the least i can ask

Damn. It is just one of those days. The sun is out, the birds are singing, and my clit is rock, I kid you not, ROCK hard.

I am going to reach down right now and confirm that...

Yes. Rock hard. Swollen, and each time I shift in my seat, which is a lot today, I can feel things sliding around down there.

I tried to work. I really did. I turned on the computer and tried to stay focused. But while I was thinking about something, my hand strayed to my nipples, tracing, pinching... and now, look where I am.

Here is the fantasy du jour: I want to come over, make a gin and tonic, sit down and watch porn with you. We can have a perfectly civil conversation while we do this - note the ridiculous plot, his beer belly, her botched tattoo. But when they really start going at it, you are not going to be able to control the hard on that is gathering momentum in your pants.

This, of course, is going to make me crazy. And I am really sorry, but I am not going to be able to be shy or hold back. I am going to have my hand down my jeans and my finger up my cunt within about ten seconds.

I'm going to keep my jeans partially on, but you will be able to see me fucking myself with my finger. Maybe you would even like to try... if I let you.

You'll be able to hear the on-screen couple moaning, balls slapping on asses, clits exposed. You will not be able to take it any more and will reach down and rub your cock through your pants. I will be able to see the outline of it. I will be circling my hard clit with my fingers so that you can see.

Finally, you will unzip and take your hard cock out. You will be breathing hard now, jerking it fast and hard for me. You might want me to stand in front of you while I fuck my pussy. You will want to hear the sound it makes.

Or maybe you will have me turn around and bend over so that you can see my ass while you stroke yourself. You will have a much better view of my dripping cunt this way.

At this point, you might even stand, too, so you can slap your dick on my ass a few times. You'd tell me to turn around and kneel, and I would, still fingering myself.

Now, with your cock inches from my face, I would open my mouth for you. You would be jacking off hard now, your shaft red, the head swollen and shiny. My clit would be ready to explode for you. I would be begging you to let me cum for you.

Finally, you would let yourself go completely and shoot all over my face, my neck, my tits. I would cum with you the whole way. Your cock would pump out two or three loads after that build up, and I would rub it all in.

That is what I want.

Of course, you know what I am doing while I am typing this. My clit LITERALLY aches, I want to cum so bad. I want you to watch me while I cum.

So, I am going to finish myself off now, and think of you watching me. I hope you are jacking off while you read this - or, at the very least, throbbing, aching.

That's the least I can ask.



Ok, then.

That just fell into my, well, not quite into my lap.

I am not even going to take a shower yet. I want to tell you about it while it is still fresh on my...

I got a call yesterday from the man who took my virginity. I lost it late - when I was almost twenty-five. I know. Shocking. But I can explain in two words: Mormon boyfriend.

At any rate, I loved that I waited so long (and actually, I didn't wait for anything - I was fist fucking women for most of my early twenties) because when I saw him walking across a soccer field one day and decided that I was going to fuck him, I was incredibly focused, knew exactly what turned me on, and I ask you, how many women can say that their first fuck was fabulous?

Yes. You can count them on one hand. Me, me, and me. For all three times I came.

Of course, he had the most astonishing cock. But I digress.

He called. Yesterday. He said he was in town, would I like to meet. I said that I knew what that was code for, so just to keep things simple, could we meet in the park. I know - as if this is somehow LESS hot? But, as I have mentioned before, I am not presently available for, um, penetration, so this seemed a safer bet.

So, moving things along here, we meet in the park. Actually, we meet at the entrance to the park - on the south side. It is, as you know if you are reading this today, a gorgeous day. Cherry blossoms, the whole thing. He and I used to have this game called the Garden of Forking Paths (two jillion points if you get the reference without Googling it). The game was this: Two people walking in a park are having a conversation. Each time they come to a fork in the path, they alternate choosing which way to go, but there is no break in the conversation or the stride and no reference to what is happening.

So, of course, without discussing it, we started to play the game, talking all the while, until we ended up on a rock near the pond where the paddle boats are. We sat and talked for a bit. At this point, the conversation had deteriorated to something only fit for, well, this blog. But I won't reproduce it except to say that he was a little agitated, unable to fathom why I would not go to his hotel room.

At one point, he said, fine, let's walk then, and as we stood, he spotted a couple, also along the water's edge and slightly hidden behind the rushes, making out. He pointed them out and I turned to look, and at that point, he brought his arm under mine and across my chest, and somewhat awkwardly, and very abruptly, pulled me back into him.

Do you think they would notice?, he said.

Notice what?

If we fucked right here.

But we are not going to fuck right here, I insisted.

Just then, the woman seemed to look over for a minute and see us.

Look right at her, he said.

I had been laughing, but I could see he was serious. I was not into it and asked him to let me go. I never expected that he woudn't.

Look, just do this for me, just look at her. He tightened his arm around me and at this point I could feel him doing something with his other hand.

You have got to be kidding me!, I said.

This, I have to say, is one of those things that really bumps up against my limitations. I love doing things in public, but this was REALLY public. Anyone could come around the corner and see, and, of course, there is this couple RIGHT THERE, although, thank god, they seem to have doubled their own efforts and did not seem to be looking over any more.

So I said something like, Seriously, I don't want to do this, let's go walk in the woods, I'm sure we can find a place to...

He reached up with his other hand and grabbed my hair, bringing my ear around to his lips: Do. Not. Move.

Hand back down, now I could feel him jerking off, quickly, urgently.

I just need a minute he said, just look at her. I want you to be looking at her.

His hand had found my breast and was squeezing my nipple with the same rhythm as what was going on near my ass. That was the moment I started to get a little turned on... I mean, I had been turned on before that, but this was when I admitted it to myself.

Shit! I am thinking, Shit! Hurry!

Ahhh. Fuck. He is saying, Look at her, think about fucking her while I watch you both. I want to see you lick her cunt. I want you to spread her pussy open and show it to me, and then lick her clit for me.

Now he is really pumping hard, pinching my nipple now, making grunting noises into my ear.

We are both standing on the rock, his cock pressed against my lower back, his hand moving quickly, I try to look back and he tells me not to. Just look like we are standing here looking at the veiw, he said, and I laughed a little.

Keep looking at her. I want her to see me cum all over your back. He is hunched over slightly now, jerking quickly, hard, harder, jerking his cock, precum starts to drip down into the waistband of my jeans. Uhmmm... I want to see you lick her tits, squeeze her fucking tits for me. I want to put my hands into both of your wet little pussies.

He stopped talking then, and started whispering to me. Now he said things that I really would have trouble typing here. And then he came, all over my back, quietly, biting deep into my shoulder, hot cum dripping down the crack of my ass.

And now I am here, not one hour later, typing for you. I can feel the dried cum on my back. I still haven't done anything to myself. As you might imagine, especially after telling you this story, I am beyond wet. I am sopping, sopping wet.

But I am not going to touch myself. Not. Quite. Yet.


one thing

I am still here.

I have just been working so much. Too much. This, you see, is part of my frustration.

Why can't I just meet you for a few hours at an adult film place near midtown, get a drink, and watch porn with you in a small, dark room until you are rock hard and begging me to let you take your cock out of your jeans and jack off for me? Then you would pay me some amount that felt completely worth it to you, and that would, upon repeated meetings, allow me not to be working so much, so I could spend that much more time making you cum again and again and again.

It all seems so simple when I say it that way.

Someone invited me to go to one of those swinger parties - and, I admit, it sounds fun - but I would be thinking the whole time: I can give sex away for free anytime. How does this free up my time?

How does this ridiculous waste of time forge a powerful and private exchange with a handful of people who come to me for one thing, so that they leave feeling drained, taken care of, and I am filled up and able to spend the rest of the day focusing on my work in the world, which is to read, to write, and to make things?

I need a patron. Are there still such things?

Feeling dejected.


don't fucking hang up

He called my hotel room at almost 11:30. I was sleepy, already in bed, watching some stupid movie with Tom Hanks, which, I realize is redundant.

I thought maybe he had gotten nervous. I think he was used to more run-of-the-mill phone encounters. Girls with breathy voices that called him baby. When I picked up the phone and said hello, he laughed and said, wow.

[fast forward]

Take off everything. I'll wait. Now put whichever hand is not holding the phone on your stomach and do not move it until I tell you to.

Have you ever read Vox?, I said. By Nicholson Baker. My favor...

Mmmm, I heard him say, obviously distracted. I decided to be quiet.

After about ten seconds, I heard him sigh, and then he asked, how...

In my thirties, cute, thin, fit, 5'5", 34B, artsy, smart and verbal, can pick up a non-loser guy in a bar in under fifteen minutes and I am not wearing anything.

Right, he said. You better not be.

[fast forward]

Do it again, he told me. A bit more sternly this time. So I obeyed. Not like I could argue. It was his money. The second time, he obviously liked it better. His voice began to dissolve, his orders were gutteral, urgent. I loved his orders! I could hear the his breath catch at the end of each stroke, so I knew exactly how to time things.

I positioned the camera so he could see everything.

[fast forward]

I read in the New York Times that no real woman ever feels like having sex enough for her partner - that is what people like me are for.

He was still breathing hard, and I waited a moment, listening.

Look, he said finally. Don't hang up. Don't fucking hang up. I want you to think about me cumming on your face while you are walking down the street or on the subway or in a meeting or something. Don't fucking hang up.

I'm not going to hang up! I am walking towards the bathroom mirror now. There is my flushed face, hair everywhere, hands wet. I catch my eye and don't let it go.

Fuck, he said. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.


you will think this is not about you

I know you wouldn't hurt me.
I mean, I would like to think that something
you don't even know about
or want to know about
wouldn't come over you
and make you squeeze me too hard
hold me down a little too long
follow me home
give me something you think I need
take me somewhere you think I want to go.

I think I am good judge of people.
Your eyes are so blue in that picture.
You say you are a doctor, a lawyer, a philanthropist, an ivy league grad.
You have kids, a wife, a dog.
But does the part of you that talks to me
live on some other island from the one they live on inside of you,
separated by a dark watery gulf?
Would you see their face while you pushed me a little too far
or for a little too long?

Sex lives in the same house as death.
I know I can't have one without the other, but
can you really call me a slut
while remembering that there are people who love me very much
and that I have a long, rich life behind me
and - if you will allow it - ahead of me?


three times

Back from my trip. I'll admit, after an uneventful flight out there, I felt, on the return trip, obligated to create some fun for you to read about ;)

Alas, I was sitting next to an older man who just slept the whole time. Yes, you say, and you are right, his loss. So I decided that I would try to masturbate three times over the course of the flight, but it had to be in three different places.

The first two, predictably, were easy. My seat and the bathroom. No great excitement - well, except for me, of course. For the first one, I came quickly. I experimented with just squeezing my legs together, which, if I had been, oh, I don't know, watching someone jerk off for example, would have been enough. I just pulse the muscles of my pussy really hard, cross my arms and pinch my nipples HARD.

In the end, all I had to do was put a blanket over my lap (the poor man, snoring away, inches to my left, what a spectacle he was missing), unzip my jeans - I had the tight ones on, which made the pussy-pulsing just that much more effective as the seam was directly on my rock hard clit - and slip my finger inside.

Ok, yes, clearly, things were a bit slippery. The beautiful thing is that, when I am this worked up, all I have to do is baaaaarely touch myself. I put my finger on my clit, focused on the seat in front of me, and just moved my finger about a millimeter... over and over...

Another nice thing about planes - they are noisy. I mean, I actually moaned and no one so much as looks up from their book. And most of the people have headsets on, watching the movie. Even easier.

So when I came, I just came! Not screamingly, but not even softly. I suppose, to someone, watching, it might look as if I were thinking of something funny and kind of laughing to myself. But if you really looked, I was not really even trying to hide the fact that I was having a huge, rolling orgasm.

On to part two. I had to step over the sleeping man, my steaming clit about an inch from his knee. So sad.

Stood in line for the bathroom thinking about a mutual masturbation experience I had, sort of by accident a few years ago, with a man who was considerably older than me, under the table at some horrible chain restaurant. All I have to do is think of the things he said to me, which I know he was embarrassed about later, his red face, his grunting, the cum hitting the underside of the table and dripping onto the floor, and I am all set.

Once I was in the bathroom, I though it would be fun to just take my clothes entirely off. I know, there was a line of people waiting. But there were two other bathrooms, so they would manage (!)

So I did. Take everything off. And I just stood, looking at myself in the mirror. Pinching my nipples until they stood ready. Then I put one knee on the sink, and put my other foot on the toilet so I could see my pussy clearly in the mirror. Then I fucked myself as hard as I could. And this time, I really was loud. Because there was no way anyone would hear. Fun.

Part three. Shit. Now what?

I put my clothes back on quickly, flushed the toilet so that I would look legit, and exited the bathroom. (Nobody looked at me strangly, which is just so funny! I just came about a foot away from them! Loudly!) I thought I should just walk around a bit, like I was stretching my legs, and do a little location scout for spot #3.

The plane had two aisles, so I walked up to the front of the economy section and cut across to the other aisle. There was a small passageway between the two aisles. The movie was still on, and most people just went back to the bathrooms in their own aisle, so it didn't seem to get much traffic. Perfect.

I had taken my long jacket with me (always thinking ahead) so I put it on now, and just leaned up against the wall in the passageway. Then I pulled my arm out of the sleeve so that it was inside my jacket, and viola! Instant passageway to my cunt.

The third orgasm is always the deepest. When I cum for a third time, my legs get weak, blood rushes from my lips so they get a bit numb. I was about halfway there when, YAY, a man, about fifty or so, comes around the corner. He stops, also stretching his legs, and stands against the opposite wall but down a few feet from me.

So, I have to apologize now. As much as I felt loyal to you, and wanted to be able to tell you the best story possible, I just could not get up the courage to show him what I was doing. I think if I had had time to build up to it, maybe noticed him watching, or noticed that he was aroused - but he just looked tired and sort of annoyed.

So I just came for him anyway, even though he didn' t know it. I just slipped my fingers a little further inside my pussy, and thought of him watching me, his cock growing more and more defined under his suit pants, his hand wandering over to give it a quick squeeze while he watched me finger myself.

I tried not to look at him, but at the very end, just as I started to come, I did catch his eye for a second. Then I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes like I was just resting while my pussy clamped down on my fingers and I came in wave after wave.

So many men who just did not appreciate what I was doing for them on that flight. I wish I could send the man in the hallway a note: Dear disgruntled businessman. While you were stretching your legs in the hall, I was the girl across from you, and I want you to know that I was imagining you releasing a load of cum in my mouth while I came for you. Which I did. Cum for you, I mean. While I was standing there. Sorry you missed it. Love, CuriousGirl.


fast forward

Yes, well, ahem. Not sure how to follow up that last post. Like waking up from some kind of fugue state. What do I do now - discuss the weather?

So, just to put all the panting and groaning and references to dampness on hold for a minute, I just wanted to say that I will be travelling for a few days. (Already working out various possible scenarios for the plane. Just kidding. Sort of.) So I will be scarce.

But this extended experiment will continue on the other side, I promise.

I was just thinking that I should put some sort of bookend on it - a date by which some definitive something should happen and, whether it does or doesn't, I will disappear from here. But then I thought, that is just a cop-out. A halfhearted construct designed so that I don't have to integrate myself with what I am doing here. It makes it easier to call this, say, a three month aberration rather than calling it a part of myself finding expression for three months. Or longer.

I know. This is like the part of porn flick where they try to insert some form of limp narrative for the sex scenes to arrange themselves on. If you are not interested in my psychological goings on, feel free to rewind or fast forward to the next cum shot. I won't mind ;)

If you are still here, I am, you should know, dreaming about you in some fashion. I want to find a way to be what you need.

Of course, this all comes back to the money issue. I am going to have to come to terms with this - either I can accept it, or I can't. And if I can't, then certain aspects of this experiment cannot go on. And if I can, then what can I accept it for? And how can it be accepted in a way that will not ruin the part of the exchange that I love the most? This, especially, may not be possible.

I want SO MUCH to live in Japan at the time of the Geishas, or to be a part of a culture where I could actually support my lifestyle by being a kind of living dreamcreature for selected men. What makes this different to me than some of the options I see around me is, first, the level of respect for the women, which, to me, also translates into a greater degree of safety, and the fact that the exchange is more than purely physical.

There is something about the understood boundaries that makes this kind of a relationship very intriguing to me. The very fact that I would not be accessible at all times, or not fully "accessible" even if I were physically present, would, in fact, be an essential part of my effect on the other person, and theirs on me, along the fact that our... purpose together would be, well, somewhat more defined than usual.

Still trying to work this out. Perhaps I will have time to think about it on the plane. (While I am working out how to let the guy in the suit across the aisle know to follow me into the tiny. little. bathroom.)


i like it hard

i want you to fuck me.
i like to be fucked hard.
really hard.
i want you to take me by the arm,
turn me over,
and fuck me in the ass first.

i don't want you to warm me up,
or prepare me for it in any way.
i just want to be face down
on all fours
when i feel you push your way into me
grab me around my hips
and fuck me so hard
that your balls slap against my ass.

my asshole is tight
my pussy would be dripping
i want to feel you deep inside me.
i want to hear you grunt like some kind of animal
and say things to me
that you would never say anywhere else
or to anyone else.

i want you to call me your little whore
your dirty little slut
because at that moment
that is exactly what i will be.
i want you to grab my hair
and pull my head back
and jam yourself into me
over and over and over.

i want you to fuck my ass until it is raw
then pull out when your cock starts to twitch
and cum all over my back.

after you have rested for a minute,
and you won't get longer than that,
i want you to roll me over,
pull me up,
and bring your cock right up to my face.
i want to take your balls into my mouth
while you stroke your cock.

i want to lick the place behind your balls
and tell you to jerk your cock for me.
that's it. jerk that cock for me.
jerk it harder.
right in my face.
that's right.
i want to see you jerk your fucking cock.

i will be fingering myself while you do this.
i'll make sure you see that.

while you are jerking yourself off for me
i will put my lips near the tip
and let a little saliva dribble down your shaft.
jerk it harder for me. come on.
i'll grab your balls. squeeze them. then squeeze my nipples.

don't stop. i want to see you cum for me.
jerk it harder. faster. my face is an inch from your shaft,
you are breathing hard, telling me how bad you want to fuck my cunt.
my dripping wet cunt.

jerk that cock for me.
tell me how you want to fuck me.
think about slamming me up against a wall
and fucking me so hard that my ass slaps against the wall.
come on. jerk it for me.

now cum for me.
my mouth is open for you.
cum in my mouth and all over my breasts.
you fucking cum for me.
you are screaming now.
i want to feel your hot cum all over my lips.
i want you to cum for me.
right now.



I started a small company with a friend making things a few years ago. At one point, a woman called us, wanting to do a trade for one of our products. She was a massage therapist.

My friend, who had, as she put it, always wanted to have an "experience with a woman," laughed when she told me about this - the massage therapist was a lesbian - and she asked me what kind of of a "trade" I thought we should offer.

Later, that evening, I drove in the pouring rain to get my massage. While I drove, I thought about my business partner and what it would be like to sleep with her. We had come close several times. I had been dating a string of women who were all very athletic, ambisexual types. Jock-girls, another friend called them. (Strangely, the men I dated were fabulously straight - muscled, beer-drinking, hairy-chested, stay-away-from-my-ass kind of men. Go figure.)

But she was not at all a jock-girl. She was, in fact, very much like me - slim, arty-looking, and definitely feminine. So for some reason, the idea of touching her felt odd. Like touching myself, I suppose.

When I got to the massage therapists house, I had to run for the door, but got soaked anyway. She opened the door, and I smiled inside. Just my type. Tall, tan, fit, boyish. She took me up some stairs to a musky smelling room filled with candles. How very perfect.

Her hands were as strong as they looked. She did a form of Thai massage, so she was lifting my arms and legs up, gently stretching and pulling me, bending me at the waist and using her entire body to press me over or lengthen my muscles. At times, she was so close, I could smell her breath (minty) and her hair (Aveda).

After a few minutes of this, she laid me back down, smoothing out my hair, and then took my right leg out from under the white sheet she had just put over me. She started at my toes, and slowly worked her way up, kneading and pressing. I was in a sort of daze, but when she started moving up my inner thigh, I woke up. Way up.

She slowed down and began to go a bit deeper. I was reminded of a game I used to play with my girl friends when I was little where I would close me eyes and hold out my arm, palm up, and my freind would slowly draw her finger from my wrist up towards my shoulder. The point of the game was to guess when she got to the crease of the elbow. NOW, I would say, always too soon.

So I was thinking NOW! NOW! But she kept moving up, until she was smoothing her fingers over the crease where my leg meets my pelvis, a mere breath away from my most definitively awake pussy.

She did this for at least a minute, which felt like an hour, and then stopped, pulled the sheet back over me, and started on the toes of my other leg. I reminded myself to start breathing.

This time, though, as she moved slowely up my calf, working the tendons, sliding under my knee, I found myself thinking about my business partner. I was supposed to meet her at her house after the massage to talk about something. She said she might be in the shower when I got there. I imagined her, freshly showered, lying in her bedroom, which she always kept very spare and clean.

By now, the massaging hands were back up next to my pubic bone. I was no longer even trying to hide how much I was liking this. I could hear her breathing change, too. She began to let her fingers slip a bit, which wasn't hard considering the state of things, and my hips rose to meet her.

One lovely thing about sex with women - they know, for obvious reasons, exactly what to do. She had a finger in my pussy and a finger in my ass before I knew what was happening. When I took a breath to say something, she bit me lightly on my nipple, and I gasped a bit and managed to say something about getting my money's worth, which made her laugh.

This part would be really hard to describe without some kind of, um, visual aide, but she sort of vibrated the finger in my ass while she slid another finger in my pussy and began to sloooooowly finger fuck me. And then, her mouth was on my clit, and it was all over. No searching for the clit, no working around the clit, just her tongue, right on it, right away. She flicked it a few times, fucked me deeper, and then started up a steady thrumming, all while somehow managing to keep up some kind of counter rhythm with the finger, or was it now fingers, in my ass.

I can honestly say, that with the exception of the one I was about to have later that same night, this was the first orgasm that felt like it would never stop coming - like my body was splitting open and I was just spilling out everywhere.

When I got back in the car, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I drove through every red light to get to my friend's house. When I knocked on the door, her roommate let me in and said she had gone to bed. I stopped for a minute outside her door, but only for a minute.

She was exactly where I had imagined her, and I stripped and crawled in, my body still coated in the oil from the massage. There was no conversation - she knew immediately what was going on. And the best part? This was, and is to this day, the best sex I have ever had.

I thought I would have to take the lead somehow, but she immediately crawled on top of me, licking and sucking my breasts, sliding her hand between my legs. I loved the feeling of our bodies together, each exactly the same size as the other, both slick and sweaty, completely flexible, and so soft.

I came, and then she came. We could not get enough of each other. She pushed me back down and pulled out one of her toys, easing it slowly into my soaked pussy while fingering herself. I squeezed her nipples while she fucked me. She pulled out and sucked hard on my clit. I came a second time, now half off of the bed, crying. I couldn't stop crying for several minutes.

We lay there trying to catch our breath for a minute, and then I pulled her on top of me. She was smiling now. Eyes locked, we just moved together, clits sliding over flesh, until she whispered, I want to cum with you. And we did. Barely moving. I could feel her shuddering for a long time.

I love cocks very much, and men are ok, too (!), but there is a certain quality about fucking a woman - especially fucking a woman who really knows how to fuck - that cannot be easily described. And I don't mean the pure crap you see on the "lesbian" porn videos aimed at men, where the straigtest girls known to man stick their long-nailed fingers into each other's shaven pussies and moan for the camera. I mean, two woman who actually want each other.

We never, ever did that again. We never even talked about it. She is married now and I never see her. But she holds the record.


woman on the verge

So, just for fun, I just wanted to let you know that I will be at the big Starbucks at Astor Place today anywhere between 4:45 and 6:30 or so.

I probably won't have a laptop with me, and I don't know when I will get there or how long I will stay, but if you are there at any point during that time, know that somewhere in the room, there is a woman on the verge of an orgasm. ;)



So here is the story I promised you. Actually, there are two that are intertwined - they both happened in one week - just around the time that I started writing here. They are related, as you will see, because they were the result of a decision that I made while on the way to the train station of a particular city, which I can't really name for reasons that you will also see. I wanted to use the trip I was about to take as a kind of try-out for some of my ideas.

I was late getting to the station, and I needed to modify my ticket to add on another destination, which took even more time. The women said that I would probably miss the train, but I could go to the office to ask about a later one. So I stood in another line for customer service, but when I got to the front, the woman was hurried and rude. She said that I would not be able to transfer my ticket and that there was nothing she could do.

I pleaded with her, pointing out various possibilities, and was starting to get very upset when a man came out of the back office. He saw that I was upset and came over to find out what was going on. The woman explained, he looked at me, and then he asked me to come back to his office.

I followed him back. The funny part is that, in my mind, my "try-out" hadn't actually started yet. I had been thinking about what I was going to do once I was actually on the train! So, at this point, I was just very upset at the woman, and glad that he was going to try to help me out.

He motioned for me to sit down and he rifled through some papers on his desk. He started filling out a form, and told me that while he could not change my ticket, he could give me a voucher to use on another ticket.

I was suprised, and thankful, and told him so. He asked me where I was going, I told him, and I tried to make conversation for a minute, since he had been so nice. I asked if he took a lot of train trips, since he probably could ride free, and he said, yes, he always went to Atlantic City to gamble. He asked if I had been there, I said no, and right then, I saw where this was going.

I laughed at this point, because I had been so utterly clueless up to this point. But, then I really looked at him and thought, god, could I do this? He was in his late fifties or so, balding and thin. We talked a bit more - he told me about past trips he had taken, and I panicked a bit. I said that I should go. He said he would walk me down to the platform where the next train would be leaving from, and I could wait in some office that was down there.

So I followed him out of the room and down the escalators to the platforms. He was walking very close to me, putting his hand on my arm to guide me around corners. I could see he was sweating a little bit.

When we got to the platform, he asked if I wanted to wait in the office, but when he showed it to me, I got a bit nervous and said that I would be fine on the platform. He stood next to me, somewhat awkwardly for a few minutes, and then leaned toward me conspiratorily. Come with me to Atlantic City next weekend. I'll pay for everything, plus more. I know I don't look like much, but I will make it worth your time.

Uhhh. Shit. I am speechless, even though I knew something like this was coming. The first feeling I have is that my heart is breaking. He is so... he is just open... hanging there, waiting, knowing that I am looking at him and imagining us... trying to imagine us...

The thing he doesn't know is that I do have a bit of a thing for older, let's just say, not the most attractive, men. Not that this is all I like, by any stretch, but there is something about his raw... need, or his complete fantasy adoration of me that is some odd form of a turn on.

Just then, one of the employees standing on the platform came over to him to ask something. He moved away quickly. He had to go back to his office for something, and I told him I would wait. After he went up the escalator, I stood there for a moment, but decided to leave. I wrote my email address on a piece of paper and gave it to another worker there to give to him, and then left the station. I took a much later train and never saw him.

So, part two, I am on the train. But now, I am humming a bit inside, wondering what I will do about the train man. The train is fairly empty, and I take a seat in one of the back cars. There is a woman sitting in the next row up, across the aisle, and a man just behind me. I glance out of the corner of my eye - he is in his mid-thirties, looking out the window. The woman is reading a book. Perfect.

I move into gear, which was not hard, given what had just happened earlier. I positioned myself so that I knew the man behind me could see me through the cracks of the seat and got to work. I started by stripping down to a tank top, under which, of course, I had no bra. I ran my hands over my breasts as if I were just smoothing down my shirt, and my nipples started to respond. After a few minutes, I had a feeling that I had his attention, but wasn't sure. So I stood up to get my back out of the bin above me so that he could get a good look.

I took my wallet out of my purse, and caught his eye. I said something about going to the cafe car and could he watch my things. He said sure, if I would get him a beer.

A few minutes later, I was back with two beers, handed him one, sat back down. This was going well. Now I took it up a notch.

I looked as if I were just watching the scenery go by outside, but every few minutes, I would sort of trail my finger from near my lips, down my neck, and over my breast. Then I would do nothing for a minute, and then start again. Occasionally, I would arch my back a bit, sitting forward in the seat, stretch a little, and then settle back into the seat to start again.

After about twenty minutes of this, I stood up to get something else out of the bin, and, surprise, he said something like thanks for getting the beer, and where was I going, etc. So we started talking, and I was in the seat next to him within five minutes.

Now it was getting dark. I had about an hour before I knew he would be getting off, so I had to move more quickly. I decided to tell him about the station man.

I told him the whole story above - the rude woman, the office, the voucher, Atlantic City, his hand on my arm, the offer. The guy was riveted. What did you say?

I told him what I had done, and he asked me why I thought I had reacted that way. I said, because, even though I toy with the idea, when I imagine having actual, all the way, sex with someone for cash, something in me balks.

He asked if there was any amount of money that would have made me do it, which actually made me think. I said that if he had just wanted to watch me, or have me watch him, or if he had had a particular fetish that did not include intercourse, that I could imagine doing that for money, or some kind of valuable exchange.

While we were talking, I had put my coat on my lap. At this point, my hand was circling my pussy, and as if on cue, he asked what sum of money I was imagining. I said that I hadn't the slightest idea, and it would, I suppose, depend on, first, what he wanted me to do, and second, how much he, well, valued me... or valued the experience.

So I said that maybe what I would do was to spend a short period of time with him first, for free, to see what he thought. Then, if he liked it, and wanted more, or wanted it again, he could make some kind of offer based on how much he felt it was worth. Then I could just say yes or no. Or, he could just send me things, and I would respond based on their value to me.

But wouldn't this just be the same as being a prostitute, he asked.

Yes. I thought it was the same, though perhaps a degree less because I wasn't willing to have sex. But, I told him, the part that I found most attractive about it was the clarity of the exchange. The exchange of something valuable for something I could give, that was also valuable, made the relationship very... clean, or something. No bullshit.

I am, I think, ever so slightly, or perhaps more than slightly, a bottom. So the idea of someone knowing exactly what they wanted and who was willing to make it happen, is extremely exciting to me.

My fingers had found my clit by this point, and were getting warmed up. So, apparently, was he, as his questions began to get more specific.

Would you touch their cock?, he asked.

Maybe, I said. I think that would depend on the arrangement. And, perhaps, the cock!But I said liked the idea of a no-touch rule. In fact, for some, that is one of the hottest boundaries.

I glanced down at this point, and was not surprised to see that he was, well, very interested in what I was saying. He was in a suit, so I could see his own cock, clearly defined, straining against the material of his pants. He saw me looking and looked a little embarassed.

By now, my fingers were dipping inside, feeling the wetness there.

So would you touch yourself for them?, he asked. Or would you just talk to them?

Again, I said, I though that would depend on what they wanted. He said that he would want me to touch myself.

How convenient, I said, because I already am...

I let the coat drop down my arm a bit, so he could see that it was moving rythmically, my clit was swollen and hard by this point, my breathing getting quicker.

The woman across the aisle looked over at this point, and I stopped. She turned back and I smiled at the guy. He whispered, keep going.

My hand started moving again, and he asked if he could touch me. I laughed and said, absolutely not! He actually couldn't touch himself either, because the woman was right there, so he could only watch.

I talked to him quickly now, and I won't tell you what I said to him, only that I could see a growing circle of precum on the outside of his pants. I asked him to tell me what he wanted to to with me, and... well... he told me. He was a bit violent, which I liked, though not so much that I felt scared.

The conductor walked by, announding the next stop, and I froze for a minute. Then I told him to look me right in the eye and that I was going to cum for him, and I didn't want him to take his eyes off of me. He talked me all the way through it, and I came so hard, I had to close my eyes for a minute.

He did take my hand for a minute after that, and brought my fingers to his mouth.

When we stopped, he gave me his number. He put his face very close to mine and said that he would absolutely pay to do something like that again.

I keep walking up to the line and not crossing it.


women with laptops

I have an idea:
What if I were to go to a Starbucks at a particular time and place, both of which I would post here?

That way, you would know I was there, maybe reading, or writing, or talking to someone, and all the while, slowly working myself up. But you wouldn't know exactly which woman I was.

I love the idea that you would study each of the women there, trying to see which one was, at the very moment you were looking at her, dripping wet. (Of course, there may even be others besides me.)

If there were other women with laptops so that I would blend in, I could even bring mine and write a post, live, describing what I am doing/thinking/imagining that you could read later.

I am going to have to think about this some more, but I like the idea.


Damn. I was just reading over


that post yesterday, and now I am so worked up again


thinking about it. I just wanted to let you know that


every time you see this "***" it means I have stopped typing for a minute, and am gently squeezing my nipples, but in a way that no one around me (I am in a Starbucks) can tell that I am doing it.


My nipples are both hard and sore now. I would tell you the story that I promised you yesterday, about another sexwithstrangers encounter, but if I did, I would have to go into a bathroom stall and try to masturbate standing up


which seems more trouble than it is worth.


Damn. But I might have to. Because I am imagining you reading this right now, getting hard, thinking of my nipples, and


what can I do?


So, wait a minute, I am going to go. Don't you wish you were here, and could slip into the bathroom after me? This is another fantasy of mine, of course, but you wouldn't


be allowed to touch me. Just to watch me.


Ok. I am dying. I am going to go. I will tell you about it in a minute.


Back. Damn. You wish you had been there! ;)
Luck for me, it was a private bathroom.


hostel man

I was travelling all of last week in another country. On one of the last nights, I stopped in a hostel in a very rural area and was out at the local bar when the owner of the hostel, whom I had checked in with earlier in the evening, stopped in for a drink.

He nodded at me when he came in, and stood for awhile up at the bar. I was talking to some of the locals, sitting around a low table in the corner. He came over later in the evening and joined in the conversation, which, at that point, was focused, inexplicably, on an in depth discussion of cows - milking cows, grazing cows, the intelligence level of cows... you get the idea.

He sat down next to me and made a few comments - we were all laughing at this point. A man across from me was just finishing up the first of what was to be a long, arduous string of jokes about cows, when I felt a hand on my knee.

I thought for a minute it was an accident, because he quickly removed it, but after a few minutes, it was back. This time, a bit further up my thigh.

I didn't look at him, and I laughed, which didn't seem out of the ordinary, given the trajectory of the conversation. For a moment, I thought, I should get up. But, to be honest, the man was, and is, beautiful. He is in his early forties, very fit, really good looking, and let's just say that the way he was touching me felt, well, practiced. So I stayed put.

As you could probably tell from the last post, I love the challenge of trying to maintain coherance while getting more and more aroused. Over the course of the next twenty minutes, he worked his way up my leg, until his fingers were just brushing my clit through my jeans, and I worked to keep up my side of the conversation.

No one could tell what was happening because of how the table was situated, but there was one older man on my other side who kept glancing down. I think he had a sense of what was going on, and when he stood up to excuse himself, I could see that, yes, clearly, he had known exactly what had been going on.

After an almost unbearable half hour or so, the hostel owner squeezed my leg very tight, then his hand was gone. He stood up and put on his coat - saying he was going back to the hostel. He looked at me for a minute, and then went out the door. I had to think about what to do for about ten seconds, then waited a calculated ten minutes, and then said goodbye to everyone at the table.

I walked out onto the road, which was, by now, so pitch black that I could only see the outline of the trees on either side to let me know that I was going in the right direction. I started walking up the hill.

About halfway up, there is a small field where I had seen two ponies earlier, and I heard someone call me just as I passed it. I climbed over the fence, and as I dropped down on the other side, he came up behind me. The man had my jeans around my ankles in about three seconds.

He was leaning back against the fence and he pulled me down on top of him, holding my waist with one hand and bringing his other hand around the front to find my clit. I could feel his erection pressing into my back as he slipped his fingers inside of me. I was trying to get my feet out from my jeans, but I still had my shoes on, so at some point, I just gave up...

He finger fucked me slowly at first, and then harder and harder, while he rubbed himself against me. He definitely knew what he was doing. After all of the build up, my clit was rock hard, and he played with me for a little while - bringing me to the edge, my breathing ragged, moaning, then pulling back and going slow. He slipped more and more fingers in, pumping me harder and harder, and then, finally, he let me cum, biting me on the neck as I literally gasped for air.

Just after I came, I felt him take hold of himself with one hand while he kept his other hand in me, moving in and out of my pussy. He started jerking off, which just got me going again, and I came really hard as I felt him cum all over my lower back.

We still hadn't said anything to each other, and we still didn't speak as he cleaned me off, and slowly pulled up my jeans. He stopped to kiss me - a wonderful kiss which I can still feel, and then walked down the hill. I continued back up to the hostel.

The day after, when I checked out of the hostel, we spoke very formally to each other, but we were both smiling. It was one of those experiences that seems like a dream - on the plane on the way back, I just laughed every time I thought of it.

This is not the only experience I have had like this - I'll tell you about another one that happened a few months ago later. But this is one of my favorites so far - it was so fast and delicious...