Ok, here is just one story from that weekend.

I was at a conference. An academic conference. A conference with lots of academics.

On the third afternoon of this conference, I decided to walk back to my hotel. On the way, I stopped in a pub/restaurant for dinner. I sat at the bar.

To really give you the context for this moment, I would have had to tell you about so many other moments. I think, sometimes, when I am in a particular mood, I actually emit some kind of signal. Or smell, maybe. Let's just say that this was the third of three very. interesting. days.


In the restaurant. A bit bewildered. Hunched over my glass of wine. There is a man next to me and I strike up a brief conversation but it is muddled, odd, goes nowhere. I ask about the game on the television. Silence. He leaves.

Two men take his place. An older guy - about sixty? A slightly younger man - maybe fifty. The older one starts in immediately, "I'll have EXACTLY what she is having."

I look over. Smile. Tuna. It's tuna. Cooked rare like I like it.

The other man leans over to look at me. I keep eating.

They talk. I eat.

"Are you here for the conference?" the older man asks. Yes. We start talking. The other man is listening closely.

He is so open. Almost too open. Raw, even. At some point, later in the evening, he will exclaim, "I love that I met you... I was supposed to meet you... there is something about you... I can talk to you..."

After we have talked for a while, the younger man gets up to leave. He gives me his card on the way out and says that I should come to a reception later that evening that he will be going to. He tells me the name of the hotel.

The older man and I keep talking. He tells me various things that are far too personal to say to someone one has just met and then says several more times how easy it is for him to tell me things that are far too personal to say to someone one has just met. Eventually, I leave.

I go to the reception.

I am wearing the tightest jeans, high black boots, black shirt, push up bra. The bartender tells me later, when I come up for another glass of wine, that the man I had met earlier at the bar almost fell over himself to get across the room when I walked in.

Before he made it to me, another guy got there first. We discussed quantum physics, which I know nothing about. Eventually, I extricated myself. The man who invited me - I'll call him Damien, for many hilarious reasons - intercepted. We talked. We went to a table in the corner and talked more. He said, let's go somewhere else. We did. A bar.

We sat in the back. His hand was on my leg. He was hard, hard, hard.

He was, as it turns out, married. Unhappily. Perfunctory sex - weekly. His hand was on my leg. I've already said that.

After a few drinks, he spoke even more freely.

I am... I... my wife... I live in a really conservative place. My wife knows I feel... but she... I am going to think about you when I jerk off for at least a month... or more... or when I am fucking her... that is just a fact.

I laughed. After he had finished my drink, he went on:

Look, I know I am older, but... can I hold your hand? Can I... I am just going to hold it for now. I know you probably don't want... Ok... I want to... can I just hold you. I want to hold you tonight.

I said no. We got into a taxi. He held my hand.

When we got to my hotel, he got out with me. I stopped him on the sidewalk. I told him to look at me, to listen to me. I was not going to sleep with him. In fact, he could not come up to my room at all.

He asked if I would walk with him around the block and talk for a minute. I said ok. We walked.

As we walked, he talked. I am going to tell you exactly what I am thinking, he said. I am thinking about touching you. I want to touch you. I am imagining you. I just want to touch you. You don't have to fuck me.

Again I said no. We stopped on the sidewalk. He pulled me into a doorway. Of a Starbucks. I let him do this. I knew exactly what was coming.

There was no one on the street. It was late. He pressed himself against me. He was, of course, hard. He was also drunk.

He reached down and pulled his cock out. It was shielded a bit by his coat. He jerked off right there in front of me.

Right before he came, he sounded like he was choking. Fucking... fucking... you fucking....

He never finished the sentence. He came on my jeans, groaning. I made him wipe it off.


In another weblog, I will write about what I was feeling during all of this, but for you, I have tried to just describe the actions, the outward gestures.

I did get wet when when he jerked off. Really wet. I can't say that I don't love that. But I felt ill at the thought of fucking this particular man. If he were on top of me, I would panic. That is the reality.

When I got back to my hotel, I masturbated thinking of him. Legs spread, I vibrated my clit and fucked myself with my fingers until I came hard, thinking of his grunts, his spurting dick, the cum dripping down my leg.



Let's just say that I got less, and more, than I bargained for this past weekend. I was reminded of what I was already told, but, clearly needed to know again.

I have only one story! But there are so many stories.

Still, I know that's what you want. To hear it over and over. And to lose more of yourself every time. I can do that absolutely.



Let's just say that I got more, and less, than I bargained for this past weekend. I was reminded of what I already knew, but, clearly, needed to be told again.

I have so many stories! But they are all one story.

Still, I know that's what you want. To hear it over and over. And to lose yourself more every time. I can absolutely do that.


next weekend

Just a quick FYI:

I will be alone in a gloriously plush hotel room next weekend. Did I say alone? Yes, alone. All weekend (16-19).

I will probably be busy during most of the days, but the nights are long and so lonely!


party girl

I have fallen in with a group of people who like to go out all night.

I have always loved to go out all night. And it is hard to find others who like to do it (who are not twelve years old and on drugs like everyone else in the lower east side on an average Saturday evening).

But a few weeks ago, I went with a friend to see some music, and, well, then it was seven in the morning. I love when that happens.

Since then, we have gotten into a little routine. Sometime around eleven or so on Friday or Saturday, I will, inevitably, get a text message with some location on it, "Chibi's Sake Bar," or "fountain at Columbus Circle," and off we go.

This past Saturday's text was "12th and A."

I was coming from midtown so I was trying to find a cab. It was, as you know, Halloween weekends and the only free cabs were in my fantasies, so I waited for about ten minutes and then started walking down 42nd street towards grand central, thinking I might have better luck there.

As I approached the terminal, I could see a taxi pull over about a block and a half ahead of me. Someone was getting out, and I could see the light flip on. Without thinking, I started sprinting down the median, full speed. The empty cab was waiting for the light to change, and I threw myself on the back door handle and yanked it open just as the light turned green. The driver laughed.

I was breathing hard, senses on fire, the night just getting going. I was dressed entirely in black - black skirt, knee high biker boots, black tank top, hair untied and everywhere, red lipstick. Ready.

When I got to the corner, the crew was waiting. B was dressed as a woman, S as a blow up doll, P as a storybook character. We found a halloween party in full swing at a bar and went in.

Skipping forward an hour or so, B, in his girlwear, and I are dancing to the Cure, his hands on my hips. Every time we come together, I can feel his cock under his skirt, trying to escape the confines of his pantyhose. I look up and see an older man sitting on the couch in the corner, not dressed up, just watching. That was the moment I lost it.

P, who is actually a woman, and I have a history of heating up together. She was sitting nearby and I pulled her on to the dancefloor. We started dancing and she kissed me, tongue going deep. B loved this of course, and he pressed closer from behind.

The man on the couch let his hand stray to his crotch. I could see the quick squeeze. A flood of wetness to my cunt.

B reached around and let his hands slide under my tank top. I grabbed P's hips and pulled her towards me, our legs pressed into each other's pussy. The music slowed a bit and we just moved that way, rubbing on each other, while B grabbed for my nipples, pressing his cock into my ass.

The man on the corner kept his hands off of himself, but I could see what was happening to him. I was about to cum on the dancefloor when I pulled P and B over towards the back. There was a really dark alcove I had noticed, where a lot of people were crowded. The man got up and followed us.

We stood there, smiling for a minute, making stupid small talk, although we could barely hear each other over the music. We were pushed closely together and after a minute, I felt B's hand under my skirt. He quickly found my sopping pussy, and worked a finger in my cunt from behind. I leaned back against him and pulled P towards me again.

The guy stood at a little distance away and kept watching.

This part went on for about five minutes, which was all I could take. I broke away and went into the bathroom. A knock, and the man was there.

He wanted to fuck, of course, but I told him, as you know too well, that I was not into that. Ok, that's fine, he said, but can I cum for you? Of course, I said.

I sat on the floor, with my back against the wall and brought my knees up. I pulled my thong into my pussy lips a little further so that he could see how wet I was. He got a little nervous at that point, but I told him to take his cock out, and he did. It was so hard that it came springing out of his pants. I slipped a finger in my cunt and started pumping it in and out a little.

You looked like quite the little slut out there, he said. Yeah, I said. I haven't cum in awhile. I want to cum for you, ok?

Uhhh. He was jerking it full on now. Nodding.

I spread my legs a little further and slid down the wall a bit so that I was under him. I'm going to fuck myself with my finger and imagine your cock in there.

This was not going to take long.

I slid a few more fingers in, and pulled up my tank top so that he could see my titties. Look at me, I said. I want you to cum on me. Jerk that cock right on me.

He was stroking fast, pumping his shaft, spreading his legs and leaning into it now.

Come on. Fuck that cock for me. Shoot that big load on me. I was starting to cum.

He moaned and started squirting. He bent his legs a little so that his cum fell on my stomach in hot spurts. Mmmm.

Then we just got up and went back out. Just like that. He left right after that, and I went on with my friends. We ended up doing Karaoke later that night, along with more making out in the private Karoake room. I made P cum with my finger up her very tight little pussy.

After what feels like months of a dry spell on the dark side while I have been working, this was a night that I needed.

I am writing from work right now. You have no idea the pain I am in.


still alive

Yes, I am still here. I have been working almost every day for the last month, but I hope to start having a day off here and there. And I will be travelling for the next few days - and you know what hotels and airports do to me.

Just so you know, for now, since time is at a premium, I will send alerts only to my NiteFlirt "friends" when I know I am going to be free. In other words, if you have spoken to me, sent me mail, or checked out my photos/recordings through the NF system, you will be on my list. If you want to get on the list, send me an email and I will tell you how to do it.

Otherwise, I hope to post a bit here and there. I may be working a lot, but I have found ways to keep life interesting. I look forward to telling you about it... ;)


dialing it down a notch

It is amazing that I can even type.

Almost six o'clock, and I am going to have to leave and go meet friends for dinner, where I will attempt to form words. I feel as though when I move, I will be like a pool of liquid spreading over the floor, rather than a thing on two legs.

For those still in the various lines, or who emailed hoping to check in later this evening, I am sorry. I have to scrape myself up now and take a shower.

Realize this is not goodbye - I am just dialing it down a notch. I will still be around, still be writing, still reading emails, still available to chat, etc. Just at a much slower pace.

Until next time...


the end is nigh

Well, this is it. Tomorrow, Friday, will be my last full day of summer. Starting next week, my schedule fills back up, and I will only have one, sometimes two, day(s) off per week. And I somehow doubt I will be able to spend all of those lounging around in a tank top and no underwear writing about what I want to do with your cock.

Thus, here is my plan:

Tomorrow afternoon, I am going to get in bed, strip off all of my clothes, bring myself just to the edge, and be yours - for the rest of the day.

We can talk about the wetness between my legs, your cock, my endless summer, your fantasies, or we can discuss the weather, sports, politics, literature, or philosophy. I could not care less. I just want to hear your voice. Not sure when I will be able to do that again. So, if you have been curious about curiousGirl, this is your chance to scratch that, um, itch. Or if you have cum to know me well, stop by and say hello.

If you know how to call me, then you know what to do. Just put yourself in the line if it is busy. If you don't know how to call me, and you are sure you want to know how to call me, then just send an email. If you don't want to talk, for whatever reason, send a note or I will be sad.

Don't worry. I won't be disappearing entirely. I'm trying to think of an appropriate metaphor... something like, once the snake is out of the bag? Or, now that the pussy has found the milk? Or...

I think I will just stop there. Keep in touch, ok?

what i have become

At a cafe yesterday.

Friend: Shit, here comes that asshole guy.

CuriousGirl: (Looks, sees fifty something man coming in the door.) Why is he an asshole?

F: Fucking pervert. He actually slapped my ass one time as I walked by.

CG: Oh. Hmm. (Looks again.) How hard? And was it kind of low down, like where your thigh meets your ass cheek?

F: ...


small pink thing

My vibrator officially died this morning.

I suppose I can't fault it. The poor thing worked hard this summer. I had to dig it out in March when I started this whole, um, thing - couldn't even remember where it was. Finally found it in a drawer somewhere, dusted it off and got busy.

Such a small pink thing. It has buzzed away between my legs while I wrote to you, teased its way along the edge of my clit while I talked to you, and squeezed itself, at times, not so gently, into my cunt while you talked to me. If you heard the recording I made, then you might have even listened to its dulcet buzzing as it brought me to a, yes, ok, an extremely fast climax! (But, damn, that was a good one.)

Now, it lies still on my desk, looking utterly exhausted. Beat up, even.

Should I bury it? Say a small prayer for it? Write a poem in honor of it? Tattoo "Doc Johnson" on that soft place just inside my hip bone? Swear off cumming for, uh, an hour?

And the biggest question of all: What could possibly ever replace it? (Later: Wow... thanks!)



Ever have one of those days where you get all... lubricated, say, on your lunch break or something, and then you have to go back to work? I know you have no idea what I am talking about ;)

I just got a call from one of my clients and have to do some things this afternoon, but I am wet, wet, wet, wet, wet. So, to entertain myself, I am working in a thong and nothing else with the vibrator on (I know, what else is new) and tucked inside the thong. This, of course, is making me highly productive. And taking the time out to write to you about how productive I am is only adding to my productivity. So lovely.

So, back to my wet pussy. If I may give you a brief insight into a fantasy I have? I may have mentioned it, but I would like to take this opportunity to flesh it out, so to speak.

If I could live in a parallel universe where this was possible without risk of death or job loss, I would love to go to one of those truly seedy places which the mayors of NYC have mostly eliminated, and find there a room somewhere where there are men sitting around in a circle (yes, you see where this is going). In the middle would be a seat that was just slightly raised - possibly cushioned. I would sit there, of course.

The men would be able to speak to me, say whatever they wanted, tell me to do things, show them things, play with toys, or have me tell them things. In fact, maybe the first few minutes would just be talking. I would have all of my clothes on. Then later, I would show them more.

This, of course, plays into all of my reoccuring fantasies both of watching men jerk off, and of them not being able to touch me, because, of course, in this scenario, one touch and they would be booted out and never allowed in ever again.

As I am coming up with this little scenario, I was just thinking how great it would be if I knew someone who would even fuck me as part of all of this. A live sex show. How fun.

But that is just getting ahead of myself. For now, I am putting on a solo show. I could have a dildo attached to the little platform. I could lower myself onto it, or back into it, and fuck myself all by myself ;)

At some point, I might even let the men touch themselves - the ones that wanted to, anyway. I imagine there are some that would pride themselves on keeping their hands off of themselves, in spite of the raging hardons they would almost certainly have.

Such a classic fantasy - and yet so hot. A circle of men, cocks in hand, all jerking off at the same time, talking to me, free to say whatever they wanted as long as they didn't touch. I could almost cum just thinking about that.

Ok, sorry, I am just going on and on now, but it occurs to me that I should split the shows into two groups - tops (who would tell me what to do and watch) and bottoms (who I would order about, telling them how fast/slow/hard they could jerk and when to cum).

Sigh. Ok, back to reality. But of course, my clit is raging hard now. Perhaps I can channel that energy into... um, javascript?


I just want you to know that I had a completely normal, uneventful, if mildly flirty dinner (lunch got postponed) with my ex-business-partner the other day.

I think it is important for you to see that I really can have a non-sexual interaction with another human being ;)

Went to yoga this morning, and I am now all nice and sweaty and revved up, iced coffee sitting to my right, new mac humming.

I am going to get a little work done here and then I am going to cum several times and then I am going to do some more work.

One more week, then I will only have one day off a week to be your orgasm-on-request girl, so enjoy me while I last, which, as you may know, can be a long, long time, or thirty seconds, your choice.



Guess who is town today? Yes, her.

She is married now, and quite a proper businesswoman. I think we are going to meet for a very innocent (sorry) lunch, but don't you just wish you could be a fly on the wall? Or casually sit at the next table? Hi, I'd like you to meet the woman who made me cum so many times I almost passed out. Ah, so nice to meet you. Etc.

Well, we will be sitting somewhere in Manhattan around two or three this afternoon, I think, in case you want to imagine this. Maybe our knees will touch a bit under the table or she will, in her corporate wear, stand up at the end and hug me just a little longer than is normally acceptable.

Too bad I can't rope her into my burgeoning porn ring - if she and I could spend a little time together with a cam, I might be able to get going on my novel right away ;)

I'll keep you posted.


bloody mary

I almost came back with nothing. I was ready to apologize about how I had failed you - how I had nothing for you but a few guys staring at my ass here and there. Whew. I can't say that this is as exciting as I had hoped, but it is something. And, anyway, businessmen in airports, especially airport bars, are truly ripe for the picking. So, given the fact that I was in four (airports, not always in the bar) over the last week, I would have felt as though I had lost my touch if I couldn't have netted something mildly tasty.

If I sound like someone who preys on vulnerable, semi-drunk men on business trips, it is only because I am and I do. For whatever reason, though, the first three airports were dry. Literally. The ban on liquids must have been making people tense.

I spotted a perfect candidate buying gum in the store next to my gate, he was even wearing a tie, which kills me, but he got on another plane. I was resigned by the time we boarded. I had a window seat and the row was still empty when I sat down. I put my bag under the seat and as I sat back, I could see a man in a pinstripe shirt - yes, a pinstripe shirt - making his way down the aisle. Please please please please... sit... right... there. Nice.

Older, in his fifties maybe, ring, briefcase, slight paunch. Not that he could tell I was looking. My magazine was suddenly riveting.

I went into high gear - only two hours and forty minutes to get this show on the road. I hate to bore you with my methods. The usual rooting around in my bag, which involves breasts peeking out of my shirt, the utterly cliched spreading of my legs just a bit more than is really necessary, the wandering, restless hands. He looked over three or four times but didn't say anything until after we took off, when he, finally, asked if I lived in New York.

That is always the beginning of the end.

Blah blah blah, pleasantries exchanged, the weather here the weather there, what do you do, he sells some kind of industrial material, blah blah blah, I am a writer, what do you write, well, a variety of things, both above and, well, below ground, really, that's interesting, what do you mean, well, you can read some later if you like, sounds good.

Me back to my magazine, he opens his briefcase, pulls out some papers, starts making notes. Flight attendants come, leave a club soda for me, a bloody Mary for him, could this be any easier?

Waaaaaaiting.... Waaaaaaaaiting... I am drawing something on a notepad and he asks if I am an artist. I say that I make a lot of art, so I may qualify. We have a longish discussion about what constitutes art, and he puts away his papers and the bloody Mary is kicking in and I still have over an hour and a half to go.

He asks if I sell my drawings, and I say that I can't really think about that, that I have to just make things without thinking of them as income generators, but that I do other things to try to support my art habit. Like what, he asks, like write, I say.

I tell him a bit about the more academic writing that I do. He asks to see a snippet, and I open my laptop and show him a section of a piece I am writing for a journal. He reads that, and I laugh and say that this is actually not really where the big money is. He says, oh, and I say, yeah, the other writing I do is a bit less... learned.

Oh, he says, and laughs. Do I get to see that, too? You may, I say, but only something fairly innocent since I have only known you an hour. So I bring up a story that I have been working on for a magazine that is not exactly an outright porn mag, but more of an erotic lit publication. Whatever that means.

He orders another bloody Mary. Shouldn't this count as some kind of upgrade? Businessmen should have to pay a fee to sit next to me for two hours, dammit.

He reads. I wait. So wonderful.

Wow, he finally says, you weren't kidding. No, I wasn't. I count backwards from three... two... one...

Do you have any more?

As a matter of fact I do. I pull out another story, several notches raunchier and pass the laptop back over.

Now he is dying. I can't see what is going on because his little folding table is blocking my view, but he is clearly distracted. He reads to about halfway and then looks up. How much do you get for this, he asks.

Not that much, really, but it buys me a bit of time to write about other things, and to spend some time in my studio. I also get donations here and there from other... supporters of my work.

He asks if it is true. I say yes. Writing fiction bores me to tears. I can only write about things that have happened to me, or about things that I make happen so that I can write about them. I am smiling now. I don't think he understands why.

He keeps reading. I think he is a little embarassed now, but he is not going to stop. At the end, he laughs a little. Wow, he says again. I know, I say, but it gets the job done. I guess so, he says, but I should probably stop reading this stuff right now. I laugh. Sorry, I say.

He hands the laptop back to me, and I put it away.

He tries to make conversation, but he is flushed now, moving his empty cup around on the table. He asks how long I have been doing this kind of thing, how old I am, etc. He is talking a bit more quietly now, so I have to lean towards him to hear.

I wish I were reading that at home, he says, and I say, I know, it would be more fun. Absolutely, he says. I could just close the door to my little office, and, you know, have fun with it. Right, I said.

Sounds like you have had a lot of interesting experiences in your life, he says. A few, I say, just a few. But I started out very innocent in many ways. I was actually a virgin until I was almost twenty seven. At least, with men.

Oh, he says, and he is almost whispering now. The noise of the engines has gone down a notch and no one is talking around us. I would tell you about what happened when I was twenty seven to open my... eyes, I said, but I think I would be entertaining most of the economy section of this plane.

I think you are right, he said. Maybe you could write it?

I thought this was a hilarious idea and pulled my laptop out again. I moved into the middle seat, just next to him, so he could see the screen and started typing. I have cut and pasted what I typed below.


So, I lost my virginity, to penises, when I was twenty seven. If we were flying to Australia, I would tell you how I lost my virginity to other things earlier, but we only have an hour or so left, so this will have to do.

(The man in front of us just turned around to look... did he hear us talking earlier?)

This story is actually very sweet. Very vanilla in a way. But you asked ;)

I was dating a woman when I first saw this guy. He came into a cafe where I worked. I knew almost immediately that I wanted him.

I'll skip all of the seduction stuff, but I actually didn't have to work too hard. he was really smart. Once we started talking, it was pretty much a done deal. I'll call him C.

***I am inserting this later... I could sort of see what was going on under his fold out table from my new vantage point, and the poor man was in trouble. At one point, his cock was actually pushing up on the bottom of the table a bit, which really killed me.***

C and I teased each other for a long time, but the night he finally got in the door, so to speak, he was over at my house. We had this joke that I was going to end up being the oldest virgin on the planet. He said that he felt it was his duty to save me from this fate. I said I was kind of enjoying the status it gave me at that point, and would hate to join the crowd.

***My travel companion laughed at this point and said something about that being hard to believe.***

C asked if he could at least try, and if I said no, then he would stop. RIGHT, I said. I am just going to lick you, he said. And you are going to do this better than a woman, I said. Good luck.

So he pushed me back on the bed - it was a single futon, actually, and he was sort of kneeling on the floor. He pushed down on my bladder a bit, which felt really good, actually, and just put his mouth over my underwear. Which were white, by the way, because that is what virgins wear... white underwear. ;)

All he did was blow hot air, right onto my clit. I had never had anyone do that. I loved it. He did that for a long time before he very slowly spread open my legs, bent one of my knees a bit, and pushed it back.

Then he slid his toungue over my underwear, which was now marred by a huge wet spot, over to the crease of my leg and under the elastic. He sort of pushed it out of the way and worked his way back over towards my pussy lips.

***Ok, he was fucking ROCK hard now reading this. Which, of course, makes me insane. But I was kind of stuck too, so I kept typing.***

He was very gentle with my clit, which I loved, but at one point I looked down and saw that his cock was out and he was rubbing it on the edge of the bed while he licked me. Even to this day, I can't tell you what the memory of this does to me. I could see his hips moving up and down, the pink tip of his cock appearing and disappearing, the precum oozing onto my sheets making a stain that I would find later.

He started licking me at the same speed that he was jacking himself on the bed. I was moaning openly at this point.

***Speaking of precum. Major leakage showing through for my businessman. I stopped and whispered this to him and he nodded but told me to keep typing.I started up again, but he stopped me and put his mouth close to my ear. If I were at home, I'd jerk off so hard right now my cum would hit the wall. Fuck. Oh, man.***

(Ok, I can see you are having some trouble right now. But this last part is pretty fast anyway, so you can make it... ;)

C was getting really excited now, his shaft pressing into the edge of the bed, hips jerking, jeans around his knees. He slid his tongue deeper into me, and slid a finger in with his tongue. He fucked me deeply with his finger while working my clit with his tongue, and then reached around to my asshole with his other hand. This was a first for me at that time, but he slid his index finger into my asshole before I knew what he was doing. And that was it. I was clinically insane, moaning, screaming, panting, my cunt bearing down on his hands, each in a hole. He slid more fingers into my vagina and started pumping them faster, just leaving the finger in my ass still and deep.

***Businessman in pain. I could see him try to scissor his knees a bit, putting some pressure on his balls, which must have felt like they were going to explode by now. So, of course I had to tease him...***

(How are you doing? I have to admit, I love making you crazy like this. I can see your swollen cock even as I am typing. I bet you would love to take me in the bathroom and bend me over that little, tiny sink right now. I bet you would love it if I could take that hard cock into my mouth and suck it deep into my throat. Do you like to fuck hard? Because I do. I can take it really hard... do you like to pound it? My cunt is wet right now...)

At the last moment, C slipped his cock in me. I think he thought that I wouldn't even notice - just replace fingers with cock and keep going. But I noticed. I absolutely noticed. And in that moment, as he hunched over me and I could feel the heat of him inside of me, his balls slapping against my wet skin, I thought - why the fuck did I wait so long?

I pulled my knees back and urged him on. Fuck me. Come on. Fuck me. Fuck me harder. Come on.

You are so tight, he said. So fucking tight. Ah... god....

Needless to say, we both came so hard that I think the neighborhood knew that I had finally been fucked.

(How are you? Deeeep breath. Didn't this make the flight go faster...lol :)

***He leaned over again. Come with me. I want to feel your tight pussy. Come with me to the bathroom. Ah, fuck. I want to fuck your little pussy.***


I wish I could tell you that I went into the bathroom with him, but I didn't. He didn't want to walk to the bathrooms in the back because he said everyone would see his raging hardon, and I wouldn't go to the bathrooms in the front because I said everyone would see me follow him in there. So we were at an impasse.

He was actually pretty nice about it. I am going to imagine your titties while I am in there, he said. And if you change your mind... knock.

So up he went! Hilarious. Of course, now I was the one dying. But it is so easy for chicks. All we need is an airplane blanket over our lap. I moved back to the window, put my seat back and slid my hand between my legs. I came in, I kid you not, maybe three minutes or less. He wasn't even back from the bathroom. Just the thought of him in there... well, you have read enough of my fantasies to know what that did to me.

Just before I came, I did hold back for a minute, though. I love that moment, my finger resting gently on the rock hard nub of my clit, ready to explode, the walls of my cunt already contracting, vibrating. Wetness oozing from my pussy lips, longing for the feel of a long, hard shaft pushing its way in.

I came just as the bathroom door opened and I smiled at him walking back down the aisle as the orgasm rocked me.

So, there you go. I know... nothing particularly orignal or daring, but it was the best I could do in two hours and forty minutes. Time was running out!

I know I have been working and then away for what must seem like forever, but clearly, I have not forgotten my duty to you. I want to make you hard. A lot. I want you to imagine yourself with me, and jerk yourself off over and over while you read these words. I want you to think of me at the most inopportune moments and have to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. I want to take care of you, and I want you to completely let go and use me for your pleasure. Because, conveniently for you, that is what gives me pleasure.

I have a houseguest today and tomorrow, which is going to drive me a bit mad since all I want to do is cum for you all afternoon. She is away for a few hours, so I might have some time, but I will try to be around next week.

I've missed you. If I haven't responded to your emails, please don't be mad. This is my first day home and with time to really read them.

So. Horny. I'll be thinking of you today.



In an airport. Yes, you know what that means. On the prowl for new stories for you.

Just overheard in the bar... man on cellphone: Aw, dude, I thought they were gonna suck me off at that meeting today.

An auspicious start.


the soundtrack for this lonely day

drink up, baby down
mmm, are you in or are you out
leave your things behind
'cause it's all going off without you
excuse me, too busy you're writing your tragedy
these mishaps
you bubble wrap
when you've no idea what you're like

so let go, jump in
oh well, whatcha waiting for
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown
so let go, just get in
oh, it's so amazing here
it's alright
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown

it gains the more it gives
and then it rises with the fall
so hand me that remote
can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow

such boundless pleasure
we've no time for later now
you can't await your own arrival
you've 20 seconds to comply

- from "let go" by frou frou

advance and retreat

Yes, for those who have been with me for awhile on this journey, I made some changes around here. Thinking hard over here, as usual. Sex and thinking have a very uneasy relationship, I have noticed. Hard to do both at the same time ;) Thus, the seesawing nature of my posts.

Besides rearranging the furniture here in blogland, I have also gotten a huge chunk of freelance work that comes with a huge deadline, so I have been focused on that to the detriment of all emails, chats in various media, and other distractions. So, forgive me if I am quiet lately. This happens sometimes.

This might continue for awhile. Depends on whether I get more work from this client. So if you don't hear from me, or haven't heard from me recently, don't be sad. While I slave away for a different kind of Man, I'll be daydreaming of you and your fabulously huge... intellect.



Sorry, just a quick tech interruption...

FYI, if you get tired of having to click through to all of the webpages that you like to look at often, including the most important one by yours truly, remember that this page does have a feed. If you know what this means, then go forth and prosper. If you don't, then read on.

RSS feeds let you keep track of all of the latest posts on all of the news sites and weblogs that you read - but all on one page so you don't have to browse over to all of them one by one. Nice!

The easiest way to collect all of the feeds onto one page is to use one of the services (called "aggregators") like Bloglines, for example. It takes about ten seconds to set up an account, then you just click on "add feed," and then add the URLs to the feeds of all of the sites you want to keep track of.

How do you find the feeds on the weblogs? Usually there is a link somewhere on them that says "RSS" or "FEED" or some combo. Just click on that link and then cut and paste the address of the page you get taken to into Bloglines. (If you have a PC, you can just right click on the link itself and copy/paste the URL into Bloglines).

Where is MY feed? Why it is right here. (Or, just cut and paste the following address into Bloglines: http://curious-grl.blogspot.com/rss.xml)

Then, voila, you will have one page that will have all of the latest posts on it from all of the blogs you read. Saves a lot of time. Plus, you will know the second that I update, which is what really matters...

PS. The absolute easiest way to do this is to use Mozilla Firefox as your browser and click on the little orange button on the lower right hand corder of the browser. You can create a bookmark that is a feed - in other words, it works like a bookmark, but whan you click it, you see the titles of my last few posts...

car service

Sex and violence live so close together. Yesterday, I was both terrified and more turned on than I have been all summer, which, as you might know, is saying a lot.

I called a car service to come get me from the grocery store, of all of the most innocent places. When the car arrived, I loaded my bags in the back and got in the back, directly behind the driver. He was Russian, I think. Shaved head, tattoos, gold necklace. Loud, thumping music.

But here is the thing I cannot get my head around completely - I know that I have been very... well, I am sure I am sending out some signals, both in my manner and dress, to those who are keeping an eye out for it. But still, I am contantly surprised how just under the surface the darker side of eroticism really lies. And here is another example.

We are driving towards my house and I am reading a magazine. He is stopping and starting a lot - clearly agitated, trying to get around slow cars, running through yellow lights, etc. I don't pay much attention for awhile - typical taxi/car behavior. But at one point, he really puts on the brakes and I have to reach forward and grab the back of the seat in front of me to brace myself.

I look ahead and the guy in the car ahead of us is driving slowly and not letting my driver pass. At one point, the window of the car ahead opens and out comes a hand making a long series of obscene hand gestures, most of which I did not even know existed. At this point, I had to laugh. Wow, I said. Creative.

My driver did not laugh. But he glanced back at me. Ok, yes, I was yet again braless in the heat, my typically thin t-shirt damp against my nipples, my face flushed. But I really was not even thinking about sex at this moment, I swear! But he looked back and down several times until I realized, shit, when I was watching the show up ahead, I had scooted forward on the faux-leather seat and my knees had fallen open a bit.

I had a short skirt on with, also typical for me lately, no underwear on. My driver tilted his mirror to get a better view. This time I laughed. Sorry, I said, and sat back. He just shrugged a little, but I leaned forward just in time to catch him doing a quick squeeze with the hand in his lap.

I just want to say that I had such a rush of wetness to my cunt at that moment, I actually felt lightheaded. But at that moment, we came to a stoplight just behind the car that had been, um, signalling to him earlier. I thought something was odd when he put the car in park, but then he opened the door, went to the trunk and pulled out a baseball bat. I leaned out the window saying, wait, wait, what are you doing, but he ran up to the car ahead and kicked the side of it.

Needless to say, they rolled up all of their windows and stayed put. He made gestures as if he was going to hit the window with the bat several times, but didn't, thank god, do it. He just kicked the side of the car once or twice more, and then came back to the car.

I was completely freaked out. Who the fuck threatens someone with a bat because they were flipped off while driving? People with deep anger issues, that's who. And I am in the car with one. Fabulous.

We drive again. I am sitting forward a bit. Suddenly, he said, sit back, I can't see out my mirror. So I sit back. My legs are partially open. Then I see his shoulder and upper arm moving - I can't see over the seat to know exactly what he is doing but I can guess. So, forgive me, but I open my legs a bit wider.

And while we are driving down the highway, he gets more and more into it. The music was really loud, and I didn't do anything but sit there, heart pounding, cunt dripping, while his arm went faster and faster. This went on for about five minutes. He didn't say anything or show any sign that he had cum. Just, at some point, I noticed that he was zipping up, and then we were coming to my exit.

We just drove for a few minutes to my house, I paid him, and got out. That was it! I mean, how bizarre. The baseball bat thing ALONE would have been completely freaky.

I have to say, I was a little overwhelmed for about an hour after that. I think, mostly, I am nervous about the energy that I am drawing towards me and the fine line between the erotic and the deeply neurotic. The short version of this concern? I don't want to die. Not yet, anyway.

At the start of this experiment, I met a few people in person in indirect ways, but this will not happen again. Not unless I have come to know them over time and we work out a kind of arrangement that, frankly, compensates me for the risk I would take to meet in person. A risk that is hard to really understand if you are a man and have not seen life from this side of the gender line. As unbelievably hot and weird as yesterday was, in the end, it was an unsubtle wake up call to keep this boundary firmly in place.

I was reading through craiglist on the erotic services board, and I am sorry to bring up class issues, but for many of the women offering themselves that way, the financial need outweighs the risk, and I would bet that they put themselves into almost as much risk just walking down the street of their neighborhood in broad daylight.

I think that younger, more educated women who are doing this kind of thing tend to work for upscale services. I considered this briefly, but the problem is that I am too picky. Not everyone turns me on, and I am not interested in having to spend time with everyone who comes down the conveyor belt. The thought of that makes me feel ill.

So I am on my own to experiment through labor day. Thanks again for cumming along for the ride.



I was working on some freelance stuff this morning, but I have just reached for the vibrator. I wanted you to be here while I put it between my legs.

There. And... on.


Now comes that delicious transformation. A stepping over some invisible line. I feel it first as a flush on my skin, my nipples start to harden, and my shoulders start to relax.


My mind is getting a little fuzzy and my back is starting to arch. I can feel all of the blood rushing to my cunt... gathering itself.


Can't help it... always reach for the nipples first. Squeezing. Kneading. They are rock hard now... pink, aching. My eyelids are starting to get heavier. Damn... I will cum in a second if I don't stop.


A little breather. Whew. Pussy damp, starting to throb. I want to cum so badly but will wait. I like the teasing part. My pussy lips are starting to swell up and stick out in anticipation of a hard cock pushing them apart to fuck me as hard as I can take it... which is, as you might know by now, really hard.


Flicking it on... cumming just to the edge of cumming... then flicking it off. Over and over.


Legs spread now. Underwear on the floor. Tanktop pushed up over my tits. You wish you were here.


I should be recording this.


Vibrator on now as I type. Trying to focus so that I don't cum. I am going to stop typing and slide my fingers inside. I need to be fucked somehow...


Hands wet now on the keyboard. Fucking myself with my fingers. I desperately want to see someone standing over me, cock in hand, jerking for me.


Ok. Really have to stop. Really. At least for now.

I love this feeling - cunt on fire... face hot... hands damp... clit swollen... nipples rock hard. Completely alive, vibrating, and vulnerable. I especially love having the time to do this - to go to this place and then just... stay there... ;)



Sorry I have been a bit scarce lately. Besides my rebalancing plan, I have had to take on a chunk of freelancing work.

Now. Wouldn't it be delightful if I DIDN'T NEED TO DO THAT? Because if I DIDN'T NEED TO DO THAT, guess what I could have done today instead?

Exactly. That. And I might have even had some time left over to do some of my own projects as well. Double bonus.

Instead, I sat in a meeting with clients imagining you stroking yourself all alone, without me there to provide critical feedback and encouragement designed to optimize your orgasmic experience.

Poor lonely you.

And poor fidgety me.



Feeling better. Much more balanced. Two hours of hardcore yoga, many runs, several speedy bike rides, a private pilates session and soccer lessons. All in just three days. I am sore. In more ways than one.

Ah, but those of you who are not cheapskates (those pics really separated the men from the boys!) have seen the results of all of my physical exertions. Yes. Fabulous, rock hard abs and the most spectacular ass on the eastern seaboard. So tough to be me ;)

Not that all of this working out did much to distract me from my... distractions. I woke up at two in the morning, cumming hard in my sleep. I had tiny, little black panties on and they were soaked. Soaked, people.

This morning, after coming from the spa where I spent the morning getting waxed, which tends, by its very nature, to sort of, um, warm me up a bit, I stopped into Paragon to buy some new shin guards, and, putting out the freshly waxed signal as I must have been, was converged upon by cute salesmen asking if I needed help. I put on the long socks and when the twenty-something year old slid his hands down in them to adjust the padding, I almost moaned out loud. I was wearing a thin, low cut shirt and my nipples were so hard he could NOT take his eyes off of them. As it should be.

This is my summer to play, and I am not done yet. Four more weeks.



I am looking for you. I want to be yours. I want to live just under the surface of your everyday life.

I want to call you from the bathroom while I am out to dinner with friends because I crave the sound of your voice. I want to cum for you in the stall before I go back for dessert.

I want to email you while you are at work, and tell you what I am doing to myself until precum leaks through your pants and you are counting the minutes until you can go home and jack off.

I want you to think of me while you are fucking your wife or your girlfriend, whispering to you all of the things she would never be able to say.

I want to watch you stroke yourself just for me. I want to see you play with your balls, squeeze the swollen head. I want to see the cum arch up and land on your stomach, your shaft shiny and twitching.

I want to listen when you want to talk - lazy, meandering erotic thoughts or dirty, fucked up things you can't believe you are saying, or intelligent conversation with someone who gets it. Finally.

I want to be there for you when you want me. When you need me.
I want I want I want to be completely yours.



I am striving to have a relatively non-sexual day today. You know, maybe I will do something radical like go to a museum or something and NOT flash my pussy at the staring guard (short, hysterical laugh), but wanted to say thanks for yesterday - one of the hottest, wettest days on record.

When I go back to my job in the fall, and they ask me what I did for my summer vacation, what, exactly, shall I say?



Interviewer: So let's get right down to it. You've been doing this for a few months now?

CuriousGirl: Yeah. Since March, or something like that.

I: Uh huh. Actually, before we start, could I just ask, do you always conduct your interviews in the nude?

CG: Well, this is my first one, so I guess you could say I always do, yes.

I: Ok. Well. Not that I have a problem with it. Actually... well, ok, let's just... Have you ever done this before?

CG: Ummmm, not exactly in this form. A few years ago, I put an ad in a paper in Boston saying that I was looking to negotiate an ongoing, uh, situation, and that the more creative the terms were, the better. The main difference between now and then is that after hearing their phone messages and ruling out the ones that didn't seem like they understood what I was asking for, I would arrange to meet them right away. And I was open to relationships which involved sex right at the start, which I am not doing right now.

I: How did that go?

CG: Well, as I am finding this time, the initial, sort of, interview and weeding down process is both exhilarating and exhausting. At that point, I was meeting about five or six men a day, you know, coffee, breakfast, brunch, lunch, dinner, drinks. I had to eat slow, or I would have gained a lot of weight. Or died from caffiene overdose. Wait. Can you die from caffeine overdose? Anyway, it was crazy. But completely amazing.

I: How so?

CG: I have a neverending fascination with the deep workings of people. There was such a layering of fantasy and expectation. Most would see me and say something like, what a relief. Because they thought I would look like some kind of white trash ho-type, or maybe I'd be all done up with four pounds of makeup and heels, or maybe I'd be a man, or whatever preconceptions they had about someone who would do this. Then I'd just be normal and cute and they would have to marvel at that for a minute and ask me why I was doing this and all of that...

I: Did any of them not like you right up front, or say they didn't find you attractive?

CG: Well, none of them said it to my face, but I think the ones who wanted the big, fakey tits or super duper curves were not psyched. I am not hyper feminized in any way...

I: So...

CG: Oh, and I was going to say, the other thing that was amazing was how many people needed so badly just to have someone to talk to in an intimate way. Like, I know they wanted to fuck and get fucked and all of that, but there was often this feeling of wanting to be able to say absolutely anything they wanted to me, with no sense of judgment or innappropriateness. And they could ask me questions or tell me things about their past that they really wanted to say out loud.

I: Did any of them get, you know, visibly turned on during the interview.

CG: Actually, it was funny, most of them were so... I mean, the discussions themselves were really... if you had been sitting at a table next to us at a restaurant, you would definitely think that, at least with most of them, we were lovers, but it is not like all of the discussions were openly sexual. Ok, well, there was one guy...

I: Oh?

CG: Yeah. He was absolutely touching himself under the table. But that was so my fault. He was a bit overweight, so I think he was self conscious about his body and hadn't really had sex in a while. He asked me what I liked to do, and, well, I told him. At one point, he was stroking his cock full on under the tablecloth, but I actually had to go meet someone else right after that, so we had to cut it short!

I: So did you ever find someone?

CG: I did. A few, actually. It ended up being really clear who was looking for the same thing I was. I met the first guy during my very first day of meeting people. He took me to this really wonderful restaurant, which I am a complete sucker for, and we had this truly incredible conversation. It went on and on and I actually called to postpone the date I had after him. He had my email address and I had a PO box, so from the very next day, he started sending me little things - gift certificates, books related to what we talked about, and, of course, some things he wanted to see me wear. I spent time with him every few weeks for almost a year. As things evolved, he would usually take me to some ridiculously fabulous restaurant, then to this one, excellent hotel. He never gave me cash, always some wonderful gift, or something useful for my house or a series of massages or whatever. I loved it. And on those nights, I was just his. Sometimes he just wanted to talk, other times he would do more kinky things, he loved to keep me from going to the bathroom until I peed in my jeans. He also had lots of little girl fantasies... like underage stuff...

I: He wanted you to pee in your pants?

CG: Yeah. Actually, that was really tame next to one of the other men I was spending time with.

I: Oh, meaning...?

CG: I met the second guy for breakfast on the second week, and by lunch, I was in a room at the hotel we had met at. He offered me several hundred dollars on the spot to just come up and let him spend time with my arms and feet. No sex. He would spend maybe a half an hour just on my left upper arm, kissing and licking. He'd work his way down to my feet, and I would use my feet to jerk him off. He made a lot of noise. Then he would just pay me, and I'd leave, and then show up at the same time the next week.

I: Simple.

CG: Yes.

I: Any more?

CG: Just one. I am still in touch with this one on occasion - he is the one I connected to the most. He was working a lot then, a kind of stressful job, I think, and just didn't have time to deal with dating or all of the associated efforts of dating. It's funny, some guys get this right away. He just wanted, you know, the good parts of dating, and he knew that in order to have that without the other stuff, he would have to make some kind of deal. So it was always really easy and clear with him. He appreciated me very much, and I came to know him well, or as well as you can in that situation. I knew what he liked, that is for sure.

I: So... what did you do with him?

CG: Well, he actually was not into full-out fucking most of the time. What he really wanted was to say things to me, have me say things to him, and to watch him jack off. He was fabulously dirty. I mean, really, really, dirty and just hearing him talk to me would make me cum several times in an hour or two. We would sometimes spend a few hours in the buildup - talking really dirty at dinner, or masturbating in a public place, sometimes with people really nearby. We did a lot of bathrooms and subways and stairwells... HEY. You are getting a little red...

I: I am, I am. Sorry. I am just having a little trouble here. I have to admit, this is turning me on a little. But I want to hear what kind of an arrangement you made with him. Not that this is for any personal reason!

CG: Right. Of course not. And yes, I can see what is going on with you. Those were really not the right pants to wear to interview a naked woman.

I: I give you that.

CG: So. The deal I made with him. Well. It really did evolve over time. We weren't sure what it would be at first. He actually didn't want to just hand me a wad of cash. He was moving into a new house at the time, and had absolutely NO design sense. The ultimate straight man - black leather couch and entertainment center and some things from his old house before the divorce... So I would go to Restoration Hardware and Crate and Barrel or wherever with him and help him pick things out for the house. And, over time, I would pick things out for myself as well, with his help, and have them shipped to me. They were beautiful things, and he liked choosing them with me and imagining me around his gifts. So it was perfect.

I: Did you talk to him outside of the times that you saw him?

CG: Absolutely. He would often call me in the morning. He would have been jerking off in bed for a while first, and he would call me, his voice tight, so I could hear him cum. Or he would call me from work where he would have snuck off to the storeroom or whatever. I got to know his sounds really well, so I would bring him right to the edge of cumming and then make him stroke slower and slower until he was begging me to cum. So nice!

I: Ok, now I am really having problems. You've got me... ok, well, you can see that. Would it bother you, I mean, do you think I could take it out for a minute.

CG: Sure. Of course!

I: Mmmm. I'm sorry, I just can't listen to all of this, and... ok, I'm going to, will you, I mean, could you just touch your nipples for me? For a minute?

CG: Like this? they are already hard! Perfect. I'm going to pinch them for you.

I: Mmmm. God. Oh god. I want to cum for you so bad. Didn't think I was going to make it through that. Will you get down on your knees for me? I want to stand up and jack in your face.

CG: Sure...

I: Oh yeah... mmmm. I'm going to put it right up to your face, like this. Suck my balls, could you... yeah. Suck them. Mmmm. I'm going to jerk of really hard now... mmmm. God. Do you like my cock? Mmmm. You're such a little dirty bitch. Look at my cock... I want you to watch me stroke it for you. Mmmmm. Show me your tits. Squeeze them for me. Mmmm. I'm going to shoot my load all over your tits. Mmmmm. Mmmmmm. Uhhhhhhh. Yeah. Uhhhhhhh.

CG: (After a while) Any more questions?



Ok, so clearly this heat is getting to me.

I am buttplug free today. (Laughing...) I'm nice and cool actually. Went for a long run, took a shower, put on the skimpiest thing I could find, and I am sitting down to actually do a little work, after two days of something like an orgasm every two hours. Can tire a girl out!

I am realizing more and more that I really can't keep this up - not in this form, anyway. I have some ideas about how to get to the kind of arrangements that I want without spending the kind of time online that I have, for example, in the last few days, but I am a bit nervous about these ideas. Sigh. I will keep you posted.

Just a small window into what would be a perfect scenario for me right now. I have the next five weeks to myself every day, all day. I want to roll over in the morning, fresh from my dreams, naked and warm, and talk to someone with a morning hard on until they explode.

Then I want to make coffee.

Then, while drinking my coffee, I want to describe my latest fantasies to someone else and hear the catch in their voice while they pump their cock, imagining what I am saying.

Then I want to go for a run.

After a cool shower, I want to turn on some porn and watch it until I am dripping. Then I want to talk to someone who is a bit more dominant, who likes to order me around a bit, say things to me that he can't say to his wife or girlfriend, make me do things. I want to hear everything - even the sickest, dirtiest, nastiest fantasies.

After he shoots his creamy load, I want to have lunch.

Feeling rejuvinated, I want to talk to someone who wants to be told what to do and how to do it and when to do it and how long, how hard, and how fast or slow. I want to humiliate them, make fun of them, walk on them, and then, when they can't take it any more, allow them to cum.

Then, maybe, I'll take a quick nap.

As I wake up from my nap, I want to whisper to someone while they are at work, backed into a bathroom stall, jerking off quickly and quietly while I finger my cunt and tell them how wet it is, how much I want them to fuck me, and how hard I like it. I'll go into the bathroom, too, and push on my full bladder, maybe stand in the tub and let the wet, hot urine pour down my legs as he cums so hard he has to sit down.

Then I will take some time to write a weblog entry, so I can describe how desperately I need to cum.

And, for the next caller, I want to cum. Just for them. Even better, I want them to watch my wet cunt on cam while I do it, fingers thrumming inside of me, juices flowing.

Then I might take a break, rest, run errands, squeezing my sore pussy muscles while I go to the corner bodega, smiling at the guy who takes my money as he notices my nipples, still hard from the day, clearly visible under a thin t-shirt.

And, for my follow up orgasm, I want to watch someone jerk off for me on cam, stroking his shaft while I watch and talk to him, hunched over, sweating in the heat, showing me his red and swollen dick while I put a dildo inside of me and urge him on. The second orgasm is always so long and deep.

Then I might have dinner and call it a day.

What do you think? Nice summer vacation, right? I thought so, too.



I am just about to go out, but I wanted you to be here for this.

I am sitting on the edge of my chair, perched, really, because I have a butt plug shoved all the way into my ass. It has been there for at least thirty minutes while I have been chatting here and there on skype.

My cunt is so wet that I am actually, not figuratively or metaphorically, drooling onto my chair. My clit is enormous. Swollen. Huge, even.

I can squeeze my asshole just enough to feel it wrap around the plug. I just reached around and pushed it further in. Of course, I am remembering my recent experience. I am aching to be fucked that way again.

I am going to take a quick break and bring myself literally, right to the edge of cumming. I am going to barely touch my clit, and then fuck myself with the plug until my cunt starts to contract. Then I am going to stop.


I wish you were here to see me now, juices running down my leg, my asshole stretched tight. I want you to hear my voice right now, which would be husky and strained, desperate to cum for you. Your cock would be ramrod hard, and I would make you pump it for me.

I am going to count to three now, imagining you standing there, your swollen shaft pointing at me while you hunch over it, jerking off for me. On the number three, and not a moment before, just as I type it, I will cum for you. Watch me cum for you...



3fuuuuuuuuuuuuck oh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck fuuuuuck me dkf


quiet man

Hey. I'm back.

I've been travelling. I was in the most beautiful place. But I am glad to be home.

On the plane on the way home, I had to laugh, several times, thinking of this time in my life. It is as if I am sending out some kind of high frequency vibration that speaks directly to some primal place in people who are, even if they are unaware of it, listening for that particular sound.

An example.

A few days ago, I stopped at a town that had a kind of spa in it. I had not booked a place to sleep that night, but the town was right on the ocean, so I thought I might just camp out in my car for the night. I went to the local campground/trailer area and drove around a bit looking for a place to park. When I came back around to the little office at the entrance, I parked the car and went in to talk to the woman at the desk.

She said that I was welcome to park overnight there, and I asked her if there was any particular spot I should go. She said that she would ask the owner and walked outside. I followed.

As I had driven up, I had noticed a man fixing the gate. She walked over to him and said something. He came over to me and we shook hands. And that was it. Really. In that exact moment, I knew that I would be fucking him in the next twenty four hours or so.

I said hello, he said hello, I asked him where I should park, he made some pretence of pointing out a few spots, he asked where I was from, I told him, and then he asked if I wanted to come over for some coffee. I said yes.

We walked up the hill, weaving through the trailers, and I expected to stop at one of them, but we rounded a corner and there was a little cabin on another little rise, overlooking the beach. I was just smiling openly at this point. Nice house, I said.

In we went, we had coffee, talked, he had to go back to work for awhile, I was going to go for a walk on the beach. Less than one hour after we met, he handed me the keys to his house and told me to stay. So I did.

I was waiting when he got home that night. Six hours of anticipation had left me a little breathless, but we talked for a while, had some excellent whisky, listened to music, prolonging the moment. He was very reserved, almost shy, but I noticed he had been eyeing my feet in flip flops, and I remember thinking that maybe he had a little bit of a foot fetish when he suddenly reached out and took them in his lap, covering my calves in kisses and massaging my arches. Seeing him sort of bent over my feet that way, oblivious to anything else, made me feel lightheaded.

When he looked up, I hooked my hands around his neck to kiss him, and in about three minutes, my clothes were off and I was on his lap, straddling him. The best part? The man was uncircumcised.

I won't take the time now to register my full opinion on the subject, but suffice it to say that this is the way that God intended penises to operate. I feel truly sorry for men who have been robbed of their full equipment. To me, the difference, while not extreme, is noteable. Especially when you are fucked, at length, in the ass, as I was moments after I got into his lap.

The gorgeous foreskin keeps the whole operation lubricated and moving smoothly. You have no idea. I could have fucked for hours. Which we did, actually, taking numerous small breaks to catch our breath.

The second or third time we started up, he was on the couch and I was sitting on him, his cock moving deeply in my ass. He started to whisper to me, fuck that cock, fuck it, come on, fuck it harder. Clearly, what could I do but oblige? At that point, I was bouncing hard on his shaft, wetness everywhere. He was taking my tits in his hand and twisting the nipples hard. I reached down and spread my lips so he could see my clit, red and swollen, sliding on his pelvis.

You little bitch, he said, fuck my cock, bitch. Come on, bitch. Fuck my cock. Fuck it hard. He was making these grunting, animal like noises in the back of his throat and his face was red, veins pulsing in his forehead. I was coming up almost entirely off of his shaft and then pounding my ass back down. He started slapping my ass over and over, telling me to fuck his cock, and I came hard, my asshole tightening and pulsing. I just kept cumming in waves.

Later, we went to bed. I was sore, tired, my nipples were red and tender. I pressed my body into him and felt him get hard again. He pushed his was back into my ass. It hurt, but it was so wet and hot that when he was all the way in again, the pleasure overtook the pain. He grabbed my hips and jacked himself off with my asshole while I moaned.

I slept really well that night. A nice start to my vacation, I thought.


time out

I am leaving you for a little bit. For a few weeks, I think. Not longer, I hope. I won't be able to respond to any emails either. No, not even from you.

Don't be sad. You can read through all of the old posts... sometimes you miss important details the first time around, you know.

So, your computer screen better be splattered and blurry when I get back.


I am not kidding.

Go. Get busy.


Here is a funny side effect of these last few months. Since I have been keeping myself in a state of just-about-to-cum-ness so much of the time, I think I must send out some kind of signal that I am not aware of, or not doing consciously.

Yesterday, I saw the ex-husband of a friend of mine, on a street in Brooklyn. He is a poet, very dark and introspective, and much older than I am. He must be in his fifties, greying hair, a little paunch. Ok, I have a thing for older, not necessarily stunning men. My friend calls it a dirty old man fetish. Not so far from the truth, I think.

I called out to him - he was getting in his car - and walked over to say hello. I haven't seen him in at least three years. The last time was at his now ex-wife's birthday party. I remember hugging him when I said hello. He had held me just a little to long. I hadn't forgotten that.

There was a lot of traffic in the road, so he gestured for me to get in on the passenger's side. I slid into the seat next to him, and we spent the next twenty minutes just catching up. It was really good to see him... such a funny, smart, odd man.

I was starting to turn the conversation towards the type of things you say right before you say goodbye - it was great to run into you, stay in touch, etc. - when he looked at me and said, you look really good. Then he asked, how is it that you always look the same, as if you never get older? I feel so old.

I felt bad for him. He had had a lot of health problems in the last few years. I said that I must have good genes. He said he felt tired much of the time, that he wanted to go out, socialize more, but he never felt like he had the energy. I want to start dating again, he said. Mostly, I just miss the intimacy. Being close to someone...

He was looking at me, and I sort of nodded and babbled a little bit about how hard it was to meet and keep friends in New York, and had he tried match.com, and now that the weather was getting nicer, maybe it would be easier, etc.

Yeah, he sighed. The funny thing is that I never really felt like being intimate when I was married, but now that I am free of that, it's like I am exploding out of myself.

At that point, I could feel my pussy starting to go crazy. Serious wetness. My face was flushing, and I just looked down.

You probaby knew this was coming, he went on, but do you remember the last time I saw you and you hugged me hello?

Dying, now. I could not look over to see if he was aroused because I knew that would be it for me.

Well, I thought about that for a long time. To be honest, it really turned me on.

At this point, I was over the edge. To the other side, that other place you go to when all of the blood leaves your head and goes south. I looked at him and asked (I know, huge surprise, my big theme...), Did you ever masturbate while thinking of it?

Now he was laughing. I can NOT believe you just asked that. But, DAMN, obviously I love that you asked that, as you can see.

He was rock hard. I had a mission now.

Yes, he said, I did. Many times.

Would you show me what you did? I asked.

The rest is fairly predictable. I was out of my mind. There were people walking down the street every once an awhile, so the fun part was keeping our upper bodies fairly neutral. Or as neutral as possible.

He was really shy in the beginning, and kept laughing and saying that he couldn't believe he was doing this, that I was too young for him, etc. I would tell him to keep going, and he would say ok, and start stroking himself a little again. At one point, I asked him if I could touch myself, and he said, please do.

So I did.

Again, an interesting situation. I couldn't really take everything off since people walking by on the passenger side could see in, so I just unzipped my jeans and slid a few fingers - and SLIDE is the operative word - down into my pussy. I couldn't even really touch myself, because the sight of him, eyes glazed, staring at my crotch, his hand speeding up a little now, got me much to turned on. One touch and I would have exploded.

At some point, he stopped laughing and got serious. He started asking me questions about what I liked to do in bed. He said he loved it when a woman took his balls entirely into their mouth. I, of course, love doing that. He really started pumping his cock when I mentioned that. I told him how I would love to stick my finger in his asshole while he jerked himself, and that almost sent him over the edge. His cock was drooling pretty heavily by this time. He slowed down.

He asked if my nipples were very sensitive. I told him they were, but that one of the things I loved most was having them pinched really hard while I rubbed my clit or got fucked. When I get close to cumming, I even liked them bitten or twisted. He asked me to do that to myself a little right then. To pinch my nipples.

He was working hard by then. Whispering, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, pinch your little nipples... I told him to jerk it harder. Harder. Now stop... watch me finger my pussy. Watch me lick my fingers. Watch me slide my fingers back inside me. Now jerk that cock again, faster, faster, that's it, faster.

We came together, his cock twitching hard, cum spurting all over the steering wheel. I could feel the walls of my cunt contracting for almost a full minute, my underwear sopping wet, my nipples red and raw.

The poor guy, though, he was REALLY awkward and embarrassed after he came. He kept apologizing, trying to wipe the cum off the wheel with a paper napkin. I kept saying how much I loved that. He would just laugh a little.

Finally, I just said, ok, well, THANKS! Nice running into you! And laughed. I leaned over and sort of gave him a hug, and he did hug me back, which almost surprised me. Do you want my phone number? No, he said, better not.

Ok, I said, and opened the door. Hope the rest of your day is really... relaxed! He said that he was sure it would be. I closed the door and kept walking down the street.

How much do I love that this happened? A lot. I love it a lot. But, as I might have mentioned, I have no idea how long I can keep this up, this constant state of arousal. I don't think I would have pushed things with him to that point if I hadn't already been wet and hot...

Anyway, at the very least, this will make for some great reading for me later, during... um... dryer spells...


in a state

I don't know how much longer I can keep this experiment going, but it has been an interesting ride. In a sense, though, I am still looking. I want a kind of ongoing "thing" with a few people - but so many factors have to be right. I really hate the idea of starting up some kind of operation - talking to strangers, idiots, people I don't really connect to or who don't turn me on. I don't want to fake anything. In fact, as I have said, I have never, and will never, fake anything.

But I am, as you might have noticed, fabulously ambivalent about taking money directly. I have preferred other kinds of gifts or exchanges because it seems more fun, more creative and specific to that relationship. But I have admitted that some kind of exchange is necessary - it keeps the point of the interaction very clear. Which is important. And more than that, there is the reality of the fact that this takes a truly stupid amount of time. And if I don't get something for my time, I should grab another consulting job to fill these hours instead.

It is true that some people prefer the simplicity of cash. That is fine - but only if they are really ok with it - prefer it even. Otherwise it ruins what I love about the interactions. Though you will be interested to know that I have not accepted any cash yet during the span of this little experiment. I have, as you know, received many wonderful, wonderful gifts, however. I am, in fact, wearing one right now. And you know that man has cum so many times in the last week, his cock is numb.

Another, more mundane reason for some kind of exchange? Why should I pick one person over another when there are so many? Obviously, I pick people primarily based on how hot they make me, how much I enjoy interacting with them, etc. Because if this is not fun for me, then there really is no point. But beyond that, I need some other criteria.

So, the bottom line: I am hot so much of the time that I want to do this as much as I can - but in order to do that, there needs to be some kind of exchange or I will need to do something else with the time.

I actually did set up a phone number. Yes, I know. Talk about direct payment. But I am not going to post it here... yet. I only want to give it to people who really want to do things that way. The benefits? Clear, simple, hot and sweet cumming. My attention, my full attention, on you, on your full, heavy balls, your twitching cock. All the time you want to ask me anything, make me do or say anything, make me tell you to do things, or to go with you wherever you want. I will only talk when I am in the mood to actually cum with you.

But for now, I want to get to know you by chatting with you first. Maybe watching you on cam using skpe. (Watching, if you have not noticed, is one of my favorite things.) Maybe more, if you are lucky. Or if I am lucky. But, of course, it may be a while before I get to you this way. Because of the above, and because I am working so much, lately. And not this kind of working!

See, I just want you to know that simply typing the words "talking you through it" above made me wet! What am I going to do with myself now! The thought of telling you to jerk your stiff cock for me has put me in a state.

Please. Help me out. ;)



(i am typing this, listening to someone talk to me on the phone. he doesn't, i think, know i am typing...)

mmmm. i want to, i want to cum for you. ohhh. uhhhh. i want to fuck your... your little hole and then pull it out, jerk your head back, and cum in your mouth. you little... oh you're a slut. you fucking little slut. you like it don't you. you, i think you pretend you don't but you like my hard cock shoving its way into your wet pussy, pushing all the way inside, your pussy so wet, so wet, pulling out and then driving it back in, harder than you think you can take. you like that? mmmmm. i am jerking my shaft for you you little bitch slut. you bitch... you fucking bitch.... mmm. you like my cock? i want you to watch me fuck your little, your little cunt hole? oh god i want to cum for you i am going to cum all over your tits you little bitch. i'm going to roll you over and fuck your mouth, your... lips and your mouth... shoving it in your fucking mouth, you slut, you like that you dirty little girl. you suck that you little girl. come on, suck my fat cock, come on, suck that cock you bitch... unnnh... uhh... yeah... like that... suck it bitch...uhhh.... uhhh.... uhhh. pinch those titties hard... uhhh... uhhh... uhhh... you little cunt... you like that... you like that, bitch? I'm going to fuck your ass now... your tight little asshole. you have such a tight little asshole... i'm going to rip it open and shoot my load in your ass... uhhhh... tight little ass... fucking you so fucking hard... uhhh uhhh uhhh you dirty cunt i'm going to shoot my load in your tight ass... uhhh uhh uhh uHH UHHH UHHH UHHH UHHH UHHH UHHH OOOOOOOHHH OHHHHH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ..................



wish you were here

I was thinking about you today. Wondering, as always, if you ever masturbate while thinking of me? Do you talk to me in your head while you do it, or even, if no one is around, out loud?

I imagine you sitting at work, your mind wandering, then wandering still further, trying to picture what I look like, my breasts, my neck, my lips. You think of me, somewhere out there, probably, at this very moment, staring out the window, shifting in my seat.

Do you let your hand wander down for a minute, brushing your cock lightly, the outline just starting to be visible, your balls starting to tense? Maybe you even squeeze it a little - a sudden rush - until you catch yourself and try to get your mind back to what you were doing.

But you are still, unmistakeably, hard. And getting harder. And it is not going away.

(I am fingering myself now, thinking of your cock, straining against your pants so that if you were to stand up, I could see it.)

So you think, what the hell, and you check out some porn on the internet, or, when no one is around, you watch a quick clip of some girl, her face covered in cum, some guy shoving his cock down her throat while another guy fucks her in the ass. You are fully hard now - aching. You want to fuck so badly.

(I am tracing my wet clit with my finger, licking it off, typing some more.)

You are getting desperate, looking around, trying to think of how you are going to relieve the pressure. In your head, I am kneeling at your feet, begging you to jerk off for me, bending over and spreading my ass so you can see my wet pussy, rubbing my clit for you, bringing myself just to the edge of cumming, then stopping, pinching my hard nipples and telling you to stroke your cock.

(My clit is so hard now. I am crossing my legs while I type this, squeezing them together over and over, I am moaning a little, talking to you, telling you to jerk that cock off for me.)

Finally, no one is around, and you can make a run for the bathroom. You go into a stall, and pull it out, leaning back against the stall door, desperate to cum. In your mind, I am fucking myself for you with my fingers. I love that you are watching me. I tell you how hard to stroke your cock - how fast I want it. I make you stop for a minute while I turn around, put my hands on the toilet, and ask you to fuck me in the ass.

(I love getting fucked in the ass - it is so tight, so delicious. I want you to grab my hair, pull my head back, and fuck my ass as hard as you can.)




(I am taking long breaks between sentences here. My legs are spread wide. My jeans are on the floor under the desk. If you were here, I would make you watch me without touching yourself for a minute.)




(I'm squeezing my nipples for you. I want to see you jacking that cock hard - cupping your balls - thinking of my ass, thinking of fucking me harder than you ever thought you were allowed to. I want to cum for you so badly.)




And just like that, I am going to stop. I don't want to cum yet. I want to walk around for a little while with no underwear, feeling how wet I am, stopping every once and awhile to rub my hot clit, or to press myself against something hard, or to pinch my nipple while I am pretending to adjust my bra.


Wish you were here.


ice cream

You are walking down the street and you pass an ice cream store. Sure, ice cream is not good for you if you eat it all day, but an ice cream now and then is a tasty, pleasurable snack. You walk in the store, pay your money, get your creamy treat and keep walking, licking away as you go. This is an exchange - you give the business owner what they want, and you get what you want. Simple, fast and uncomplicated.

Some men instinctively understand the exchange aspect of what I am offering. They don't want the entirety of me that I would give a friend or a partner. As in the case of the ice cream, they are paying to have someone else do the work and they see the particular value in getting only the creamy treat.

Others get confused. They think, why is this a transaction of some kind when I can get it for free? And they think that they are somehow lowering themselves to offer something in return for what I offer.

To this I say, first, if you can get the creamy treat with no complications for free, why are you talking to me? Go forth and prosper.

Second, what is wrong with offering something in exchange for something you find valuable and that you cannot find, in this particular form, elsewhere? You may even be getting the whole, live, day to day package from someone, but you still want the delicious, fantastical snack on occasion. What, unless this violates the terms of some other arrangement you have made or crosses some uncrossable ethical boundary, is the problem with this?

To be sure, the self-denigrating set who fall into the confused category are not a problem for me, though I feel bad for them as I watch them want something so badly but not let themselves have it. But the problem begins when they either think that they will get something for nothing, or, worse, that it is my fault that everything, especially finger-licking dessert, comes at a price.

So don't do that.

Interestingly, though, more creative exchanges short circuit much of the weirdness. In other words, when people give me things that feel good to give, or that are unique to them, or that make me more exciting for them in some way, then it seems less, well, transaction-like to them. Others, of course, simply prefer things cut and dried - walk in, buy the ice cream, walk out.

And what do I offer? Something a little different. A little smarter, and a lot more real.

I am only open for skyping these days - chat or call (username: curious-grl). But for those who want to move to the next level after that, anything is possible. Though full service is out for the time being. Sorry ;)

Keep in mind though, that what makes me different is that I won't talk to too many people in a short span of time. I never fake anything, so I have to, um, space things out a bit. I am sure you understand.


wide open territory

Just got back from a spa near Union Square in Manhattan courtesy of Mr. B.

Friday, every hour on the hour, Mr. B. would call me, and I would talk to him. He was at work. He would call me from his office, surrounded by people, and I would tell him what I was doing to myself. He would respond with things like, "Yeah, I know we need to get out of this deal." Or, "Have you talked to John about the interest on that - I think he can pull some strings."

Apparently, he never has to stand up.

At one point, at about two o'clock in the afternoon, he called me from a bathroom stall in his office building. He was on a cell phone. I had taken a picture of my fingers sliding out of my pussy, which, after five hours of this kind of teasing, were, well, wet. Then I sent it to him as an attachment. This, apparently, was just too much.

He was whispering. He told me to strip, which I did quickly, and spread my legs. He wanted to hear me fuck myself with my hand, which I did. He told me to bring myself just to the point of cumming, and that he wanted to listen. So I did. Then I told him to do a few things - like unzip his cock, spit on his hand and rub the head a bit, slowly. He was groaning - calling me a little bitch, telling me that he was going to shoot his load right in my face and I was going to like it.

And of course, I was going to like it.

I had him jerking off in counts - I told him to stroke his cock ten times, up and down, hard and fast, and then stop. Then I would talk to him some more. About how I was pinching my nipples, rubbing my clit on the edge of the desk I was standing in front of, and how I had to pee a little bit, so if I pushed down on my bladder, it made the pleasure of my swollen clit just that much deeper.

Then, I think, someone came in the bathroom, so he had to go back to his office. He called me three more times, all on the hour, and the fourth time, finally, everyone had gone home except for him. He turned his webcam on and pointed it right below the waist. Then he called me on Skype.

I told him exactly what I wanted him to do. He held out for almost fifteen minutes. When I turned the cam on my end on and he saw the state of my cunt, he had to stop for a minute because he almost lost it. Then I made him squeeze his balls with one hand, and jerk himself all the way off. He was making a lot of noise, and he came and came and came, multiple hot spurts running down his hand, making pools on his desk and on the floor.


I know I have been scarce around here - but I have been keeping busy. In a few weeks, I will have almost ten days off. I have enjoyed the fabulous trades, but I am trying to decide what comes next. I feel like I have only just started to explore.

I have had several people tell me to start a chat line or some other, similar kind of thing. But I am reluctant to do that. What I love about things as they are now is that I don't get bored. Unlike many of the women who, um, work on the phone or online, I get into it too, rather than just faking it - and this creates a completely different kind of experience. I don't see how you can do that when you are talking to more than a certain amount of people in a day.

For me, the conversations are like wide open territory - so many possible avenues to explore. I am just there to go wherever people want to go. I love this.

Anyway, as always, I am open to ideas. Maybe I can figure out a way to be able to spend some more time in this otherworld...



Theoretically a man may be just as much the object of a woman's desire as a woman is a man's desire. The first step towards sexual intercourse, however, is usually the pursuit of a woman by a man. Men have the initiative, and women have the power of exciting desire in men. It would be quite wrong to say that women are more beautiful or even more desirable than men. But with their passive attitude... [t]hey put themselves forward as objects for the aggressive desire of men.

Not every woman is a potential prostitute, but prostitution is the logical consequence of the feminine attitude. In so far as she is attractive, a woman is a prey to men's desire. Unless she refuses completely because she is determined to remain chaste, the question is at what price and under what circumstances will she yield. But if the conditions are fulfilled she always offers herself as an object. [...]

[But] more often than not the object inciting male pursuit eludes it. This means not that the suggestion has not been made, but that the necessary conditions are not fulfilled. Even if they are, that first refusal which seems to deny the offer already made only enhances its value. [...]

Putting oneself forward is the fundamental feminine attitude, but that first movement is followed by a feigned denial. Only prostitution has make it possible for adornment to stress the erotic value of the object. [...] What happens is that the use of adornment implies that the wearer is a prostitute; so that the pretence of evasion then sharpens desire. [...]

When the commercial aspect of modern prostitution gained the upper hand, this aspect was overshadowed. But [in the past], if the prostitute received sums of money or precious articles, these were originally gifts, gifts which she would use for extravagant expenditure and ornaments that made her more desirable. Thus she increased the power that she had from the first to attract gifts from the richest men. This exchange of gifts was not a commercial transaction. What a woman can give outside of marriage cannot be put to any productive use, and similarly with the gifts that dedicate her to the luxurious life of eroticism. This sort of exchange led to all sorts of extravagance rather than to the regularity of commerce. Desire was a fiery thing; it could burn up a man's wealth to the last penny, it could burn out the life of a man in whom it was aroused.

The courtesan had a certain reserve; she was not an object of scorn and was not so different from other women. Her personal modesty must have had some of the shine rubbed off it, but she maintained the principle of the first contact which requires that a woman shall be afraid of surrendering and a man shall expect the woman to try to escape. [...] In sacred prostitution it became a ritual matter and came to imply transgression [and thus, eroticism - ed]. A man cannot usually feel that a law is violated in his own person and that is why he expects a woman to feel confused, even if she only pretends to do so; otherwise he would be unaware of any violation. Shame, real or pretended, is a woman's way of accepting the taboo that makes a human being out of her. [...]

[So] it is not really payment that disgraces the prostitute. Payment could well be involved in the round of ceremonial exchanges without the degradation of a commercial exchange. But the low prostitute, because she has become a stranger to the taboo without which we should not be human beings, falls to the level of the beasts...

From Erotism: Death and Sensuality, by Georges Bataille.