This time when T tells me I cannot cum until he is ready, I resist.
I resist because it has been a while since we’ve interacted, and he is not enough in my mind for me to give in.
I’ve noticed anyways, and it’s manifested itself in the last couple of entries, that I’ve begun to harbor a certain animosity towards his sexual power over me.
There is a spirited stubborn Hot Bitch hidden somewhere in me. If cornered, the Hot Bitch does not know foe or friend, she kicks and claws to break free. If struggling with something, she snarls at attempts to help. If told to do something, she wants to do the exact opposite. If you want her, she wants to laugh cruelly, and dangle what you desire just out of your reach, to see how much you really do. And if you hold her in your power, she wants to fight and push the extent of that control, find out what she may gain or lose out of it.
But mostly her hostility, my hostility, is just game, so I shrug, and I play with it. He tells me not to cum and for the first time, I ignore him. Completely and consciously. I continue my self-ministrations, working myself up quickly. And he hears my cries begin to rise, dangerously close. And I am almost completely lost in it, lifting, lifting, my voice close to breaking, when his words fall like slabs into my reverie-
DON’T CUM.
I pull back so quickly, that I thrill at the pull, thrill too that I had to make him command it again, and command it so hard and cold too.
He is taking his time now. And he tells me so, that now he just wants to make me wait.
I know his cock is hard and ready. I know he does not need more time to go down this cum path with me.
I need.
But the Hot Bitch is strong in me today, and she does not plead. So I continue in quiet whimpers, touching light and slow, gulping for control. My previous headstrong rush to orgasm now has me teetering and tottering painfully closer than I would have if I had just taken my time. And the sounds he is making along with me do not help.
I tire of the struggle. I may not plead, but I can ask. Or do my Hot Bitch’s version of asking.
Let me cum now, T
I’m sorry?
Let me cum now..?
I add the question mark as an after-thought. But his answer is a swift growl, like I’ve never heard before.
NO. You’ll cum when I want you to. Only when I want you to.
And oh this just makes me breathe harder. I let him catch my broken breath after broken breath. And the fly of my fingers and the rise of my cry this time round is not voluntary at all.
Faster, he murmurs.
And we both do. And I wait and hope for his cum, so I can have mine too, and I know it is coming when his words become a rush to block out my growing moans.
Don’t cum. Don’t cum. Dontcum, dontcumdontcumdontcum. And then suddenly flipped in the second before he loses it. CUM. NOW. CUUUUUM. And then just his roar.
Underneath his roar, underneath the picture of white cum spurting out of his cock, maybe some getting on his hands, underneath my puppet fingers, underneath his command, I finally get my cum. And the Hot Bitch hers too.
I break unexpectedly long and wonderful and slow and drawn-out, fingers moving through it all, as if trying to shake out all lost cums.
And even in the pleasant gasping stupor of post-orgasm, or maybe because of it, because of this surrender of my powerful cum, the thought is still whispering there. And it is so unwarranted that I have to smile.
I hate you.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
coincidence? I think not!
It must have been some kind of premonition because two minutes before he called, I pulled down my pants.
I wasn’t changing into anything else. I was in front of my computer, checking my e-mail. But I looked down and my jeans were heavy and my legs needed air. So I unbuttoned, and released myself from my jeans, tugging them down to the ground and stepping out. Leaving me in lacy racy indigo panties. (Yes I've got every color in the rainbow)
And then he called.
Premonition or not, it was certainly convenient.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
dessert
It is a sepia dream and I am stripped down to burnt umber skin.
You’re sitting on a peeling wooden chair, just in jeans, your crème brulee torso a frame to push against. I’m looking at you with a slow smolder. I sense a vague reproach in me. I want you to know how it has been to be burn, burn, burning like this. You will understand how it has been to be wait, wait, waiting like this. Determined copper in my eyes.
This time I will not bend to you, this time I will not be weakened. I am resolute, do not let my raw sienna smile deceive. You will be branded at the point where this incense burn ends.
You smell the smoke of my sex as I approach, feet landing pointed in a straight line.
I kneel down at your feet. Do not be deceived.
My hair falls in singed rolls of cinammon onto your lap. My face is just breathe, breathe, breathing there, hot on your lap. You want to take a palm and place it under that hair, at the point of my neck where it all begins. You want to trace a triad of lines on my stretched neck with three fingers. And then further down, all the way down my brandished brandy back.
Hands to your sides please. I combust your plans with my own and you laugh, but you obey. I finger the thick material of your jeans at the waist. I take the cold shiny top button in between a thumb and finger. I thread it through and out. I pull down the rusty bronze zipper. The buzzing sound of its descent is a familiar call.
I lean back away from you, on the floor, elbows on a polished pine floor, stomach taut. My legs are spread slightly open, a pointed cliff peaking at my knees, waiting above your feet, left and right. When you look down, your first view is of my maroon sex, waiting below you.
I look vulnerable like this. Do not be deceived.
I play with myself, smiling stickily, looking right at you, fingers circling at a secret nub, syrups of pleasure beginning to form and coat me.
Touch yourself please. You grin and wriggle down your pants and push them aside. Your shove down your briefs and push them aside. My smile deepens cherry red, pleased. Your caramel cock is revealed, and it is golden, and its melted form is stiffening, and it is beautiful to watch, and it is all I can do not to taste to see if it’s as sweet as it looks, to stop and lick sticky spirals around it with the tip of my tongue.
I watch your luscious sight for a while instead, my fingers still probing at me. Your hand is at your base, because I want it to be there. You are stroking, because I want you to be.
I stand up finally. I straddle you, keeping one leg rooted on one side, and throwing the other one over your lap. I do not touch you still, supporting myself with my hands at the back of the chair, my body struggling, my ginger nipples straining close to your mouth. Hold my hips please. My warm whisper drips like nectar into your ear.
You let go of yourself and your fingers dig candy cane stripes into my hips, holding me up. I take your cock with one hand. Your touch from before has you hard, my touch now has you hard, and my dark plum core is hovering right above you, and this has you hard too.
I inch my way down, tensing up my knees, closer and closer. I waver in the flash moment before we touch. I imagine you flinching at the shock to your nerves from what feels like my fire. I picture myself reduced at our first touch to a pile of sawdust ashes under your feet. I know I must keep this all in, I know I must maintain control.
I am joyful inside, but I look at you grimly, and I descend on to you, guiding you in with my hand. And it is just fine, more than just fine. The excess heat is there in our joint gasp as we meet, and it is there as my cunt captures your cock like a parted baked peach, my cooked apricot flesh cradling you tightly. I move down slowly, and you plunge your way slowly up into me, pushing everything back in my mind. My razed insides respond, molten and soft, and you respond back, stiff and unyielding. I withdraw my hand, and, gripping tightly at your shoulders, I begin to ride you, sweeping you, as your hands slide down closer to my ass, guiding me up and down.
It is so sweet and it is so delicious, and our delicate skins are so wet and smooth against each other, and it is just exactly want I wanted from you. To be filled by you, to have your friction to myself again, to use your pleasure as my own and oh there is nothing to know but the next thing I know – next thing I know- there is nothing I know but the next thing I know-
Next think I know, I am not just sighing anymore, I am gripping you tighter, not just with my hands but with my cunt walls. And I am squeeze, squeeze, squeezing on your cock. And I am strokes of dark blackberry stain wet all over you. And next thing I know, I am moaning with a loudness my shattering mind cannot gauge, and you are groaning too. And next thing I know, my knees are useless, and we have melted off the chair and we are on the floor.
And I am shaking but I am filled with a sudden want. Lick me please. And you pull out, and your expressive face is quickly lost between my legs, and your tongue is burrowed inside my still pulsing pussy, our musky spice dripping onto your tongue.
Your roving tongue jolts desire anew in me, and this time you do it before I can ask for it. When you do it this time, you are not thinking of my want at all. You pull me up from my legs, away from the solid pine floor, my ankles to your sides. You jam yourself inside, encountering little resistance, shoving me over and over towards where you start. So I feel I never end, my liquid brown eyes wide, my chocolate mouth open and open, my wet cunt splitting open and open as your thickness grows. And your face alone in this moment could make a girl cum. So I know I stand no chance.
I make my last request, before I lose the last of my control. I push it desperately out of my contorted mouth. My worn-out throat. Cum inside me please.
And you do.
Icing on my cake.
Note: I was hungry when I wrote this (in more ways than one). :) And I love being silly like this and going over the top with a theme.
Friday, September 23, 2005
changes
My mood has taken a bit of a nosedive and my zest for writing along with it. I thought I would force myself to sit here and write though. Whatever may come to my mind.
Memories of long silences are not far away enough for me to forget. I can’t afford really to stay silent. Not again.
I do not handle changes in seasons well. Maybe it is a childhood spent in a country where the seasons only changed from hot to hotter to hottest. Changes in temperature, not knowing whether to put a jacket on today or not, shifts in the hours of darkness, trivialities like these all unsettle me like you would not believe.
I always forget it but then just when I realize what may be making me feel so out of sync, fall is already upon me and leaves are already crunching under the boots that I finally had to force myself to wear again.
Have I caught it early this time? Or are there other things?
I’ve been on birth control pills for three weeks now. My first stint with them years ago was not very pleasant. It coincided in fact with the start of my depression; make of that what you will. Doctors certainly do, pulling it left or right, cautioning me to weigh in all the factors before blaming it on the wonders of medication.
Not that I blame them, the doctors I mean. I am much the same. It is maybe the first thing I had to learn when I tried to take on this funny identity of a ‘scientist’. There are no reasons, only possibilities, likely or not.
And likeliness means nothing when you are a minute dot on a curve.
Anyways, this new batch of pills, is supposed to have hmm what was the phrase ‘little to no side-effects’
I was doing all right, except I weighed myself and I seemed to have gained ten pounds in two months. Maybe even in less time than that, that is just the last time I happened to have weighed myself.
I am a hypocrite because I am the annoying girl who claimed to never care about my weight at all, and ate whatever the hell I wanted to until now, when I realize that it has changed quite a bit so suddenly. It is not really noticeable, clothes a little tighter around the hips, stomach not so flat anymore. I recall suddenly that my body used to feel a different way under my hands before. Subtle changes. I used to like the round hard feel of the contours of my hipbone and ribs. Not because this feel is necessarily any more attractive than another, but because it is the way I am used to being, for as long as I remember.
It is changes I fear, just when you realize you actually liked a stasis, it has shifted.
Although yes I will admit this too, that a part of me is remembering being stripped down to just my skin that first time in T’s bed more than two months ago, and how afterwards we lay and his hands were on my hips and he was stroking absentmindedly at my soft skin stretched across my hip bone, discovering a new body, and he said, ‘I like this. Right here.’ And I said ‘Yes me too’
Forgive my vanity. And the dependent weakness of that thought.
I had this coming. I’ve lost little loved quirks of my body. I’ll get over it. I’ll find new ones again at some point.
I just have to watch for my mood now again with these new pills. I have to balance watching it too much with watching it too little. And I was always a clumsy one when it came to balance.
When I was on anti-depressants before, I could not orgasm anymore. I would be there in bed in my normal position, hands rubbing on me. I would buildbuildbuild- roll back down. Buildbuildbuild- roll back down. Relax. Breathe. Enjoy. Think. Build build buildbuildbuild- so close- roll back down. Again and again. Sometimes for hours. Exhausted. Past the point when I knew I wouldn’t be able to cum anyways, under normal circumstances.
It scared the shit out of me. The punishment of my mind gone awry, maybe I could not deal with it alone, but deep down somewhere there, it was still somewhat in my control. It was just me. Wrong or right. What could I control of these administered chemicals? What else might I lose? Should I change medications? How long with this next one? How many to try?
Same impatient questions always.
I’m listening to T’s music right now. I haven’t talked to him at all in more than a week, haven’t talked to him comfortably and unrushed for three weeks or so. Our last talk was quite sexy but it got cut short because I had to leave. And then he got a cold that changed into messy bronchitis. Which I felt surprisingly bad about, it did not sound very pleasant for him at all.
And now I don’t know if he is better or not, because I just haven't been able to reach him. He has flashed on and offline, so he cannot be that bed-ridden. And I’ve called and left a message or two, but I wasn’t really feeling too energetic about it.
The wonderful weary weakness of flesh, it brings us to each other’s bed, and then keeps us away from it. And my proud spirit that wants him will keep me away from him now, because I do not want games, but I cannot keep calling, I really really can’t. If I ask too much from what he wants, or he gives too little from what I want, then I’d rather go think about that, instead of continuing to kick the same wall.
I’m taking birth control pills because I have this fantasy of a man cumming in me. I’ve never felt it and I really want to and I seem to want it especially with T. It’s a risk though. He has told me that he has been tested recently. And though I think we have established that this meant that he would not be sleeping with other women, I still have to fully clarify the situation before I go through with this.
If a friend told me this, I’d be worried for her, and think she was being a bit foolish. A lot of this depends on how much I trust him, and I do. So I would feel like such an idiot if anything bad came out of this.
So much feels off tonight. I was craving his cock in my cunt so badly before, but it feels even that is gone. The changes I was thinking of making, the ones I was hyped up about, have been put on the back-burner. It is like that with all my so-called needs. Ever-changing.
I need our sex to feel a little more established, before I can move it in another direction.
Right now though, all this is gone, because what I desire at this moment the most is intimacy. And it makes me sad, because if that is the most of what I want, I am probably on the wrong path.
I am not a big fan of that word ‘intimacy.’ I use it to mean a closeness that borders on a startling pain, a stepping past a boundary of yours by someone else, whether that be in mind or body.
It is not that an intimacy that is not tied to a deeper love is nothing. What a roundabout way of putting it. What I mean is, an intimacy contrived without love gives me something, but like my medicated attempts at orgasm, it falls just short of being truly satisfying. It never takes me all the way there. Wherever that there is where I want to go.
Again that first time in his bed, and also when he came to my house, I’m remembering the mornings as we were waking up, and I am fixated on one point. How he reached over sleepily and held my hand. T’s hand in my hand. I wish I could say his real name right now, I want it savored on my tongue in that sentence.
How many hands have I held since I stopped being a child? I feel like when I am old, and looking back on people I’ve met, I will forget the cocks, the talks, forget it all, except for the hands that my- by then gnarled- hands once held.
My girl friend and I encountered a skunk one night-time walk a couple of weeks ago. We startled upon it and we found it as startled as us, hissing, on its tip-toes, hair raised, ready to spray. I was the first to hear it and I pointed it out and froze, and my friend grabbed my hand and we ran like crazy like that, as far away from it as we could, laughing adrenaline laughs.
There was a certain thrill to it, but not a sexual one at all. The thrill of being inextricably meshed into someone’s life like that for a moment. So that her skunk was my skunk.
: ))). And our clasped hands a signal of it.
It is what I secretly crave from everyone, T especially. I have this hunger to be submerged in people, like experiencing them will help me better understand something. It does not stop either, once let in, I will only wonder if there’s more. Not that I’m obsessive about it, but if given the opportunity to step in a little deeper and the person is interesting enough, I will take it. I do not know whether I am proud or ashamed of this part of me. I know only, our sex is, amongst many other things, a way to me of doing just that.
There is not much time left for us, though I haven’t told him yet. My mom’s visiting in less than two months, and then during the two months that she’s living with me, a lot of this is going to become very close to impossible. And when I get back? We will have to see how it goes.
So many changes happening. So many coming ahead. And then still the ones that I think I should make. Mend, mend, mend so I can sleep.
T, it is a horrible thought, and I know I do not mean it, because even thinking it feels so wrong. But the thought comes to me that if you were rewinded back to the invisible unfound dot you were before we met, I would not have to sit here like this, wishing you would make a reappearance, hoping for a call.
I'll publish this in all its unedited blah disconnected glory. There is writing that is meant to be read, and writing that is meant to be just written, a messy upheaval to be wiped away. This, I think, is more of the latter. But I will keep it here anyways.
Memories of long silences are not far away enough for me to forget. I can’t afford really to stay silent. Not again.
I do not handle changes in seasons well. Maybe it is a childhood spent in a country where the seasons only changed from hot to hotter to hottest. Changes in temperature, not knowing whether to put a jacket on today or not, shifts in the hours of darkness, trivialities like these all unsettle me like you would not believe.
I always forget it but then just when I realize what may be making me feel so out of sync, fall is already upon me and leaves are already crunching under the boots that I finally had to force myself to wear again.
Have I caught it early this time? Or are there other things?
I’ve been on birth control pills for three weeks now. My first stint with them years ago was not very pleasant. It coincided in fact with the start of my depression; make of that what you will. Doctors certainly do, pulling it left or right, cautioning me to weigh in all the factors before blaming it on the wonders of medication.
Not that I blame them, the doctors I mean. I am much the same. It is maybe the first thing I had to learn when I tried to take on this funny identity of a ‘scientist’. There are no reasons, only possibilities, likely or not.
And likeliness means nothing when you are a minute dot on a curve.
Anyways, this new batch of pills, is supposed to have hmm what was the phrase ‘little to no side-effects’
I was doing all right, except I weighed myself and I seemed to have gained ten pounds in two months. Maybe even in less time than that, that is just the last time I happened to have weighed myself.
I am a hypocrite because I am the annoying girl who claimed to never care about my weight at all, and ate whatever the hell I wanted to until now, when I realize that it has changed quite a bit so suddenly. It is not really noticeable, clothes a little tighter around the hips, stomach not so flat anymore. I recall suddenly that my body used to feel a different way under my hands before. Subtle changes. I used to like the round hard feel of the contours of my hipbone and ribs. Not because this feel is necessarily any more attractive than another, but because it is the way I am used to being, for as long as I remember.
It is changes I fear, just when you realize you actually liked a stasis, it has shifted.
Although yes I will admit this too, that a part of me is remembering being stripped down to just my skin that first time in T’s bed more than two months ago, and how afterwards we lay and his hands were on my hips and he was stroking absentmindedly at my soft skin stretched across my hip bone, discovering a new body, and he said, ‘I like this. Right here.’ And I said ‘Yes me too’
Forgive my vanity. And the dependent weakness of that thought.
I had this coming. I’ve lost little loved quirks of my body. I’ll get over it. I’ll find new ones again at some point.
I just have to watch for my mood now again with these new pills. I have to balance watching it too much with watching it too little. And I was always a clumsy one when it came to balance.
When I was on anti-depressants before, I could not orgasm anymore. I would be there in bed in my normal position, hands rubbing on me. I would buildbuildbuild- roll back down. Buildbuildbuild- roll back down. Relax. Breathe. Enjoy. Think. Build build buildbuildbuild- so close- roll back down. Again and again. Sometimes for hours. Exhausted. Past the point when I knew I wouldn’t be able to cum anyways, under normal circumstances.
It scared the shit out of me. The punishment of my mind gone awry, maybe I could not deal with it alone, but deep down somewhere there, it was still somewhat in my control. It was just me. Wrong or right. What could I control of these administered chemicals? What else might I lose? Should I change medications? How long with this next one? How many to try?
Same impatient questions always.
I’m listening to T’s music right now. I haven’t talked to him at all in more than a week, haven’t talked to him comfortably and unrushed for three weeks or so. Our last talk was quite sexy but it got cut short because I had to leave. And then he got a cold that changed into messy bronchitis. Which I felt surprisingly bad about, it did not sound very pleasant for him at all.
And now I don’t know if he is better or not, because I just haven't been able to reach him. He has flashed on and offline, so he cannot be that bed-ridden. And I’ve called and left a message or two, but I wasn’t really feeling too energetic about it.
The wonderful weary weakness of flesh, it brings us to each other’s bed, and then keeps us away from it. And my proud spirit that wants him will keep me away from him now, because I do not want games, but I cannot keep calling, I really really can’t. If I ask too much from what he wants, or he gives too little from what I want, then I’d rather go think about that, instead of continuing to kick the same wall.
I’m taking birth control pills because I have this fantasy of a man cumming in me. I’ve never felt it and I really want to and I seem to want it especially with T. It’s a risk though. He has told me that he has been tested recently. And though I think we have established that this meant that he would not be sleeping with other women, I still have to fully clarify the situation before I go through with this.
If a friend told me this, I’d be worried for her, and think she was being a bit foolish. A lot of this depends on how much I trust him, and I do. So I would feel like such an idiot if anything bad came out of this.
So much feels off tonight. I was craving his cock in my cunt so badly before, but it feels even that is gone. The changes I was thinking of making, the ones I was hyped up about, have been put on the back-burner. It is like that with all my so-called needs. Ever-changing.
I need our sex to feel a little more established, before I can move it in another direction.
Right now though, all this is gone, because what I desire at this moment the most is intimacy. And it makes me sad, because if that is the most of what I want, I am probably on the wrong path.
I am not a big fan of that word ‘intimacy.’ I use it to mean a closeness that borders on a startling pain, a stepping past a boundary of yours by someone else, whether that be in mind or body.
It is not that an intimacy that is not tied to a deeper love is nothing. What a roundabout way of putting it. What I mean is, an intimacy contrived without love gives me something, but like my medicated attempts at orgasm, it falls just short of being truly satisfying. It never takes me all the way there. Wherever that there is where I want to go.
Again that first time in his bed, and also when he came to my house, I’m remembering the mornings as we were waking up, and I am fixated on one point. How he reached over sleepily and held my hand. T’s hand in my hand. I wish I could say his real name right now, I want it savored on my tongue in that sentence.
How many hands have I held since I stopped being a child? I feel like when I am old, and looking back on people I’ve met, I will forget the cocks, the talks, forget it all, except for the hands that my- by then gnarled- hands once held.
My girl friend and I encountered a skunk one night-time walk a couple of weeks ago. We startled upon it and we found it as startled as us, hissing, on its tip-toes, hair raised, ready to spray. I was the first to hear it and I pointed it out and froze, and my friend grabbed my hand and we ran like crazy like that, as far away from it as we could, laughing adrenaline laughs.
There was a certain thrill to it, but not a sexual one at all. The thrill of being inextricably meshed into someone’s life like that for a moment. So that her skunk was my skunk.
: ))). And our clasped hands a signal of it.
It is what I secretly crave from everyone, T especially. I have this hunger to be submerged in people, like experiencing them will help me better understand something. It does not stop either, once let in, I will only wonder if there’s more. Not that I’m obsessive about it, but if given the opportunity to step in a little deeper and the person is interesting enough, I will take it. I do not know whether I am proud or ashamed of this part of me. I know only, our sex is, amongst many other things, a way to me of doing just that.
There is not much time left for us, though I haven’t told him yet. My mom’s visiting in less than two months, and then during the two months that she’s living with me, a lot of this is going to become very close to impossible. And when I get back? We will have to see how it goes.
So many changes happening. So many coming ahead. And then still the ones that I think I should make. Mend, mend, mend so I can sleep.
T, it is a horrible thought, and I know I do not mean it, because even thinking it feels so wrong. But the thought comes to me that if you were rewinded back to the invisible unfound dot you were before we met, I would not have to sit here like this, wishing you would make a reappearance, hoping for a call.
I'll publish this in all its unedited blah disconnected glory. There is writing that is meant to be read, and writing that is meant to be just written, a messy upheaval to be wiped away. This, I think, is more of the latter. But I will keep it here anyways.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
sweet tiresome skin
Earthy hot chai. I make it creamy. Sipping my cup of cardamom and clove sweetened with warmed drips of honey.
I’m sleepy but I’m too tired to sleep. So I thought I would write instead.
Past few nights I have been having these flashes of ugly. I want my skin to be milk and mead when I run my hands down my body. The reality is more like a hive, angry and buzzing. I’m breaking out again like a teenager. My shoulder, my neck, my back, the parts I love, so smooth under my -well except for that spot – oh and that whole itchy part there – and ugh that part I know must be red and throbbing.
Body shapes, weights, lengths and curves, each to their taste. But poor skin is to no one’s taste.
It shouldn’t matter but it does. It is superficial but it bothers me. For a moment my marred skin is my marred sex.
So I know I will now work to try and get rid of it. Will wonder what doctor to listen to, what cream might work, what home remedy that countless people have seen fit to tell me about. I will try this and that, and then I will check every day, is it less, is it more. I’ll never know what worked, but it will disappear for weeks, maybe even months on end. And I will forget. And then it will just come back again some day.
Polishing and preening. Finding and thwarting. For whom? For how long? I am tired at the thought.
I’m sleepy but I’m too tired to sleep. So I thought I would write instead.
Past few nights I have been having these flashes of ugly. I want my skin to be milk and mead when I run my hands down my body. The reality is more like a hive, angry and buzzing. I’m breaking out again like a teenager. My shoulder, my neck, my back, the parts I love, so smooth under my -well except for that spot – oh and that whole itchy part there – and ugh that part I know must be red and throbbing.
Body shapes, weights, lengths and curves, each to their taste. But poor skin is to no one’s taste.
It shouldn’t matter but it does. It is superficial but it bothers me. For a moment my marred skin is my marred sex.
So I know I will now work to try and get rid of it. Will wonder what doctor to listen to, what cream might work, what home remedy that countless people have seen fit to tell me about. I will try this and that, and then I will check every day, is it less, is it more. I’ll never know what worked, but it will disappear for weeks, maybe even months on end. And I will forget. And then it will just come back again some day.
Polishing and preening. Finding and thwarting. For whom? For how long? I am tired at the thought.
Monday, September 19, 2005
need
T,
Today again I need your cock in my cunt.
Here it is again, I am struck by it again, and I can find no other way to put it. I wake up and I need your cock inside me.
What is this that you seem to have awoken? I don’t recall ever needing so intensely a man’s cock buried deep inside me.
Not that I have anything near a long line of lovers before you. So I should say maybe just that I don’t remember being quite so hungry for his cock before. I remember wanting, I remember enjoying; I do not think I had this need.
There are still dreams of my skin to yours, of your muscles that need to be touched, of our wet tongues leaving wet paths, of my squeezed breasts topped with erect nipples under your hands, and there is still, always, the rippling pleasure of my clit being ground against some part of yours.
But these are ashes and smoke in the burn of my need.
You have suggested this need to me with your words, suggested to me the pleasure I get when I am filled by you.
But I have noticed it from the start anyways. That your cock felt as hard and thick and hot and long and forceful as I needed when you first pushed inside. Fuck but I remember it clearly. The parting of my wet skin and the coming in just right.
And I knew, I knew very clearly, that so long as you were there to give it, I would turn to you again and again to feel just that.
I had all of this written already before you could ask me your question that you knew the answer to. Asking me which I would choose if I had the chance today, any one of our fantasies, or just a simple fucking.
A simple fucking. Any kind of fucking. I can't be picky when it's all so good. Against counter. Backed up on living room wall. On my bed, flipped back and forth in all directions.
Time later for all the rest. No matter if we meet again and again for just this. Just to have you inside me.
How long until you finally cum inside?
Today again I need your cock in my cunt.
Here it is again, I am struck by it again, and I can find no other way to put it. I wake up and I need your cock inside me.
What is this that you seem to have awoken? I don’t recall ever needing so intensely a man’s cock buried deep inside me.
Not that I have anything near a long line of lovers before you. So I should say maybe just that I don’t remember being quite so hungry for his cock before. I remember wanting, I remember enjoying; I do not think I had this need.
There are still dreams of my skin to yours, of your muscles that need to be touched, of our wet tongues leaving wet paths, of my squeezed breasts topped with erect nipples under your hands, and there is still, always, the rippling pleasure of my clit being ground against some part of yours.
But these are ashes and smoke in the burn of my need.
You have suggested this need to me with your words, suggested to me the pleasure I get when I am filled by you.
But I have noticed it from the start anyways. That your cock felt as hard and thick and hot and long and forceful as I needed when you first pushed inside. Fuck but I remember it clearly. The parting of my wet skin and the coming in just right.
And I knew, I knew very clearly, that so long as you were there to give it, I would turn to you again and again to feel just that.
I had all of this written already before you could ask me your question that you knew the answer to. Asking me which I would choose if I had the chance today, any one of our fantasies, or just a simple fucking.
A simple fucking. Any kind of fucking. I can't be picky when it's all so good. Against counter. Backed up on living room wall. On my bed, flipped back and forth in all directions.
Time later for all the rest. No matter if we meet again and again for just this. Just to have you inside me.
How long until you finally cum inside?
Friday, September 16, 2005
reading is fun
The other day, when I again had nothing to say, I told him maybe I could read to him again.
I love to read out loud to someone. It is always a bit of a performance.
In this case, my performance is made all the more interesting by the fact that I am reading my own dreams, in my own words. It is the closest I get to saying exactly what I want. Though I wonder if it hampers me, if it has become a safety net for me to fall back on to. If I could script my own life, I’d have no problem acting it out, but since I can’t, what’s the point?
I like it though, because it provides focus too for my scattered mind. These days I have not been able to focus on a fantasy long enough for me to cum from the thought. With the words already laid out, I can just concentrate on them being read, hear them be said out loud. Touching myself at the same time, I am made to really enjoy the thought fully, as if I were there living it. And of course the fact that I write most of these words with him in mind, and he is there listening to it, maybe enjoying it too- that is what pushes me right to the edge.
So I read him 'my shower', which isn’t the most explicit or heated piece of writing. But I read it with my hand pushing lightly been my legs, and I found myself really lost in the moment I described. And I found too, another thing that I like, my words polished and brandished anew in his ears as they came out of my mouth. Some more awkward than I remember, some hotter that what I first felt.
I fumbled with sentences, I had to stop to sigh frequently, and by the end, again, my voice was a shaking, desperate, uncontrollable mess.
When I was done, I just stopped and tried to catch my breath. Usually I whisper a light ‘the end’ or ‘that’s it’, but I was unwilling to end the spell. And he said immediately-
‘You have to fuck me right now’
I groaned a laugh and I said in a voice that was still the voice I had been using while reading:
‘How would you like to be fucked?’
And he told me. And he told me actually how it was him who was going to fuck me. And how in that moment all my words would be gone and I would be all his. And he told me to imagine how it felt for his cock when he put it in my cunt. And then he told me exactly how it felt. And oh he went on and on and on so that even as I came closer and closer to cumming, I had this tiny urge to stop and applaud.
And after we both came, breathing and gasping and breathing, he caught his breath before I could catch mine. He asked me, all calm and cheerful, all husky with a cold, how I was doing, and I wouldn’t have known I was capable of such Harlequinesque hyperbole, but I said,
‘..that.. was … incredible’
And he quipped back lightly,
‘Yes I know… I’m good at this aren’t I?’
And I laughed and swore at him for knowing this, under my breath, though he might have heard.
‘Fucker’
Which is exactly what he was I suppose. And I heard his smile over the phone as he continued.
‘Yes I know a little bit about how your perverted mind works. As a pervert myself of course’
I sighed a laugh, still recovering. Not really wanting to recover.
‘And the more you keep feeding me your words, the more I’m going to use them, and the better and better this is going to be’
Deal.
And he was right about another thing too (the fucker hehe). He was right about what he said as we shut the phone, that I loved lying there afterwards like that.
Snuggled under blankets because my body was suddenly cold against the air in my room, just drawing in the glow of my sex close around me as it faded.
I love to read out loud to someone. It is always a bit of a performance.
In this case, my performance is made all the more interesting by the fact that I am reading my own dreams, in my own words. It is the closest I get to saying exactly what I want. Though I wonder if it hampers me, if it has become a safety net for me to fall back on to. If I could script my own life, I’d have no problem acting it out, but since I can’t, what’s the point?
I like it though, because it provides focus too for my scattered mind. These days I have not been able to focus on a fantasy long enough for me to cum from the thought. With the words already laid out, I can just concentrate on them being read, hear them be said out loud. Touching myself at the same time, I am made to really enjoy the thought fully, as if I were there living it. And of course the fact that I write most of these words with him in mind, and he is there listening to it, maybe enjoying it too- that is what pushes me right to the edge.
So I read him 'my shower', which isn’t the most explicit or heated piece of writing. But I read it with my hand pushing lightly been my legs, and I found myself really lost in the moment I described. And I found too, another thing that I like, my words polished and brandished anew in his ears as they came out of my mouth. Some more awkward than I remember, some hotter that what I first felt.
I fumbled with sentences, I had to stop to sigh frequently, and by the end, again, my voice was a shaking, desperate, uncontrollable mess.
When I was done, I just stopped and tried to catch my breath. Usually I whisper a light ‘the end’ or ‘that’s it’, but I was unwilling to end the spell. And he said immediately-
‘You have to fuck me right now’
I groaned a laugh and I said in a voice that was still the voice I had been using while reading:
‘How would you like to be fucked?’
And he told me. And he told me actually how it was him who was going to fuck me. And how in that moment all my words would be gone and I would be all his. And he told me to imagine how it felt for his cock when he put it in my cunt. And then he told me exactly how it felt. And oh he went on and on and on so that even as I came closer and closer to cumming, I had this tiny urge to stop and applaud.
And after we both came, breathing and gasping and breathing, he caught his breath before I could catch mine. He asked me, all calm and cheerful, all husky with a cold, how I was doing, and I wouldn’t have known I was capable of such Harlequinesque hyperbole, but I said,
‘..that.. was … incredible’
And he quipped back lightly,
‘Yes I know… I’m good at this aren’t I?’
And I laughed and swore at him for knowing this, under my breath, though he might have heard.
‘Fucker’
Which is exactly what he was I suppose. And I heard his smile over the phone as he continued.
‘Yes I know a little bit about how your perverted mind works. As a pervert myself of course’
I sighed a laugh, still recovering. Not really wanting to recover.
‘And the more you keep feeding me your words, the more I’m going to use them, and the better and better this is going to be’
Deal.
And he was right about another thing too (the fucker hehe). He was right about what he said as we shut the phone, that I loved lying there afterwards like that.
Snuggled under blankets because my body was suddenly cold against the air in my room, just drawing in the glow of my sex close around me as it faded.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
this one is his
He said-
You brought her in like you had laid this all out in your mind before. You had already planned your commandeer. You had already seen before, already been right here.
You told me your fingers had already tried her cunt. And found it snug and tight. And found her just right. You were so blunt. I was surprised.
You told me how it was going to go. How I was going to fuck her and you were going to watch while she fingered you. I was surprised.
You said I had to fuck her to fuck you. Fuck her if you want to fuck me, you said.
You said I had to fuck her until she cums. You had a catch. You said I couldn’t cum.
If you can make her cum without cumming, you can fuck me. You can fuck me right after. Cum right after, right inside me.
That glint in your eyes. You offered me this challenge, yourself as a prize. I was surprised.
You knew my condition too, before I could state it to you. You laughed because you already knew. You said, Yes, yes, I know, I cannot cum either. No, I said, not from her.
She was pretty and shy and willing. And so we started fucking.
She was just as tight as you said you had found. She was just as wonderfully snug and tight as your fingers had found, before my cock could.
I rose with a thrill to pick up your gauntlet. She lay like a moaning icon. A writhing symbol that we had let lay between us. I fucked her and it was your face I looked upon.
She thought-
Yes my face. Would you be able to read my confused code of hope and pain and pleasure? The crissed crosses of desire and curiosity and control etched across my face?
I would be looking at your faces too.
I would look at your face trying to hold back. I would wonder how she felt to you. I would look at her face and wonder if my face looked a bit like hers when you fucked me. If she got as much pleasure out of you as I. I would wonder if you were feeling the part of her I had already had in my own way, if you were giving her a part of you I had already had in my own way.
What would be different? What would remain?
Between her and me. Between you and her. Between you and me.
He said-
This was your game. This was your test. You waited, pleasured, like you couldn’t care less. It was me who knew that I must. It was me who had to win to get to us.
She thought-
Oh but you know I’d be rooting for you. You know I’d be thinking of my spasming cunt absorbing your cum. As I tried to contain the pleasure of her probing fingers.
You know my fingers would be crossed for you and I’d have to hide my hands.
You know this would be just another form of my perverse pleasure. Just another level of willingly surrendering to your hands the pleasure I take in us.
He said-
I swear this is just as I saw it. I swear this was my dream,with you and me in it.
She said-
I like your dream.
Note: Though I took some 'poetic' license, I can take no credit, this dream is all T's and most of his thoughts about the dream put here are his too.
You brought her in like you had laid this all out in your mind before. You had already planned your commandeer. You had already seen before, already been right here.
You told me your fingers had already tried her cunt. And found it snug and tight. And found her just right. You were so blunt. I was surprised.
You told me how it was going to go. How I was going to fuck her and you were going to watch while she fingered you. I was surprised.
You said I had to fuck her to fuck you. Fuck her if you want to fuck me, you said.
You said I had to fuck her until she cums. You had a catch. You said I couldn’t cum.
If you can make her cum without cumming, you can fuck me. You can fuck me right after. Cum right after, right inside me.
That glint in your eyes. You offered me this challenge, yourself as a prize. I was surprised.
You knew my condition too, before I could state it to you. You laughed because you already knew. You said, Yes, yes, I know, I cannot cum either. No, I said, not from her.
She was pretty and shy and willing. And so we started fucking.
She was just as tight as you said you had found. She was just as wonderfully snug and tight as your fingers had found, before my cock could.
I rose with a thrill to pick up your gauntlet. She lay like a moaning icon. A writhing symbol that we had let lay between us. I fucked her and it was your face I looked upon.
She thought-
Yes my face. Would you be able to read my confused code of hope and pain and pleasure? The crissed crosses of desire and curiosity and control etched across my face?
I would be looking at your faces too.
I would look at your face trying to hold back. I would wonder how she felt to you. I would look at her face and wonder if my face looked a bit like hers when you fucked me. If she got as much pleasure out of you as I. I would wonder if you were feeling the part of her I had already had in my own way, if you were giving her a part of you I had already had in my own way.
What would be different? What would remain?
Between her and me. Between you and her. Between you and me.
He said-
This was your game. This was your test. You waited, pleasured, like you couldn’t care less. It was me who knew that I must. It was me who had to win to get to us.
She thought-
Oh but you know I’d be rooting for you. You know I’d be thinking of my spasming cunt absorbing your cum. As I tried to contain the pleasure of her probing fingers.
You know my fingers would be crossed for you and I’d have to hide my hands.
You know this would be just another form of my perverse pleasure. Just another level of willingly surrendering to your hands the pleasure I take in us.
He said-
I swear this is just as I saw it. I swear this was my dream,with you and me in it.
She said-
I like your dream.
Note: Though I took some 'poetic' license, I can take no credit, this dream is all T's and most of his thoughts about the dream put here are his too.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
my shower
Join me under my shower. Or anywhere else. At any liquid location. At any delta, any ocean, any spring, any waterfall. Any windy creek in a secluded park. But for now, today, only this shower. Only my shower, that used to be just mine. I would wait, caressed in the sprinkle, heels on porcelain, blinking for you.
Meet me under the spotlight of my shower. Surface tension would break softly on our skin where you joined me. An ellipse of spray where our shoulders took the water’s place. Water of my shower to touch us. Water to dissolve everything, stick to nothing, wash away. As close as we stood, expanding chests meeting erratically, water to slip in streams between us.
We could bathe at my shower. Turn my harmless poof kinky. This time have you controlling its soapiness down my body. Taint my daily wash for when you’re gone. My every look at your naked body would shed hunger. I’d stare at your cock and know it was made for lather. You’d need work to clean my cunt’s hidden reaches. But your cock would wait conspicuously for buff and polish. I’d be there, wanting to climb you rainy with everything I had. I’d be there, gentle, squeezing soap bubbles out of the poof, onto my hand, onto your shaft. My fingers sliding differently across your warmth. Just lightly playing, only to get a little rise out of you. I’d rinse you and the water would be nothing like the wet of my mouth, nothing like our sex, our smell. Nothing like my cunt surrounding you. I’d lick and bite your skin and you’d taste like a commercial, aqua fresh and irish spring. Nothing like your taste at all. Nothing much left of us, nearly everything gone, meandering down the drain. Your clean finger would squeak into my fresh pussy, hook into a crevice that was becoming wet another way. But as dirty as I flowed, the water would just slip it away. I’d close my eyes, and close my mouth in a content hum, holding in a gurgly moan of pleasure. You’d pull me out the way. I’d open my eyes and see you blurry, elusive crystal dots and dashes suddenly exposed all across our bodies when we moved out of the splashing current’s way. Our sex transparent. Our sparkling noises echoing. Robbed of real lubrication, skin sticking to each other, like bare thigh on leather couch. Stripped of our gritty grime, our dirt, our sweat, we’d be surprised how much had left us. Surprised too at how much still left behind. Surprised at this drenched clarity. Our smiles simple, our moans laughter, our pleasure slipping and sliding under our feet, coming and going easily. I’d bend over against a tiled wall, spread my legs enough for you to enter in. Your hands plastered to my breasts, you'd push inside. Against my cleansed insides, your droplet studded cock would be friction clearer than I can remember before. Reluctant to move, skin holding back. You would fool around with that tugging rub slowly and teasingly, showing what we could build in no time to make it less so.
Our game would ruin us, what we had played to get rid of would only taunt you and me. We’d have to leave it all, we’d have to shut off the water with a thud, step out onto a towel to dry our feet in vain, in a hurry, so we could run, dripping, somewhere away from this steamy place, build up frantically a new layer of real life and dirt to coat us. And I’d be happy to coat you, happily give up sweet and sticky salt liquid onto your cock to coat you. I’d be happily fucked by you, rough and quick, thrown prostrate on to my bed at the waist, kicked away from the memory of that hot wash as fast as we could, as fast as we could cum, we would, we’d be surprised at this too, at how fast it could all come rushing down with your every thrust, how easily we could become soiled with sweat and moans and bumps and groans and cum again.
But first, meet me in my shower.
Meet me under the spotlight of my shower. Surface tension would break softly on our skin where you joined me. An ellipse of spray where our shoulders took the water’s place. Water of my shower to touch us. Water to dissolve everything, stick to nothing, wash away. As close as we stood, expanding chests meeting erratically, water to slip in streams between us.
We could bathe at my shower. Turn my harmless poof kinky. This time have you controlling its soapiness down my body. Taint my daily wash for when you’re gone. My every look at your naked body would shed hunger. I’d stare at your cock and know it was made for lather. You’d need work to clean my cunt’s hidden reaches. But your cock would wait conspicuously for buff and polish. I’d be there, wanting to climb you rainy with everything I had. I’d be there, gentle, squeezing soap bubbles out of the poof, onto my hand, onto your shaft. My fingers sliding differently across your warmth. Just lightly playing, only to get a little rise out of you. I’d rinse you and the water would be nothing like the wet of my mouth, nothing like our sex, our smell. Nothing like my cunt surrounding you. I’d lick and bite your skin and you’d taste like a commercial, aqua fresh and irish spring. Nothing like your taste at all. Nothing much left of us, nearly everything gone, meandering down the drain. Your clean finger would squeak into my fresh pussy, hook into a crevice that was becoming wet another way. But as dirty as I flowed, the water would just slip it away. I’d close my eyes, and close my mouth in a content hum, holding in a gurgly moan of pleasure. You’d pull me out the way. I’d open my eyes and see you blurry, elusive crystal dots and dashes suddenly exposed all across our bodies when we moved out of the splashing current’s way. Our sex transparent. Our sparkling noises echoing. Robbed of real lubrication, skin sticking to each other, like bare thigh on leather couch. Stripped of our gritty grime, our dirt, our sweat, we’d be surprised how much had left us. Surprised too at how much still left behind. Surprised at this drenched clarity. Our smiles simple, our moans laughter, our pleasure slipping and sliding under our feet, coming and going easily. I’d bend over against a tiled wall, spread my legs enough for you to enter in. Your hands plastered to my breasts, you'd push inside. Against my cleansed insides, your droplet studded cock would be friction clearer than I can remember before. Reluctant to move, skin holding back. You would fool around with that tugging rub slowly and teasingly, showing what we could build in no time to make it less so.
Our game would ruin us, what we had played to get rid of would only taunt you and me. We’d have to leave it all, we’d have to shut off the water with a thud, step out onto a towel to dry our feet in vain, in a hurry, so we could run, dripping, somewhere away from this steamy place, build up frantically a new layer of real life and dirt to coat us. And I’d be happy to coat you, happily give up sweet and sticky salt liquid onto your cock to coat you. I’d be happily fucked by you, rough and quick, thrown prostrate on to my bed at the waist, kicked away from the memory of that hot wash as fast as we could, as fast as we could cum, we would, we’d be surprised at this too, at how fast it could all come rushing down with your every thrust, how easily we could become soiled with sweat and moans and bumps and groans and cum again.
But first, meet me in my shower.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
wanted
T has made it clear that he wants to leave this venture completely up to me. No persuasion, no coercion. Just me, doing what I want.
He’s left it up to me to find someone to watch or listen to us.
My inexperience makes it hard for me to pin down what it is exactly that I want. I will probably have to try around a bit before I find it.
I would like to dip my toe in a bit first and just have someone listen. I’m not sure how that would work. I’m afraid of the person calling on the phone to listen, and then the phone getting disconnected at some point of the way or putting it too close (like I’ve occasionally done with T) so all you get is this distorted wind tunnel sound from my heavy breathing lol.
No but it would be hot, T’s cock in me, fucking me, the receiver nearby, so a near stranger on the other line could listen and imagine, so we could be a little spark for his or her arousal too.
I tend to picture an attractive female around my age (20s to 30s) on that other side but I am not averse to any one else. Just depends on the specific person I guess. I do not need to know much, just so long as it becomes clear you have a positive, fun view on sex. It would have to obviously be someone who respects my boundaries, my relationship with T, who is content only listening for now. Everyone would have to be doing this too knowing that it could be just a one-time thing only.
My circle is a fairly conservative one, I don’t see myself finding anyone up for this amongst people I already know. So turning to this blog seemed like an obvious choice. There are so many wonderful, sexy, adventurous people out there.
If you’re somewhere in Canada, (or you don’ t mind long-distance charges) and this sounds like something that you might be interested in, do drop a comment. This blog says a lot of it, but I would be happy to share more details about us and find out more about you.
Phew, feeling a bit charged right now.
Note: I didn’t start this blog intending to use it quite so interactively. : ) Those of you who read more regularly and aren’t interested, please, go right on reading. Normal schedule will resume. I just had to put this out there, in case my wants aligned with anyone who happened to stop by.
He’s left it up to me to find someone to watch or listen to us.
My inexperience makes it hard for me to pin down what it is exactly that I want. I will probably have to try around a bit before I find it.
I would like to dip my toe in a bit first and just have someone listen. I’m not sure how that would work. I’m afraid of the person calling on the phone to listen, and then the phone getting disconnected at some point of the way or putting it too close (like I’ve occasionally done with T) so all you get is this distorted wind tunnel sound from my heavy breathing lol.
No but it would be hot, T’s cock in me, fucking me, the receiver nearby, so a near stranger on the other line could listen and imagine, so we could be a little spark for his or her arousal too.
I tend to picture an attractive female around my age (20s to 30s) on that other side but I am not averse to any one else. Just depends on the specific person I guess. I do not need to know much, just so long as it becomes clear you have a positive, fun view on sex. It would have to obviously be someone who respects my boundaries, my relationship with T, who is content only listening for now. Everyone would have to be doing this too knowing that it could be just a one-time thing only.
My circle is a fairly conservative one, I don’t see myself finding anyone up for this amongst people I already know. So turning to this blog seemed like an obvious choice. There are so many wonderful, sexy, adventurous people out there.
If you’re somewhere in Canada, (or you don’ t mind long-distance charges) and this sounds like something that you might be interested in, do drop a comment. This blog says a lot of it, but I would be happy to share more details about us and find out more about you.
Phew, feeling a bit charged right now.
Note: I didn’t start this blog intending to use it quite so interactively. : ) Those of you who read more regularly and aren’t interested, please, go right on reading. Normal schedule will resume. I just had to put this out there, in case my wants aligned with anyone who happened to stop by.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
possibilities...V
I’ve built up these entries one by one, telling every last detail, but nothing has yet to come from any of this and the truth is I am just waiting, wondering where this will go.
T was away, busy with work for the past five days. I have yet to hear even a comment about the message I left him. I understand because his business is all or nothing, it isn’t the kind where you can restrict how much of your time it takes on a given day.
Still, my days have felt longer. I continue to write all this instead. I wait.
I’ve needed all this detail mostly because it is all new, and I have a fetish for beginnings. I needed it all on record. I love reading most everything here, but I do have a penchant for descriptions of a moment when a curtain got drawn back. How it got drawn, what led up to it. Your first dom/sub experiences, first homosexual encounters, even the first time you had sex, or had your first orgasm.
(These days I find myself thinking a lot about that first morning with T too. I wrote about it here and here, but I could write about it forever. I remember parts of it too clearly. It still gets a rise out of me, remembering that intensity. Two years of mostly innocent talk turned over in the moment when his fingers stroked down on my shorts. Or rather his shorts that I was wearing, borrowed from the night before.)
See, I’ve been only vanilla until now. More like vanilla waferish, mind you. Crispy and crunchy, creamy in the middle, dissolving sweetly in the mouth. I love the basics of sex. It’s here in my every word, I love the fundamental feel of it, I haven’t needed much more. He’s felt that too.
But reading sex blogs here, it has all felt close to my heart and mind, nothing strange, nothing taboo. It’s just reminded me of all the things I’ve always been curious about.
Maybe my curiosity has only just begun to cover the gap between my thoughts and my possible actions. All I know is, clinging to whatever courage I have garnered so far, whatever change I want in my life, I wait.
And even if I make it, even if I can take that step, there is still what is left to chance and that which I have to leave up to him.
I wait. I probably presume too much, but maybe you feel it a bit too, wait a teensy tiny bit with me too.
Because I’m at the brink, almost accustomed to the pit in my stomach, the tension in my knees. I could roll back down or I could take this, depending. I'm wondering what factor will become most important in the end, where I will end up. I'm trying not to make too much of it.
But possibilities await. I wait.
T was away, busy with work for the past five days. I have yet to hear even a comment about the message I left him. I understand because his business is all or nothing, it isn’t the kind where you can restrict how much of your time it takes on a given day.
Still, my days have felt longer. I continue to write all this instead. I wait.
I’ve needed all this detail mostly because it is all new, and I have a fetish for beginnings. I needed it all on record. I love reading most everything here, but I do have a penchant for descriptions of a moment when a curtain got drawn back. How it got drawn, what led up to it. Your first dom/sub experiences, first homosexual encounters, even the first time you had sex, or had your first orgasm.
(These days I find myself thinking a lot about that first morning with T too. I wrote about it here and here, but I could write about it forever. I remember parts of it too clearly. It still gets a rise out of me, remembering that intensity. Two years of mostly innocent talk turned over in the moment when his fingers stroked down on my shorts. Or rather his shorts that I was wearing, borrowed from the night before.)
See, I’ve been only vanilla until now. More like vanilla waferish, mind you. Crispy and crunchy, creamy in the middle, dissolving sweetly in the mouth. I love the basics of sex. It’s here in my every word, I love the fundamental feel of it, I haven’t needed much more. He’s felt that too.
But reading sex blogs here, it has all felt close to my heart and mind, nothing strange, nothing taboo. It’s just reminded me of all the things I’ve always been curious about.
Maybe my curiosity has only just begun to cover the gap between my thoughts and my possible actions. All I know is, clinging to whatever courage I have garnered so far, whatever change I want in my life, I wait.
And even if I make it, even if I can take that step, there is still what is left to chance and that which I have to leave up to him.
I wait. I probably presume too much, but maybe you feel it a bit too, wait a teensy tiny bit with me too.
Because I’m at the brink, almost accustomed to the pit in my stomach, the tension in my knees. I could roll back down or I could take this, depending. I'm wondering what factor will become most important in the end, where I will end up. I'm trying not to make too much of it.
But possibilities await. I wait.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
interlude
Just a gloomy interlude, needed a break from my story. I don't feel like this now but I do have my moments.
i sit in my candy underwear on a piano bench wondering if your inadvertent gift of hope will be my curse.
i've been too sad to ever really trust my sadness and fully give in to it again.
but happiness nags at me still. i'm not quite as citrus sunny as the warm pink and orange stripes on my panties, the shiny satin bow on each corner of the straps of my bra.
there are sharp and flat notes in pairs and triads for my fingers to run down in insigificantly minor scales. i'm running through, black and white. your genius nags at me still. i question what i thought i could gain by associating with it.
i'm trying to combine sounds except i can't seem to work at it hard enough to get to what i want to hear. i don't care enough to make it work. more truthfully, there is nothing i can think of hearing.
it will be the same you see. you will ask me, i will say nothing. i will sit here and try to play. i will have nothing. i will ask myself what i contributed that was new. and get nothing.
when i first started talking to you in real life, i felt you and i used you. i needed to feel that again, feel like i could be all that again. i listened to new music, starting with yours. i had one haunting tune and wrote the same bar over and over again. i wrote a poem or two and thought it meant i was being reborn.
i was just patching. your inspiration my cover. maybe you were used to people plugging into you. maybe you took your livewire for granted, as a matter of course?
it didn't matter that you were real, not the spotless beacon i seem to paint you as here. your talent at engaging me like i was already a part of it all felt real enough, was all that mattered.
i've felt alive by association, dead by comparison, a billion other things in between.
and now just nothing, you can't do anything for me if i can't do it myself, i should have known this all along.
i have woken up some mornings and understood and felt just right and stepped into a day that sat well within me.
but these have been immediately followed by days i can't remember, sandwiched between mornings and midnights where thoughts on clothespins got hung out for me to watch dry, detached.
i've felt like something's been muddied and i cannot remove the stain.
today has been such a day, tonight, such a night,
i look at my hands, my underwear, my vision of you, the piano keys. it is all brown.
i feel something like a cry come on, and i stifle it with a yawn. i go to bed.
possibilities...IV.
After that phone call, we talked again, this time more calmly, orgasms out of the way.
We discussed how we might find a girl who would want to either join, or watch, or listen. How it would have to be someone I trust. We discussed whether I was bi or just curious. I talked about how nervous I was in general . How I was afraid the scary part of this venture would block me from enjoying it. He reassured me once again that it was my call, that there was no rush or requirement. That there were all the other options too. But he promised too that he would make sure to do everything in his ability to make sure I wasn’t ‘blocked’ at all. He tried to be subdued as we talked and I understood his attempt. His excitement even when contained was contagious, and I didn’t want to do it for his reasons either.
I thought about it for two days straight. It seemed like any time my mind was not occupied with the demands of the day, it just came rushing in.
And I wasn’t even thinking anymore about if this would help my sporadic confusion with him. I couldn’t deny I wanted to do it and I figured it was worth a shot when it came to the relationship. But was I ready for this? Did I have the prowess, the strength of mind? Would I still enjoy ‘normal’ sex after this? I kept searching for and finding excuses not to take this jump, some valid, but none strong enough for me to abandon the idea. And if I couldn’t abandon it, what would I do with it? Let it sit there and burn forever?
Finally, my mind was made up and I decided to leave him a phone message:
Hello!
Yeah sorry, I fell asleep early last night so I didn’t get a chance to call.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what we talked about.
I don’t think I’d be able to really deal with having someone directly involved in our sex quite yet. The dynamics of a threesome would be kinda hard for me I think.
But –and you knew there was a ‘ but’ coming- I do like the idea of having someone watching or listening while we’re having sex. Probably a girl. It’s really starting to grow on me.. Really starting to excite me in fact.
I think I want to try it.
Well, we can talk more about it, how we might want to go about it, when you’re around.
So hmmm guess this means I’m going for option 2 for now.
I still want a long, really intimate session with you some time. Like we talked about. mm.
Still have that image you gave me of licking you, tasting you from head to toe.
And yeah you’re right, I haven’t quite done this yet, but I'd like to. I want to. I really want to take control too, just really ride you… I want to be the one taking full pleasure in every part of you.
Oh, and on another note... you can tie me up anytime!
Well, guess that’s all I have to say…talk to you later..
Bye.
We discussed how we might find a girl who would want to either join, or watch, or listen. How it would have to be someone I trust. We discussed whether I was bi or just curious. I talked about how nervous I was in general . How I was afraid the scary part of this venture would block me from enjoying it. He reassured me once again that it was my call, that there was no rush or requirement. That there were all the other options too. But he promised too that he would make sure to do everything in his ability to make sure I wasn’t ‘blocked’ at all. He tried to be subdued as we talked and I understood his attempt. His excitement even when contained was contagious, and I didn’t want to do it for his reasons either.
I thought about it for two days straight. It seemed like any time my mind was not occupied with the demands of the day, it just came rushing in.
And I wasn’t even thinking anymore about if this would help my sporadic confusion with him. I couldn’t deny I wanted to do it and I figured it was worth a shot when it came to the relationship. But was I ready for this? Did I have the prowess, the strength of mind? Would I still enjoy ‘normal’ sex after this? I kept searching for and finding excuses not to take this jump, some valid, but none strong enough for me to abandon the idea. And if I couldn’t abandon it, what would I do with it? Let it sit there and burn forever?
Finally, my mind was made up and I decided to leave him a phone message:
Hello!
Yeah sorry, I fell asleep early last night so I didn’t get a chance to call.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what we talked about.
I don’t think I’d be able to really deal with having someone directly involved in our sex quite yet. The dynamics of a threesome would be kinda hard for me I think.
But –and you knew there was a ‘ but’ coming- I do like the idea of having someone watching or listening while we’re having sex. Probably a girl. It’s really starting to grow on me.. Really starting to excite me in fact.
I think I want to try it.
Well, we can talk more about it, how we might want to go about it, when you’re around.
So hmmm guess this means I’m going for option 2 for now.
I still want a long, really intimate session with you some time. Like we talked about. mm.
Still have that image you gave me of licking you, tasting you from head to toe.
And yeah you’re right, I haven’t quite done this yet, but I'd like to. I want to. I really want to take control too, just really ride you… I want to be the one taking full pleasure in every part of you.
Oh, and on another note... you can tie me up anytime!
Well, guess that’s all I have to say…talk to you later..
Bye.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
possibilities..III.
As I sat there in the minutes before I called him, I had the strangest impression, in a way I have never had before, that I was cumming already.
I think you'd especially enjoy being watched. Especially by a girl masturbating while watching.
My mind moved so fast, I was still. I tried to take a deep breath but the breath was instead taken from me, shaken down through me. A lump in my throat was all that held me back, all that prevented me from diffusing into the room.
In that unexpected moment when fantasy became most faintly tinged with possibility, I was rendered useless. Nerves and lust, excitement and fear embroiled in dangerous beauty. I didn’t know if I could talk at all, if I could make it past our hello.
Somehow I did. Somehow I lay on my bed and we talked over the phone.
Talking distantly like in a dream, I tried to join him as he went over again the possible pros and cons of each option. How I could do neither if I wanted to, even stop having sex with him altogether. The last choice seemed unlikely in that moment.
I tried to tell him how I was feeling but my mouth was dry.
We started to talk about involving another woman. The idea excited him. He said it wasn’t so much that he liked seeing two women together, it was more that he found the idea of watching me stretch my boundaries like that hot. Stretching my limits comfortably mind you, he added. He was wonderfully conflicted, insisting that he did not want to put pressure, talking about how exciting it would be for both of us, not wanting to feel like the ‘corrupting ‘ one, not wanting to put his desire on me, but hoping deep down that I would agree.
I just listened. My mind wanted to stretch around all of it, like my pussy yielding to his cock. I went to my clit. My clit was swollen like I had been rubbing it for hours. I told him how wet I was already. I could not say much more.
‘One of the things I hope to show you is how to talk out loud about what you want, your fantasies. I want you to enjoy the sound of your voice, the power. Tell me, what do you want? ‘
Silence.
‘ You told me you liked that feeling of fantasy becoming possibility. What fantasy are you thinking about? A woman? A threesome?’
‘Yes, a threesome’
‘What kind of threesome?’
‘A guy and a girl.. well I mean, you and another girl’
‘Are we taking turns? Or are we all involved at once? What are we doing?’
I could not think at all. My nighttime fantasy had slipped my mind entirely. My voice was trembling.
‘I think I want… you both..pleasuring me’
I laughed because it was selfish.
‘How? What is she doing?’
Silence.
‘Tell me’
Gentle, firm. I bit my lips.
‘Tell me… Tell me.’
I choked out the words in a whisper. The first ones I could think of.
‘She’s eating me out’
Fuck. I want to pull back. I want to rage on.
‘Strong and hard, or just teasing?’
‘….teasing…just.. licking softly’
‘What will she do when your pussy gets hot?’
‘She’ll… keep licking softly’
‘And when it gets even hotter?’
‘She’ll stick her finger in me’
‘I thought you wanted to be teased’
Smiling despite it at all.
‘I don’t have that much control’
‘What do you see me doing?’
‘Maybe just watching at first.’
‘What else?’
‘Stroking your cock… mmm…Would you be hard watching us?’
‘Yes.. I would.. but I wouldn’t be able to just watch for very long’
He asked again.
‘What am I doing?’
I think.
'Tell me'
‘.. you're fucking me’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah’
‘So I’m fucking you, the girl is licking and fingering you.. what is she getting out of this?’
‘Umm..my pleasure?’
‘Nothing more? We're both getting more than that. Don’t you think she’d want something more?’
I was panicking. I was resisting. I saw it all too clearly, like I was there. I felt my arousal, my fear; I felt her body next to mine. What do I do with it?
‘I might.. help her out’
‘How?’
Silence.
‘How?.’
‘I’d be… afraid…..’
Damn. I tried to continue.
“Maybe I could..touch her’
‘And then?’
Silence.
‘Tell me’
Silence.
‘Tell me’
I was too far gone for this, it was too sudden, too shattering. I gave up, writhing, my silence final.
He took over. He told me how we could touch her together. How my hand and his hand could meet at her cunt. He told me how her skin would feel, how soft a woman’s skin was.
His words became a blur, my desperation, my shock was wrenching me apart. I started to heave in sobs, working my fingers as he talked.
He told me to control it.
I wanted to cum so bad, I was crying and crying and crying for it.
He told me he was going to do something next that would make her cum. And that when she came, I could cum too, around his cock.
When she came, I could cum too.
When she came in his words, I came too. I came so loud he told me later he’d never heard me cum like that before.
I came like relief from guilt, like a breakdown. I came like I was falling apart, like for one moment, every part of me was lost.
He came too in that moment, listening to me cum.
(…STILL more to come)
I think you'd especially enjoy being watched. Especially by a girl masturbating while watching.
My mind moved so fast, I was still. I tried to take a deep breath but the breath was instead taken from me, shaken down through me. A lump in my throat was all that held me back, all that prevented me from diffusing into the room.
In that unexpected moment when fantasy became most faintly tinged with possibility, I was rendered useless. Nerves and lust, excitement and fear embroiled in dangerous beauty. I didn’t know if I could talk at all, if I could make it past our hello.
Somehow I did. Somehow I lay on my bed and we talked over the phone.
Talking distantly like in a dream, I tried to join him as he went over again the possible pros and cons of each option. How I could do neither if I wanted to, even stop having sex with him altogether. The last choice seemed unlikely in that moment.
I tried to tell him how I was feeling but my mouth was dry.
We started to talk about involving another woman. The idea excited him. He said it wasn’t so much that he liked seeing two women together, it was more that he found the idea of watching me stretch my boundaries like that hot. Stretching my limits comfortably mind you, he added. He was wonderfully conflicted, insisting that he did not want to put pressure, talking about how exciting it would be for both of us, not wanting to feel like the ‘corrupting ‘ one, not wanting to put his desire on me, but hoping deep down that I would agree.
I just listened. My mind wanted to stretch around all of it, like my pussy yielding to his cock. I went to my clit. My clit was swollen like I had been rubbing it for hours. I told him how wet I was already. I could not say much more.
‘One of the things I hope to show you is how to talk out loud about what you want, your fantasies. I want you to enjoy the sound of your voice, the power. Tell me, what do you want? ‘
Silence.
‘ You told me you liked that feeling of fantasy becoming possibility. What fantasy are you thinking about? A woman? A threesome?’
‘Yes, a threesome’
‘What kind of threesome?’
‘A guy and a girl.. well I mean, you and another girl’
‘Are we taking turns? Or are we all involved at once? What are we doing?’
I could not think at all. My nighttime fantasy had slipped my mind entirely. My voice was trembling.
‘I think I want… you both..pleasuring me’
I laughed because it was selfish.
‘How? What is she doing?’
Silence.
‘Tell me’
Gentle, firm. I bit my lips.
‘Tell me… Tell me.’
I choked out the words in a whisper. The first ones I could think of.
‘She’s eating me out’
Fuck. I want to pull back. I want to rage on.
‘Strong and hard, or just teasing?’
‘….teasing…just.. licking softly’
‘What will she do when your pussy gets hot?’
‘She’ll… keep licking softly’
‘And when it gets even hotter?’
‘She’ll stick her finger in me’
‘I thought you wanted to be teased’
Smiling despite it at all.
‘I don’t have that much control’
‘What do you see me doing?’
‘Maybe just watching at first.’
‘What else?’
‘Stroking your cock… mmm…Would you be hard watching us?’
‘Yes.. I would.. but I wouldn’t be able to just watch for very long’
He asked again.
‘What am I doing?’
I think.
'Tell me'
‘.. you're fucking me’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah’
‘So I’m fucking you, the girl is licking and fingering you.. what is she getting out of this?’
‘Umm..my pleasure?’
‘Nothing more? We're both getting more than that. Don’t you think she’d want something more?’
I was panicking. I was resisting. I saw it all too clearly, like I was there. I felt my arousal, my fear; I felt her body next to mine. What do I do with it?
‘I might.. help her out’
‘How?’
Silence.
‘How?.’
‘I’d be… afraid…..’
Damn. I tried to continue.
“Maybe I could..touch her’
‘And then?’
Silence.
‘Tell me’
Silence.
‘Tell me’
I was too far gone for this, it was too sudden, too shattering. I gave up, writhing, my silence final.
He took over. He told me how we could touch her together. How my hand and his hand could meet at her cunt. He told me how her skin would feel, how soft a woman’s skin was.
His words became a blur, my desperation, my shock was wrenching me apart. I started to heave in sobs, working my fingers as he talked.
He told me to control it.
I wanted to cum so bad, I was crying and crying and crying for it.
He told me he was going to do something next that would make her cum. And that when she came, I could cum too, around his cock.
When she came, I could cum too.
When she came in his words, I came too. I came so loud he told me later he’d never heard me cum like that before.
I came like relief from guilt, like a breakdown. I came like I was falling apart, like for one moment, every part of me was lost.
He came too in that moment, listening to me cum.
(…STILL more to come)
possibilities..II.
When I left you last, T had just suggested the following two options to me, to help me have a better handle on both our friendship and our sexual relationship:
T: one idea is that we find a way to make our sexual encounters a bit more intimate - adding a bit more talking and openness
T: the other idea is different
T: it is that we actually further increase the separation between the two - fucking each other for pure enjoyment - then when finished, resuming friendship within minutes or hours or whatever is required - in this case we may want to consider some more sexually adventurous ideas to make this separation clear - tying up, role playing, involving others - watching or even joining in
I read it all and sat silently. Unsure of what I was thinking or feeling. I tried to consider the two options calmly. But I was just thinking of the last part, the fact that it was there.
Tying up, I was all for it. Role-playing, with my scattered brain and shyness, it would be hard to immerse myself in. Involving others kept waiting to jump out at me. Monster hiding under my bed, can it hurt, can it seduce, can it ruin, can it please. I only know it can scare.
T: thoughts?
T: just tell me u r here pls
L: yes here, thinking
T: no need to decide now - only discuss pros/cons
L: first one sounds good to me. i recognize that there is room for more talk and openness, i'm not sure how well i will do managing it
T: but if you're not sure how well you'll do - then why does it sound good?
L: it sounds good because i see that it might help the 'integration' so to speak
T: but is your goal integration or separation
L: yes, that's the question
T: I have concerns with both options but my main concern with the first is possible emotional pain
T: possible loss of both… due to.. too much impossible integration when you are unequipped for it (potentially)
L: yah. same concerns i have probably
T: go on then :)
L: lol eek
L: second option sounds exciting but im worried about just feeling more confused at the end of it
T: my concern with the second option is putting you in a position that would make you uncomfortable
We were still talking normally, trying to make sense. But my mind kept wandering.
Involving others. Watching. Or even joining in
I was mesmerized by the glare from the tail of each comet suggestion.
L: right, yeah there's that too.. it's kinda scary/excitement
T: a rush i can't even describe - don't get me wrong i'd love to show it to you - pervert you for life - lol
L: lol yeah felt tingly just reading it
Very tingly. I was very conscious of the space between my legs all of a sudden.
T: i think you'd especially enjoy being watched
T: especially by a girl masturbating while watching
I’m so turned on. I’m so afraid. I could faint.
L: yes
L: i know i would, that's the thing lol. but don't feel like i'm ready for it just yet
T: i completely understand
T: one way of testing the waters so to speak is to
T: call someone - have it previously arranged - and just let her hear
L: hmmmmm
T: :)
T: all good
T: don't get worried
L: that was a 'hmmm' and a 'mmm' combined by the way
L: hmmmmmmm
T: lol
L: hehe
T: it is making me very horny to be honest (sorry - i know bad time)
L: me too lol.. quite unexpected. i was in the midst of trying to figure everything out, and then i'm like 'fuck'
T: i might cum just to clear my head
I needed to cum too. If I called him now, we were going to talk about everything. Was I ready for this?
T: silence?
L: trying to decide if i'd like to join in
A minute later the tingling is still there, everywhere, relentless.
L: call me?
(… still to be continued hehe)
T: one idea is that we find a way to make our sexual encounters a bit more intimate - adding a bit more talking and openness
T: the other idea is different
T: it is that we actually further increase the separation between the two - fucking each other for pure enjoyment - then when finished, resuming friendship within minutes or hours or whatever is required - in this case we may want to consider some more sexually adventurous ideas to make this separation clear - tying up, role playing, involving others - watching or even joining in
I read it all and sat silently. Unsure of what I was thinking or feeling. I tried to consider the two options calmly. But I was just thinking of the last part, the fact that it was there.
Tying up, I was all for it. Role-playing, with my scattered brain and shyness, it would be hard to immerse myself in. Involving others kept waiting to jump out at me. Monster hiding under my bed, can it hurt, can it seduce, can it ruin, can it please. I only know it can scare.
T: thoughts?
T: just tell me u r here pls
L: yes here, thinking
T: no need to decide now - only discuss pros/cons
L: first one sounds good to me. i recognize that there is room for more talk and openness, i'm not sure how well i will do managing it
T: but if you're not sure how well you'll do - then why does it sound good?
L: it sounds good because i see that it might help the 'integration' so to speak
T: but is your goal integration or separation
L: yes, that's the question
T: I have concerns with both options but my main concern with the first is possible emotional pain
T: possible loss of both… due to.. too much impossible integration when you are unequipped for it (potentially)
L: yah. same concerns i have probably
T: go on then :)
L: lol eek
L: second option sounds exciting but im worried about just feeling more confused at the end of it
T: my concern with the second option is putting you in a position that would make you uncomfortable
We were still talking normally, trying to make sense. But my mind kept wandering.
Involving others. Watching. Or even joining in
I was mesmerized by the glare from the tail of each comet suggestion.
L: right, yeah there's that too.. it's kinda scary/excitement
T: a rush i can't even describe - don't get me wrong i'd love to show it to you - pervert you for life - lol
L: lol yeah felt tingly just reading it
Very tingly. I was very conscious of the space between my legs all of a sudden.
T: i think you'd especially enjoy being watched
T: especially by a girl masturbating while watching
I’m so turned on. I’m so afraid. I could faint.
L: yes
L: i know i would, that's the thing lol. but don't feel like i'm ready for it just yet
T: i completely understand
T: one way of testing the waters so to speak is to
T: call someone - have it previously arranged - and just let her hear
L: hmmmmm
T: :)
T: all good
T: don't get worried
L: that was a 'hmmm' and a 'mmm' combined by the way
L: hmmmmmmm
T: lol
L: hehe
T: it is making me very horny to be honest (sorry - i know bad time)
L: me too lol.. quite unexpected. i was in the midst of trying to figure everything out, and then i'm like 'fuck'
T: i might cum just to clear my head
I needed to cum too. If I called him now, we were going to talk about everything. Was I ready for this?
T: silence?
L: trying to decide if i'd like to join in
A minute later the tingling is still there, everywhere, relentless.
L: call me?
(… still to be continued hehe)
possibilities...I.
The conversation began when I told T casually about how the way I talked about him to my friend once made her express a desire to ‘have’ him too.
He was intrigued about what exactly it was that I was telling her. I had my blog entry on it, but I hesitated to send it. I said I would look over to see if it was ‘showable’ first.
He wanted to know what I might have to hide. I couldn’t give him a clear answer, and he was left a bit miffed.
T: i guess it just feels (to be honest) slighly unfair.
T: I try to be very open and giving with you sexually - often
T: my best "reward" is your words.
T: please don't misunderstand. i'm just wishing you didn't feel that I would judge, or misunderstand anything you'd say
I understood but I hadn’t been meaning to imply that I hid how I feel about him sexually. Although it was sometimes difficult to bare it all I had tried my best to let him know what I felt after every encounter. From my blog, he had read most of ‘my fantasies’ and ‘my realities’. My ramblings still felt a bit too personal to send. I could be stupid, say the wrong things, be overly emotional in these writings one moment and forget about it all later. Did I really want him to hear all that?
My response was slipshod and it came out like I didn’t want to share at all. The exchange ended on a bit of a down note.
The next day we picked up again on MSN, and I tried to re-explain.
L: been thinking about what you said yesterday.. don't think i did a very good job of answering you
T: you were honest - we're not always going to agree
L: no it wasn't a matter of agreeing or not.. i think i just bungled up issues a bit
I told him I thought I had been doing ok with all my stories, phone calls and audio clips. He pointed out there hadn’t been too much of that of late. I admitted that he had been away for a while, and I had been busy, and when he returned, I had felt a bit disconnected from it all. There were other admissions to be made.
L: i think i have been more censorious on the mental/emotional side of things.. nothing has really felt wrong, but it's required some adjustment for me..
T: i can only imagine - please never feel that i underestimate or under-appreciate that
L: no i know
T: i am quite an emotional person myself - though you'd probably never guess it
L: you can kinda tell :)
L: i'm missing my ex a lot lately, and sometimes i just miss the intimacy of commited sex.. but i don't want to tell you that, cos it's not like i'm asking for that from you.. it's just. facts
T: i understand
T: and i would never ask you to remain intimate with me beyond your comfort level
T: are you sure missing your ex does not relate to this past weekend?
L: no well this past weekend didn't help.. but it's been hitting me for a month now.. once i got beyond the relief of a dying relationship kinda
T: time will no doubt bring you amazing things…though it always feels hard to look ahead when the present has such weight from the past
L: yes, nicely put
He had a comforting way with words. It made me think of how I valued his friendship and how it could sometimes leave me confused.
L: i missed talking to you while you were away.. it worried me a bit, like i had a friendship with you, and i had sex with you, and i was afraid of plugging them all into some fixed formula.. u know what i mean?
(…gap where we had to leave...)
T: what i want to ask is if you feel we are risking anything with the sex - as in do you feel a let down in our friendship? (keeping in mind we haven't seen each other as much)
L: no, i don't feel like there's a let down really
L: hmmm
L: sorry thinking
L: no i don't see it as a risk.. i have trouble integrating the two maybe.. sometimes?
T: integrating?
T: please explain
Clearly defined limits are easy to deal with but boring. The balance we had was bittersweetly brinking back and forth. If nothing touched us, we could maintain it. And we did, we had no problems. But even with nothing throwing me off, I worried about it all the same.
Maybe I cannot be fully happy, maybe I watch my back so much I cannot walk straight.
L: well.. there are fixed prototypes that i'm used to right? there are friendships with no sex, there are romantic commited relationships, there's fucking a complete stranger
L: and we fit in none of course
L: don't get me wrong, i love that.. cos noone ever fits in one. i love that about any interaction with a person. kind of making sense of it, and just 'being'
T: you are used to fucking a complete stranger?
L: i'm not used to it.. maybe the idea of it?
T: i c
T: well
L: makes any sense?
T: i am also glad we do not fit any perfect stereotype
T: how important is our sex to you?
L: herm. it's pretty much on par with the friendship. probably why it's confusing
T: do you feel you have to choose?
L: no
L: not right now.. maybe i worry that i will feel like that at some point
T: soon?
L: no
L: lol sorry, this is wishy-washy, i know.. they're all just small worries that come and go..
I was wondering where I thought I was going when I brought this up. I felt strangely better already having come out with it to him. He had done this all before, and it was a comfort. I might have been satisfied maybe to just end it there, with that discussion... But it would probably just come up again.
And so, arising out of all this of this, the suggestion came up.
T: i have a possible idea
T: one of two ideas in fact
L: k
T: one idea is that we find a way to make our sexual encounters a bit more intimate - adding a bit more talking and openness
T: the other idea is different
T: it is that we actually further increase the separation between the two - fucking each other for pure enjoyment - then when finished, resuming friendship within minutes or hours or whatever is required - in this case we may want to consider some more sexually adventurous ideas to make this separation clear - tying up, role playing , involving others - watching or even joining in
(…to be continued)
He was intrigued about what exactly it was that I was telling her. I had my blog entry on it, but I hesitated to send it. I said I would look over to see if it was ‘showable’ first.
He wanted to know what I might have to hide. I couldn’t give him a clear answer, and he was left a bit miffed.
T: i guess it just feels (to be honest) slighly unfair.
T: I try to be very open and giving with you sexually - often
T: my best "reward" is your words.
T: please don't misunderstand. i'm just wishing you didn't feel that I would judge, or misunderstand anything you'd say
I understood but I hadn’t been meaning to imply that I hid how I feel about him sexually. Although it was sometimes difficult to bare it all I had tried my best to let him know what I felt after every encounter. From my blog, he had read most of ‘my fantasies’ and ‘my realities’. My ramblings still felt a bit too personal to send. I could be stupid, say the wrong things, be overly emotional in these writings one moment and forget about it all later. Did I really want him to hear all that?
My response was slipshod and it came out like I didn’t want to share at all. The exchange ended on a bit of a down note.
The next day we picked up again on MSN, and I tried to re-explain.
L: been thinking about what you said yesterday.. don't think i did a very good job of answering you
T: you were honest - we're not always going to agree
L: no it wasn't a matter of agreeing or not.. i think i just bungled up issues a bit
I told him I thought I had been doing ok with all my stories, phone calls and audio clips. He pointed out there hadn’t been too much of that of late. I admitted that he had been away for a while, and I had been busy, and when he returned, I had felt a bit disconnected from it all. There were other admissions to be made.
L: i think i have been more censorious on the mental/emotional side of things.. nothing has really felt wrong, but it's required some adjustment for me..
T: i can only imagine - please never feel that i underestimate or under-appreciate that
L: no i know
T: i am quite an emotional person myself - though you'd probably never guess it
L: you can kinda tell :)
L: i'm missing my ex a lot lately, and sometimes i just miss the intimacy of commited sex.. but i don't want to tell you that, cos it's not like i'm asking for that from you.. it's just. facts
T: i understand
T: and i would never ask you to remain intimate with me beyond your comfort level
T: are you sure missing your ex does not relate to this past weekend?
L: no well this past weekend didn't help.. but it's been hitting me for a month now.. once i got beyond the relief of a dying relationship kinda
T: time will no doubt bring you amazing things…though it always feels hard to look ahead when the present has such weight from the past
L: yes, nicely put
He had a comforting way with words. It made me think of how I valued his friendship and how it could sometimes leave me confused.
L: i missed talking to you while you were away.. it worried me a bit, like i had a friendship with you, and i had sex with you, and i was afraid of plugging them all into some fixed formula.. u know what i mean?
(…gap where we had to leave...)
T: what i want to ask is if you feel we are risking anything with the sex - as in do you feel a let down in our friendship? (keeping in mind we haven't seen each other as much)
L: no, i don't feel like there's a let down really
L: hmmm
L: sorry thinking
L: no i don't see it as a risk.. i have trouble integrating the two maybe.. sometimes?
T: integrating?
T: please explain
Clearly defined limits are easy to deal with but boring. The balance we had was bittersweetly brinking back and forth. If nothing touched us, we could maintain it. And we did, we had no problems. But even with nothing throwing me off, I worried about it all the same.
Maybe I cannot be fully happy, maybe I watch my back so much I cannot walk straight.
L: well.. there are fixed prototypes that i'm used to right? there are friendships with no sex, there are romantic commited relationships, there's fucking a complete stranger
L: and we fit in none of course
L: don't get me wrong, i love that.. cos noone ever fits in one. i love that about any interaction with a person. kind of making sense of it, and just 'being'
T: you are used to fucking a complete stranger?
L: i'm not used to it.. maybe the idea of it?
T: i c
T: well
L: makes any sense?
T: i am also glad we do not fit any perfect stereotype
T: how important is our sex to you?
L: herm. it's pretty much on par with the friendship. probably why it's confusing
T: do you feel you have to choose?
L: no
L: not right now.. maybe i worry that i will feel like that at some point
T: soon?
L: no
L: lol sorry, this is wishy-washy, i know.. they're all just small worries that come and go..
I was wondering where I thought I was going when I brought this up. I felt strangely better already having come out with it to him. He had done this all before, and it was a comfort. I might have been satisfied maybe to just end it there, with that discussion... But it would probably just come up again.
And so, arising out of all this of this, the suggestion came up.
T: i have a possible idea
T: one of two ideas in fact
L: k
T: one idea is that we find a way to make our sexual encounters a bit more intimate - adding a bit more talking and openness
T: the other idea is different
T: it is that we actually further increase the separation between the two - fucking each other for pure enjoyment - then when finished, resuming friendship within minutes or hours or whatever is required - in this case we may want to consider some more sexually adventurous ideas to make this separation clear - tying up, role playing , involving others - watching or even joining in
(…to be continued)
Monday, September 05, 2005
think a thought
I’m settled and comfortable under bedcovers at night and I’m thinking of T’s girl in the photo, my talk with my friend about it, and that brief tangent with Flirt about me needing to experiment with girls.
I’m 15 again, blooming late as always, lying cosy in my childhood bed at night. No one’s bothered to buy me a new bed, my heels are always hitting against the bedpost, a bedpost covered with faded scratch-and-sniff stickers that predate the first grade.
An article in a girly teen magazine. ‘Dear Abby, I sometimes fantasize about girls when I masturbate. Does that make me a lesbian?’
I don’t know what it ‘makes’ her, but I wonder if I should try and do the same too.
The rules are simple, have always been simple: if you have a thought, think it. If another person’s thoughts hit you, try them on for size too.
Take position. Place that pillow between my legs. Rub clumsily. I’m kissing a girl. Rub. On her mouth. Rub. Her boobs touch me. Rub. My hands between her legs..somewhere. Rub. Between my legs. Rub. Rub rub rub. I’ve cum.
Faster than ever before.
That was new.
What does that make me? I forgot to ask.
But seven years later, the novelty hasn’t worn off. Women are still new. I have yet to try them.
I like men. They kill me, in fact. I love a man with hands that can work things, a presence that can work a crowd, but is content to lay back and watch too. A man with a one-hand-in-my-pocket smile, a heart that cannot help caring, a swaggering, gentle charm, a machismo that is quirky. A man’s who’s got a theory on everything, a clarity of view, arms that can love me or crush me, a mind that can wander and find new spots. I like a man who looks like he wants to take on the world, and then goes ahead and does. Or at least tries.
I love a man’s body, always a shock, always awkward at my first glance, but then focusing into sharp lines of exciting muscles, broad and embracing, graceful in motion, designed for strength. His sexuality on the loose, ready to fly, flaunted, inverse to mine.
I love a man’s cock. I didn’t always used to but I do now. Hard, burning, wanting, taking, giving cock. Knobs and protrusions. Swinging sacs waiting in excess below, patient, wanting to be cupped. Erection of delicate, thin, soft skin pulsing hard with pounding blood inside. And don’t get me started on that scrumptiously organic meeting of cock and cunt, made for each other, simultaneously giving and taking pleasure in the same action, no, this I cannot begin on, this I cannot replace.
A man talks to me and I am intrigued. I want to figure out. I feel the instant possibility of play. And it doesn’t have to happen, doesn’t matter if it doesn’t, but there are, dancing in the distant background, popping questions of promise too: is he here, is he the one to carry with me in this life, accompany me through? Seed for my seed? Life for after I die too?
What does that make me?
I like women. They endear themselves to me. There are ones that stand out so much they blow my mind. They stand out with a smile, a talent, a thought, an attitude. I want to be it all. I want to be the girl, do the girl, be the girl I saw step down from the bus with a backpack on her back, flashing black-lace eyes. And beyond that, far beyond that, there are women flying planes, designing new drugs, painting pictures, writing books. There’s a woman breaking through in some form. Who’s got a voice, a brain, a heart to die for. A woman who just gets it. Who leaves you guessing. Who knows how to hold out a hand. Who balances all of this, this joy, this empathy, this bleeding, this pain, this haunting intuition, this turmoil of conflicting wants and needs and thoughts and emotions, and emerges triumphant.
I like it when a woman makes anything look easy. It gives me direct hope (more so than when a man does). And yes, I get urges to be with the women who give me hope.
I love my body, and so I love every woman’s body. I have more words to talk about one because I see one every day. I like the round appeal of breasts, the pinching before the hips at the waist, the soft skin, the hard hip bone, the warm stomach, the line at the back leading to the curve of ass, shapely legs, collarbone, sleek neck, shiny hair, inviting lips. Maybe it is vain, but I find it all beautiful.
I like my cunt too, though I haven’t demystified it as much as I’d like to quite yet. But I’ve watched it and I like how it looks when it begins to open, the deepening of color, how it can become slippery with secretions and just beg to be filled.
I’d like to touch these things on someone else some day. It’s been said before, but I want these all to meet like at a faulty mirror, different but the same.
I’ve had a lot of dreams about women since that article-induced first time in my confining juvenile bed. Usually they are the ones touching me. They are the ones sucking on my nipples, inserting fingers and objects into my cunt. It never really seems to be about orgasms. Though I cum easily just to think of it. Sometimes I touch the women too, make them feel good too, have them suck on my fingers and then place them at their clit. In only one dream, and I remember it very vividly, a woman, older than me, licked my pussy to orgasm. And then she positioned herself backwards above my mouth, placed her pussy right above my face. I saw it very clearly, every detail of her cunt, the lips, the smell, a trace of hair, her clit throbbing. It was the only time I ever remember seeing that in a dream. I must have sucked on her till she came too because I woke up with her taste strange in my mouth.
I’m not sure what I would do if I were faced with such a cunt hovering above me in real life.
A woman talks to me in real life and I’m not thinking of sex. I want her to make it, because I want to make it too, and I see herself in me. We talk and I am there to support and laugh and understand.
I’m not comfortable mock-humping a girl friend while dancing at a club like I’ve seen so many straight girls do. I know it’s just for fun, but I don’t feel settled enough in my sexuality to do it. I become conscious of my secret desire, I don’t want to exhibit it just to tantalize others. I feel too serious about wanting to be with a woman still. I am a little too serious like that about everything. I don’t rub up against men I don’t want either, why would I do it with a woman I’m not thinking of that way? And if I really and truly am thinking of her that way, doesn’t she have the right to know?
Then again, I’ve never really had a crush on a close female friend. I may have indulged in a fantasy or two, but it’s never been so strong as to affect me the next time I encounter her. Mostly I’ve wanted archetypes, celebrities, strangers off the street.
I don’t think I’d want a solid relationship with a woman either, although frustrating times when I felt like I was senselessly knocking my head against X’s have sometimes made me wish I did.
My want, my curiosity isn’t quite burning, not yet.
But my god there’s something magnetically gorgeous in every woman that I cannot ignore. It would be so exciting to experience that in another firsthand some day.
What does that make me?
The truth is too I want to fuck in every way possible.
I want to be the sharp heel in your back. I want to be tied and left to your whim. I want to play with pain and pleasure.
Let me dress up pretty in lace and stockings. Strip me stark, down to my bones. Bring in the world. Let there be only you. Let’s do it earthy and dirty, let’s do it classy and sleek. Let’s be real, let’s pretend. Let’s just fuck.
These will come, these will all come. I will do nothing in the mean time. But if I wait, it will come, everyone cums, it is just a matter of right time, right place.
What does that make me?
I want to know everything. See the world, try it all. I want to be a resounding success at something. I don’t want to hurt anything, but other than that, I want to be able to stop at nothing.
What does that make me?
I want to get married and have a boy and a girl, work my ass off for them, retire, die and go to heaven. Or hell. Or become earth under stomping feet. Or return as a tropical bird. Or as a sentence coming out of someone else’s mouth. Return in that thought of someone else who was just like who I used to be, who’s done something from the everything I used to.
Dear Abby, I want to do all this. I can feel this all, and I will do this all. What does that make me? Do I even care?
I’m lying in bed and I’m thinking of all these things, and then I’m back to thinking of me and T and the girl in the picture.
How would T feel about a threesome? I know he’s said he’s not crazy about bisexual women, not in the way that it’s become trite to depict all men to be.
But maybe he would do it. Maybe he’d be interested. Maybe I’d suggest it. Maybe he’d suggest it to me.
I’m touching my clit.
I’m thinking of the girl, how I would meet her. Would it be better to meet her clothed somewhere else beforehand? Or should the first encounter just be us naked in T’s bedroom?
Maybe down to her underwear in T’s bedroom. Us both down to our bra and panties in his bedroom. Have T bring me in like that, introduce me to her like that.
How would it start? Oh god, my fingers, how would it start?
The start, the beginning, it always ruins me, I can never go much further than that. There is still enough only in that thought to take me there.
How would it start? Could we start with a kiss? Could I lean over and place my lips on another girl’s lips like I did in my first fantasy? Could I place my arms shyly around her and kiss like that? How would she feel, how would she taste? How would she touch? Would T watch at first? Could I lie side by side with the girl, have T fuck me from behind as I played with the girl, pleasured her, placed my finger on her clit, slipped another one inside, as she stroked at my breasts, T’s cock in and out of me still?
It is just a couple of minutes, just a quick blurred series of possibilities, but it is too late, I shudder and I cum.
I won’t immediately recall this moment later on. But this torrent of thoughts leading to a sleepy nighttime cum would foreshadow a conversation I would later have with T, the possibility of a change for him and me.
I’m 15 again, blooming late as always, lying cosy in my childhood bed at night. No one’s bothered to buy me a new bed, my heels are always hitting against the bedpost, a bedpost covered with faded scratch-and-sniff stickers that predate the first grade.
An article in a girly teen magazine. ‘Dear Abby, I sometimes fantasize about girls when I masturbate. Does that make me a lesbian?’
I don’t know what it ‘makes’ her, but I wonder if I should try and do the same too.
The rules are simple, have always been simple: if you have a thought, think it. If another person’s thoughts hit you, try them on for size too.
Take position. Place that pillow between my legs. Rub clumsily. I’m kissing a girl. Rub. On her mouth. Rub. Her boobs touch me. Rub. My hands between her legs..somewhere. Rub. Between my legs. Rub. Rub rub rub. I’ve cum.
Faster than ever before.
That was new.
What does that make me? I forgot to ask.
But seven years later, the novelty hasn’t worn off. Women are still new. I have yet to try them.
I like men. They kill me, in fact. I love a man with hands that can work things, a presence that can work a crowd, but is content to lay back and watch too. A man with a one-hand-in-my-pocket smile, a heart that cannot help caring, a swaggering, gentle charm, a machismo that is quirky. A man’s who’s got a theory on everything, a clarity of view, arms that can love me or crush me, a mind that can wander and find new spots. I like a man who looks like he wants to take on the world, and then goes ahead and does. Or at least tries.
I love a man’s body, always a shock, always awkward at my first glance, but then focusing into sharp lines of exciting muscles, broad and embracing, graceful in motion, designed for strength. His sexuality on the loose, ready to fly, flaunted, inverse to mine.
I love a man’s cock. I didn’t always used to but I do now. Hard, burning, wanting, taking, giving cock. Knobs and protrusions. Swinging sacs waiting in excess below, patient, wanting to be cupped. Erection of delicate, thin, soft skin pulsing hard with pounding blood inside. And don’t get me started on that scrumptiously organic meeting of cock and cunt, made for each other, simultaneously giving and taking pleasure in the same action, no, this I cannot begin on, this I cannot replace.
A man talks to me and I am intrigued. I want to figure out. I feel the instant possibility of play. And it doesn’t have to happen, doesn’t matter if it doesn’t, but there are, dancing in the distant background, popping questions of promise too: is he here, is he the one to carry with me in this life, accompany me through? Seed for my seed? Life for after I die too?
What does that make me?
I like women. They endear themselves to me. There are ones that stand out so much they blow my mind. They stand out with a smile, a talent, a thought, an attitude. I want to be it all. I want to be the girl, do the girl, be the girl I saw step down from the bus with a backpack on her back, flashing black-lace eyes. And beyond that, far beyond that, there are women flying planes, designing new drugs, painting pictures, writing books. There’s a woman breaking through in some form. Who’s got a voice, a brain, a heart to die for. A woman who just gets it. Who leaves you guessing. Who knows how to hold out a hand. Who balances all of this, this joy, this empathy, this bleeding, this pain, this haunting intuition, this turmoil of conflicting wants and needs and thoughts and emotions, and emerges triumphant.
I like it when a woman makes anything look easy. It gives me direct hope (more so than when a man does). And yes, I get urges to be with the women who give me hope.
I love my body, and so I love every woman’s body. I have more words to talk about one because I see one every day. I like the round appeal of breasts, the pinching before the hips at the waist, the soft skin, the hard hip bone, the warm stomach, the line at the back leading to the curve of ass, shapely legs, collarbone, sleek neck, shiny hair, inviting lips. Maybe it is vain, but I find it all beautiful.
I like my cunt too, though I haven’t demystified it as much as I’d like to quite yet. But I’ve watched it and I like how it looks when it begins to open, the deepening of color, how it can become slippery with secretions and just beg to be filled.
I’d like to touch these things on someone else some day. It’s been said before, but I want these all to meet like at a faulty mirror, different but the same.
I’ve had a lot of dreams about women since that article-induced first time in my confining juvenile bed. Usually they are the ones touching me. They are the ones sucking on my nipples, inserting fingers and objects into my cunt. It never really seems to be about orgasms. Though I cum easily just to think of it. Sometimes I touch the women too, make them feel good too, have them suck on my fingers and then place them at their clit. In only one dream, and I remember it very vividly, a woman, older than me, licked my pussy to orgasm. And then she positioned herself backwards above my mouth, placed her pussy right above my face. I saw it very clearly, every detail of her cunt, the lips, the smell, a trace of hair, her clit throbbing. It was the only time I ever remember seeing that in a dream. I must have sucked on her till she came too because I woke up with her taste strange in my mouth.
I’m not sure what I would do if I were faced with such a cunt hovering above me in real life.
A woman talks to me in real life and I’m not thinking of sex. I want her to make it, because I want to make it too, and I see herself in me. We talk and I am there to support and laugh and understand.
I’m not comfortable mock-humping a girl friend while dancing at a club like I’ve seen so many straight girls do. I know it’s just for fun, but I don’t feel settled enough in my sexuality to do it. I become conscious of my secret desire, I don’t want to exhibit it just to tantalize others. I feel too serious about wanting to be with a woman still. I am a little too serious like that about everything. I don’t rub up against men I don’t want either, why would I do it with a woman I’m not thinking of that way? And if I really and truly am thinking of her that way, doesn’t she have the right to know?
Then again, I’ve never really had a crush on a close female friend. I may have indulged in a fantasy or two, but it’s never been so strong as to affect me the next time I encounter her. Mostly I’ve wanted archetypes, celebrities, strangers off the street.
I don’t think I’d want a solid relationship with a woman either, although frustrating times when I felt like I was senselessly knocking my head against X’s have sometimes made me wish I did.
My want, my curiosity isn’t quite burning, not yet.
But my god there’s something magnetically gorgeous in every woman that I cannot ignore. It would be so exciting to experience that in another firsthand some day.
What does that make me?
The truth is too I want to fuck in every way possible.
I want to be the sharp heel in your back. I want to be tied and left to your whim. I want to play with pain and pleasure.
Let me dress up pretty in lace and stockings. Strip me stark, down to my bones. Bring in the world. Let there be only you. Let’s do it earthy and dirty, let’s do it classy and sleek. Let’s be real, let’s pretend. Let’s just fuck.
These will come, these will all come. I will do nothing in the mean time. But if I wait, it will come, everyone cums, it is just a matter of right time, right place.
What does that make me?
I want to know everything. See the world, try it all. I want to be a resounding success at something. I don’t want to hurt anything, but other than that, I want to be able to stop at nothing.
What does that make me?
I want to get married and have a boy and a girl, work my ass off for them, retire, die and go to heaven. Or hell. Or become earth under stomping feet. Or return as a tropical bird. Or as a sentence coming out of someone else’s mouth. Return in that thought of someone else who was just like who I used to be, who’s done something from the everything I used to.
Dear Abby, I want to do all this. I can feel this all, and I will do this all. What does that make me? Do I even care?
I’m lying in bed and I’m thinking of all these things, and then I’m back to thinking of me and T and the girl in the picture.
How would T feel about a threesome? I know he’s said he’s not crazy about bisexual women, not in the way that it’s become trite to depict all men to be.
But maybe he would do it. Maybe he’d be interested. Maybe I’d suggest it. Maybe he’d suggest it to me.
I’m touching my clit.
I’m thinking of the girl, how I would meet her. Would it be better to meet her clothed somewhere else beforehand? Or should the first encounter just be us naked in T’s bedroom?
Maybe down to her underwear in T’s bedroom. Us both down to our bra and panties in his bedroom. Have T bring me in like that, introduce me to her like that.
How would it start? Oh god, my fingers, how would it start?
The start, the beginning, it always ruins me, I can never go much further than that. There is still enough only in that thought to take me there.
How would it start? Could we start with a kiss? Could I lean over and place my lips on another girl’s lips like I did in my first fantasy? Could I place my arms shyly around her and kiss like that? How would she feel, how would she taste? How would she touch? Would T watch at first? Could I lie side by side with the girl, have T fuck me from behind as I played with the girl, pleasured her, placed my finger on her clit, slipped another one inside, as she stroked at my breasts, T’s cock in and out of me still?
It is just a couple of minutes, just a quick blurred series of possibilities, but it is too late, I shudder and I cum.
I won’t immediately recall this moment later on. But this torrent of thoughts leading to a sleepy nighttime cum would foreshadow a conversation I would later have with T, the possibility of a change for him and me.
Friday, September 02, 2005
exes, girls and sincerity
I’m posting this part of my weekend encounter with X, because it is relevant to something that’s happening in my life with T right now. This blog is after all ultimately about T and me, not my past with X. Still, I’ll probably post the rest of this long, long story some other time.
The guy sitting next to me, I’ve met him only once before but he is a complete flirt. He asks me why I’m so quiet. I’ve had a drink or two. I whisper that the guy sitting behind him is my ex, and that this is the first time seeing each other since we broke up. He looks amused.
‘Which one?’
I point him out discreetly.
‘And the girl with him?’
I laugh.
‘That’s a good question’
‘Oh I see’
‘Do you now?’
‘I didn’t think he’d be your type. You can do better than that’
I just shake my head at him. I cannot escape how cliché this all is.
‘Let’s talk numbers.. how many months?’
‘Together or apart?’
‘Apart’
‘2 months’
‘That’s fairly recent… and together?’
‘Two years’
‘Pretty long… How’re you feeling now?’
‘I’ve been better’
‘I understand’
‘Well he was my first relationship’
‘First and so far, last.. interesting…’
‘Think of your first relationship.. how did you feel?’
‘Actually hmm…it was with a Romanian girl in Denmark. I think it lasted a week’
‘Never mind’
We hush up as X and girl approach us, asking if we want to go play pool with them. I tell them we’ll join them after Flirt here finishes his dinner. I don’t actually call him that, of course… You know what I mean.
We resume talk. Flirt takes his time with his food, he is asking a lot of questions and I don’t seem to mind. I want to be asked, it is better than this sitting around and not talking about it.
We start to talk about relationships. We turn to religion for a bit and the veer back on to relationships again. We discuss why it ended. It is good to be reminded why we broke up. He suggests that it is all for the best. I’m finding this whole conversation too funny.
‘See you had your good times together.. You’re what? 22? You’ve got like 3-4 years.. Go out, experiment, have some fun….. You gotta jump right back into it too, you can’t sit around and wait’
He’s hilarious.
‘I think I’ve got it covered already, thanks…’
He’s got a grin on his face.
‘Something you might want to consider too, if you’re going to experiment: girls’
It’s funny that he should say that after the 'kinda' moment I had in my conversation with T the day before. I roll my eyes though because he says it in your typical macho ‘I get off on this’ kind of way.
‘Well, you can ask my ex about that, I’ve never had any problems with girls’
I regret saying it. I don’t want my honest desire turned into some tool to impress his imagination, especially when I barely know him and he is so… common about it too. I move on quickly to another question before he can ask more:
‘What happens after 26 by the way?’
‘Well, you can’t be sexually promiscuous after 26.. it’s just too hard… look at me, I’m hitting 26, and I’m definitely starting to slow down ’
‘Oh come on, I can’t even compare to you, I know about you…’
Yes I’ve heard of him. He is a bit of a man-whore. The understanding, delicate, soothing type. Almost effeminate but strangely confident. He is not attractive but he is commanding. He loves women dearly, feels a universal affection for all of them. He treats them well. He pretends to care when he listens. He reaches over and holds your wrist for a second as he talks to demonstrate a point. He tries girl after girl, sometimes at the same time, and then classifies them into groups. He is around for as long as you can stand him. Or until he grows tired of you. Whichever comes first.
I cannot help but think of T, and realize what a difference his sincerity makes.
The guy sitting next to me, I’ve met him only once before but he is a complete flirt. He asks me why I’m so quiet. I’ve had a drink or two. I whisper that the guy sitting behind him is my ex, and that this is the first time seeing each other since we broke up. He looks amused.
‘Which one?’
I point him out discreetly.
‘And the girl with him?’
I laugh.
‘That’s a good question’
‘Oh I see’
‘Do you now?’
‘I didn’t think he’d be your type. You can do better than that’
I just shake my head at him. I cannot escape how cliché this all is.
‘Let’s talk numbers.. how many months?’
‘Together or apart?’
‘Apart’
‘2 months’
‘That’s fairly recent… and together?’
‘Two years’
‘Pretty long… How’re you feeling now?’
‘I’ve been better’
‘I understand’
‘Well he was my first relationship’
‘First and so far, last.. interesting…’
‘Think of your first relationship.. how did you feel?’
‘Actually hmm…it was with a Romanian girl in Denmark. I think it lasted a week’
‘Never mind’
We hush up as X and girl approach us, asking if we want to go play pool with them. I tell them we’ll join them after Flirt here finishes his dinner. I don’t actually call him that, of course… You know what I mean.
We resume talk. Flirt takes his time with his food, he is asking a lot of questions and I don’t seem to mind. I want to be asked, it is better than this sitting around and not talking about it.
We start to talk about relationships. We turn to religion for a bit and the veer back on to relationships again. We discuss why it ended. It is good to be reminded why we broke up. He suggests that it is all for the best. I’m finding this whole conversation too funny.
‘See you had your good times together.. You’re what? 22? You’ve got like 3-4 years.. Go out, experiment, have some fun….. You gotta jump right back into it too, you can’t sit around and wait’
He’s hilarious.
‘I think I’ve got it covered already, thanks…’
He’s got a grin on his face.
‘Something you might want to consider too, if you’re going to experiment: girls’
It’s funny that he should say that after the 'kinda' moment I had in my conversation with T the day before. I roll my eyes though because he says it in your typical macho ‘I get off on this’ kind of way.
‘Well, you can ask my ex about that, I’ve never had any problems with girls’
I regret saying it. I don’t want my honest desire turned into some tool to impress his imagination, especially when I barely know him and he is so… common about it too. I move on quickly to another question before he can ask more:
‘What happens after 26 by the way?’
‘Well, you can’t be sexually promiscuous after 26.. it’s just too hard… look at me, I’m hitting 26, and I’m definitely starting to slow down ’
‘Oh come on, I can’t even compare to you, I know about you…’
Yes I’ve heard of him. He is a bit of a man-whore. The understanding, delicate, soothing type. Almost effeminate but strangely confident. He is not attractive but he is commanding. He loves women dearly, feels a universal affection for all of them. He treats them well. He pretends to care when he listens. He reaches over and holds your wrist for a second as he talks to demonstrate a point. He tries girl after girl, sometimes at the same time, and then classifies them into groups. He is around for as long as you can stand him. Or until he grows tired of you. Whichever comes first.
I cannot help but think of T, and realize what a difference his sincerity makes.
he did WHAT?
Later on I bring it up to my best friend, how T showed me the picture of a girl he was thinking of meeting. She thinks that I am crazy. She’s thought I’m crazy from the start for doing this with T, though she’s tried to support my need to try. She wants to know how I can stand to discuss other girls with him. Especially after we’ve just had sex. She says it would drive her nuts. She says she doesn’t care what I say: it’s just not normal. She makes maybe a valid point.
But I don’t know if she can understand that yes, it’s weird but also not as weird as it could be. That I walked in knowing all of this, and that within that context, nothing is wrong. That I in fact prefer for him to be that way, rather than hide. That I feel open enough to do this. That that one flicker of jealousy is currently the extent of my struggle to deal with this novelty. That it’s normal to feel like that, but also how it doesn’t bother me deep down, I don’t really feel the need to compare, not with him.
I’ve seen my friend get hurt by men. I’ve seen them lure her in with false pretences, acting like they wanted one thing, when they really wanted another. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I want to try things this way instead. I hope in the very least that it will save me that kind of pain. And sure, a part of me will always want it, but I don’t feel like I need to ask for everything from one person right now.
It makes me realize though that this is really the first time that I’m actually doing something that most would deem unconventional. And it is not something easily discussed with even your closest. She says that as long as I am happy it’s fine. She cannot understand for herself but she can only accept for me. I sense this with her when we hit certain issues, especially when it comes to sexuality. It makes me feel nervous, it makes it clear that I am getting ready to embark down paths only I can navigate myself through.
I haven’t even brought up the ‘you’re into girls right?’ part of the conversation to her yet at all.
But I don’t know if she can understand that yes, it’s weird but also not as weird as it could be. That I walked in knowing all of this, and that within that context, nothing is wrong. That I in fact prefer for him to be that way, rather than hide. That I feel open enough to do this. That that one flicker of jealousy is currently the extent of my struggle to deal with this novelty. That it’s normal to feel like that, but also how it doesn’t bother me deep down, I don’t really feel the need to compare, not with him.
I’ve seen my friend get hurt by men. I’ve seen them lure her in with false pretences, acting like they wanted one thing, when they really wanted another. I don’t know if it’ll work, but I want to try things this way instead. I hope in the very least that it will save me that kind of pain. And sure, a part of me will always want it, but I don’t feel like I need to ask for everything from one person right now.
It makes me realize though that this is really the first time that I’m actually doing something that most would deem unconventional. And it is not something easily discussed with even your closest. She says that as long as I am happy it’s fine. She cannot understand for herself but she can only accept for me. I sense this with her when we hit certain issues, especially when it comes to sexuality. It makes me feel nervous, it makes it clear that I am getting ready to embark down paths only I can navigate myself through.
I haven’t even brought up the ‘you’re into girls right?’ part of the conversation to her yet at all.
10 minute bonus
(..continued from 45 minutes)
Afterwards, T makes a call and manages to arrange an extra 10 minutes or so for us. Which means we have 15 minutes before I must leave.
I take a quick shower and then he goes in to take one too. When he is done, he calls me from the bathroom, asking if I want to come inside. We don’t have much time to chat so this seems like a good way to grab a little extra.
He is naked, drying himself off in the bathtub with a towel. I’m probably licking my lips. I feel regret. Some other time.
I am hyper and giggly the way I always am after sex. Relaxed and reenergized, but still a bit dazed and blank.
He does look very appealing. I am insatiable. It distracts from conversation. He has this after shower hulky freshness I want to fuck. We talk about his tan from camping and he shows me the back of his neck to show the darkest part of it. I take the opportunity to look down at the rest of his body, broad back, curve of ass perfect for my palm. I reach out to touch his fluffy hair, it is always softer than I expect it to be. It’s all wet and spiked up away from his face like I haven’t seen it before. I joke that I like this style on him. I do though. I can’t help it, I’m watching him, appraising him. His blue eyes flash at the end of his smile, and I always forget that too, that you cannot miss all that live blue when he opens it wide like that. Yes I definitely want to fuck him again.
He talks about this girl he’s met on the Internet who wants to travel quite a ways to meet him. I just listen and nod. It’s not that I mind, I’m kind of interested to know. But it is difficult to know what to say to that, difficult to even know how to look. It is new and I wonder in fact how my face looks.
He tells me she is quite hot. There is surprise, mixed with pride and excitement, maybe a little bit of reluctance to accept the responsibility, that she should want to invest so much time and money to see him, to have sex with him. I just paid a mini-fortune in cab money so I could get to him in time, so I can sort of see why she would want to do it. I don’t say that.
I go into his kitchen for a glass of water while he gets dressed. He calls to me from the other room:
‘You’re kinda into girls right? Well I mean not into- maybe but-’
‘Yes kinda’
Kinda. There’s a lot in that kinda to explore.
‘I should show you this picture I got, you might enjoy it…probably more than me in fact’
He comes in with a photo. I see a flash of a sexy girl. Again, what to say? I possibly look a bit bemused. I ask only:
‘Story?’
He laughs.
‘Nothing… just a girl I might meet’
I look closer. She is sexy. Gorgeous in fact. Asian eyes, shiny hair, lovely skin, nice body.
We discuss how hot she is. I agree with him, even show some enthusiasm, but a little part of me holds back. I feel the strangeness of the situation. I feel a flash of ugly competitive jealousy. I want to know all of a sudden, I want to be as hot as she is to him in his eyes. I notice myself feeling it, I let myself think it, and then it passes.
On my way out. he says he’s used to my quiet routine by now, but he reminds me that if I’m not going to talk about it, he better get to read some writing about it later. I laugh, he doesn’t have to ask me twice to write, I do it because I have to.
morbid morning...III.
Wish I had started these some other time, there are much, much more pressing things to talk about. Anyways, I'll just finish it up and stick it in the archives.
You stir a little, sensing maybe this growingly alert presence next to you. Her lazy, rolling agitation has been swelling per second. She hasn’t tried too hard to stomp it down, for fear that it will backfire and burst, that she will find herself just climbing on top of you and laying herself hard and close, demanding.
You turn towards her, your eyelids still in full view, and you stretch your arm out. Your hand brushes on to her hand, and you leave it there. Nonchalant and friendly. Your feel quenches her, calms her briefly. But then she hates it because she likes it too much, covets this too, this simple touch of fingers. And then it makes her want more.
She cannot help herself; she begins to stroke hesitatingly with the skin right under her nails, right at the center of your palm, maybe almost imperceptible to you. But then you turn your back again, and your hand deprived from her too with it. She watches your back for a second or two, as you drift back into your realm.
She looks to her left at the night-table, just as the neon-red crystal strokes of your alarm clock spell out another minute past. Another minute ruined by her anticipating its end.
When you finally do open your eyes, you’ll find her lying like that, staring at the ceiling, and she won’t be aware, but she’ll look so morose and lost in thought, you’ll have to ask her what’s wrong.
And she’ll say ‘nothing’, and maybe it will tell you nothing, but it is true, nothing will actually be wrong at all.
She should tell you the simplest version of her thoughts perhaps, that she’s been lying here next to you, wishing you awake. But she will feel that it sounds like a petty complaint, and that you deserve more, you were so generous the night before.
And she will see your eyes, and she will reason that you do seem quite tired anyhow.
And besides, there is more than that, more than she can pin down, more than she could ever say.
That there is this greediness to her, that she cannot be sated, that she feels inhuman, or that she wants to be, that she woke up this morning, and her day seemed already over.
You stir a little, sensing maybe this growingly alert presence next to you. Her lazy, rolling agitation has been swelling per second. She hasn’t tried too hard to stomp it down, for fear that it will backfire and burst, that she will find herself just climbing on top of you and laying herself hard and close, demanding.
You turn towards her, your eyelids still in full view, and you stretch your arm out. Your hand brushes on to her hand, and you leave it there. Nonchalant and friendly. Your feel quenches her, calms her briefly. But then she hates it because she likes it too much, covets this too, this simple touch of fingers. And then it makes her want more.
She cannot help herself; she begins to stroke hesitatingly with the skin right under her nails, right at the center of your palm, maybe almost imperceptible to you. But then you turn your back again, and your hand deprived from her too with it. She watches your back for a second or two, as you drift back into your realm.
She looks to her left at the night-table, just as the neon-red crystal strokes of your alarm clock spell out another minute past. Another minute ruined by her anticipating its end.
When you finally do open your eyes, you’ll find her lying like that, staring at the ceiling, and she won’t be aware, but she’ll look so morose and lost in thought, you’ll have to ask her what’s wrong.
And she’ll say ‘nothing’, and maybe it will tell you nothing, but it is true, nothing will actually be wrong at all.
She should tell you the simplest version of her thoughts perhaps, that she’s been lying here next to you, wishing you awake. But she will feel that it sounds like a petty complaint, and that you deserve more, you were so generous the night before.
And she will see your eyes, and she will reason that you do seem quite tired anyhow.
And besides, there is more than that, more than she can pin down, more than she could ever say.
That there is this greediness to her, that she cannot be sated, that she feels inhuman, or that she wants to be, that she woke up this morning, and her day seemed already over.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
wow
Holy crap.
I was trying to finish up on some writing 5 minutes ago when the phone rang.
It was T.
I have something for you to hear. Do you want to listen?
Yes.
I did not even think what it was I was saying Yes to. I just knew, yes.
He started to breathe into the phone and I knew instantly. He was hard and getting ready to cum.
I realized this and I moaned.
He continued his breathing. God I love the sound of this boy when he’s about to cum, so incredible, fighting it, wanting it, taking it, expressing it in his throat.
My hands could not move to my clit fast enough. I answered his every sound with my own as I touched myself. His voice frantic, trying to talk in between:
..five more minutes before I have to go..
…this is such a turn on… so hot..
We became louder together, he was just this panting groaning wave, I didn’t fight him one bit, I was immersed in it and I began to cum as I listened to him let loose and cum too.
I was laughing as we both tried to recover our normal breathing.
He said he just thought he would call. He thanked me for listening, I thanked him for letting me. Then we said our goodbyes and shut the phone.
I’m still shaking.
I was trying to finish up on some writing 5 minutes ago when the phone rang.
It was T.
I have something for you to hear. Do you want to listen?
Yes.
I did not even think what it was I was saying Yes to. I just knew, yes.
He started to breathe into the phone and I knew instantly. He was hard and getting ready to cum.
I realized this and I moaned.
He continued his breathing. God I love the sound of this boy when he’s about to cum, so incredible, fighting it, wanting it, taking it, expressing it in his throat.
My hands could not move to my clit fast enough. I answered his every sound with my own as I touched myself. His voice frantic, trying to talk in between:
..five more minutes before I have to go..
…this is such a turn on… so hot..
We became louder together, he was just this panting groaning wave, I didn’t fight him one bit, I was immersed in it and I began to cum as I listened to him let loose and cum too.
I was laughing as we both tried to recover our normal breathing.
He said he just thought he would call. He thanked me for listening, I thanked him for letting me. Then we said our goodbyes and shut the phone.
I’m still shaking.
45 minutes
I'm at T's door and I'm late and now we have only 45 minutes.
When he opens the door, he waits behind it, because he is already down to his briefs and shirt to save time. I smile and then we laugh.
We hug hello and I hug him a little longer then I would, push my body against his a little harder than I would. I think I feel his cock.
Butterflies have already organized frantic river dances in my stomach at this point.
'Are you good? Are you relaxed?'
I laugh, sigh and say yes all at once.
'Look I’ll show you, I’ve even got the bedroom all ready for you'
Down his already familiar corridor to his bedroom. His bed awaits dimly, towel in the center, sheets ready.
I see it all and I laugh. I seem to be doing that a lot.
He holds me again and asks me if I'm nervous.
'A little'
He twists into a smile.
'A little?'
He suggests that he leaves the room, that I take off all my clothes, and lie down in bed, and then he can come when I'm ready.
Alone in his room, I have to keep nudging myself to be reminded that this is happening, that I am here, and I am doing this.
I did not expect it but I feel like I'm drifting away. I'm wanting but I feel strange. Fluid is draining from my mouth, my heart keeps rising suddenly.
I peel off all my clothes in a rush. I slide naked under his sheets.
I think of the difference between fantasy and reality. How I can call him naked to bed with legs spread. Or how I can wait trembling under sheets.
But I need this cover again today, it is not shame or fear, but I still need some game, some uncovering by him.
I wait. The only other context I've waited like this is in a doctor's office but I shake the thought off.
Just when I remember that I was supposed to call him, he asks if I am ready. I clear my throat and give a yes that is fainter than I'd like.
He comes in. Oh god. He comes in and I can't look at him.
He approaches. He comes closer and I avoid his eyes. I laugh a shadow of a laugh. I wish I could breathe.
He climbs on top of me, straddling my legs through the sheets. He climbs on top of me, and I moan a moan that does not match his simple action. He climbs on top of me and my mind feels like an orgasm and I know that for the rest of the time, my body will just be struggling to catch up.
'So, what would you like to do with our time?'
His hand rests right below my stomach. I can only whisper.
'I don't know'
He looks amused. I laugh again.
'You don't know?' He begins to move his hand lightly. Only the sheet between us. I swallow and close my eyes. 'We can not do this, can do something else altogether if you like'
I smile shyly and answer only by reaching over to unbutton his shirt. Men's shirt, buttons on the other side. Every button gets me closer. More than anything I crave skin, his skin, our skin touching.
He pulls back when I get to the third button. He is above me now and I could cry with relief because he is touching me. I watch his palms at the swell under the sheet where my breasts are. They squeeze lightly and push my breasts together. I sigh and sigh though it is too soon to cum.
He pulls the sheet down gingerly and exposes my breasts, brown nipples turned hard, tinges of pink at the tips. He takes in his breath the same way I do mine. I gasp when he finally places his hands on me, on my breasts. When we finally touch, I do not even try to be quiet. I really do feel like I could cum.
He is kneading the flesh of my breasts in his hands. I try to maintain control but it’s been so long.
His hands move down in between my legs. He massages the covered spot as I groan.
He pulls off the sheet all at once with much flair. I gasp a little. I laugh too because suddenly, strangely, in that moment, it feels like I’ve been exposed all along.
My body is naked before him. A slow hiss, his face almost cruel. His hand slaps down on my stomach, traps the skin there and pushes it down to my hipbone.
He takes the sheet again and bundles it lightly in between my legs. Oh.
He moves the cloth casually, it doesn’t even touch me. Maybe the folded edge of one corner does, I think it’s right below my clit, I think it’s grazed my lips. I want to feel it more. I want everything right now. I want this torture.
I try to move my body to get something to touch.
Then he places his hand finally and pushes on to me and oh. Oh my cry is almost a complaint. Oh it should not feel this good. Oh god finally.
He gives me only a little taste before he takes my hand and places it there. He tells me:
I want to watch
I don’t want him to stop. But I want him to watch too.
I slide my hand down and find my clit. It balloons into my hand at my first touch, wet, expanding faster than I can ever remember.
After even the first few circles, it is difficult to keep touching. I am moving my fingers so lightly, but I still shake with each tiny motion.
He watches. He listens. He touches. God.
His mouth is at my collarbone. His hands are on my body. I can’t go on.
He’s murmuring:
Keep going, don’t stop… keep going.
I can’t go on. I won’t stop. My fingers are barely grazing me. I can’t go on.
His face is at my stomach. His tongue, his teeth are at my stomach.
He moves down to my legs, takes an ankle and places his mouth on it, the way I’ve imagined. Kisses a little further up too.
He waits with his fingers at my cunt.
His phrases waft up to me:
……keep going…. make your opening hot and inviting for me…
He starts to explore, pushing inside.
…when you touch yourself like that… so warm and wet…
I’m writhing, I really am. I can’t touch anymore. I can’t.
He’s fingering slowly. I’m dying. I may be dead already.
…. that’s it….. so good to feel an orgasm just from you stimulating your clit….right on my fingers
My smell is sharp and heady in the air. I feel myself start to tighten around him.
…pussy clenching …
My clit feels like an explosive. I can’t touch. I want to touch. I shudder and shake and shudder.
I’ve swollen so large. I am almost numb. I have to stop. My arms flop down finally to my sides with a sigh.
He places his hard cock at my entrance. He dips in a little. I whimper.
I am overwhelmed. There is so much more to experience. I can hardly keep track.
He enters me all at once and a grunt erupts from me. My insides have been trying to slough off old blood and there is this rawness to me. His every move has sharper twisting edges, pain taunting pleasure, alive, real, I feel it all more, I grab his back and goad him on, I feel perverse, I ask for this too yes, I dance free with these animal grunts, I feel like I am disappearing.
The pain recedes as fast as it appears; I quickly turn smooth again, just rolling pleasure again. He continues to move so my grunts turn to cries, getting more and more frenzied.
We have to take a break, my stickiness stings him, there is not much time, but we have to anyways.
I wait for him as he goes to the washroom. I try to catch my breath. Try to stay in the moment.
A little bit of chit-chat when he gets back but we don’t have time to waste.
He pulls my legs towards his cock again. Some of my intensity has worn off. It is almost a relief, it was so difficult to maintain, so fragile and ready to be shattered. I can lay back and enjoy more clearly now.
He enters me stiff and it is divine and spiky. He starts to fuck me slowly.
I wriggle my hand down between us so I can touch the base of his cock. I want my hand there touching him, feeling him in the moment before he goes inside.
I don’t realize that I am staring at him, searching his face for his want, until he flashes his blue eyes comically at me and I laugh.
His body is suspended above me, this skin, this feast, I must be biting, I don’t know, I keep finding skin, his arm, when I can manage it his chest, his neck, I want my hands, teeth, tongue on whatever of him I can find.
I keep grabbing him, my legs are wrapped around his waist, and I keep pulling him in closer with my legs as my pleasure rises.
…there you go…
There I go, yes, my pelvis keeps getting pushed up, and he has to warn me to lay flat so he doesn’t slip out.
But today I need him close, closer, close as he can get.
And maybe he knows because he leans down onto me suddenly, his whole body on me. He grabs my head and pushes it to the side so my one ear is exposed again.
He doesn’t talk at first. Just hot humid gusts from his mouth in my ear. He has me by the hair, pulling it up, little needles tingling all over my scalp, feels so amazing.
He licks into my ear, wet and wonderful, starts to whisper…
…don’t you wish my tongue could be on your pussy right now?…
I nod helplessly, cursing my bleeding. He continues to talk and I try to follow except he is fucking me and it is so hard to think.
… yes feel it…. feel how it is to have a man stuffing you….
Yes, he is stuffing me, harder and harder, filling me over and over. I feel almost beyond a need to cum, want to be here forever just so I can feel this.
My hand is trapped there still between us. There is the very tip of my fingers grating against the base of his shaft, the part that has not made its way in yet, just a smidgen of touch, I hope I’m not hurting him, because I want to keep it there, I don’t have to move, he moves for me, rubbing my fingers with a hint of warm ripply skin every time he thrusts.
… feel the weight of a man on you…
Yes the weight of his body crushes me so I can barely make noise. But I do anyways, and it comes out like I feel, desperate, wanton, trapped, at the height of my desire. He’s pulling harder at the roots of my hair now. My stinging head, my body, his body, our skin, bite again, only his arm, nowhere to go, lick, his voice, his thoughts, pull him closer again, cop a feel of his hardness again, my pussy pulsing, oh very deep for a moment, his cock giving and taking, faster… so dizzy, too much, too much, what was that about not needing to cum?
I need to cum and I do, I don’t know how many times I do, but I do, tiny little bursts of orgasms in series as he goes on, I cry my cums, this time I feel like I could cum forever. And then he says:
And that’s all we have time for today
When he opens the door, he waits behind it, because he is already down to his briefs and shirt to save time. I smile and then we laugh.
We hug hello and I hug him a little longer then I would, push my body against his a little harder than I would. I think I feel his cock.
Butterflies have already organized frantic river dances in my stomach at this point.
'Are you good? Are you relaxed?'
I laugh, sigh and say yes all at once.
'Look I’ll show you, I’ve even got the bedroom all ready for you'
Down his already familiar corridor to his bedroom. His bed awaits dimly, towel in the center, sheets ready.
I see it all and I laugh. I seem to be doing that a lot.
He holds me again and asks me if I'm nervous.
'A little'
He twists into a smile.
'A little?'
He suggests that he leaves the room, that I take off all my clothes, and lie down in bed, and then he can come when I'm ready.
Alone in his room, I have to keep nudging myself to be reminded that this is happening, that I am here, and I am doing this.
I did not expect it but I feel like I'm drifting away. I'm wanting but I feel strange. Fluid is draining from my mouth, my heart keeps rising suddenly.
I peel off all my clothes in a rush. I slide naked under his sheets.
I think of the difference between fantasy and reality. How I can call him naked to bed with legs spread. Or how I can wait trembling under sheets.
But I need this cover again today, it is not shame or fear, but I still need some game, some uncovering by him.
I wait. The only other context I've waited like this is in a doctor's office but I shake the thought off.
Just when I remember that I was supposed to call him, he asks if I am ready. I clear my throat and give a yes that is fainter than I'd like.
He comes in. Oh god. He comes in and I can't look at him.
He approaches. He comes closer and I avoid his eyes. I laugh a shadow of a laugh. I wish I could breathe.
He climbs on top of me, straddling my legs through the sheets. He climbs on top of me, and I moan a moan that does not match his simple action. He climbs on top of me and my mind feels like an orgasm and I know that for the rest of the time, my body will just be struggling to catch up.
'So, what would you like to do with our time?'
His hand rests right below my stomach. I can only whisper.
'I don't know'
He looks amused. I laugh again.
'You don't know?' He begins to move his hand lightly. Only the sheet between us. I swallow and close my eyes. 'We can not do this, can do something else altogether if you like'
I smile shyly and answer only by reaching over to unbutton his shirt. Men's shirt, buttons on the other side. Every button gets me closer. More than anything I crave skin, his skin, our skin touching.
He pulls back when I get to the third button. He is above me now and I could cry with relief because he is touching me. I watch his palms at the swell under the sheet where my breasts are. They squeeze lightly and push my breasts together. I sigh and sigh though it is too soon to cum.
He pulls the sheet down gingerly and exposes my breasts, brown nipples turned hard, tinges of pink at the tips. He takes in his breath the same way I do mine. I gasp when he finally places his hands on me, on my breasts. When we finally touch, I do not even try to be quiet. I really do feel like I could cum.
He is kneading the flesh of my breasts in his hands. I try to maintain control but it’s been so long.
His hands move down in between my legs. He massages the covered spot as I groan.
He pulls off the sheet all at once with much flair. I gasp a little. I laugh too because suddenly, strangely, in that moment, it feels like I’ve been exposed all along.
My body is naked before him. A slow hiss, his face almost cruel. His hand slaps down on my stomach, traps the skin there and pushes it down to my hipbone.
He takes the sheet again and bundles it lightly in between my legs. Oh.
He moves the cloth casually, it doesn’t even touch me. Maybe the folded edge of one corner does, I think it’s right below my clit, I think it’s grazed my lips. I want to feel it more. I want everything right now. I want this torture.
I try to move my body to get something to touch.
Then he places his hand finally and pushes on to me and oh. Oh my cry is almost a complaint. Oh it should not feel this good. Oh god finally.
He gives me only a little taste before he takes my hand and places it there. He tells me:
I want to watch
I don’t want him to stop. But I want him to watch too.
I slide my hand down and find my clit. It balloons into my hand at my first touch, wet, expanding faster than I can ever remember.
After even the first few circles, it is difficult to keep touching. I am moving my fingers so lightly, but I still shake with each tiny motion.
He watches. He listens. He touches. God.
His mouth is at my collarbone. His hands are on my body. I can’t go on.
He’s murmuring:
Keep going, don’t stop… keep going.
I can’t go on. I won’t stop. My fingers are barely grazing me. I can’t go on.
His face is at my stomach. His tongue, his teeth are at my stomach.
He moves down to my legs, takes an ankle and places his mouth on it, the way I’ve imagined. Kisses a little further up too.
He waits with his fingers at my cunt.
His phrases waft up to me:
……keep going…. make your opening hot and inviting for me…
He starts to explore, pushing inside.
…when you touch yourself like that… so warm and wet…
I’m writhing, I really am. I can’t touch anymore. I can’t.
He’s fingering slowly. I’m dying. I may be dead already.
…. that’s it….. so good to feel an orgasm just from you stimulating your clit….right on my fingers
My smell is sharp and heady in the air. I feel myself start to tighten around him.
…pussy clenching …
My clit feels like an explosive. I can’t touch. I want to touch. I shudder and shake and shudder.
I’ve swollen so large. I am almost numb. I have to stop. My arms flop down finally to my sides with a sigh.
He places his hard cock at my entrance. He dips in a little. I whimper.
I am overwhelmed. There is so much more to experience. I can hardly keep track.
He enters me all at once and a grunt erupts from me. My insides have been trying to slough off old blood and there is this rawness to me. His every move has sharper twisting edges, pain taunting pleasure, alive, real, I feel it all more, I grab his back and goad him on, I feel perverse, I ask for this too yes, I dance free with these animal grunts, I feel like I am disappearing.
The pain recedes as fast as it appears; I quickly turn smooth again, just rolling pleasure again. He continues to move so my grunts turn to cries, getting more and more frenzied.
We have to take a break, my stickiness stings him, there is not much time, but we have to anyways.
I wait for him as he goes to the washroom. I try to catch my breath. Try to stay in the moment.
A little bit of chit-chat when he gets back but we don’t have time to waste.
He pulls my legs towards his cock again. Some of my intensity has worn off. It is almost a relief, it was so difficult to maintain, so fragile and ready to be shattered. I can lay back and enjoy more clearly now.
He enters me stiff and it is divine and spiky. He starts to fuck me slowly.
I wriggle my hand down between us so I can touch the base of his cock. I want my hand there touching him, feeling him in the moment before he goes inside.
I don’t realize that I am staring at him, searching his face for his want, until he flashes his blue eyes comically at me and I laugh.
His body is suspended above me, this skin, this feast, I must be biting, I don’t know, I keep finding skin, his arm, when I can manage it his chest, his neck, I want my hands, teeth, tongue on whatever of him I can find.
I keep grabbing him, my legs are wrapped around his waist, and I keep pulling him in closer with my legs as my pleasure rises.
…there you go…
There I go, yes, my pelvis keeps getting pushed up, and he has to warn me to lay flat so he doesn’t slip out.
But today I need him close, closer, close as he can get.
And maybe he knows because he leans down onto me suddenly, his whole body on me. He grabs my head and pushes it to the side so my one ear is exposed again.
He doesn’t talk at first. Just hot humid gusts from his mouth in my ear. He has me by the hair, pulling it up, little needles tingling all over my scalp, feels so amazing.
He licks into my ear, wet and wonderful, starts to whisper…
…don’t you wish my tongue could be on your pussy right now?…
I nod helplessly, cursing my bleeding. He continues to talk and I try to follow except he is fucking me and it is so hard to think.
… yes feel it…. feel how it is to have a man stuffing you….
Yes, he is stuffing me, harder and harder, filling me over and over. I feel almost beyond a need to cum, want to be here forever just so I can feel this.
My hand is trapped there still between us. There is the very tip of my fingers grating against the base of his shaft, the part that has not made its way in yet, just a smidgen of touch, I hope I’m not hurting him, because I want to keep it there, I don’t have to move, he moves for me, rubbing my fingers with a hint of warm ripply skin every time he thrusts.
… feel the weight of a man on you…
Yes the weight of his body crushes me so I can barely make noise. But I do anyways, and it comes out like I feel, desperate, wanton, trapped, at the height of my desire. He’s pulling harder at the roots of my hair now. My stinging head, my body, his body, our skin, bite again, only his arm, nowhere to go, lick, his voice, his thoughts, pull him closer again, cop a feel of his hardness again, my pussy pulsing, oh very deep for a moment, his cock giving and taking, faster… so dizzy, too much, too much, what was that about not needing to cum?
I need to cum and I do, I don’t know how many times I do, but I do, tiny little bursts of orgasms in series as he goes on, I cry my cums, this time I feel like I could cum forever. And then he says:
And that’s all we have time for today
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