Monday, November 28, 2005
asking
god i'm horny. i'm sitting in a computer lab, everyone around, and i'm positively squirming in my chair. squeezing my thighs together. so much work to do. maybe i'll go to the bathroom. same bathroom i called T from. giggling silently with my finger on my clit and another's girl's shoes in the stall next door. he's not online. wish he was though i'm not sure what i would tell him. i had a nice fantasy about him last night. not a dream a fantasy. simple common one. hot one. he denied me again. why do i like to be denied? he denied me in the best way possible. i was on my hands and knees again looking behind my shoulder. i was begging and begging with my face and he was laughing and asking what's wrong. asking me what i want. he was moving the vibrator all around my clit but never on. the dildo was being pushed in and i was sucking it in and i was stretched and wet. but not the same. and he even stopped and said it was my turn. so i had to take it and do the pushing myself as he watched. and it felt so good but not the same. and i kept stopping and he would ask what's wrong. asking me what i want. and i was cumming all over the dildo despite myself. asking me what i want. dildo gone and now his gentle searching fingers. slick with thin cum. smooth slender fingers all over inside me but not the same. cumming all the same. asking me what i want. asking me what i want. pushing pushing. asking me what i want. cumming. asking me what i want. just please. just please coming out. asking me what i want. flat on my stomach. please. his hardness on my back. please. stroking without hands soft gently hard on my back. please. thin skin on my back. thick trace on my back. please please please. asking me what i want. your cock.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
painted
We lost layers, you and I, first you then me, as I sat straddled on top of you. I forgot that we had been chatting casually. I forgot to reopen my eyes, until you asked me if I was getting wet in my panties, still teasing your bare cock upwards so it rubbed against me, me still pushing back onto you. And I managed to open my eyes a crack and say mmhmm.
Soon after the panties had to come off, damp, so that final layer was lost too, though my bright pink sweater remained. And I wouldn’t remember it until quite a while later, when it started to cling to me and trap the sweat and heat springing from my body that held your cock inside, and I had to throw it off.
You had placed your hands on to that sweater before our layers were lost, like I had placed my hands on your shirt and then under it, so I could feel the sexy down on your stomach. And I had wanted to feel further down, but I hadn’t, not just yet I had told myself. You had placed your hands on my sweater where my breasts were and you had tugged and grabbed, and jerked and controlled my bra, so my nipples were flicked up and down like switches. I must have looked almost in collapse from this exquisite torture, who can explain that kind of mmphh satisfaction from that kind of squeeze and touch, I had looked almost in pain, groaning, and you had asked me if I was ok and I had smiled and taken your hands in each one of my hands, and said lighter than I felt mm yes, very much so.
You had asked me if I was ok even before that, even before we had walked into your bedroom. Yes, I had said, I’m just tired. I was tired, tired from a week of incessant work with little sleep, tired and scooped out, feeling like I had come close to some edge again and pulled back, tired but trying to stay in the moment. Just happy to be there, still, not able to think about much more. Tiredness wouldn’t stop me, couldn’t, and I wouldn’t watch and let the gulf between me and my life needlessly widen again. So I didn’t lie by your side, like I asked to, for long. It wasn’t long before I climbed on top of you in bed.
But when my panties came off with your help, pushing myself up onto my arms, my legs a pyramid for you to slide them down, I paused like that. I delayed a little bit before I sunk back onto you. Though not much, because I can’t ever wait much for you, not when I am like that. But I stopped to remember how it would feel, for cock to meet cunt, yours and mine. And when I settled down finally we sighed, louder than the sigh when I had first sat on top of you, and it was in fact better than I remembered. My moist lips propped slightly open and on top of stiff you.
Of course I had to take your cock in slowly very soon after that. I took you in clumsily, haunching myself up on my ankles and then back down, dying at the feeling of that first stretch. You asked me if I had missed this and I said yes, and how could I not, sitting on your cock, filled up, and after such a long time too.
After that I started to ride you, first working forwards, then leaning backwards on to your legs so my head could loll back, my hair falling away from my face. You told me I was getting good at this I remember and I laughed because I was tired and wanted to do better. And I went on and forgot myself and grasped onto your legs so hard it hurt you, and then I righted myself back up and you guided me straight up and down your cock. Your cock just kept growing, I could feel it, and your face began to wash with lust. I was trying to move up as close to the very tip of your cock as I could before pushing back down, but I was impatient, and then you guided my hand down to my cunt, and pushed it inside to join where your cock was, and I remember you were telling me the whole time that this is what I would do, like this, this is how I would ride, if I wanted to take and use you for my pleasure. Which I did.
You slid my fingers in and all there was was my cunt and your cock, and what I wonder at always is how you render my cunt the way you do, because I have not learned yet how to leave myself like that. When I push my fingers in myself at home in my bed, I am never like that, I am wet, but never like that. With you right then, my fingers slid in, and I was open and gliding and soaked, and your cock was this slippery ridged skin on one side, coated from being inside me, and the source of the wetness, my cunt’s folds, were melting onto the other side.
Later there would be time for us to flip so you stayed inside me, and I would lie where you had lain, and we would be washed in each other’s sweat. And there would be time for a wet deep orgasm on hands and knees, time for a hard straight fuck like you already knew I wanted, time to see ourselves in mirrors, time to look away and just take, time to manoeuvre my slow mind and body so you remained squeezed between my legs, and I would just lie there and think of how lazy I could be because this seemed in that moment like the best kind of fuck of all, to lie still and flat on my stomach and just cum from your motion. And when you came later like that inside me, there would be time to feel you dripping out, to feel you kiss soft at my shaking back all over in the immediate wake of your release. And my hand would be shimmied backwards touching at your cock again the whole time as it moved in and out of me, you would put my hand there too, and even after you stopped moving, I would stroke slowly at your cum-covered base and I would feel like I wanted to purr, dazed and pleased.
But in that moment, before all that, it was just my fingers between your cock and my cunt, it dizzied me, till I couldn’t tell what was what, just these differing grains of skin, soaking up my liquid at different rates, the pleasure from the touch of my finger and your cock merging. And when I thought of it later, when I think of it now, I feel like I want to paint it, paint those different textures in dripping red and pink on a white canvas, paint a picture that could describe how this tiny moment felt, though I never could, just like I can’t describe it in words now. In that moment, all I could mumble with my head tilted back from you was that feels so good and you said only yes..I know, I know it does…
Soon after the panties had to come off, damp, so that final layer was lost too, though my bright pink sweater remained. And I wouldn’t remember it until quite a while later, when it started to cling to me and trap the sweat and heat springing from my body that held your cock inside, and I had to throw it off.
You had placed your hands on to that sweater before our layers were lost, like I had placed my hands on your shirt and then under it, so I could feel the sexy down on your stomach. And I had wanted to feel further down, but I hadn’t, not just yet I had told myself. You had placed your hands on my sweater where my breasts were and you had tugged and grabbed, and jerked and controlled my bra, so my nipples were flicked up and down like switches. I must have looked almost in collapse from this exquisite torture, who can explain that kind of mmphh satisfaction from that kind of squeeze and touch, I had looked almost in pain, groaning, and you had asked me if I was ok and I had smiled and taken your hands in each one of my hands, and said lighter than I felt mm yes, very much so.
You had asked me if I was ok even before that, even before we had walked into your bedroom. Yes, I had said, I’m just tired. I was tired, tired from a week of incessant work with little sleep, tired and scooped out, feeling like I had come close to some edge again and pulled back, tired but trying to stay in the moment. Just happy to be there, still, not able to think about much more. Tiredness wouldn’t stop me, couldn’t, and I wouldn’t watch and let the gulf between me and my life needlessly widen again. So I didn’t lie by your side, like I asked to, for long. It wasn’t long before I climbed on top of you in bed.
But when my panties came off with your help, pushing myself up onto my arms, my legs a pyramid for you to slide them down, I paused like that. I delayed a little bit before I sunk back onto you. Though not much, because I can’t ever wait much for you, not when I am like that. But I stopped to remember how it would feel, for cock to meet cunt, yours and mine. And when I settled down finally we sighed, louder than the sigh when I had first sat on top of you, and it was in fact better than I remembered. My moist lips propped slightly open and on top of stiff you.
Of course I had to take your cock in slowly very soon after that. I took you in clumsily, haunching myself up on my ankles and then back down, dying at the feeling of that first stretch. You asked me if I had missed this and I said yes, and how could I not, sitting on your cock, filled up, and after such a long time too.
After that I started to ride you, first working forwards, then leaning backwards on to your legs so my head could loll back, my hair falling away from my face. You told me I was getting good at this I remember and I laughed because I was tired and wanted to do better. And I went on and forgot myself and grasped onto your legs so hard it hurt you, and then I righted myself back up and you guided me straight up and down your cock. Your cock just kept growing, I could feel it, and your face began to wash with lust. I was trying to move up as close to the very tip of your cock as I could before pushing back down, but I was impatient, and then you guided my hand down to my cunt, and pushed it inside to join where your cock was, and I remember you were telling me the whole time that this is what I would do, like this, this is how I would ride, if I wanted to take and use you for my pleasure. Which I did.
You slid my fingers in and all there was was my cunt and your cock, and what I wonder at always is how you render my cunt the way you do, because I have not learned yet how to leave myself like that. When I push my fingers in myself at home in my bed, I am never like that, I am wet, but never like that. With you right then, my fingers slid in, and I was open and gliding and soaked, and your cock was this slippery ridged skin on one side, coated from being inside me, and the source of the wetness, my cunt’s folds, were melting onto the other side.
Later there would be time for us to flip so you stayed inside me, and I would lie where you had lain, and we would be washed in each other’s sweat. And there would be time for a wet deep orgasm on hands and knees, time for a hard straight fuck like you already knew I wanted, time to see ourselves in mirrors, time to look away and just take, time to manoeuvre my slow mind and body so you remained squeezed between my legs, and I would just lie there and think of how lazy I could be because this seemed in that moment like the best kind of fuck of all, to lie still and flat on my stomach and just cum from your motion. And when you came later like that inside me, there would be time to feel you dripping out, to feel you kiss soft at my shaking back all over in the immediate wake of your release. And my hand would be shimmied backwards touching at your cock again the whole time as it moved in and out of me, you would put my hand there too, and even after you stopped moving, I would stroke slowly at your cum-covered base and I would feel like I wanted to purr, dazed and pleased.
But in that moment, before all that, it was just my fingers between your cock and my cunt, it dizzied me, till I couldn’t tell what was what, just these differing grains of skin, soaking up my liquid at different rates, the pleasure from the touch of my finger and your cock merging. And when I thought of it later, when I think of it now, I feel like I want to paint it, paint those different textures in dripping red and pink on a white canvas, paint a picture that could describe how this tiny moment felt, though I never could, just like I can’t describe it in words now. In that moment, all I could mumble with my head tilted back from you was that feels so good and you said only yes..I know, I know it does…
Friday, November 18, 2005
watching
Now get on your hands and knees, he says.
I look at his face, smiling, and then I turn and comply without a word, sinking my palms into his bed as he positions himself behind me.
He pulls me up from the waist and pushes down on my back suddenly. My naked ass gets thrust up and my head bows down like a human seesaw. Moaning, I stay as I am.
He disappears behind me, and I don’t look to see where he’s gone. I just wait, head still down, ass in air, breath shortening in anticipation, feeling deliciously exposed.
Do you see? he says when he returns. I lift my head up and look to where he’s looking.
We are in the mirror on his side wall.
Can you see? he says.
Yes.
All I can really see is my ass, an unfamiliar pear of an ass, gripped by his hands on either side. All I can see is him, straight and tall over me, the muscles of his body a wall to fall backwards into. And I watch him begin to fall over and over into me instead, anchored by his arms and knees, the beginnings of my back tensing with pleasure at one edge of the mirror.
All I can see is this pushing and pushing again, this taking and taking again. This is all I can see, and I wonder if I should ask for us to move down so I can see more, see my face.
Look, he says.
I stare, transfixed, my neck twisted towards the mirror. He’s watching together with me. I realize this is all I want to see. I want to watch myself like I’m not there, see the part of my body getting fucked with no other part of me present. So it could be any woman he's hammering away hard into in recurring slaps. It could be anyone, except the burning satisfying heat I feel from this action that I’m watching is in my cunt, is mine.
Do you see?, he asks again.
Yes.
And I don’t stop seeing, even after he pushes my head gently back into the bed.
I look at his face, smiling, and then I turn and comply without a word, sinking my palms into his bed as he positions himself behind me.
He pulls me up from the waist and pushes down on my back suddenly. My naked ass gets thrust up and my head bows down like a human seesaw. Moaning, I stay as I am.
He disappears behind me, and I don’t look to see where he’s gone. I just wait, head still down, ass in air, breath shortening in anticipation, feeling deliciously exposed.
Do you see? he says when he returns. I lift my head up and look to where he’s looking.
We are in the mirror on his side wall.
Can you see? he says.
Yes.
All I can really see is my ass, an unfamiliar pear of an ass, gripped by his hands on either side. All I can see is him, straight and tall over me, the muscles of his body a wall to fall backwards into. And I watch him begin to fall over and over into me instead, anchored by his arms and knees, the beginnings of my back tensing with pleasure at one edge of the mirror.
All I can see is this pushing and pushing again, this taking and taking again. This is all I can see, and I wonder if I should ask for us to move down so I can see more, see my face.
Look, he says.
I stare, transfixed, my neck twisted towards the mirror. He’s watching together with me. I realize this is all I want to see. I want to watch myself like I’m not there, see the part of my body getting fucked with no other part of me present. So it could be any woman he's hammering away hard into in recurring slaps. It could be anyone, except the burning satisfying heat I feel from this action that I’m watching is in my cunt, is mine.
Do you see?, he asks again.
Yes.
And I don’t stop seeing, even after he pushes my head gently back into the bed.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
thanks
Thank you all so much for the support.. *BIG HUG*.. It means a lot.. a surprising amount actually.
Just wanted to check in to say that I'm feeling much better. There is much catching up to do in the wake of all this though.. so I've been working hard at it..
I'll be back with a vengeance soon..
Love and kisses,
Learn
Just wanted to check in to say that I'm feeling much better. There is much catching up to do in the wake of all this though.. so I've been working hard at it..
I'll be back with a vengeance soon..
Love and kisses,
Learn
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
what to hold, what to let go
I’ve been hanging by a thread for a while now. It’s been difficult to tell that this is how I’ve been feeling, even to myself. The thread thins at night, reveals itself for what it is. I am too close for comfort to say that I’m fully ok.
This is how it starts. An edge of panic that paralyses your actions. An uneasy, obsessive immersion in distractions. A seductive voice whispering at the back of your head… give up, give up, give up…
I try to surround myself with people. I am ok when around people.
But I want to be left alone.
It begins selfish like this, when people start to feel like complications.
A close friend begs you to come over on the weekend. You’ve been putting her off for a month, for valid reasons. Assignments, marking, calling parents, bills, laundry, cleaning, buying food, classes. You’ve been trying to figure these simple things out through your fog . Now she’s in the equation.
Accept, refuse, make time for, or not. A hope that she’ll understand if you can't make it, that it won’t be held against you. The thread sags, smallest of sags, but you can’t help but resent a little how she’s shaken up your balancing act.
Go away, you want to say. Go away. I’m trying to be.
I have to be, before I can do all the rest.
Hoping for a message from T yesterday after messaging him, watching him go offline without a word, I realise this. I don’t have the energy to maintain this, whatever friendship, relationship, whatever we have. I hate to take leave when he’s down too, but a little part of me says goodbye, or at least au revoir. See you when I see you, I’ve got to stop looking and waiting.
We used to play a game when we were children at the beach. We would build sandcastles right at the edge of shore, close enough for white waves to crash on top. The challenge was to dig a moat deep enough, to keep the smaller waves off for long enough to build something worthwhile in the meantime. At least before that larger wave that no moat could capture finally came. Digging and building and rebuilding, a race against waves.
Life keeps crashing on T and me. We’ve been like this from the beginning. We’ve done well with what we could get, but little complications are always holding us back.
I don’t feel like digging right now. Maybe I shouldn’t have seen us as something to build in the first place.
It’s not that I’ve given up on him, or that I plan to cut myself off. I just feel myself utterly distanced all of a sudden. He’s ceased to matter. Again, I know he shouldn’t have anyways, not so much.
I figure we’ll stumble back into each other again some time if we need to.
I’m hanging on though. I’m ok. I focus on the thread. To keep it there.
I’m trying to take steps. I’ve made an appointment, hopefully I can get a doctor’s note for my missed assignments and classes. Maybe I’ll be getting back on meds. I’ve asked my sister for help with my work. I’ve talked to friends who do matter.
If I don’t post for a while, it’s because I’m picking up the pieces. Wish me luck.
This is how it starts. An edge of panic that paralyses your actions. An uneasy, obsessive immersion in distractions. A seductive voice whispering at the back of your head… give up, give up, give up…
I try to surround myself with people. I am ok when around people.
But I want to be left alone.
It begins selfish like this, when people start to feel like complications.
A close friend begs you to come over on the weekend. You’ve been putting her off for a month, for valid reasons. Assignments, marking, calling parents, bills, laundry, cleaning, buying food, classes. You’ve been trying to figure these simple things out through your fog . Now she’s in the equation.
Accept, refuse, make time for, or not. A hope that she’ll understand if you can't make it, that it won’t be held against you. The thread sags, smallest of sags, but you can’t help but resent a little how she’s shaken up your balancing act.
Go away, you want to say. Go away. I’m trying to be.
I have to be, before I can do all the rest.
Hoping for a message from T yesterday after messaging him, watching him go offline without a word, I realise this. I don’t have the energy to maintain this, whatever friendship, relationship, whatever we have. I hate to take leave when he’s down too, but a little part of me says goodbye, or at least au revoir. See you when I see you, I’ve got to stop looking and waiting.
We used to play a game when we were children at the beach. We would build sandcastles right at the edge of shore, close enough for white waves to crash on top. The challenge was to dig a moat deep enough, to keep the smaller waves off for long enough to build something worthwhile in the meantime. At least before that larger wave that no moat could capture finally came. Digging and building and rebuilding, a race against waves.
Life keeps crashing on T and me. We’ve been like this from the beginning. We’ve done well with what we could get, but little complications are always holding us back.
I don’t feel like digging right now. Maybe I shouldn’t have seen us as something to build in the first place.
It’s not that I’ve given up on him, or that I plan to cut myself off. I just feel myself utterly distanced all of a sudden. He’s ceased to matter. Again, I know he shouldn’t have anyways, not so much.
I figure we’ll stumble back into each other again some time if we need to.
I’m hanging on though. I’m ok. I focus on the thread. To keep it there.
I’m trying to take steps. I’ve made an appointment, hopefully I can get a doctor’s note for my missed assignments and classes. Maybe I’ll be getting back on meds. I’ve asked my sister for help with my work. I’ve talked to friends who do matter.
If I don’t post for a while, it’s because I’m picking up the pieces. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)