more random sex in various locations of the house and making as much noise as I want.
I think I'm done now.
I know partly the problem is that in the past two weeks I've really started to include T in my fantasies. I started off doing it cos I thought I was going to see him soon and it would have added heat to our encounter. Letting him in that way would definitely make our (currently elusive) time together more fun. But it's different than a normal never-gonna-happen fantasy. Knowing that these things I think of could actually happen, and that they haven't yet is what's driving me crazy.
So I've decided to pull back a bit, retreat back into just enjoying me. I'm gonna go buy myself a new set of matching bra and panties, new just for myself, for me to see. Buy that Durex tingling lubricant that I remember Anna recommending... And I'm definitely going to finally invest in a new hand-held showerhead and maybe even a vibrator, probably a bullet one, haven't really decided which kind I want yet.
This could be fun! :)
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
queen of procrastination
I realized I was addicted to blogging this morning when I was logging into my university e-mail account and used my blog username instead lol.
Notice here, how ‘my ramblings’ have increased and ‘my realities’ have levelled off?
This is because it has now been one month, three days and hmmm 6 or 7 hours since I last had sex.
I’m melting! I’m MELTING!
Clashes in our schedules have made a meeting with T impossible. And the worst part is I still probably have another week or two to go.
I know it isn't actually that long, I've gone longer before, but I had quickly gotten used to our every two weeks or so schedule.
I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve had sex I’ve practically forgotten how it feels.
Yes, I’ve forgotten how it feels to have him grab me when I’m in front of him and pull me suddenly towards him. So his erection grinds right into me.
I’ve definitely forgotten how it feels, all stretched up and pulsing, when my pussy gives into him and takes in his cock.
And how it feels to keep on giving in as he expands inside me, as I respond to him with my own swelling, my own flow, and he in turn responds to that flow from my swelling inward skin that strokes him. And we go on like that in circles.
These have all been forgotten.
Ahem.
What you are about to witness below (should you so choose to), this ridiculous onslaught of posts like it’s going out of style, is the direct consequence of my lack of action anywhere else.
I know… it ain’t a pretty sight, but all that horny-wonderful energy had to go somewhere ok??
I had all these random little things I wanted to write about and then I kept starting to write something else without finishing another. So what you end up with is a whole bunch of haphazard strange entries. Quantitity over quality.
It is fortuitous perhaps, consider it an advance, because I will be staying away from the blogging in the next week. I have a deadline coming up at uni that I have to work my ass off for. (I can’t even log in everyday just to post these, cos there’s no telling how long I will stay, where I will start to read once I step inside.)
Of course, I wouldn’t have to be working so hard in the first place if I hadn’t been spending so much time trying to finish writing all this stuff that kept popping into my head.
Ah well. With us procrastinators, if it isn’t one thing we just had to do, it’s another...
Have a great week!
PS Leave me comments while I’m gone though, they make me happy.
PPS. Does that make me sad? : )
Notice here, how ‘my ramblings’ have increased and ‘my realities’ have levelled off?
This is because it has now been one month, three days and hmmm 6 or 7 hours since I last had sex.
I’m melting! I’m MELTING!
Clashes in our schedules have made a meeting with T impossible. And the worst part is I still probably have another week or two to go.
I know it isn't actually that long, I've gone longer before, but I had quickly gotten used to our every two weeks or so schedule.
I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve had sex I’ve practically forgotten how it feels.
Yes, I’ve forgotten how it feels to have him grab me when I’m in front of him and pull me suddenly towards him. So his erection grinds right into me.
I’ve definitely forgotten how it feels, all stretched up and pulsing, when my pussy gives into him and takes in his cock.
And how it feels to keep on giving in as he expands inside me, as I respond to him with my own swelling, my own flow, and he in turn responds to that flow from my swelling inward skin that strokes him. And we go on like that in circles.
These have all been forgotten.
Ahem.
What you are about to witness below (should you so choose to), this ridiculous onslaught of posts like it’s going out of style, is the direct consequence of my lack of action anywhere else.
I know… it ain’t a pretty sight, but all that horny-wonderful energy had to go somewhere ok??
I had all these random little things I wanted to write about and then I kept starting to write something else without finishing another. So what you end up with is a whole bunch of haphazard strange entries. Quantitity over quality.
It is fortuitous perhaps, consider it an advance, because I will be staying away from the blogging in the next week. I have a deadline coming up at uni that I have to work my ass off for. (I can’t even log in everyday just to post these, cos there’s no telling how long I will stay, where I will start to read once I step inside.)
Of course, I wouldn’t have to be working so hard in the first place if I hadn’t been spending so much time trying to finish writing all this stuff that kept popping into my head.
Ah well. With us procrastinators, if it isn’t one thing we just had to do, it’s another...
Have a great week!
PS Leave me comments while I’m gone though, they make me happy.
PPS. Does that make me sad? : )
Monday, August 15, 2005
letter
Dear T,
I woke up this morning and I was horny and I thought of you.
I thought about the funny dream I had just woken up from..
I dreamt that I was at a concert and it turned out that it was you who was playing. On the drums, for some reason. I pointed you out excitedly to my friends, but when they asked who you were, I wouldn’t answer.
As I sat there far in the back, far away from you, rows and rows of people in chairs in front of me, a huge crowd obstructing my view of you, I felt a hand pop up from somewhere under my chair, reach under my skirt, between my legs and push my panties to one side. I knew it was you. I was confused, I tried to look past the people to see if you were still there, I could hear your drumming still from the stage, but I knew this hand was yours.
Then it didn’t matter because your fingers slipped deliciously in and I let you. I didn’t look to the stage to see you, I didn’t look down to see you, your proof lay wonderfully inside me. No one could see this, everybody was watching you play your music, unaware that you were also playing with me.
It felt so good, whatever it was you were doing, it felt so amazing to throw back my head and just take in your music as you touched me.
You drummed harder and harder as the rest of your band played, and the music was loud enough that I could sigh as much as I wanted and no one could hear.
You didn’t need to thrust or go fast. You explored inside, deeper and deeper, soft and curious and wet.
When I came, over and over, it was the way orgasms always are in my dreams, like a warm cleansing bath from the inside, this gentle burning heat washing all over me in recurring waves, this empty clarity. This nirvana that cannot be realized.
And when I was done, your drumbeat onstage died too with a one-two.
And then I woke up.
I would have liked to have been played with this morning, thinking of that dream.
I would have liked to have been a body lying next to yours, for you to handle, prodded and petted to see what touch elicits which sound.
I wanted that anonymity again, my back to you, but this time I would know it was you because I could feel that hint of your morning hardness hit me right above my ass, at that moment when you woke up enough to grab me and pull me suddenly to you, like you have before.
Yes you would hold me far and then hold me close, thrusting your pelvis into me, this tease, this mock fucking.
And then you would reach again like in my dream underneath my nightie to my panties. This time you could grasp the scrunched up cloth in between your fingers, pull it up so it’s like a rope grating between me, rubbing against my pussy, controlling the cloth, jerking it back and forth a little.
I know it would feel so good. I would never look back, I would never even acknowledge your presence, sighing as if to myself as my panties caressed me, you would just be this arm and this hand, except of course I’d know it was you.
And when my panties were finally pushed down, would I have you just place two fingers firmly on my clit and let me masturbate against you? Hmm, would you let me use you like that, push my body up so my clit can meet your fingers, trapped between the front of you and your arm, struggling to take from you? Or would you rather move those fingers yourself, pulse against my clit yourself, and let me just lie back and take it? Because either way is fine by me.
And when the pleasure got too much, when I needed something inside me, I can’t decide, would I rather have you place a finger at my dewy entrance, and move myself around that finger so it slides in circles against my pink insides, or would I have you explore yourself as I lay still?
Either way I’d be just fine, either way I’d be moaning for you.
And when it came time to put your cock inside, would you be at your full capacity, hard and ready? Or do I want to feel you grow and expand inside me instead?
Would you part my skin first and then ease your way in, or would I have the skin be pushed back on its own because it had to, as you suddenly barged in?
And oh when you fucked me would I have you in long delicious strokes, moving in and out, so that part of the time we are connected only by your cock? Or would I have you bumping and grinding against me, ever so close, feeling the sweat of our bodies join as you rocked inside?
Mmm either way is just oh so fine for me, either way I’d be wet and dying to cum.
One thing for sure though, I would never look back to see your face, not until I came.
And after I came, we could start again, this time face to face, knowing what you had just done for me.
God I love mornings, sleepy, relaxed, hungry for anything and everything mornings. Starting off my day with pleasure.
I thought of these things, and then I realized I had left my computer on last night, so it was easy for me to set up the microphone, cozy back into bed and record this for you.
Enjoy!
Learn
I woke up this morning and I was horny and I thought of you.
I thought about the funny dream I had just woken up from..
I dreamt that I was at a concert and it turned out that it was you who was playing. On the drums, for some reason. I pointed you out excitedly to my friends, but when they asked who you were, I wouldn’t answer.
As I sat there far in the back, far away from you, rows and rows of people in chairs in front of me, a huge crowd obstructing my view of you, I felt a hand pop up from somewhere under my chair, reach under my skirt, between my legs and push my panties to one side. I knew it was you. I was confused, I tried to look past the people to see if you were still there, I could hear your drumming still from the stage, but I knew this hand was yours.
Then it didn’t matter because your fingers slipped deliciously in and I let you. I didn’t look to the stage to see you, I didn’t look down to see you, your proof lay wonderfully inside me. No one could see this, everybody was watching you play your music, unaware that you were also playing with me.
It felt so good, whatever it was you were doing, it felt so amazing to throw back my head and just take in your music as you touched me.
You drummed harder and harder as the rest of your band played, and the music was loud enough that I could sigh as much as I wanted and no one could hear.
You didn’t need to thrust or go fast. You explored inside, deeper and deeper, soft and curious and wet.
When I came, over and over, it was the way orgasms always are in my dreams, like a warm cleansing bath from the inside, this gentle burning heat washing all over me in recurring waves, this empty clarity. This nirvana that cannot be realized.
And when I was done, your drumbeat onstage died too with a one-two.
And then I woke up.
I would have liked to have been played with this morning, thinking of that dream.
I would have liked to have been a body lying next to yours, for you to handle, prodded and petted to see what touch elicits which sound.
I wanted that anonymity again, my back to you, but this time I would know it was you because I could feel that hint of your morning hardness hit me right above my ass, at that moment when you woke up enough to grab me and pull me suddenly to you, like you have before.
Yes you would hold me far and then hold me close, thrusting your pelvis into me, this tease, this mock fucking.
And then you would reach again like in my dream underneath my nightie to my panties. This time you could grasp the scrunched up cloth in between your fingers, pull it up so it’s like a rope grating between me, rubbing against my pussy, controlling the cloth, jerking it back and forth a little.
I know it would feel so good. I would never look back, I would never even acknowledge your presence, sighing as if to myself as my panties caressed me, you would just be this arm and this hand, except of course I’d know it was you.
And when my panties were finally pushed down, would I have you just place two fingers firmly on my clit and let me masturbate against you? Hmm, would you let me use you like that, push my body up so my clit can meet your fingers, trapped between the front of you and your arm, struggling to take from you? Or would you rather move those fingers yourself, pulse against my clit yourself, and let me just lie back and take it? Because either way is fine by me.
And when the pleasure got too much, when I needed something inside me, I can’t decide, would I rather have you place a finger at my dewy entrance, and move myself around that finger so it slides in circles against my pink insides, or would I have you explore yourself as I lay still?
Either way I’d be just fine, either way I’d be moaning for you.
And when it came time to put your cock inside, would you be at your full capacity, hard and ready? Or do I want to feel you grow and expand inside me instead?
Would you part my skin first and then ease your way in, or would I have the skin be pushed back on its own because it had to, as you suddenly barged in?
And oh when you fucked me would I have you in long delicious strokes, moving in and out, so that part of the time we are connected only by your cock? Or would I have you bumping and grinding against me, ever so close, feeling the sweat of our bodies join as you rocked inside?
Mmm either way is just oh so fine for me, either way I’d be wet and dying to cum.
One thing for sure though, I would never look back to see your face, not until I came.
And after I came, we could start again, this time face to face, knowing what you had just done for me.
God I love mornings, sleepy, relaxed, hungry for anything and everything mornings. Starting off my day with pleasure.
I thought of these things, and then I realized I had left my computer on last night, so it was easy for me to set up the microphone, cozy back into bed and record this for you.
Enjoy!
Learn
5. my story -first love
And where were my boyfriend and I during all this emailing?
So far, I have told you little about my ex , my X as I’ll call him.
But really you must realize that until very recently, T was no more than a blip in the steady pulse that was my relationship with my boyfriend.
I could fill pages and pages about X. I mean, he was/is/was my first love. Do I need to say more? Much of what you read here will perhaps be far too familiar to you.
We discovered everything together. We dealt with things as they came along. We discovered sex through frantic fumblings. We discovered jealousy when I felt that he flirted with my girl friends, when he felt that I pranced around in skirts that were ‘too short’. We dodged every silly little thing thrown our way.
We witnessed the death of our initial burning need to spend every second together, did not pause too long to mourn it, matured for it. We learnt of the energy it takes to maintain a relationship.
Nothing shook us. We were a couple, known to be that ‘solid’ couple in our group of friends. Already, we bickered about how we would raise our future children. Mostly we understood the comfort we could find in each other’s arms, an anchor to each other. It was the part that I loved about him the most.
He really was a rock, he committed to me right from the beginning. I was his girl, and nothing could change that.
Damn.
Do I go on or do I stop to cry?
So far, I have told you little about my ex , my X as I’ll call him.
But really you must realize that until very recently, T was no more than a blip in the steady pulse that was my relationship with my boyfriend.
I could fill pages and pages about X. I mean, he was/is/was my first love. Do I need to say more? Much of what you read here will perhaps be far too familiar to you.
We discovered everything together. We dealt with things as they came along. We discovered sex through frantic fumblings. We discovered jealousy when I felt that he flirted with my girl friends, when he felt that I pranced around in skirts that were ‘too short’. We dodged every silly little thing thrown our way.
We witnessed the death of our initial burning need to spend every second together, did not pause too long to mourn it, matured for it. We learnt of the energy it takes to maintain a relationship.
Nothing shook us. We were a couple, known to be that ‘solid’ couple in our group of friends. Already, we bickered about how we would raise our future children. Mostly we understood the comfort we could find in each other’s arms, an anchor to each other. It was the part that I loved about him the most.
He really was a rock, he committed to me right from the beginning. I was his girl, and nothing could change that.
Damn.
Do I go on or do I stop to cry?
6. my story - differences
So what went wrong with me and X?
We did have one major problem. We came from families with different ethnic backgrounds, different religions too. And the one thing our families had in common was the one thing that kept them apart: they were both pretty traditional.
We knew it mattered greatly to our parents. So we kept it a secret from them.
The question of how much it mattered to us was more difficult to answer.
I was a sad in-between product of a world that was shrinking, but not fast enough. Poised between East and West. Stretched thin more like it.
Already, by the time I was 15, I had traveled around more than most. I was beginning to understand (and am still struggling with) my need to carve out my own set of values. I had to pick and choose from all the mixed messages I’d been given along the way. And when all those failed, propose new ones. Maybe everyone does the same to some extent, but I had a bigger confusion to deal with I felt.
I stood alone because I had to, questioning every boundary set my way. I had little courage though to show it, to stand up to everyone, to stand up to my parents. I needed more time anyways to figure out what I chose to believe in, before I could fight for it.
His was less a question of courage, though certainly he was frightened of how his family would deal with us. He seemed less prone to question his background than me, more inclined to stick to what he’d been taught, what his family had given him.
Would we make it together, despite the differences?
To me, it was clear that we could not call our differences our problem. We had to ask the right questions, because no matter how difficult, we could make it work, if our relationship was strong enough.
The real question became then, was it strong enough?
I didn’t know.
Certainly we seemed to do just fine together.
X and I saw each other every day, so I had a lot more to go on, but like with T, I questioned our reality. How much of it was real? How much of us was going to apply in the real world? When we got out of university? When our families interfered? When we tried to lead an actual life together, as opposed to these transitory scattered existences we led, inside the protective force field created by the walls of academia?
I thought about it non-stop.
The secret part of our relationship put a strain on me. My parents lived abroad but he lived with his. Maybe it was fun at first, but I quickly grew sick of the sneaking around, grew paranoid of ‘getting caught’. Two years was a long time to be keeping a relationship like ours a secret.
I was in my 20s, I felt too old for this silly adolescent secrecy.
But if we revealed our relationship, fought for it, then in some ways, we were stuck with it
Or at least there would have been a huge wasted cost of energy and pain to abandon it after that point .
And then I felt too young to be thinking about if I wanted to marry him or not .
We did have one major problem. We came from families with different ethnic backgrounds, different religions too. And the one thing our families had in common was the one thing that kept them apart: they were both pretty traditional.
We knew it mattered greatly to our parents. So we kept it a secret from them.
The question of how much it mattered to us was more difficult to answer.
I was a sad in-between product of a world that was shrinking, but not fast enough. Poised between East and West. Stretched thin more like it.
Already, by the time I was 15, I had traveled around more than most. I was beginning to understand (and am still struggling with) my need to carve out my own set of values. I had to pick and choose from all the mixed messages I’d been given along the way. And when all those failed, propose new ones. Maybe everyone does the same to some extent, but I had a bigger confusion to deal with I felt.
I stood alone because I had to, questioning every boundary set my way. I had little courage though to show it, to stand up to everyone, to stand up to my parents. I needed more time anyways to figure out what I chose to believe in, before I could fight for it.
His was less a question of courage, though certainly he was frightened of how his family would deal with us. He seemed less prone to question his background than me, more inclined to stick to what he’d been taught, what his family had given him.
Would we make it together, despite the differences?
To me, it was clear that we could not call our differences our problem. We had to ask the right questions, because no matter how difficult, we could make it work, if our relationship was strong enough.
The real question became then, was it strong enough?
I didn’t know.
Certainly we seemed to do just fine together.
X and I saw each other every day, so I had a lot more to go on, but like with T, I questioned our reality. How much of it was real? How much of us was going to apply in the real world? When we got out of university? When our families interfered? When we tried to lead an actual life together, as opposed to these transitory scattered existences we led, inside the protective force field created by the walls of academia?
I thought about it non-stop.
The secret part of our relationship put a strain on me. My parents lived abroad but he lived with his. Maybe it was fun at first, but I quickly grew sick of the sneaking around, grew paranoid of ‘getting caught’. Two years was a long time to be keeping a relationship like ours a secret.
I was in my 20s, I felt too old for this silly adolescent secrecy.
But if we revealed our relationship, fought for it, then in some ways, we were stuck with it
Or at least there would have been a huge wasted cost of energy and pain to abandon it after that point .
And then I felt too young to be thinking about if I wanted to marry him or not .
sharing is caring
It’s so great to have that one best friend who can say anything to you and who you can say anything to.
I’ve known her since I was 10 and when we are together, we turn into the two giggly high school girls we used to be, dissolving into hysterical laughter at anything that is in the slightest bit funny.
I like to tell her all the juicy tidbits about T. No one else really knows about him except for her.
The things I’m learning. How I used a vibrator for the first time with him. How he knows before I can say anything when something he’s doing gives me the slightest tinge of pain. How he manages to maintain a steady stream of talk when we have phone sex. How he flips me into this position and that, murmuring the pros and cons of each position into my ear, things like:
‘The nice thing about this position-’
* thrust *
Insert my gasp here.
‘-is that-’
* grunt *
'even though it's hard ...to maintain...you should really be feeling this way back, deep, way….. at the back’
‘..mmmmmmm yes!’
Doesn’t that sound funny? But to me, it’s hot. Just like how I found that moment I described in the post before this hot.
(Ah to be rendered to the capable hands of someone who has more knowledge than me.
It’s so exhilarating.
An exhiliration in two parts, in the rendering, and in his knowledge…..
You’ll be hearing it again and again, because I’m milking to the max this teacher/learner thing we’ve got going! )
Anyways, once with my friend, it got to the point where she admitted sheepishly:
‘Sometimes, when you talk about...him, I kinda wish that I could… you know...'
She burst into giggles. And I joined her because I realized immediately what she wanted to say.
‘That you could have him too, right?’
We started to crack up, because she has a serious boyfriend, and probably shouldn't be thinking such things, because I knew exactly what she meant, because it was definitely one of the strangest things we’d ever said to each other, the first time either of us had expressed a desire to fuck someone that the other was already fucking.
'Just. so I could .. kinda… know what you’re.. talk-'
Gasping with laughter, I interrupted her:
‘It’s ok, I want you to have him to… ..so we could.. I dunno… Cos then we could both do him and then……compare notes!!!!’
‘Yeah!!! EXACTLY!!!’
We laughed until our stomachs hurt.
I know you’re not laughing, you’re smiling maybe, but you’re thinking, it’s not that hilarious.
You had to be there though.
I’ve known her since I was 10 and when we are together, we turn into the two giggly high school girls we used to be, dissolving into hysterical laughter at anything that is in the slightest bit funny.
I like to tell her all the juicy tidbits about T. No one else really knows about him except for her.
The things I’m learning. How I used a vibrator for the first time with him. How he knows before I can say anything when something he’s doing gives me the slightest tinge of pain. How he manages to maintain a steady stream of talk when we have phone sex. How he flips me into this position and that, murmuring the pros and cons of each position into my ear, things like:
‘The nice thing about this position-’
* thrust *
Insert my gasp here.
‘-is that-’
* grunt *
'even though it's hard ...to maintain...you should really be feeling this way back, deep, way….. at the back’
‘..mmmmmmm yes!’
Doesn’t that sound funny? But to me, it’s hot. Just like how I found that moment I described in the post before this hot.
(Ah to be rendered to the capable hands of someone who has more knowledge than me.
It’s so exhilarating.
An exhiliration in two parts, in the rendering, and in his knowledge…..
You’ll be hearing it again and again, because I’m milking to the max this teacher/learner thing we’ve got going! )
Anyways, once with my friend, it got to the point where she admitted sheepishly:
‘Sometimes, when you talk about...him, I kinda wish that I could… you know...'
She burst into giggles. And I joined her because I realized immediately what she wanted to say.
‘That you could have him too, right?’
We started to crack up, because she has a serious boyfriend, and probably shouldn't be thinking such things, because I knew exactly what she meant, because it was definitely one of the strangest things we’d ever said to each other, the first time either of us had expressed a desire to fuck someone that the other was already fucking.
'Just. so I could .. kinda… know what you’re.. talk-'
Gasping with laughter, I interrupted her:
‘It’s ok, I want you to have him to… ..so we could.. I dunno… Cos then we could both do him and then……compare notes!!!!’
‘Yeah!!! EXACTLY!!!’
We laughed until our stomachs hurt.
I know you’re not laughing, you’re smiling maybe, but you’re thinking, it’s not that hilarious.
You had to be there though.
lessons in the art of...
‘Oops, sorry’
My timing was off and I've let you slip out.
‘That’s alright…..open your legs again’
For you, anything.
I spread them out, craning my neck behind me to try and see what you're doing.
You're coaxing your cock back in. Not that any coaxing is needed.
‘Now close your legs again, really fast, please’
Please. Such a polite one that T.
A quick scissor shut, and you stay inside me, mounted on top of me, my two legs inside yours, my thighs squeezed closed around my cunt, adding extra pressure.
‘…there you go’
‘Mmmmmmmmm’
I feel like one of those faceless wooden dolls with the movable limbs that Sue Johanson uses on her show to illustrate a kinky point.
A wooden doll who is supremely turned on, dripping wet and writhing with pleasure of course.
My university education should be this fun.
My timing was off and I've let you slip out.
‘That’s alright…..open your legs again’
For you, anything.
I spread them out, craning my neck behind me to try and see what you're doing.
You're coaxing your cock back in. Not that any coaxing is needed.
‘Now close your legs again, really fast, please’
Please. Such a polite one that T.
A quick scissor shut, and you stay inside me, mounted on top of me, my two legs inside yours, my thighs squeezed closed around my cunt, adding extra pressure.
‘…there you go’
‘Mmmmmmmmm’
I feel like one of those faceless wooden dolls with the movable limbs that Sue Johanson uses on her show to illustrate a kinky point.
A wooden doll who is supremely turned on, dripping wet and writhing with pleasure of course.
My university education should be this fun.
slippery slope? ....part 2
I was talking to my best friend on the phone the other day and the conversation, as it invariably does, turned to sex.
‘You know what I need?’, I said to her.
‘What?’
‘Another guy to have around for when T is away…’
I can’t repeat what she said after that, not because it’s an expletive, we have enough of those here. But because it consisted of her exclaiming my name in surprise, and yes, a little bit in dismay.
I laughed too after I said it. I was thinking of what I had written, just days before.
But this was different, I was only thinking of one more man, just one more guy to keep the cry of the horny blues at bay.
And then if both the men went away?
Was this the slippery slope T was talking about?
I still maintain though that juggling more than one guy would be extremely difficult for me.
But I’m beginning to see how I might get tempted.
slippery slope?...part 1
He says wryly that he’s afraid of what he’s awoken in me.
That soon I will get to the point where I will be able to take a man and throw him on a bed and ride him relentlessly and walk away.
That he will leave for a month or two and when he comes back, he will find I have met and fucked man after man. That I will go on some kind of rampage. Reach insanely high levels of promiscuity.
That makes me laugh.
To me, nothing could be more off base.
There is so much at stake for me every time I interact with someone. That effort it takes to trust someone with my anything.
I don’t think I’ll ever be that brave.
Also, I tend to want to push the limits of how deep I can go with each person first.
I prefer rolling film to brief snapshots.
Having sex with that many people?
I can see how it might be fun, but mostly, it sounds exhausting. I need more focus than that… It’s not something I would get too much out of, I don’t think.
In other words, I don’t have the time, energy , courage or even inclination. .
Course if something (or someone) else came up I wouldn’t turn it down flat. But I don’t think I’ll ever find myself way on the other end of that spectrum.
When you’ve got as many caution brakes as I have, you could skid to a halting stop on any slope, no matter how slippery.
But I do wonder what kind of vibes I’m giving off, for him to be joking about that.
(...to be continued)
That soon I will get to the point where I will be able to take a man and throw him on a bed and ride him relentlessly and walk away.
That he will leave for a month or two and when he comes back, he will find I have met and fucked man after man. That I will go on some kind of rampage. Reach insanely high levels of promiscuity.
That makes me laugh.
To me, nothing could be more off base.
There is so much at stake for me every time I interact with someone. That effort it takes to trust someone with my anything.
I don’t think I’ll ever be that brave.
Also, I tend to want to push the limits of how deep I can go with each person first.
I prefer rolling film to brief snapshots.
Having sex with that many people?
I can see how it might be fun, but mostly, it sounds exhausting. I need more focus than that… It’s not something I would get too much out of, I don’t think.
In other words, I don’t have the time, energy , courage or even inclination. .
Course if something (or someone) else came up I wouldn’t turn it down flat. But I don’t think I’ll ever find myself way on the other end of that spectrum.
When you’ve got as many caution brakes as I have, you could skid to a halting stop on any slope, no matter how slippery.
But I do wonder what kind of vibes I’m giving off, for him to be joking about that.
(...to be continued)
don't be cool
“We write in order to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection.” Anais Nin
Sometimes before he wants to ask me a question, he’ll start with a pre-requisite:
‘I’m going to ask you a question. But don’t be cool about it’
And then when I laugh:
‘No, really, don’t give me the cool answer, ok?’
Usually for questions that pertain to him. About when I started to think of him sexually. If I had come to his house prepared to have sex that very first time.
How would he feel if he read here?
Of course this blog is for me and me alone, but it’s interesting to think about sometimes.
Would he be uncomfortable with how much thought I’ve put into him and me?
Or will he understand that I think too much about everything really?
That this is what I do with everything, every second I live, store it away somewhere so I can mull over it later on.
I cannot imagine being any other way.
My story, this whole blog, is one huge drawn-out instance of me being incredibly ‘not cool’ about it.
I’ve tried always to make sure that nothing I wrote here was because I thought it was the ‘right’ thing to say.
So maybe, even as he winced at the details revealed open here, as he grew indignant at my whining, surprised at my unexpressed insecurities, and yes disturbed at the depth of emotion, a part of him would still be able to appreciate it.
Sometimes before he wants to ask me a question, he’ll start with a pre-requisite:
‘I’m going to ask you a question. But don’t be cool about it’
And then when I laugh:
‘No, really, don’t give me the cool answer, ok?’
Usually for questions that pertain to him. About when I started to think of him sexually. If I had come to his house prepared to have sex that very first time.
How would he feel if he read here?
Of course this blog is for me and me alone, but it’s interesting to think about sometimes.
Would he be uncomfortable with how much thought I’ve put into him and me?
Or will he understand that I think too much about everything really?
That this is what I do with everything, every second I live, store it away somewhere so I can mull over it later on.
I cannot imagine being any other way.
My story, this whole blog, is one huge drawn-out instance of me being incredibly ‘not cool’ about it.
I’ve tried always to make sure that nothing I wrote here was because I thought it was the ‘right’ thing to say.
So maybe, even as he winced at the details revealed open here, as he grew indignant at my whining, surprised at my unexpressed insecurities, and yes disturbed at the depth of emotion, a part of him would still be able to appreciate it.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Saturday, August 13, 2005
4. my story - across the digital rainbow
This is how T slipped into my life, as a side note, cosied up between two parentheses.
It would be another two years before I found myself naked in his bed, his finger slipped in between the bracketed walls of my cunt.
Before the moans we were just black font on a white screen.
You see, in the beginning, all I had with T was this curious ‘e-mailing’ relationship.
It is always odd to look back on our e-mails from those times. It is hard for me to even truly realize that we are the same two people today who wrote those emails back then.
Probably because we are not.
They stand on their own, these emails, in the own surreal bubble of our interchange.
We did not write frequently. He knew I had a boyfriend. These were not romantic emails. There was nothing sexual about our writing. We knew little about the real everyday details of our lives. Nothing especially profound. No flurry of deep soul searching pages-long emails about life.
(Well,I did write one once, but I’ll get back to that later)
Just two random people exchanging random thoughts.
Looking back and reading them all, it strikes me how, strangely, right from the set-go, we constantly showered each other with little compliments. He would admit that he found me beautiful. Would tell me how honest and genuine he found me. I would start off an email by telling him how great/witty/eloquent he was, or how I couldn’t keep myself from writing to him.
Yes, there was always that element of ‘we shouldn’t be doing this’ between us. I had introduced the element a couple of emails in when I had panicked and wrote to him, had put a surprising amount of thought into it, detailing why I did not want to continue writing to him.
I knew back then I suppose; I was already afraid, almost sure of the time when I would let myself succumb to his charms. His temptation, once presented, had to be consummated eventually, it was just a question of when and how.
(And he did tempt me. His warmth, his passion, tempted me then. As his want whispered in my ear tempts me now.)
He answered back telling me how he certainly had never meant to intrude on the territory of my boyfriend and me. And then of course, I had to answer back. And it went on from there. We stayed on ‘occasional emailing terms’ across the 'digital rainbow’, as he had called it once.
It all seems so silly, I know. But we really did miss each other when we didn’t write. And it’s hard to understand why. There was no real substance behind to back it up, little that we knew about each other, little that we had said.
But there was some kind of recognition, some connection. Maybe some hope for our lives that we projected onto each other.
I am debating posting excerpts from these emails so you get an idea of what I’m talking about...
But I’ll refrain because, despite revealing little, they are private, between us, and nearer to my heart than I can understand. Somehow more intimate then anything I can tell you about our phone conversations or sex lives.
I hesitate even now to talk about them. There is an innocence, a freshness to them that I wish to remain untainted.
What is this nostalgia I have, now that he and I have moved on to another chapter?
Most of all I wonder if in real life, he still finds me as real as he did back then, in the days of our virtual interaction.
Friday, August 12, 2005
3. my story - enter T
Around a year into my relationship, I got a response to my ad, which read something like this:
You have HONESTLY HONESTLY HONESTLY the most genuine profile here I have read in a long time
If my formal sounding profile or my age (he’s 5 years older than me) doesn't scare you off, then please consider responding to me. I have a huge love of life and a passion for living it. I have spent my whole life pursuing my dreams - not following a pre-determined path, and thus I message you - you with the mysterious look on your face and with such truthful things to say about life.
(…..)
Take a chance and reply - I promise you honesty and a few laughs - as that is all 'some guy from the internet' can promise!
Take a chance and reply. So I did.
20-something responses sitting unreplied in my inbox. But I replied to him.
It wasn’t even his profile that made me do it, because as he said, his ad was quite stiff and told me very little about him except that he was a professional musician.
But his response. ...A strange combination of energy, sincerity and flattery. Just enough to hook me in.
I replied back pretty flippantly. Something along the lines of how I was pretty busy with university but if he dropped me a note, I would probably get around to answering him eventually.
It seemed harmless enough. But I wasn’t exactly rushing to tell my boyfriend about it either.
So my life split a little bit, a tiny crack, a parallel existence to explore on the side. Two stories to tell and I’ll never really know how intertwined the two are.
All the events in our lives feed off each other, conspire to push us to where our minds knew we had to go all along. Call it chance, call it fate, call it intuition.
Call it what you will, but this much I can admit. I know a part of me wanted T to be the tiny Thorn in the side of my relationship. I kept him around as a little itch, a little reaction under a hidden area of my skin, to remind me of what else I could have.
I would be a liar if I claimed any different. And a fool.
Then again I haven’t always been wise. Nor can I say that I will ever be.
You have HONESTLY HONESTLY HONESTLY the most genuine profile here I have read in a long time
If my formal sounding profile or my age (he’s 5 years older than me) doesn't scare you off, then please consider responding to me. I have a huge love of life and a passion for living it. I have spent my whole life pursuing my dreams - not following a pre-determined path, and thus I message you - you with the mysterious look on your face and with such truthful things to say about life.
(…..)
Take a chance and reply - I promise you honesty and a few laughs - as that is all 'some guy from the internet' can promise!
Take a chance and reply. So I did.
20-something responses sitting unreplied in my inbox. But I replied to him.
It wasn’t even his profile that made me do it, because as he said, his ad was quite stiff and told me very little about him except that he was a professional musician.
But his response. ...A strange combination of energy, sincerity and flattery. Just enough to hook me in.
I replied back pretty flippantly. Something along the lines of how I was pretty busy with university but if he dropped me a note, I would probably get around to answering him eventually.
It seemed harmless enough. But I wasn’t exactly rushing to tell my boyfriend about it either.
So my life split a little bit, a tiny crack, a parallel existence to explore on the side. Two stories to tell and I’ll never really know how intertwined the two are.
All the events in our lives feed off each other, conspire to push us to where our minds knew we had to go all along. Call it chance, call it fate, call it intuition.
Call it what you will, but this much I can admit. I know a part of me wanted T to be the tiny Thorn in the side of my relationship. I kept him around as a little itch, a little reaction under a hidden area of my skin, to remind me of what else I could have.
I would be a liar if I claimed any different. And a fool.
Then again I haven’t always been wise. Nor can I say that I will ever be.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
kiss me, kate
You know, he doesn’t kiss me.
And it kind of bothers me.
I brush my teeth pretty regularly, stay away from the onion and the garlic when he's around, keep the mint on hand….so I’m thinking it’s not my breath.
But nope, we just don't kiss.
And I think I know why. It’s ‘Pretty Woman’ syndrome, don’t you think?
Whores don’t kiss their clients. It might elicit ‘emotional attachment.’
(I guess that makes me his whore. Or vice versa.
It doesn’t really mean much to me, the word ‘whore’. It neither offends nor pleases me. It is like a piece of gum that has been chewed in too many different mouths too many times. It’s lost its flavor, it doesn’t stick to anything anymore. )
Anyways, if that is the case (and I will ask him one of these days), I do kind of understand his rationale. Isn’t a kiss is the most intimate thing we can share with someone?
How strange. That he has seen parts of me that the rest of the world hasn’t. That he can touch my hidden naked skin and put himself inside me. But our lips venture out into the world every day. Eyes have taken them in when we've talked, food has been pushed inside with a fork, the wind has chapped them and the sun has burnt them.…Yet he cannot touch his lips to mine.
He did kiss me once. I was pushed up against my living room wall by him, and his face was inches in front of mine. I looked right into his face and I know that I pleaded silently. I know my eyes were desperate for him. I might have even tilted my neck towards him. Really I was just screaming for it: ‘You’re here. I’m here. Kiss me goddamit!!’
I can say I need to be fucked. But ask for a kiss, and I’d be weak.
Maybe I read too much into it. But I do trust my instincts. I would have started the kiss myself if he hadn't looked so closed off all of a sudden. While my eyes were begging, his just seemed to hold back. I'm sure I didn't imagine it, his hesitation in that moment. I detected that hint of ‘I shouldn’t... but ah, what the hell?’ as he leaned over to comply. And he hasn’t kissed me again since.
But he took my lips briefly between his for a moment. For one lovely second the wet hot inside of his mouth surrounded my soft lips, distorted them upwards diagonally and then pulled away.
And then he moved down to my cunt.
I was more than happy for him to go there. But I do like to think about that one-second kiss.
Did the kiss become forbidden just by mere association? Because we know all too well how the formula goes? We’ve seen it in the movies: the couple falls in love, and then they invariably seal it with a soft openmouthed kiss. And then music plays in the background, and we are meant to understand that they are now happily bound to each other.
Usually a kiss is the first thing we can steal from someone. The first taste, the easiest part that can be taken. An opening, a beginning of something more.
Or maybe there is more to it than that. Are we uncomfortable with kisses because they bring our heads together? Because the blood rushes to our faces? Is that too close for comfort to our brains, to these reaching souls that drive the electricity of our bodies?
Maybe.
But it seems a shame. Because nothing turns me on more than a hot wet kiss.
My lips are a huge erogenous zone. I love how they rest every so slightly crooked across my face. The dip between two crests at the center when you trace your fingers across my upper lip. The points at the edges where the top and bottom lips meet, those points that deepen when I smile. And the feel of it, that different kind of skin, soft and rare, pink with pulsing vessels, tingling with nerve endings. And I haven’t even reached the inside of my mouth yet. The warm inside of my mouth, foreshadowing my cunt. That velvet raw smoothness of the insides of my cheeks, the contrast with my teeth. And my curious pliable tongue, waiting to explore slowly, to taste, to stroke and be stroked.
And when two mouths meet. Oh!
There is an equality to it that turns me on. Sometimes I think therein lies my attraction to girl-on-girl and guy-on-guy sex. Like when two women lean over for a kiss and push against each other, and their breasts smash against each other, and their nipples touch. That mirror image. Mmm…. that is the point where they’ve got me moaning.
That cymbal crash. That perfectly imperfect merging, mouth to mouth, lip to lip, tongue to tongue.
I’d like to kiss him. I’d like us to meet like that too, as equals. I like the challenge of being the yin to his yin, and the yang to his yang. I want to wrestle for control, bite gently on his lower lip as he tries to caress my upper lip, suck on his tongue as he tries to suck on mine.
I want to kiss and kiss and kiss until my lips are puffed and red, used and angry, while the rest of my body is pushed up against his, waiting impatiently to get in on the action. I want to kiss until I can take no more.
I think if he slipped a finger inside me afterwards he would discover just what kissing can do for me.
I want to kiss.
And as things tend to go, because it is the one thing I cannot get from him, I think about it all the time.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
help!
I have a problem. I’ve touched on this briefly before I think.
Talked to T. (there, I used it!) on the phone yesterday. It was a nice surprise since I had expected him to still be away. But turns out he had a day at home in between two of his trips and he was just checking in.
I crave him the second I hear his voice but I am not really ready for him.
My brain has been so busy with boring practicalities during this week that he's been away. Do my tomato plants need fertilizer? Should I buy another fan? Do I want to take the bus to go grocery shopping today? Isn't it time I started that report for my course?
My day has been dreary. I have just had a long relaxed chat with an old highschool friend.
Feels like no matter what the case, I am always unprepared when he calls me. There is always something about him that puts me on edge.
He is an intruder in my life: 'l'etranger'. I cannot understand why, but every time I talk to him I have to reorient, I have to let him in once again.
It is precisely this kind of unsettlement that I have desired. But it leaves my thoughts turbid, and as an extension, because I cannot pick with clarity, my voice mute, my actions awkward.
He tells me he is listening to the audio clip I sent him. 'Just a sample', I labeled it. A three minute sample of how I sound when I masturbate. I do not quite fully cum but I do come damn close, and believe me, you can tell when you hear it, though I never actually speak.
He listens to it and he tells me it has his cock throbbing and he needs to cum.
I wish I had something to tell him when he asks me if I remembered what I was thinking of at the time.
I remember lying there on my bed, and just letting myself breathe into the microphone. Letting the microphone pick up the tiniest of my sighs. I know I was on my stomach and my hands roved all over my clit underneath.
But I don't know what I was thinking of. I'm not sure that I was thinking at all.
I listen to it again with him on the phone. I want to hear it, not to hear my sounds but to hear what he just heard. I know that later on I will go and listen to it again. Because now it will always hold that for me, I will listen to it and I will know that this private moment has touched his ears and aroused him. And that thrills me. I can tell him that much, albeit with a stammer here and there.
Lying on my bed, my free hand moves down and reaches underneath the material of my dress, underneath the elastic band of my panties. I am listening to him groan now and then. I know he’s stroking his cock now, stroking it and my sounds are there in his strokes.
The things he tells me.
I am amazed at this eloquence of his in the midst of his heightening arousal. I don’t know about you, but with me, it feels like the more I get off, the more I get cut loose from my brain.
So much so that I can’t even fully remember what he’s said afterwards. Much of what I am about to write here is just the gist of our talk, and doesn’t really do him full justice.
It makes for interesting conversation, incredibly hot at times, embarrassingly awkward at others.
This time was particularly bad on my part. I have never felt quite so brain dead before, and most of his attempts to engage me and have me take a more active role fell flat.
My attempt to reenact our conversation in writing turned out longer than I thought so I’ve put it in a separate post here.
Feel free to let me know how you felt your first couple of times having phone sex, difficulties you had, things you found that worked for you.
I know mostly I just need to relax.
But I could use some help.
Talked to T. (there, I used it!) on the phone yesterday. It was a nice surprise since I had expected him to still be away. But turns out he had a day at home in between two of his trips and he was just checking in.
I crave him the second I hear his voice but I am not really ready for him.
My brain has been so busy with boring practicalities during this week that he's been away. Do my tomato plants need fertilizer? Should I buy another fan? Do I want to take the bus to go grocery shopping today? Isn't it time I started that report for my course?
My day has been dreary. I have just had a long relaxed chat with an old highschool friend.
Feels like no matter what the case, I am always unprepared when he calls me. There is always something about him that puts me on edge.
He is an intruder in my life: 'l'etranger'. I cannot understand why, but every time I talk to him I have to reorient, I have to let him in once again.
It is precisely this kind of unsettlement that I have desired. But it leaves my thoughts turbid, and as an extension, because I cannot pick with clarity, my voice mute, my actions awkward.
He tells me he is listening to the audio clip I sent him. 'Just a sample', I labeled it. A three minute sample of how I sound when I masturbate. I do not quite fully cum but I do come damn close, and believe me, you can tell when you hear it, though I never actually speak.
He listens to it and he tells me it has his cock throbbing and he needs to cum.
I wish I had something to tell him when he asks me if I remembered what I was thinking of at the time.
I remember lying there on my bed, and just letting myself breathe into the microphone. Letting the microphone pick up the tiniest of my sighs. I know I was on my stomach and my hands roved all over my clit underneath.
But I don't know what I was thinking of. I'm not sure that I was thinking at all.
I listen to it again with him on the phone. I want to hear it, not to hear my sounds but to hear what he just heard. I know that later on I will go and listen to it again. Because now it will always hold that for me, I will listen to it and I will know that this private moment has touched his ears and aroused him. And that thrills me. I can tell him that much, albeit with a stammer here and there.
Lying on my bed, my free hand moves down and reaches underneath the material of my dress, underneath the elastic band of my panties. I am listening to him groan now and then. I know he’s stroking his cock now, stroking it and my sounds are there in his strokes.
The things he tells me.
I am amazed at this eloquence of his in the midst of his heightening arousal. I don’t know about you, but with me, it feels like the more I get off, the more I get cut loose from my brain.
So much so that I can’t even fully remember what he’s said afterwards. Much of what I am about to write here is just the gist of our talk, and doesn’t really do him full justice.
It makes for interesting conversation, incredibly hot at times, embarrassingly awkward at others.
This time was particularly bad on my part. I have never felt quite so brain dead before, and most of his attempts to engage me and have me take a more active role fell flat.
My attempt to reenact our conversation in writing turned out longer than I thought so I’ve put it in a separate post here.
Feel free to let me know how you felt your first couple of times having phone sex, difficulties you had, things you found that worked for you.
I know mostly I just need to relax.
But I could use some help.
our conversation
‘……………………..what are you thinking of now? What are you craving?’
‘ mm…I’m craving ….you?’
‘What about me?’
‘ I want… your cock …..in my cunt’
Oh dear. Pure. Simple. Easy. But that’ s ok. Right?
‘Are you thinking of me the last time I was at your house?’
I'm stroking away in circles on my clit with my head resting back on the pillow.
‘yes’
Liar. You weren’t thinking of that at all. You were thinking (and I use the term loosely) about how if you move your hips up against your hand right as he talks into your ear, you get a little shiver down your back. Your body was focusing on what you need to do to recreate that little feeling again. But now that he’s brought it up you wouldn’t mind thinking about it at all.
There’s so much to say about it.
What is there to say?
‘..hello? still there?’
‘hi’
‘….oh.. I thought my phone had died for a second’
Ahem. Nope nope, doing well on this side.
‘No..it’s just that.. ..my hands are... busy’
‘Yes…but you can still talk… ‘
‘I know.. I’m trying..’
The funny part is we’re still moving our hands through this little exchange, so our every pause is filled with the sound of our heavy breathing.
‘Come on, I’ve read your stuff. Take all that creativity, that sexual energy.. and channel it into this moment we’re having together’
‘…ummm…’
‘..This is ME you’re talking to… me.’
‘…I know’
‘-I’ve slipped my fingers inside your pussy’
‘mmm’
‘ I’ve …placed my lips on your nipples and sucked’
‘ mm yes’
‘ I’ve felt …your soft legs wrapped around me-‘
‘ohh’
‘- as I placed my cock inside you. Think about that. Think about it and tell me how it felt’
* tiny whisper*
‘it felt good’
‘sorry?’
Gotta raise that voice.
‘ahem.. it felt GOOD’
Lord but it felt good. I’ve told you in my writings how it’s felt. I’ve splayed it all open there. But now…
‘I know you like it. I know you like how when we’re together, it’s ok for you to just… if you feel like it…reach out for my cock… just pull it out and … ease yourself onto me. Just use me for your pleasure. Just ride me until you cum. And how right after, soon as you’re done, you can just get up, get dressed and go to the kitchen, for a drink or something’
* smiling *
‘mmm’
‘-and how if I wanted to, I could follow you into the kitchen. I could corner you in the kitchen and come behind you and just pull down your pants and panties. I’d be hard and I wouldn’t wait, I’d make sure only that you were wet enough for me to enter in. And then I could fuck you like that, with you leaning against the counter. Just fuck you hard against the counter’
‘oh god… yes…’
Silence. Some moaning.
‘Tell me something’
Something.
‘umm…. while you were away.. I wrote about that moment right before-‘
‘sorry, I can’t hear you’
‘oh.. I wrote about…. I was thinking about…us.. about that moment right before.. when your cock is....’
When his cock is what?
‘-that moment right before, when your cock is just about to – when I know that your cock is just about to enter me…..right then.. right before I'm about to get fucked...when that’s all that I want’
‘….. you like that moment?’
‘Yes.. I do…………………. I was thinking how I’d like to just spread my legs open for you… just… spread them ..and you would.. be in another room and you’d walk in and..and.. find me like that… waiting for you’
That's not quite the way I imagined it. But I am scrambling for words and I am thrown off by his ‘rooms’ tangent. Really I have imagined him already in the room with me. I would bring him into the bedroom and have him stand back from the bed. I would then take off my clothes and sit on the edge of the bed and spread my legs. And then beckon him. Just like in ‘a respite’
‘..yeah.. would you want me to take you then?’
‘..yes’
‘…tell me more’
‘….umm’
Silence.
‘Think of how I’ve taken all my sexual want and directed it all towards you. It’s your turn now’
He strikes a chord with that. In a vague fuzzy kind of way I realize something in the back of my mind and try to put into words.
‘…That’s all I can think about… your direction’
‘My what?’
Direction. Rhymes with erection. The direction of his erection. Giggle. Shh concentrate.
‘That’s all I can think about.. That direction..’
What a sucker for abstractions I am. But I go on.
‘I mean..I don’t have details to talk about when I think about us.. I think of you and I just think of ….SEX…it’s just.. SEX that I’m thinking of.. i'm getting off your want.. my want… that ..nothing else’
Fuzzy thoughts are fuzzily expressed.
If he were here now as I write, I could tell him. I could tell him that it is as though in the shock of my arousal all those free flowing experiences and details we've shared come together and crystalise..trap me in a hard shapeless solid tangled mass of want.
‘That’s because all our moments together have been just about that – they’ve been just.. to get off - we haven’t really gotten into a rhythm yet.. we've just taken.. we haven’t been together like that just yet'
That's not exactly what he says, and he says it far better than that. It isn't quite what I meant.. but it is so true.
‘Yes….’
We move on.
‘God I need to be naked inside you right now’
‘Mmm’
I put a finger inside when he says that. My soft wetness surrounds my finger. I creep it in and out.
'I just want to feel you again... that basic feeling of us again... All of our fucking has been just like that.. so basic.... no fancy fantasies yet.. just the wet feeling of your insides against me'
I love to hear him say that.
‘Oh god… this finger inside me isn’t enough’
His groan.
‘Do you want my cock instead? Hmm do you want my cock ramming into your cunt, taking you?’
‘…yes’
My motion is so desperate now. I am moaning. He’s getting louder.
'DO you?’
‘Yes ..YES.. I do’
Almost angry now, a hissing whisper.
Yes I do, now leave me alone.
No, don’t leave.
‘Then TELL me’
‘I want your cock’
‘TELL ME.. You’ve gotta be louder than that. TELL ME ’
'I….'
Oh god.
‘I want your cock…..inside.. MEEE’
Gasping. I want to move faster.
‘I’m going to move faster now’
Asking permission?
‘Ok’
I force another finger inside and then I move them shallow but urgently fast, in and out. I wish he could hear this series of sopping wet kissing noises that are coming out of my pussy as I move. I want to tell him about it but I don’t.
I just move and move and move. His talking continues, urges me on in a sexy blur.
‘- and I push in and that ridge along the base of my cock just strokes your wetness –*groan* - your wetness.. I want your wetness, I need your wetness against my tip ’
‘ mmmmm’
He's fucking me now with his words. Fucking me over and over.
‘I can feel the cum rushing to my balls now..Getting ready to let go inside you. Can I cum inside you?’
‘Yessss…’
‘Yeah can I cum inside you, let it all loose, give you everything right inside you-‘
‘mmmmmmmmmm yes’
‘then cum with me …CUM.. CUMMMM'
* unintelligible sounds*
I cum with him, crying out, buckling hard against my fingers.
I always do when he commands me, to hear him say that is always enough to make me cum.
And as I cum in little waves, as I am thrown into fragments, even as he is cumming, somehow he can talk, he tells me frantically:
‘Oh I’vecumhard all overyou, I’ve sprayed a huge load all ..over……. inside you ’
...
And then we are nothing but two people who have just cum.
I love to hear him after he cums. He is so unlike my ex, he continues to gasp and pant and sigh a little as he recovers. I love the novelty of it, love to be witness to his aftermath so blatantly. It always makes me want to start again, to put that finger back in, before my own recovering sighs can even finish, stroke myself back to orgasm as I listen to him whimpering after he cums.
Next time.
‘oh god.. that was ..good’
I haven’t talked yet. I continue to try and catch my breath. My head miles above me.
‘…say something.. doesn’t have to be a lot.. I enjoy the power of your silence after you cum.. but when I’m not with you like this, I need…just a little something..just to let me know you’re there. ‘
I suppose he means me.
‘I’m…. spent’
It’s all I have to say.
‘You’re spent?’
‘Yes..I’m just …..gone’
I am, really.
‘…I’m glad’
As I try to come back down, I look at my fingers, my fingers are wet, and the skin at the tip of my fingers has shriveled up from being submerged inside my soaking cunt for so long.
Finally I speak up.
‘I love lying here like this, with my hand soaking wet, after I’ve cum’
With you on the other side of the phone.
‘.. it’s a great feeling, isn’t it? ‘
‘Yes’
And then we are done.
‘ mm…I’m craving ….you?’
‘What about me?’
‘ I want… your cock …..in my cunt’
Oh dear. Pure. Simple. Easy. But that’ s ok. Right?
‘Are you thinking of me the last time I was at your house?’
I'm stroking away in circles on my clit with my head resting back on the pillow.
‘yes’
Liar. You weren’t thinking of that at all. You were thinking (and I use the term loosely) about how if you move your hips up against your hand right as he talks into your ear, you get a little shiver down your back. Your body was focusing on what you need to do to recreate that little feeling again. But now that he’s brought it up you wouldn’t mind thinking about it at all.
There’s so much to say about it.
What is there to say?
‘..hello? still there?’
‘hi’
‘….oh.. I thought my phone had died for a second’
Ahem. Nope nope, doing well on this side.
‘No..it’s just that.. ..my hands are... busy’
‘Yes…but you can still talk… ‘
‘I know.. I’m trying..’
The funny part is we’re still moving our hands through this little exchange, so our every pause is filled with the sound of our heavy breathing.
‘Come on, I’ve read your stuff. Take all that creativity, that sexual energy.. and channel it into this moment we’re having together’
‘…ummm…’
‘..This is ME you’re talking to… me.’
‘…I know’
‘-I’ve slipped my fingers inside your pussy’
‘mmm’
‘ I’ve …placed my lips on your nipples and sucked’
‘ mm yes’
‘ I’ve felt …your soft legs wrapped around me-‘
‘ohh’
‘- as I placed my cock inside you. Think about that. Think about it and tell me how it felt’
* tiny whisper*
‘it felt good’
‘sorry?’
Gotta raise that voice.
‘ahem.. it felt GOOD’
Lord but it felt good. I’ve told you in my writings how it’s felt. I’ve splayed it all open there. But now…
‘I know you like it. I know you like how when we’re together, it’s ok for you to just… if you feel like it…reach out for my cock… just pull it out and … ease yourself onto me. Just use me for your pleasure. Just ride me until you cum. And how right after, soon as you’re done, you can just get up, get dressed and go to the kitchen, for a drink or something’
* smiling *
‘mmm’
‘-and how if I wanted to, I could follow you into the kitchen. I could corner you in the kitchen and come behind you and just pull down your pants and panties. I’d be hard and I wouldn’t wait, I’d make sure only that you were wet enough for me to enter in. And then I could fuck you like that, with you leaning against the counter. Just fuck you hard against the counter’
‘oh god… yes…’
Silence. Some moaning.
‘Tell me something’
Something.
‘umm…. while you were away.. I wrote about that moment right before-‘
‘sorry, I can’t hear you’
‘oh.. I wrote about…. I was thinking about…us.. about that moment right before.. when your cock is....’
When his cock is what?
‘-that moment right before, when your cock is just about to – when I know that your cock is just about to enter me…..right then.. right before I'm about to get fucked...when that’s all that I want’
‘….. you like that moment?’
‘Yes.. I do…………………. I was thinking how I’d like to just spread my legs open for you… just… spread them ..and you would.. be in another room and you’d walk in and..and.. find me like that… waiting for you’
That's not quite the way I imagined it. But I am scrambling for words and I am thrown off by his ‘rooms’ tangent. Really I have imagined him already in the room with me. I would bring him into the bedroom and have him stand back from the bed. I would then take off my clothes and sit on the edge of the bed and spread my legs. And then beckon him. Just like in ‘a respite’
‘..yeah.. would you want me to take you then?’
‘..yes’
‘…tell me more’
‘….umm’
Silence.
‘Think of how I’ve taken all my sexual want and directed it all towards you. It’s your turn now’
He strikes a chord with that. In a vague fuzzy kind of way I realize something in the back of my mind and try to put into words.
‘…That’s all I can think about… your direction’
‘My what?’
Direction. Rhymes with erection. The direction of his erection. Giggle. Shh concentrate.
‘That’s all I can think about.. That direction..’
What a sucker for abstractions I am. But I go on.
‘I mean..I don’t have details to talk about when I think about us.. I think of you and I just think of ….SEX…it’s just.. SEX that I’m thinking of.. i'm getting off your want.. my want… that ..nothing else’
Fuzzy thoughts are fuzzily expressed.
If he were here now as I write, I could tell him. I could tell him that it is as though in the shock of my arousal all those free flowing experiences and details we've shared come together and crystalise..trap me in a hard shapeless solid tangled mass of want.
‘That’s because all our moments together have been just about that – they’ve been just.. to get off - we haven’t really gotten into a rhythm yet.. we've just taken.. we haven’t been together like that just yet'
That's not exactly what he says, and he says it far better than that. It isn't quite what I meant.. but it is so true.
‘Yes….’
We move on.
‘God I need to be naked inside you right now’
‘Mmm’
I put a finger inside when he says that. My soft wetness surrounds my finger. I creep it in and out.
'I just want to feel you again... that basic feeling of us again... All of our fucking has been just like that.. so basic.... no fancy fantasies yet.. just the wet feeling of your insides against me'
I love to hear him say that.
‘Oh god… this finger inside me isn’t enough’
His groan.
‘Do you want my cock instead? Hmm do you want my cock ramming into your cunt, taking you?’
‘…yes’
My motion is so desperate now. I am moaning. He’s getting louder.
'DO you?’
‘Yes ..YES.. I do’
Almost angry now, a hissing whisper.
Yes I do, now leave me alone.
No, don’t leave.
‘Then TELL me’
‘I want your cock’
‘TELL ME.. You’ve gotta be louder than that. TELL ME ’
'I….'
Oh god.
‘I want your cock…..inside.. MEEE’
Gasping. I want to move faster.
‘I’m going to move faster now’
Asking permission?
‘Ok’
I force another finger inside and then I move them shallow but urgently fast, in and out. I wish he could hear this series of sopping wet kissing noises that are coming out of my pussy as I move. I want to tell him about it but I don’t.
I just move and move and move. His talking continues, urges me on in a sexy blur.
‘- and I push in and that ridge along the base of my cock just strokes your wetness –*groan* - your wetness.. I want your wetness, I need your wetness against my tip ’
‘ mmmmm’
He's fucking me now with his words. Fucking me over and over.
‘I can feel the cum rushing to my balls now..Getting ready to let go inside you. Can I cum inside you?’
‘Yessss…’
‘Yeah can I cum inside you, let it all loose, give you everything right inside you-‘
‘mmmmmmmmmm yes’
‘then cum with me …CUM.. CUMMMM'
* unintelligible sounds*
I cum with him, crying out, buckling hard against my fingers.
I always do when he commands me, to hear him say that is always enough to make me cum.
And as I cum in little waves, as I am thrown into fragments, even as he is cumming, somehow he can talk, he tells me frantically:
‘Oh I’vecumhard all overyou, I’ve sprayed a huge load all ..over……. inside you ’
...
And then we are nothing but two people who have just cum.
I love to hear him after he cums. He is so unlike my ex, he continues to gasp and pant and sigh a little as he recovers. I love the novelty of it, love to be witness to his aftermath so blatantly. It always makes me want to start again, to put that finger back in, before my own recovering sighs can even finish, stroke myself back to orgasm as I listen to him whimpering after he cums.
Next time.
‘oh god.. that was ..good’
I haven’t talked yet. I continue to try and catch my breath. My head miles above me.
‘…say something.. doesn’t have to be a lot.. I enjoy the power of your silence after you cum.. but when I’m not with you like this, I need…just a little something..just to let me know you’re there. ‘
I suppose he means me.
‘I’m…. spent’
It’s all I have to say.
‘You’re spent?’
‘Yes..I’m just …..gone’
I am, really.
‘…I’m glad’
As I try to come back down, I look at my fingers, my fingers are wet, and the skin at the tip of my fingers has shriveled up from being submerged inside my soaking cunt for so long.
Finally I speak up.
‘I love lying here like this, with my hand soaking wet, after I’ve cum’
With you on the other side of the phone.
‘.. it’s a great feeling, isn’t it? ‘
‘Yes’
And then we are done.
Monday, August 08, 2005
2. my story - sun and clouds
I wonder if my mundane story has any place in a sex blog. Especially when I get to the darkish parts like this that I don't like to talk about.
Does he fuck my mind when he fucks my body? Does he penetrate the years that have gone by to get me here today? Should I string my every experience with him into a cohesive past-present-future to wrap around my neck? Or does it all go out the window when his cock is inside me and he tells me to cum ? Do I need to be deep? Can I afford to be shallow? Should I just take every moment I have like a rock to throw, to skim across some liquid surface, to forget about before it even sinks to the bottom?
I can't stop asking. So I just write on.
Two years passed.
University gruelled on me, wrung me out. The future thinned and I wasn’t in it, there was just an onslaught of life, with me swimming in a dilute mess. I began to lose grip. I cried more often than I should. And too often alone.
But I remained hopeful. I kept writing. I kept reading responses to my ads and never writing back.
I met a boy. I crushed on him for nearly a year, agonizing on whether he ‘liked’ me or not.
He did. We went out, finally.
He was sweet. We held hands through lectures, we wrestled on my dormitory floor, he gave me hand-made birthday and Valentine cards, I cooked him dinner. We said ‘I love you’ within weeks.
I was in disbelief. This was it, I was here, experiencing it. This was a relationship. This was kissing, and then pretty soon, this was sex. This was an argument. This was support. This was attraction. This was comfort. This was companionship. This was love.
This was it. I was happy.
But also I was still depressed. My high off of him lasted about a month… then life started kicking back in, and old habits of agonizing and worrying and procrastinating died hard.
He held me when I cried, and tried to offer solutions, tried to get me moving.
It helped, but it didn't.
And then pretty soon he started to wonder if I was better off without him... if he could give me this much and I could get so little out of it. If I just couldn't be happy...
Saturday, August 06, 2005
1. my story - beginnings
I’m thinking of the beginning of him and me. The improbability of it all.
I put up an ad on a dating site four years ago. I’m not exactly sure why I had it up. I had a couple other profiles on other sites too. It was tempting and addictive and I meant for it to go nowhere.
I was 18 and had never been in a relationship. I wanted to know what it felt like to have someone attracted to me. I wanted to know what kind of guy would respond to a person with a profile like mine. It was an insecure selfish need.
I put all my thoughts and dreams into these profiles. Years of inexperience had left me hopeful. I wanted to be reached out and touched. I was tired of being missed out.
My ‘reasons to get to know me’ read something like this:
i would make u laugh, i'd always smile, i'd believe in you, listen to you, talk to you, i'd hold you, i'd set you free and if things were bad i'd make sure you pull through, i'd try to enjoy every second i had with you, i'd offer u gum, i'd find sexual innuendo in anything, i'd always answer if u called at 2 am, i'd play videogames with u and kick ur ass, i can probably eat more then you (and enjoy it more too), i'd travel the world with you, i'd speak to u in french, we'd go for walks, we'd count the stars, u could be urself around me, i'd mudwrestle with u if u like, or we could just sit here in my room on my bed and think of what to do next and that'd be cool too
I roll my eyes at it a bit now, but I could do every one of those things at the time, I could be this person, this was my ideal, untouched by life, maybe fed by a movie and a book here and there… but mostly mine.
Except it didn’t even feel like an ideal, just the future lurking around the corner, waiting to take me away.
And maybe I haven’t changed as much as I’d like to claim because I know in some ways, I'm still holding on.
But my imperfect ugly side has reared its head too many times for me to have complete faith.
And through it all, I never thought about what I wanted. Except that I wanted someone who could always bring a smile to my face.
I still don’t know, really.
(… to be continued)
I put up an ad on a dating site four years ago. I’m not exactly sure why I had it up. I had a couple other profiles on other sites too. It was tempting and addictive and I meant for it to go nowhere.
I was 18 and had never been in a relationship. I wanted to know what it felt like to have someone attracted to me. I wanted to know what kind of guy would respond to a person with a profile like mine. It was an insecure selfish need.
I put all my thoughts and dreams into these profiles. Years of inexperience had left me hopeful. I wanted to be reached out and touched. I was tired of being missed out.
My ‘reasons to get to know me’ read something like this:
i would make u laugh, i'd always smile, i'd believe in you, listen to you, talk to you, i'd hold you, i'd set you free and if things were bad i'd make sure you pull through, i'd try to enjoy every second i had with you, i'd offer u gum, i'd find sexual innuendo in anything, i'd always answer if u called at 2 am, i'd play videogames with u and kick ur ass, i can probably eat more then you (and enjoy it more too), i'd travel the world with you, i'd speak to u in french, we'd go for walks, we'd count the stars, u could be urself around me, i'd mudwrestle with u if u like, or we could just sit here in my room on my bed and think of what to do next and that'd be cool too
I roll my eyes at it a bit now, but I could do every one of those things at the time, I could be this person, this was my ideal, untouched by life, maybe fed by a movie and a book here and there… but mostly mine.
Except it didn’t even feel like an ideal, just the future lurking around the corner, waiting to take me away.
And maybe I haven’t changed as much as I’d like to claim because I know in some ways, I'm still holding on.
But my imperfect ugly side has reared its head too many times for me to have complete faith.
And through it all, I never thought about what I wanted. Except that I wanted someone who could always bring a smile to my face.
I still don’t know, really.
(… to be continued)
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Dedicated to his first poem
It starts with a sigh.
Her sigh starts guttural from her throat and ends breathy in her mouth each time his fingers come across the right spot.
Her voice carries the inexpressible weight of animal impatience and want. And she tries to unleash it a little at a time, because she is afraid of where it will go.
She punctuates the transitions between the phases of her sighs with other sounds.
There is the pursing of the lips she was biting as she sucks back her breath with a snarl.
There is the gasp where her mouth opens in shock, and for a second there is no noise… and then that high-pitched scramble of a gasp comes out. In that surprised rush of sensation she is like a record spun in reverse, suspended and then released.
There is the hiss of her tongue between her gritted teeth, accented by the incensed yet vulnerable want in her eyes. He can ignore her eyes but he cannot ignore that hiss, it warns that he continue, it begs that he do not stop.
And in between always, the sighs, his thrust, her sigh, his thrust, her sigh.
Maybe his hands are moving a bit faster now, maybe he has reached a little deeper than before, maybe there is just the right amount of heartbeats between his each motion, just the right amount of pressure in his fingers.
She is the commentator to his motions, the vocalist to his actions.
And there is increasing pain in her sounds, as there is always pain when she lies sandwiched so close between the beginning and end of her desire.
She knows he listens to her and how it arouses him. And it makes her want to be heard, to goad him on, to summon him closer to her.
Soon, as he moves, his voice joins hers, and she is thrown higher and in another direction. His accompaniment throws her out of herself for a moment. She plays to more than just her own need now and it excites her.
It is corny but she thinks of that moment when the guitar kicks in and the guitarist looks at the pianist and there is a flash of a smile and they nod to each other as they play and they say ‘yes’.
His groan is her yes, and she takes it greedily. Those groans when he closes his eyes to feel her even more, she takes full pleasure in them.
When he enters her, their bodies begin to converse in close harsh slippery whispers, his cock grating against her insides, her breasts smashed against his chest, her legs wrapped tight around him.
And their sounds converse too, incoherent organic communication that makes sense only in times like this.
They are so close now. The air around them need not be jealous because they have met there as well, the peaks and valleys of their vibrations have meshed in pathways all around them. They disperse and fade away in some corner of the room, only to set out again.
As the end draws near, her noises explode frantically against his own. She doesn’t mean to be loud but there seems no choice, and she cannot tell who started it first, except that his growl starts from somewhere inside her cunt and amplifies in her loosened vocal chords. Strange sounds, strange tones come out of her, dropping in pitch, and then picking up with his, to the backdrop of the sound of her cunt smacking wetly against his slapping balls. Miming each other’s crescendo unconsciously, belting out together now to the rhythm of their clashing thrashing bodies.
And then -
Words are useless here.
There are tom drum heartbeats. And there are their dying broken singing sighs.
Her sigh starts guttural from her throat and ends breathy in her mouth each time his fingers come across the right spot.
Her voice carries the inexpressible weight of animal impatience and want. And she tries to unleash it a little at a time, because she is afraid of where it will go.
She punctuates the transitions between the phases of her sighs with other sounds.
There is the pursing of the lips she was biting as she sucks back her breath with a snarl.
There is the gasp where her mouth opens in shock, and for a second there is no noise… and then that high-pitched scramble of a gasp comes out. In that surprised rush of sensation she is like a record spun in reverse, suspended and then released.
There is the hiss of her tongue between her gritted teeth, accented by the incensed yet vulnerable want in her eyes. He can ignore her eyes but he cannot ignore that hiss, it warns that he continue, it begs that he do not stop.
And in between always, the sighs, his thrust, her sigh, his thrust, her sigh.
Maybe his hands are moving a bit faster now, maybe he has reached a little deeper than before, maybe there is just the right amount of heartbeats between his each motion, just the right amount of pressure in his fingers.
She is the commentator to his motions, the vocalist to his actions.
And there is increasing pain in her sounds, as there is always pain when she lies sandwiched so close between the beginning and end of her desire.
She knows he listens to her and how it arouses him. And it makes her want to be heard, to goad him on, to summon him closer to her.
Soon, as he moves, his voice joins hers, and she is thrown higher and in another direction. His accompaniment throws her out of herself for a moment. She plays to more than just her own need now and it excites her.
It is corny but she thinks of that moment when the guitar kicks in and the guitarist looks at the pianist and there is a flash of a smile and they nod to each other as they play and they say ‘yes’.
His groan is her yes, and she takes it greedily. Those groans when he closes his eyes to feel her even more, she takes full pleasure in them.
When he enters her, their bodies begin to converse in close harsh slippery whispers, his cock grating against her insides, her breasts smashed against his chest, her legs wrapped tight around him.
And their sounds converse too, incoherent organic communication that makes sense only in times like this.
They are so close now. The air around them need not be jealous because they have met there as well, the peaks and valleys of their vibrations have meshed in pathways all around them. They disperse and fade away in some corner of the room, only to set out again.
As the end draws near, her noises explode frantically against his own. She doesn’t mean to be loud but there seems no choice, and she cannot tell who started it first, except that his growl starts from somewhere inside her cunt and amplifies in her loosened vocal chords. Strange sounds, strange tones come out of her, dropping in pitch, and then picking up with his, to the backdrop of the sound of her cunt smacking wetly against his slapping balls. Miming each other’s crescendo unconsciously, belting out together now to the rhythm of their clashing thrashing bodies.
And then -
Words are useless here.
There are tom drum heartbeats. And there are their dying broken singing sighs.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
A respite
When my legs are spread like this for you I know I can do no more.
I have conjured up layers of clothes on the floor like rabbit tricks. Peeled off little parts of me once hiding up my sleeves.
My arms are stretched up holding back my hair from my face. Because it is cumbersome all of a sudden, everything that hangs off of me in folds.
I want nothing of me to overlap. Nothing must eclipse the other.
And you could crease me down the center.
Or you could join me in the middle, draw a mirror line down in me with your cock.
When I spread my legs like this for you you better be watching.
You better fall into that section of me where light falls away.
You better penetrate because there is nowhere else to go.
You better take because there is no more for me to offer.
And it is almost a respite.
When my legs are spread like this for you I know that I cannot think anymore.
And I want only to be fucked.
my story
He’s going on holiday, which means I’ll have to fend for myself the next couple of weeks.
Not that that’s a huge problem, but I have the sneaking suspicion that I will miss him.
And not just the sex either.
I realize this is not ideal.
What is in the air these days? I sense this pensiveness in everyone. Like we've all been floating on the pollen dreams of spring and summer; we've had our chance to be careless, to ignore, to push back and just be.
But now we sense that it is time for our thoughts to take root and settle before we perish for the winter.
Probably just projection on my part. But I swear I can feel it.
Anyways I’d like to take this chance while he’s away to think more about things.
I think it’s time for ‘my story.’
Not that that’s a huge problem, but I have the sneaking suspicion that I will miss him.
And not just the sex either.
I realize this is not ideal.
What is in the air these days? I sense this pensiveness in everyone. Like we've all been floating on the pollen dreams of spring and summer; we've had our chance to be careless, to ignore, to push back and just be.
But now we sense that it is time for our thoughts to take root and settle before we perish for the winter.
Probably just projection on my part. But I swear I can feel it.
Anyways I’d like to take this chance while he’s away to think more about things.
I think it’s time for ‘my story.’
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Monday, August 01, 2005
i laughed, i cried
I'm feeling lazy, but I also feel like posting. So here's an old one I wrote when I was still with my ex, and just discovering the joys of sex :
I lie, my back propped up with pillows against the headboard. My neck is stretched back and I am bouncing. In a daze, I’ve forgotten even that his two fingers are inside me, that he is moving them in and out fast. My mind does not wander, but it registers each moment briefly and vaguely, as if at a distance. Moments of complete blankness elapse in between. My hands may or may not be on my breasts. Time must be passing, but I cannot tell if it has been a few seconds or a few hours. From somewhere in my cloud, I realize that I am smiling. I find this funny, and my smile widens into a beam. I moan. I gasp and it is not the tortured ‘I want to come now’ gasp that usually comes out … It is a gasp of laughter, a drop of joy. I hiccup another loose breathy laugh.
He stares up at me, surprised. He asks me, his voice gruff with lust, if i'm liking it. I scrabble out of my ecstasy to give him a giggly ‘mmmhmm’
He moves faster. I thrust myself more into him, harder and harder. I am breathing funny now, and I listen to myself, listen to this feeling building up in me. I am so relaxed I am humming. I am floating on his fingers. I could go on like this forever, forever is too short, forever is –
I scream out. There is no meaning to it, no happiness, no pain, no fear. Just release. Like a period at the end of a sentence. Dimensionless and indefinable.
I an so loud, he thrusts his mouth onto mine and kisses it passionately. I pant into his mouth in bursts. I hear my muffled whimpers. He lets go of my mouth, and continues to creep his fingers in and out with deathly slowness. Bewildered, I reach my hand out like a question mark to where his head lies, hovering over my rising and lowering stomach. He takes my pinky into his mouth and sucks on it sweetly.
To slowly come back to consciousness and find him lingering gently on my fingers is the most exquisite feeling of all. Overcome, I feel my eyes well up out of nowhere. I feel quiet and peaceful. I shiver, as the corners of my eyes fill up with delicious cold tears of pure joy.
It’s not until later that he notices me wiping my eyes and asks me what’s wrong. He doesn’t know that nothing could me more right.
I lie, my back propped up with pillows against the headboard. My neck is stretched back and I am bouncing. In a daze, I’ve forgotten even that his two fingers are inside me, that he is moving them in and out fast. My mind does not wander, but it registers each moment briefly and vaguely, as if at a distance. Moments of complete blankness elapse in between. My hands may or may not be on my breasts. Time must be passing, but I cannot tell if it has been a few seconds or a few hours. From somewhere in my cloud, I realize that I am smiling. I find this funny, and my smile widens into a beam. I moan. I gasp and it is not the tortured ‘I want to come now’ gasp that usually comes out … It is a gasp of laughter, a drop of joy. I hiccup another loose breathy laugh.
He stares up at me, surprised. He asks me, his voice gruff with lust, if i'm liking it. I scrabble out of my ecstasy to give him a giggly ‘mmmhmm’
He moves faster. I thrust myself more into him, harder and harder. I am breathing funny now, and I listen to myself, listen to this feeling building up in me. I am so relaxed I am humming. I am floating on his fingers. I could go on like this forever, forever is too short, forever is –
I scream out. There is no meaning to it, no happiness, no pain, no fear. Just release. Like a period at the end of a sentence. Dimensionless and indefinable.
I an so loud, he thrusts his mouth onto mine and kisses it passionately. I pant into his mouth in bursts. I hear my muffled whimpers. He lets go of my mouth, and continues to creep his fingers in and out with deathly slowness. Bewildered, I reach my hand out like a question mark to where his head lies, hovering over my rising and lowering stomach. He takes my pinky into his mouth and sucks on it sweetly.
To slowly come back to consciousness and find him lingering gently on my fingers is the most exquisite feeling of all. Overcome, I feel my eyes well up out of nowhere. I feel quiet and peaceful. I shiver, as the corners of my eyes fill up with delicious cold tears of pure joy.
It’s not until later that he notices me wiping my eyes and asks me what’s wrong. He doesn’t know that nothing could me more right.
They're baaaack...
Incredible. Yesterday I finally start blogging here. Today IB comes back up.
Anyways, I'll be working on recovering the posts I lost (yay) but I'll be sticking to here.
Just thought I'd let people know...
Anyways, I'll be working on recovering the posts I lost (yay) but I'll be sticking to here.
Just thought I'd let people know...
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