I just wanted a place to talk about some slut shit--I never intended this to become a relationship blog, y'all, but that's exactly what it's becoming.
Cute Asshole whom me and Mr R have known forever turns out to be a bigger slut than anyone I've ever known, which is really quite sad, because his European girlfriend, even though they are 'separated' still waits for him, and is keeping herself uhm.... "pure" and he's whoring it up and out. Turns out he's been whoring it out since high school---damn dude. Guess I don't feel so bad about that whole situation anymore. :/
Mr R and I have been busy editing a film, doing the jobs of 20 people. Something I really really love, is we get pissed and frustrated at and with each other, but we're still loving to each other, and we're never pissed for long.
But... when I'm with him, I mean, he's so fucking beautiful, but I remember fucking him for the first time and how exciting that was because I didn't really know him. Now when we fuck it's even better and better every time for him, but it's kind of been sliding in a shitty downhill trajectory for me. I have to be really drunk and playing some slut music in order to get into it. FUCK! I didn't want to turn into one of those women like so many we all know, that can only fuck with the sparks from the beginning of a relationship. And because of this, when I see him, I love him with all my heart, I really do, so much sometimes I just ache for him... but I can see myself cheating on him. Oh god, I hate admitting this. Why can't I just exist within a loving healthy relationship without growing bored with it?
So I live to go out and smash the town, downing shots, crunking, dancing all night long. I can envision at some point, MR R--being older than me and with a job with varying hours, wont accompany me. This is where the danger lies. I'm not about to start bragging about how I look--I only see flaws in the mirror--but when I go out, I get swarmed. When I'm alone, I hit-on the big chicks (shut up, BBWs appeal to me :) but stupid young boys follow me like I'm the Pied Piper. I know how I look is quite different than the person I am, and alot of people see what they want and see stereotypes in my face and body.
Anyway, I can imagine after downing some drinks, as you know drinking makes me horny, dancing under pulsing gold white purple and green lights, flossing with some baller, as I'm rubbing my little ass on him with his hands on my waist I reach back with my hand and cup the back of his head, stroke my long nails through his hair, up and down his neck. I do this anyway when I'm dancing, and it never fails to bring the tumescence.
But.
I can imagine myself taking it a step further, as it is so very dark on the dance floor, and with so many bodies twisting and grinding together, a sweaty pit of relationship-destruction. My sweaty skin sliding against his, I'll turn around in his arms, stroke my hands up his body and if he doesn't stoop down, I'll have to jump to get that kiss. Kissing... is kissing cheating? No. But I likely wont stop there. I might have so much preemptive guilt that I wouldn't actually go through with any sex, but I fear that I'm always going to be unhappy with Mr R for the stupid stupid reason of not feeling sexually satisfied or excited.
I mean, He excites me. He does. I love his body, I love to see him in his sharp and sexy fucking clothes, I love to take those clothes off him, I love how we laugh together, how he cares about me, how we work and have fun together, how he's gentle without being spineless. But. But he's never given me an orgasm. Granted now, I have NEVER had a man give me an orgasm, and according to girlfriends, vaginal orgasm is hard to get from penis porking.
Granted also, since my UTI, I am wary of letting any bacteria-filled things near my vag, namely his tongue as DUH!--it's bacteria ridden and I'm still dealing with residual urethral pain months later. So if he doesn't do cunnilingus to me, then it's no wonder I'm not orgasming, right? He has tried during sexy time, but it makes me giggle like a little fucking kid getting their armpits tickled. In some way I'm not ready to let go unabashedly, and since I know how bad cock tastes when I gobble it, I worry I will never be clean enough.
If only I could do yoga to let me taste my own pussy.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
Confession
I have a confession to make, yall. It's been rolling around my head for a while, and I think it's time to talk about it because it's epically awesome in a slimy kind of way, the kind of shit you'd read about in shitty Young Adult novels or something, or what you'd see on the CW with snotty bitch-ass teens who have no responsibilities to keep them occupied and talk about sex and drugs all day.
So I said how I used to see MR R around, yes? That's true. And we DID run in diff circles so I never talked to him. But our circles happened to coincide a bit. Some years ago I made a friend with a total asshole of a guy who is actually pretty cute and nice once you get past the asshole bit. He became BFFs with Mr R also some years ago when they dormed and drugged together (those days are loooong past, thank you very much).
Me and cute asshole have been friends for like 7 years now, taking classes together, fighting, shooting each other the occasional email where I gave him advice about his foreign girlfriend. He's in training in the army now, because he's a bad-ass asshole who spits death in the face. So he comes home for a while every summer and hits me up, as he did last year, as he did this year.
We went out drinking, but before we went out, we stopped by Mr R's flat. (Now this was before the fireworks and the attempted BJ and the near-rape by Techno-dude.)
I thought Mr R was a weird quiet man and when we all hit the town together, I kept wanting to ditch him so me and cute asshole could be together "and actually have fun."
When we were alone for a while, cute asshole and me were talking about his girl friend, and how he was on the verge of breaking up with her. I encouraged him, as I didn't really care and she seemed like a total bitch.
We kept drinking, and drinking, and later MR R, me and cute asshole were eating at some dive bar and under the table, cute asshole was stroking my leg the entire time, up and down, up and down, but it was weird because I've always known him as my asshole friend and anyway, I worried about the chill in the air and how you know your leg hair starts growing whenever you get goosebumps? Yeah.
So for the next two days cute asshole stopped by my place and I kissed him lightly on the lips, but nothing more. I SWEAR! JESUS--YOU GUYS THINK THE WORST OF ME!
So he goes back down south to do more training, writing me periodically about how he broke up with his GF and likes the naughty lacy panties photo I shot for him. (I also took cleavage pics on his I-phone too)
Then me and Mr R started hanging out and you know about all that.
Just to reiterate, I kinda sorta helped break-up a faltering relationship to sorta begin dating my old asshole friend, whose best friend began hooking up with me.
Gasp!
Dismay!
Now me and cute asshole never had any sort of agreement. We saw each other twice under the pretense of "kinda dates", but that was all. The only real repercussion this could have is the photographic evidence, which I told Mr R about a long time ago under the guise that I had a crush on him even then and told cute asshole to send those photos Mr R's way. No, the only REAL repercussion this could possibly have is with Mr R's relationship with cute asshole. Mr R is a highly educated gentleman, very shy and reserved, and this friendship he has with cute asshole may be one of the only people he can truly call a best friend. (Besides me. Although you don't generally fuck your best friends, considering I treat him like another guy and we laugh and do dumb boy shit together all the time, I definitely consider us besties.)
I don't want to strain their relationship. I mean, cute asshole stopped writing me, but hasn't stopped contact with Mr R, and hopefully never will.
Mr R is getting very serious about me, yall; he's talking about marriage and the future and really, I saw him initially as maybe a good one night fuck or something along those lines. I just wanted to bone him and he had to start bringing in all these emotions and humanity to it. It's like you switch on the radio to Love Games/ Disco-Stick and it changes suddenly to something by Rachmaninoff. Or Chopin--because Mr R is a melancholy sort.
Oh and PS: cute asshole's girlfriend returned here to go to university and through Mr R I'm kinda friends with her now. Mad Mad world.
So I said how I used to see MR R around, yes? That's true. And we DID run in diff circles so I never talked to him. But our circles happened to coincide a bit. Some years ago I made a friend with a total asshole of a guy who is actually pretty cute and nice once you get past the asshole bit. He became BFFs with Mr R also some years ago when they dormed and drugged together (those days are loooong past, thank you very much).
Me and cute asshole have been friends for like 7 years now, taking classes together, fighting, shooting each other the occasional email where I gave him advice about his foreign girlfriend. He's in training in the army now, because he's a bad-ass asshole who spits death in the face. So he comes home for a while every summer and hits me up, as he did last year, as he did this year.
We went out drinking, but before we went out, we stopped by Mr R's flat. (Now this was before the fireworks and the attempted BJ and the near-rape by Techno-dude.)
I thought Mr R was a weird quiet man and when we all hit the town together, I kept wanting to ditch him so me and cute asshole could be together "and actually have fun."
When we were alone for a while, cute asshole and me were talking about his girl friend, and how he was on the verge of breaking up with her. I encouraged him, as I didn't really care and she seemed like a total bitch.
We kept drinking, and drinking, and later MR R, me and cute asshole were eating at some dive bar and under the table, cute asshole was stroking my leg the entire time, up and down, up and down, but it was weird because I've always known him as my asshole friend and anyway, I worried about the chill in the air and how you know your leg hair starts growing whenever you get goosebumps? Yeah.
So for the next two days cute asshole stopped by my place and I kissed him lightly on the lips, but nothing more. I SWEAR! JESUS--YOU GUYS THINK THE WORST OF ME!
So he goes back down south to do more training, writing me periodically about how he broke up with his GF and likes the naughty lacy panties photo I shot for him. (I also took cleavage pics on his I-phone too)
Then me and Mr R started hanging out and you know about all that.
Just to reiterate, I kinda sorta helped break-up a faltering relationship to sorta begin dating my old asshole friend, whose best friend began hooking up with me.
Gasp!
Dismay!
Now me and cute asshole never had any sort of agreement. We saw each other twice under the pretense of "kinda dates", but that was all. The only real repercussion this could have is the photographic evidence, which I told Mr R about a long time ago under the guise that I had a crush on him even then and told cute asshole to send those photos Mr R's way. No, the only REAL repercussion this could possibly have is with Mr R's relationship with cute asshole. Mr R is a highly educated gentleman, very shy and reserved, and this friendship he has with cute asshole may be one of the only people he can truly call a best friend. (Besides me. Although you don't generally fuck your best friends, considering I treat him like another guy and we laugh and do dumb boy shit together all the time, I definitely consider us besties.)
I don't want to strain their relationship. I mean, cute asshole stopped writing me, but hasn't stopped contact with Mr R, and hopefully never will.
Mr R is getting very serious about me, yall; he's talking about marriage and the future and really, I saw him initially as maybe a good one night fuck or something along those lines. I just wanted to bone him and he had to start bringing in all these emotions and humanity to it. It's like you switch on the radio to Love Games/ Disco-Stick and it changes suddenly to something by Rachmaninoff. Or Chopin--because Mr R is a melancholy sort.
Oh and PS: cute asshole's girlfriend returned here to go to university and through Mr R I'm kinda friends with her now. Mad Mad world.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Fanstasy of Abuse?
After we're done having sex, I give the prerequisite time allotted of lying next to him, but then I want to get up and get on with my life. He reaches out to me and says, “Don't you want to snuggle?” He wants to lay his head on my chest and listen to my heartbeat, to clasp my hands in his big ones and gaze into my eyes and I just.... well, I don't have orgasms from sex anyway (just masterbastion), so I kind of view it as just another fun and occasionally borderline-painful thing that we do.
Yall, what happened to me? I always wanted a tender man, but now that I've got one…
I hate to disclose this kind of information, or even mention it because I like to think my mom's choices in husbands didn't affect me at all, but our stepfather was an abusive man. I rarely saw it myself, but I would hear them fighting at night. I've only been hit in anger by a man a few times, all on one night—-that was the ex boyfriend long long ago. He busted me up pretty good, and I hate him still with a passion. Yet... in some way, I respond better to violence than I do to tenderness. I'm baffled with tenderness. I don't knoe what to do with it. During fucky-times I've encouraged Mr R to whip me with his belt, but he gets this weird look in his eyes, part fear like he's wondering if I'm damaged (shut up, I'm not) and part sadness. The sadness really gets me.
Now that things are going suspiciously good between us, I can even feel myself growing harsh towards him, wanting to pick a fight, wanting to self-sabotage the relationship because I want him to get angry at me, to yell at me, to grab my wrists and hold me down and hurt me. Why am I so sick? I don't feel like I'm comfortable with a man who has such a gentle voice. Is it because in some way I don't feel like I deserve kindness? Or am I just, in fact, damaged? Most of my sexual fantasies involve, in some way, domination and forceful submission. Although I am the aggressor sexually, always initiating, and certainly in such tight control of my own life personally, maybe that's why I go to the opposite end in my fantasies. I don't think I have the fantasy of being raped, that's fucking painful yall, but I do want him to turn to me for once, grab me and throw me down on the bed, rip my shirt off and bite my shoulder and neck, growling how he's going to make me his woman. I need some animal connection, certainly, that kind of passionate romance most girls imagine at some point in their life. I know for all practical purposes, the tender and caring man is the one we should go with to procreate—-as he will be the caring father, the caregiver if we are in need (he wont just dump our ailing asses ) and less likely to fuck you up financially by like, syphoning your bank account or something. He's trustworthy. And I love that, I really do, but...
Our fear response is activated every time we raise our voices to eachoter, every time someone fights. That raised level of fear increases our heart-rate and our adrenaline, giving a dizzying sort of high and excitement. I know this cognitively, logically, so I talk myself down from the ledge of relationship-breaking fights. I know there is something in me that wants to be hurt physically by him because either I feel I deserve it or because it excites the little girl in me who still views her stepfather as a man she admires and loves.
God, am I really this cliche?
I guess what I'm trying to say is I know I have the choice whether or not to act on these feelings. Just like you can choose to eat that last piece of cake, or to steal from someones open purse. I CHOOSE to restrain these sick feelings, but that doesn't make the urges go away. It's hard even to write about because I feel myself wanting to slip into the fantasy of being hurt by him—-but a fantasy is all it is. When I was actually hurt, it was no fantasy at all. There was blood, there was a lot of crying, there was broken teeth. My world was shattered, crashing down around my ears. I saw it happen with my mother do, so I will not I WILL NOT recreate those bad relationhsip habits with Mr R.
DETERMINED peoples, determined.
Yall, what happened to me? I always wanted a tender man, but now that I've got one…
I hate to disclose this kind of information, or even mention it because I like to think my mom's choices in husbands didn't affect me at all, but our stepfather was an abusive man. I rarely saw it myself, but I would hear them fighting at night. I've only been hit in anger by a man a few times, all on one night—-that was the ex boyfriend long long ago. He busted me up pretty good, and I hate him still with a passion. Yet... in some way, I respond better to violence than I do to tenderness. I'm baffled with tenderness. I don't knoe what to do with it. During fucky-times I've encouraged Mr R to whip me with his belt, but he gets this weird look in his eyes, part fear like he's wondering if I'm damaged (shut up, I'm not) and part sadness. The sadness really gets me.
Now that things are going suspiciously good between us, I can even feel myself growing harsh towards him, wanting to pick a fight, wanting to self-sabotage the relationship because I want him to get angry at me, to yell at me, to grab my wrists and hold me down and hurt me. Why am I so sick? I don't feel like I'm comfortable with a man who has such a gentle voice. Is it because in some way I don't feel like I deserve kindness? Or am I just, in fact, damaged? Most of my sexual fantasies involve, in some way, domination and forceful submission. Although I am the aggressor sexually, always initiating, and certainly in such tight control of my own life personally, maybe that's why I go to the opposite end in my fantasies. I don't think I have the fantasy of being raped, that's fucking painful yall, but I do want him to turn to me for once, grab me and throw me down on the bed, rip my shirt off and bite my shoulder and neck, growling how he's going to make me his woman. I need some animal connection, certainly, that kind of passionate romance most girls imagine at some point in their life. I know for all practical purposes, the tender and caring man is the one we should go with to procreate—-as he will be the caring father, the caregiver if we are in need (he wont just dump our ailing asses ) and less likely to fuck you up financially by like, syphoning your bank account or something. He's trustworthy. And I love that, I really do, but...
Our fear response is activated every time we raise our voices to eachoter, every time someone fights. That raised level of fear increases our heart-rate and our adrenaline, giving a dizzying sort of high and excitement. I know this cognitively, logically, so I talk myself down from the ledge of relationship-breaking fights. I know there is something in me that wants to be hurt physically by him because either I feel I deserve it or because it excites the little girl in me who still views her stepfather as a man she admires and loves.
God, am I really this cliche?
I guess what I'm trying to say is I know I have the choice whether or not to act on these feelings. Just like you can choose to eat that last piece of cake, or to steal from someones open purse. I CHOOSE to restrain these sick feelings, but that doesn't make the urges go away. It's hard even to write about because I feel myself wanting to slip into the fantasy of being hurt by him—-but a fantasy is all it is. When I was actually hurt, it was no fantasy at all. There was blood, there was a lot of crying, there was broken teeth. My world was shattered, crashing down around my ears. I saw it happen with my mother do, so I will not I WILL NOT recreate those bad relationhsip habits with Mr R.
DETERMINED peoples, determined.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Best Orgasm ever, and How-to give a Mind-Blowing Blowjob
"That... that was the best... the biggest orgasm I've ever had!" Mr R gasped. I lifted my face, slowly letting him slide out of my smiling mouth.
You see, since the dreaded UTI we haven't been able to do much other than one day of lovin'. I suggested I can do other things, but with his proper upbringing, he was lead to believe it was rather demeaning to women (makes sense now why he didn't want me to do that the first time) and that all women hated it. With my last boyfriend--cough, of which we shall not speak--definitely. Hated getting his piss-smelling foot-shaped donk near my mouth. At it's length, it was impossible to gobble correctly anyway and my jaw always got tired.
With Mr R, I give a sexy smile and kind of narrow my eyes as I move down him, kissing down his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. When i get to his belt, i flick my eyes up innocently. "May I?" Guys fucking love this. You know that old saying about smiling? Fake it till you make it? Act like his cock is your one meal of the day, that you can't get enough of its smell, its feel, and its taste.
After I've undone his belt, I usually run my nails back up his chest and kiss him softly on the mouth, not deeply either, just a soft kiss to leave him wanting more.
I run my fingertips under the edge of the waistband of his boxers. I let my hands stroke up and down his figure let I never felt it before.
While his cock is still alive and well in his boxers, I breathe hotly over it, stroking it very gently with my fingers. I do this a few times, even nuzzling it with my nose, glancing up to him so he can see my look of practiced pleasure and anticipation.
down come the shorts and out it springs. I start off grasping it firmly at the base-watch out for hair!--and lick up the shaft vertically, so his cock drags down my bottom lips. I rub the tip over my lips a few times like that, then swirl my tongue out over that tip. (Yeah, ladies--it tastes sometimes like urine. One you attempt to deep throat, you'll have enough saliva to wash it off. Don't worry. ignore the smell and get busy!)
After gently sucking up and down the underside of his penis, DEEP THROAT TIME. I have devised this way of deep throating where I can still breathe just fine during. So you shove it into the back of your throat, where the tip hammers against your pallate. But with the up-and-down motion, shoving in and out (still using your slick hand at the base, mind you), you can sneak in some moments of breath as it slides back out and in again.
when I'm gagging, i just use the extra saliva to get him extra slick. Big deal if you gag, likely you wont throw up if you hold your breath for a few moments, and if you pull him back out, give a big smile up at him, work him with your hand, and focus your lips again on the tip and the shaft.
Mr R is a very serious person who doesn't talk during sex usually, except that one German lesson (so weird), but I like to throw in some dirty talk.
"I love the taste of your cock in my mouth!" "I want you to cum all the way down my throat." "Fill me with your cum" "Oh god I love it!" "I haven't felt this way with anyone... I just can't get enough of your cock!"
This is my usual dialogue, feel free to steal, just spice it up according to his likes and dislikes.
As he's about to shoot (and even if he's not a big talker, you'll know ladies by the extra hardness and mounting girth, also, balls tighten--sweet) I have him on the front of my mouth so I don't necessarily have to swallow. then after the biggest burst is over, I jam him down into my throat again. Well, not really jamming, I'm using some violont adjectives, but you get the idea. If you don't want to swallow, that's fine. Close your throat off until he's done coming, then give his limpening penis a few innocent and tender licks to send it to bed. :)
Mr R was panting and near the verge of passing-out when I was done with him. "I think I saw.... the universe..." he whispered. It was entirely satisfying. And all this coming from a girl who seriously hated the idea of sucking cock. But look at young Jenna Jameson--use her enthusiasm. Pretend. :)
You see, since the dreaded UTI we haven't been able to do much other than one day of lovin'. I suggested I can do other things, but with his proper upbringing, he was lead to believe it was rather demeaning to women (makes sense now why he didn't want me to do that the first time) and that all women hated it. With my last boyfriend--cough, of which we shall not speak--definitely. Hated getting his piss-smelling foot-shaped donk near my mouth. At it's length, it was impossible to gobble correctly anyway and my jaw always got tired.
With Mr R, I give a sexy smile and kind of narrow my eyes as I move down him, kissing down his chest, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. When i get to his belt, i flick my eyes up innocently. "May I?" Guys fucking love this. You know that old saying about smiling? Fake it till you make it? Act like his cock is your one meal of the day, that you can't get enough of its smell, its feel, and its taste.
After I've undone his belt, I usually run my nails back up his chest and kiss him softly on the mouth, not deeply either, just a soft kiss to leave him wanting more.
I run my fingertips under the edge of the waistband of his boxers. I let my hands stroke up and down his figure let I never felt it before.
While his cock is still alive and well in his boxers, I breathe hotly over it, stroking it very gently with my fingers. I do this a few times, even nuzzling it with my nose, glancing up to him so he can see my look of practiced pleasure and anticipation.
down come the shorts and out it springs. I start off grasping it firmly at the base-watch out for hair!--and lick up the shaft vertically, so his cock drags down my bottom lips. I rub the tip over my lips a few times like that, then swirl my tongue out over that tip. (Yeah, ladies--it tastes sometimes like urine. One you attempt to deep throat, you'll have enough saliva to wash it off. Don't worry. ignore the smell and get busy!)
After gently sucking up and down the underside of his penis, DEEP THROAT TIME. I have devised this way of deep throating where I can still breathe just fine during. So you shove it into the back of your throat, where the tip hammers against your pallate. But with the up-and-down motion, shoving in and out (still using your slick hand at the base, mind you), you can sneak in some moments of breath as it slides back out and in again.
when I'm gagging, i just use the extra saliva to get him extra slick. Big deal if you gag, likely you wont throw up if you hold your breath for a few moments, and if you pull him back out, give a big smile up at him, work him with your hand, and focus your lips again on the tip and the shaft.
Mr R is a very serious person who doesn't talk during sex usually, except that one German lesson (so weird), but I like to throw in some dirty talk.
"I love the taste of your cock in my mouth!" "I want you to cum all the way down my throat." "Fill me with your cum" "Oh god I love it!" "I haven't felt this way with anyone... I just can't get enough of your cock!"
This is my usual dialogue, feel free to steal, just spice it up according to his likes and dislikes.
As he's about to shoot (and even if he's not a big talker, you'll know ladies by the extra hardness and mounting girth, also, balls tighten--sweet) I have him on the front of my mouth so I don't necessarily have to swallow. then after the biggest burst is over, I jam him down into my throat again. Well, not really jamming, I'm using some violont adjectives, but you get the idea. If you don't want to swallow, that's fine. Close your throat off until he's done coming, then give his limpening penis a few innocent and tender licks to send it to bed. :)
Mr R was panting and near the verge of passing-out when I was done with him. "I think I saw.... the universe..." he whispered. It was entirely satisfying. And all this coming from a girl who seriously hated the idea of sucking cock. But look at young Jenna Jameson--use her enthusiasm. Pretend. :)
Sunday, August 22, 2010
UTI's and Language lesson during sex
It took a few weeks of working at him before I got into Mr R's pants :) It was rather a backwards situation, I felt like a young boy trying to coax the skirt off a virgin. Whenever we spoke, I couldn't help myself from seeing (and encouraging)innuendo in everything. My drive was going nuts for him!
On an evening when Mr R's roommate was keeping parents at their flat, we took his roommate's car for a drive. Then it began to storm. We were making out like a couple of teenagers at that time, but as I reached for him, Mr R stopped me, because he wanted our first time with each other to be a bit more special than in his roommates smelly car. A little rain would not dissuade my horniness. I convinced him (easy to do). We lowered the driver's seat and I straddled him. Under the beats of torrential rain, echoing through the interior of the car and drowning out the music, we finally fucking did it. No more teasing, no more flirting or graping at each other through our clothes, fuck this waiting shit--in the immortally wise words of Amanda Blank "I'd like you better if you get inside me". The green and purple lightening lit my skin, highlighting my sharp jaw, my breasts, the dip of my waist.
My knees were bruised and I had rug-burns(car burns?) on my legs for a while from the stick shift rubbing my calf, (and it probably wasn't very attractive from his viewpoint, as with the low ceiling I had to keep my head crocked to one side and broken-looking like that girl in the Grudge) but it was worth it. We had steamed it up pretty stereotypically, so while we were busy, the window beside me was open a crack, rain sizzling off my hot skin.
The second time was at his apartment. Roommate was out for the night getting trashed and would probably stumble back at 4 am. At like 5 pm, I arrived at his doorstep with a giant bottle of Beefeater that had been marked down at the corner market (I'm a savvy slut, hey). We chopped some tomatoes and made light omelets, and in a lull in the painfully polite conversation, I was like, "You wanna start drinking?" and he gave me an enthusiastic,
"Sure!"
The only problem with this sexual encounter was, so I know men love dipping it in, like the very first time their cock enters the vagina. Well he reeeeally likes it, so he pulled out alot to slam it back it, also meaning that he hit my ass a million times with it. BAD. Not good ladies--If yr man hits anywhere near your asshole with his dong, have him take off the condom and slap a new one on, or if he's bare, have his wash that shit. INSIST on it. The sex was mediocre, but a couple days afterward, it began to fucking burn when I fucking pee. Burn. Pee. Burning. PAIN. The Internet tells me i have a UTI, blablabal, I'm on different herbal stuff for it (we're Asian, we know our herbs) and if it gets worse I'll go in. But this really put a damper on our "Romantic Saturday."
So I'm not supposed to necessarily have sex with a UTI, as it can make it worse, so I'm riding him in my apartment as I figure that's the only way to be safe that he's not going to pop out and smack against my anus (did pop out, but only smacked my labia). I have a playlist going, dubstep and remixes, and then on comes Swezak's State of Grace--usually not a good fuck-times song, but there is was regardless.
Mr R knows maybe ten languages fluently. His Moroccan father was ... let's say he was very strict and insistent on education.
so the song is reaching it's end, where the spoken German comes on. With his hands on my naked hips holding me down on his pelvis, he stops to comment:
"Ah, see? That's wrong. It's entschieEEden not entschIIIIeden." He tells this to me while he's still inside me.
Despite this ridiculousness, I feign interest. After all, in his eyes, I'm not only after his junk, I'm also an intellectual. "Oh. Really?" I pant the words out, bouncing up and down on his nearly black-coloured penis.
He raises his eyebrows and nods eagerly.
On an evening when Mr R's roommate was keeping parents at their flat, we took his roommate's car for a drive. Then it began to storm. We were making out like a couple of teenagers at that time, but as I reached for him, Mr R stopped me, because he wanted our first time with each other to be a bit more special than in his roommates smelly car. A little rain would not dissuade my horniness. I convinced him (easy to do). We lowered the driver's seat and I straddled him. Under the beats of torrential rain, echoing through the interior of the car and drowning out the music, we finally fucking did it. No more teasing, no more flirting or graping at each other through our clothes, fuck this waiting shit--in the immortally wise words of Amanda Blank "I'd like you better if you get inside me". The green and purple lightening lit my skin, highlighting my sharp jaw, my breasts, the dip of my waist.
My knees were bruised and I had rug-burns(car burns?) on my legs for a while from the stick shift rubbing my calf, (and it probably wasn't very attractive from his viewpoint, as with the low ceiling I had to keep my head crocked to one side and broken-looking like that girl in the Grudge) but it was worth it. We had steamed it up pretty stereotypically, so while we were busy, the window beside me was open a crack, rain sizzling off my hot skin.
The second time was at his apartment. Roommate was out for the night getting trashed and would probably stumble back at 4 am. At like 5 pm, I arrived at his doorstep with a giant bottle of Beefeater that had been marked down at the corner market (I'm a savvy slut, hey). We chopped some tomatoes and made light omelets, and in a lull in the painfully polite conversation, I was like, "You wanna start drinking?" and he gave me an enthusiastic,
"Sure!"
The only problem with this sexual encounter was, so I know men love dipping it in, like the very first time their cock enters the vagina. Well he reeeeally likes it, so he pulled out alot to slam it back it, also meaning that he hit my ass a million times with it. BAD. Not good ladies--If yr man hits anywhere near your asshole with his dong, have him take off the condom and slap a new one on, or if he's bare, have his wash that shit. INSIST on it. The sex was mediocre, but a couple days afterward, it began to fucking burn when I fucking pee. Burn. Pee. Burning. PAIN. The Internet tells me i have a UTI, blablabal, I'm on different herbal stuff for it (we're Asian, we know our herbs) and if it gets worse I'll go in. But this really put a damper on our "Romantic Saturday."
So I'm not supposed to necessarily have sex with a UTI, as it can make it worse, so I'm riding him in my apartment as I figure that's the only way to be safe that he's not going to pop out and smack against my anus (did pop out, but only smacked my labia). I have a playlist going, dubstep and remixes, and then on comes Swezak's State of Grace--usually not a good fuck-times song, but there is was regardless.
Mr R knows maybe ten languages fluently. His Moroccan father was ... let's say he was very strict and insistent on education.
so the song is reaching it's end, where the spoken German comes on. With his hands on my naked hips holding me down on his pelvis, he stops to comment:
"Ah, see? That's wrong. It's entschieEEden not entschIIIIeden." He tells this to me while he's still inside me.
Despite this ridiculousness, I feign interest. After all, in his eyes, I'm not only after his junk, I'm also an intellectual. "Oh. Really?" I pant the words out, bouncing up and down on his nearly black-coloured penis.
He raises his eyebrows and nods eagerly.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
My first time
Hard to believe, but, you guys... I'm not a virgin.
I know, hold back your shock.
My first boyfriend was a Navajo Native American kid when I was in like 5th grade or something. He gave me some of the arrowheads he got from his grandpa that he didn't like, and would spend hours drawing me predator and those Alien creatures that I wasn't allowed to watch so had no idea what it was.
My next real boyfriend was in highschool, when the religious constriction on our household was beginning to lift due to my mother's soul-searching after a second divorce. This boy was a Chippewa, I think? Yeah, I guess I had a type. He started out slender and funny, but later I saw what I had taken for a soft heart to be someone who pitied themselves, had momma issues, and played WOW for days literal DAYS on end yall. He forgot my birthday the first two years we were together, but we lived far far away from the city then, and it was slim pickins for boyfriends. At that age, we were still more friends than lovers, although he was attracted to me. As he grew lazier and fatter and smoked more pot, my attraction waned. Perfect time to have sex--right?!
After a day of me cleaning his room--food wrappers everywhere, maggots under the bed, god what was I thinking?--i said to him "Well, we might as well have sex," with about as much sad conviction and resignment as I had to the approaching midterms.
I came with an arsenal of spermicide, condoms and other shit that I forgot now. He didn't have to do anything, just get hard. He could always get hard though, that's the one thing I do and don't miss about him. It was a beautiful cock-- after you held his fat out of the way, it was 7 inches and thick as my fucking wrist. Which, I don't know, have you ever seen a half-Vietnamese girl? Uhm, I'm small. Like REALLY small. When I coaxed him onto the bed, it was painful as hell, and he couldn't really get all the way inside.
Strangely enough, only when I had broken up with him did the sex start getting good. We broke up, I started dating this rich but gawd-awfully cluless and idiotic guy with a skinny twisted penis i was forced to slobber on. On the night after the rich guy made me slobber him, I called up the ex and we met on the street. He took me back to his apartment and I gave him the best head of his life. His 7 inches certainly has given me great practice with deep throating. (You have to kind of exhale at the same time as you shove it into your throat. Inhale as you're coming back up. Try this.)
Even as I was still dating rich dude, the ex took me into the inner workings of his University and we would have drunken yet hot sex in a room where threatre kids would gather before performances to practice and say their lines to the wall or whatever stupid shit they did. The room smelt like old dust and stale velvet curtains, musty textbooks and crumbling posterboards, wich covered two walls of the room.
Funny, but the first time didn't stick in my head at all. I dont remmber the details of the room, or what exactly he looked like or what we did or anything. But those three or four times in that theatre room, before asshole ex moved away, that actually follows me a bit. Maybe not so much, because he never made me orgasm.
I know, hold back your shock.
My first boyfriend was a Navajo Native American kid when I was in like 5th grade or something. He gave me some of the arrowheads he got from his grandpa that he didn't like, and would spend hours drawing me predator and those Alien creatures that I wasn't allowed to watch so had no idea what it was.
My next real boyfriend was in highschool, when the religious constriction on our household was beginning to lift due to my mother's soul-searching after a second divorce. This boy was a Chippewa, I think? Yeah, I guess I had a type. He started out slender and funny, but later I saw what I had taken for a soft heart to be someone who pitied themselves, had momma issues, and played WOW for days literal DAYS on end yall. He forgot my birthday the first two years we were together, but we lived far far away from the city then, and it was slim pickins for boyfriends. At that age, we were still more friends than lovers, although he was attracted to me. As he grew lazier and fatter and smoked more pot, my attraction waned. Perfect time to have sex--right?!
After a day of me cleaning his room--food wrappers everywhere, maggots under the bed, god what was I thinking?--i said to him "Well, we might as well have sex," with about as much sad conviction and resignment as I had to the approaching midterms.
I came with an arsenal of spermicide, condoms and other shit that I forgot now. He didn't have to do anything, just get hard. He could always get hard though, that's the one thing I do and don't miss about him. It was a beautiful cock-- after you held his fat out of the way, it was 7 inches and thick as my fucking wrist. Which, I don't know, have you ever seen a half-Vietnamese girl? Uhm, I'm small. Like REALLY small. When I coaxed him onto the bed, it was painful as hell, and he couldn't really get all the way inside.
Strangely enough, only when I had broken up with him did the sex start getting good. We broke up, I started dating this rich but gawd-awfully cluless and idiotic guy with a skinny twisted penis i was forced to slobber on. On the night after the rich guy made me slobber him, I called up the ex and we met on the street. He took me back to his apartment and I gave him the best head of his life. His 7 inches certainly has given me great practice with deep throating. (You have to kind of exhale at the same time as you shove it into your throat. Inhale as you're coming back up. Try this.)
Even as I was still dating rich dude, the ex took me into the inner workings of his University and we would have drunken yet hot sex in a room where threatre kids would gather before performances to practice and say their lines to the wall or whatever stupid shit they did. The room smelt like old dust and stale velvet curtains, musty textbooks and crumbling posterboards, wich covered two walls of the room.
Funny, but the first time didn't stick in my head at all. I dont remmber the details of the room, or what exactly he looked like or what we did or anything. But those three or four times in that theatre room, before asshole ex moved away, that actually follows me a bit. Maybe not so much, because he never made me orgasm.
Our beginning
I have never been with a man that refused a blowjob. Even in the early hours of daylight, when the sun is leaking through the oily clouds of the city outside a club, even the drunkest most exhausted men can get off. By me of course. While the fishnets under my knees get torn on alley garbage, motivated by lust, I aim to please. I'm not one to brag (yes I am) but I'm Jesus Christ of the dick. I will raise even the dead whiskey dick. Religious suppression makes girls go cra-zay in the sack, y'all.
That is until Mr R.
Mr R is a 6'4 half-Moroccan guy I knew vaguely from college. He's a bit older than me and we moved in different social circles, so I never took much notice of him before. Over a holiday weekend, Techno-dude--a skinny guy who got kicked out of Mexico (of all places) for having a violent outburst on a busy street while he was on acid and also wears blue-tinted glasses constantly to hide his lazy eye--invited me to hang out with him and Mr R. I knew Techno-dude from aforementioned college and did NOT know his outburst history at the time of our agreed meeting. So me and Mr R and Techno-dude hung out watching the parade, which with my tendencies, of course turned into a trip through the colourful streets of ticker-tape and streamers and confetti to the liquor store.
The men got scotch, the lady a bottle of gin. We sat in the park away from the parade and talked about music and education and got progressively drunker as the evening settled in purple streaks across the sky, the sinking sun glowing gold off the skyscrapers.
I was at the point of drinking where I offered to show my panties (pink lace, y'all, they were really cute) yet sober enough to know the evening was still too light to do such a thing out in public.
Mr R left to say hi to a friend with a promise to return. Now this wouldn't have been a problem, except he left us standing in a dark field on the edge of town and by now, Techno-dude had downed the ENTIRE bottle of scotch. Techno-dude quickly became Mr Grabby-Hands and I wasn't feeling it. But thanks to my mom I'm Asian so his gangly white ass quickly overpowered me, pulling me down into the field.
His fat tongue tasted like a truck-stop restroom, the kind you'd see on the news because they found a dead hooker curled around the toilet. I avoided rape by playing like I too was into him but was "on my period". Undeterred, he pressed on, shoving my shirt up, kissing down my stomach, literally grabbing my pussy in his ENTIRE hand like it was going to run away or something. I pushed his head away, and he retalliated by grabbing my wrists and slapping them against the ground on either sides of my head, so hard I could hear and feel the reverberation through my ears.
"How about I suck you off?" was my timid offer. Something in my voice (or maybe the voices in Techno-dude's head) made him hesitate. He eased off me, then grabbed onto a nearby chain-link fence to keep from staggering. He blubbered some apologies, and I waved it off as nothing because by now I just wanted to get home and wondered where the hell Mr R was. I smoothed my skirt down and tucked my hair behind my ears, and looked over Techno-dude's head for Mr R's silhouette in the streetlamps. Techno-dude must have figured out what I was doing, because he grabbed me again, roughly, and tried to pull me in to a kiss.
So I ran. In red spiky heels. I ran for a couple of blocks until I was in the middle of the city again, throwing glances over my shoulder as I went, but I don't think Techno-dude came after me.
You know when you run so fast and so hard that you taste copper in your burning throat and you can feel your heart-beat pulse through your temples? It was the only thing I could hear. My heartbeat, loud, pounding with my feet on the pavement, and I didn't hear the car.
Behind me was a loud scream of tires and I glanced back in time to see lights flash in my eyes. Oh great. Just what I need.
But the driver took a swift turn to avoid me, narrowly, and shouted out the window his observations of my ethnicity.
Well my heart was really in loops then. The world was greying in waves. Was it from the shock of what could have just happened or was I that drunk? I lowered my head and tried to steady my breathing. I groped out for the streetlamp and sunk down beside it. I could have died. I could have been raped. I had to pee.
"Kimmy--hey..." came a gentle voice. I felt large hot hands on my shoulders. I looked up through my scattered black hair to see a deeply concerned Mr R. Jesus fucking Christ are his eyes beautiful. He smoothed my hair back and crouched down beside me, inquiring as to my well-being. I muttered something about how I broke one of my heels in my flight, and he looked at it, then picked me up into his arms. Not like guys do that are going ot bang you, tossing you over their shoulder like a caveman (had that plently of times. Loves it), but like a dad does; he scooped me up all tenderly.
After he set me down under the trees, in the shadows I thanked him and hugged him, breathing in the hot scent of his neck. Then I moved to thank him with my mouth. I started to undo his zipper, and although he let me for a moment, he stopped me, gently grasping my hands and holding them. "Kim I don't do that until I feel really safe."
"Okay, let's go to the fountain then!" I suggested, always a good little slut. "The cops wont be around there this time of night."
"No Kim," he explained, quietly, "I mean, feel in a safe relationship with someone. It's nothing against you. I'm sorry. This is just me."
I sat back. I look ugly when I frown, but I was frowning then. Who cared, in the dark he couldn't really see me anyway. "Well then, we need to be in a relationship," I said.
"...Do we?"
"Yes."
Doesn't sound very romantic, does it? But this is how we began.
That is until Mr R.
Mr R is a 6'4 half-Moroccan guy I knew vaguely from college. He's a bit older than me and we moved in different social circles, so I never took much notice of him before. Over a holiday weekend, Techno-dude--a skinny guy who got kicked out of Mexico (of all places) for having a violent outburst on a busy street while he was on acid and also wears blue-tinted glasses constantly to hide his lazy eye--invited me to hang out with him and Mr R. I knew Techno-dude from aforementioned college and did NOT know his outburst history at the time of our agreed meeting. So me and Mr R and Techno-dude hung out watching the parade, which with my tendencies, of course turned into a trip through the colourful streets of ticker-tape and streamers and confetti to the liquor store.
The men got scotch, the lady a bottle of gin. We sat in the park away from the parade and talked about music and education and got progressively drunker as the evening settled in purple streaks across the sky, the sinking sun glowing gold off the skyscrapers.
I was at the point of drinking where I offered to show my panties (pink lace, y'all, they were really cute) yet sober enough to know the evening was still too light to do such a thing out in public.
Mr R left to say hi to a friend with a promise to return. Now this wouldn't have been a problem, except he left us standing in a dark field on the edge of town and by now, Techno-dude had downed the ENTIRE bottle of scotch. Techno-dude quickly became Mr Grabby-Hands and I wasn't feeling it. But thanks to my mom I'm Asian so his gangly white ass quickly overpowered me, pulling me down into the field.
His fat tongue tasted like a truck-stop restroom, the kind you'd see on the news because they found a dead hooker curled around the toilet. I avoided rape by playing like I too was into him but was "on my period". Undeterred, he pressed on, shoving my shirt up, kissing down my stomach, literally grabbing my pussy in his ENTIRE hand like it was going to run away or something. I pushed his head away, and he retalliated by grabbing my wrists and slapping them against the ground on either sides of my head, so hard I could hear and feel the reverberation through my ears.
"How about I suck you off?" was my timid offer. Something in my voice (or maybe the voices in Techno-dude's head) made him hesitate. He eased off me, then grabbed onto a nearby chain-link fence to keep from staggering. He blubbered some apologies, and I waved it off as nothing because by now I just wanted to get home and wondered where the hell Mr R was. I smoothed my skirt down and tucked my hair behind my ears, and looked over Techno-dude's head for Mr R's silhouette in the streetlamps. Techno-dude must have figured out what I was doing, because he grabbed me again, roughly, and tried to pull me in to a kiss.
So I ran. In red spiky heels. I ran for a couple of blocks until I was in the middle of the city again, throwing glances over my shoulder as I went, but I don't think Techno-dude came after me.
You know when you run so fast and so hard that you taste copper in your burning throat and you can feel your heart-beat pulse through your temples? It was the only thing I could hear. My heartbeat, loud, pounding with my feet on the pavement, and I didn't hear the car.
Behind me was a loud scream of tires and I glanced back in time to see lights flash in my eyes. Oh great. Just what I need.
But the driver took a swift turn to avoid me, narrowly, and shouted out the window his observations of my ethnicity.
Well my heart was really in loops then. The world was greying in waves. Was it from the shock of what could have just happened or was I that drunk? I lowered my head and tried to steady my breathing. I groped out for the streetlamp and sunk down beside it. I could have died. I could have been raped. I had to pee.
"Kimmy--hey..." came a gentle voice. I felt large hot hands on my shoulders. I looked up through my scattered black hair to see a deeply concerned Mr R. Jesus fucking Christ are his eyes beautiful. He smoothed my hair back and crouched down beside me, inquiring as to my well-being. I muttered something about how I broke one of my heels in my flight, and he looked at it, then picked me up into his arms. Not like guys do that are going ot bang you, tossing you over their shoulder like a caveman (had that plently of times. Loves it), but like a dad does; he scooped me up all tenderly.
After he set me down under the trees, in the shadows I thanked him and hugged him, breathing in the hot scent of his neck. Then I moved to thank him with my mouth. I started to undo his zipper, and although he let me for a moment, he stopped me, gently grasping my hands and holding them. "Kim I don't do that until I feel really safe."
"Okay, let's go to the fountain then!" I suggested, always a good little slut. "The cops wont be around there this time of night."
"No Kim," he explained, quietly, "I mean, feel in a safe relationship with someone. It's nothing against you. I'm sorry. This is just me."
I sat back. I look ugly when I frown, but I was frowning then. Who cared, in the dark he couldn't really see me anyway. "Well then, we need to be in a relationship," I said.
"...Do we?"
"Yes."
Doesn't sound very romantic, does it? But this is how we began.
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