CuriousGirl

An Honest Question, Part 2

2008-02-15T15:24:00.002-05:00

So. We were leaning against the wall and I was about to go into more... detail, when he got a call on his cell phone.

I don't know who it was, but I know that he looked at the caller ID for a minute, then looked up at me.

You, he said, have no idea how much I don't want to say this, but I have to go.

Such excellent timing, I said. He cleared his throat. Yep, he said, and made a funny snorting sound, which made me laugh.

No problem. I can tell you more another time, I assured him. He said something like the moment would have passed. I shrugged, but thought, he is probably right.

Someone started to open the restaurant door so we moved back into the street. At the corner, I headed towards the subway and he stayed to catch a cab. I waved as he got in.

And that, my friends, was it. I haven't seen him since.

***

I know! That was kind of cruel. But that is just what you get with nonfiction. Real life is either breathtaking or mundane, it seems.

An Honest Question

2008-02-06T15:14:00.000-05:00

Long time no see.

I logged on today, after many months away, becuase... Well, there is only one reason why you would see me here ;)

It's been a fairly uneventful time, so you really haven't missed too much. I have been working a lot. Too much, I think. And I haven't had time to really... wander. Mentally or physically.

So today was funny just because my mind was completely on work, and it took me a minute to figure out what was happening.

I have a... I'll call him a client. Someone I do work for.

I know what that sounds like, but I assure you, it's not that.

He is in his late fifties or so, balding a bit, portly. He stopped in to my office briefly about three months ago to talk about a project. During the conversation I made a reference to a friend of mine. He looked surprised and said that he knew her as well. We made the appropriate small-world comments and he asked how I knew her. I said that I had dated one of her old girlfriends.

I didn't know you were..., he started. And I said, well, I am bi, actually, but was dating a woman at the time. He seemed a little awkward and we talked a little more about the project and then he left.

I've gotten to know him a little better since then and have seen him several times, although the conversation never came up again. But today he stopped in to pick up some things and we were in my office again. He brought up the fact that he had seen the L Word on TV last week.

I know this is probably not a very PC thing to say, he said, but I always wondered what exactly lesbians did?

Well, just what you'd imagine, I said, but not like in videos that they make for guys. Those are usually straight women anyway.

But, he insisted, what is there to do, really? If you know what I mean.

There is a lot to do, I said. The body has many sensitive places. And there are many ways to reach those places, if YOU know what I mean.

I laughed a little, but he looked really thoughtful.

Yeah, I guess, he said. I don't know why I have such a hard time understanding it.

At this point, he shifted a little and I could clearly see that he was pretty aroused. And you know what this does to me.

So I got a little crazy.

I have to go run some errands. Want to walk out with me?, I asked.

He agreed, looking a little startled, but followed me out. As we walked, I turned to him and said, look, normally I wouldn't say this since we are working together, but this project is almost over, so we won't be working together any more. So just ask me anything you want and I will tell you.

He laughed and got very flushed.

Ok, well. Wow, he said. It's really not that big of a deal, I just want to know what women do!

They use their hands and mouths a lot, I started out. They kiss, they lick, they squeeze. The usual! One of my favorite things to do with a woman is to kiss her and just sort of gently move on each other's hips and thighs. That can be it for me, if you know what I mean.

I went on for a little more until it was clear that he was in serious pain. He was laughing again, more uncomfortably than before, saying OK, I get it! I get it! But clearly wanting me to go on.

I can see you are liking this, I said, gesturing below his belt line where a full hard on was now raging. We had ducked around a corner near the back door of a restaurant.

========
Sad for you, I am going to have to leave this story for now... must go to a meeting. But I promise to come back and tell you how it turned out ;)

PS. You can comment on posts now, although I will have to approve them before posting...

likes and wishes

2007-06-26T15:23:00.000-04:00

After more than a year of dangling my fingertips in the darkside, I have come up with a draft (subject to constant revision) version of what I think I know I like:

I like to watch or listen to men jerking off. This is not big news.
I like to be told what to do more than I like to tell others what to do. I like to be used.
I like everything from grunting need to articulate control, and everything in between.
I like the catch I can hear in a man's voice as he gets hard and starts to touch himself.
I like to pinch my nipples when I am talking on the phone and I start to get wet.
I like light pain. Sometimes.
I like getting fucked in the ass. Hard.
I like having my head pushed down on a man's cock.
I like the thought that a person can say whatever they want to me.
I like cumming for men.

Now, some things I wish:

I wish, and this is not a new wish, that I could queue up a line of men in the mornings who have woken up hard and just need to cum fast. I would listen to them one after another. Encourage them. Release them into the day.
I wish the world were a different place and I could meet total strangers in out of the way places and watch them jerk off for me without worrying about being hurt or raped.
I wish I did not have the job that I have so that I could show you what I am doing right now on a web cam.

quick and fast

2007-06-05T18:19:00.000-04:00

A blink of an eye image for you.

This morning, walking the dog, car parked on a side street, windows rolled down.

I am walking by, five minutes out of the shower, no bra, no underwear, cool cotton skirt, t-shirt.

Glance over, seat back, man in driver's seat, reclining, eyes closed, hand moving... no way... yes way...

I slow down (of course), slow down more, then stop, watching.

He does not notice, eyes still closed, cock out, long, slow pulls, then faster, slower, faster.

I am rooted, staring, wet, dog pulling me ahead, wanting to keep walking.

His hand moving faster now, moving toward release, skin reddened, engorged, mouth open, small groan.

I am, predictably, wet, still watching.

Faster still, head lolling to the side, tongue out, imagining a breast or a cunt, uncontrollable jerking, hand is a blur, I can feel the wetness slipping down my thigh as he cums, a spurt, a groan, his shirt, eyes fluttering, and I am suddenly awake, letting the dog pull me away, cool air hitting my hot clit.

Straight to a cafe, tie up the dog, head for the bathroom, hands on my newly shaved pussy and pouting lips, a violent cumming, then outside for an icy coffee and a slow walk home.

ebb and flow

2007-05-31T10:56:00.000-04:00

I find it somehow fitting or ironic that, when I have not checked email for over a month, hotmail deletes my entire inbox. It is as if this world I have created will not let me leave, and if I do leave, it will not let me come back.

Or at least, if I do come back, it is like I am presented with a blank slate and the echo of my own... voice?... keyboard clicks?

So, FYI, if you haven't heard from me, or don't hear from me, it is because I did not get your email and no longer have your email address! Feel free to correct the situation at your leisure.

Anyway, hello again. Been awhile. For those who have been around since I started this odd little project, this is nothing new. I come (and come, and come...) and then I go. And then I come again.

Summer is approaching. Long, hot days. I don't think I will be around as much as last summer, but anything could happen. I am not sure, too, how I will set things up. I am in the mood for a bit of a change ;)

Soon. I hope. But can never promise.

girls

2007-04-09T15:29:00.000-04:00

Last week, I met a friend for drinks at a bar near my house. She was late. While I was sitting there waiting, the bartender was flirting with me - he was Australian, open-shirted, smooth chest. Slightly hipster-ish. All of which I noticed only out of the corner of my eye, which was fixed on a woman sitting alone a few seats down from me.

She called the bartender over for a minute and asked him to watch her things while she ran back to work to get something. He seemed to know her well enough that this was not an odd request. She put her coat on and I watched her walk outside and across the street, and then disappear around the corner.

I nursed my way through an expensive but completely delicious imported Belgian Ale, waiting for her, halfheartedly flirting back at the bartender who was drying glasses in front of me, asking me where I lived.

I have been dreaming of women lately. I want to feel that particular kind of softness; the way my body melts into theirs; the endless making out; the fingers and tongues that know the lay of the land. So when my friend texted me to say that, actually, she wasn't going to be able to come out at all, I just stayed put anyway. Couldn't hurt.

I am, admittedly, usually attracted to androgynous, or even butch women. I am even interested in FTM (female to male) guys, though I have never been with one. But I have my femme moments, and this night was one of them. The woman - who was just now coming back into the bar, cheeks red with the cold, catching my eye for a minute and smiling - was most definitely on the femme side, though not in a girly way.

She had a low voice, which I noticed when she had spoken earlier, but which I was now hearing directed at me as she said something like, "Did you see him going through my purse?" as she nodded towards the bartender and laughed. I said that I had kept my eye on him and that, at least for that span of time, he had been a good boy.

She said that she had left a phone number at work, which was why she had to run back, and I asked where she worked. She was an advocate for affordable housing in the area and worked with a group that was trying to build some new apartment buildings about ten blocks away and encountering lots of resistance from the neighbors. We fell into an engaging discussion about how people say they want a "diverse" environment but don't really know what that means, and about property values, and urban living, and...

Somewhere during this time, she had moved over to sit next to me. She bought a round of drinks. Much stronger ones than the beer I had started out with. I was getting drunk. So was she.

We managed to maintain our conversation, with all consonants intact for quite a while. She was in her early thirties, incredibly engaging, dynamic, and completely committed to her work. As she talked, my eyes rested more and more on her lips, which were full and un-lipsticked.

At one point, I told her that I found her frankness really refreshing. She laughed and said that it got her into trouble a lot in her work, but that it also helped her get what she wanted. This was that unspoken turning point in the evening - the point where a conversation becomes something else and you know that you will, eventually, see this person naked.

I asked if she always got what she wanted. Her eyes locked on mine and she said, not always, but that she was persistent, and patient, which usually paid off.

There was an unusual amount of women in the bar. She looked around and commented on this, saying that it was probably because there was a lesbian club a few blocks away. Have you ever been, she asked? I said that I hadn't, but would love to go. She was testing the water here, seeing how I would react. The Gay Dance, I call it. If I lead, will you follow? Where are you on the scale?

She was sitting very close to me now, and I was beginning to ache - nipples hardening, clit warm. The bartender was eyeing us, aware now of what was happening, trying to make his way back over. Come with me for a minute, she said, and jumped up, heading towards the back of the bar. I followed her, weaving through tables of women, into the bathroom. I was drunk in that way that you only notice once you stand up.

The door was barely closed behind me before she was on me, hands up my shirt, behind my head, kissing me deeply. She grabbed both of my nipples, pinching them firmly as she brought her leg in between mine, pressing into my cunt just hard enough to make me moan.

Sorry, she said, I was having trouble making intelligent conversation out there. I laughed and said I was having similar difficulties. We kissed for a few more minutes, hands tangled in each others' hair, and then I slid my hand down between her legs. Her thigh was still pressed between mine.

I unzipped her jeans and cupped my hand, moving down into her underwear until I found wetness there and my fingers just slid inside her. She took a deep breath. I felt as though I was going to pass out. It has been a while since I have felt this.

I slowly moved my fingers into her, and then back out, finding the hardness of her clit, slowly applying pressure there until she said Oh, God, and then sliding them back into her wet pussy.

All this time, I was grinding my cunt into her thigh, already so close to cumming that you could have blown on my clit and I would have exploded. But I wanted to taste her first.

I slid down, pulling her underwear down just enough for me to find her hardness with the tip of my tongue. She had to bend her knees a little and move down the wall, spreading her legs as best she could since she still had her jeans on.

Just then, someone knocked on the door. I pulled my head away, but she pushed it back. I just need one minute, she said, I'll be very quiet. I pushed my tongue back in and started to gently, but firmly, stroke her clit. She grabbed the back of my head and pushed me into her. I reached up with my hand, sliding a finger, now three, into her cunt, stretching her out, pushing towards my mouth from inside her, then up, deeply into her.

I could feel her orgasm gathering. She was breathing heavily. Her clit was rock hard. She grabbed my shoulders and suddenly went rigid, her cunt gripping my hand, pulsing while I kept fucking her pussy. After a few minutes, she pulled me up onto her leg, and started whispering in my ear while I humped her leg, helpless, desperate to cum. Then she stopped me, reaching her hand back under my shirt to my nipples.

I want you to look at me, she said, and cum for me. And I did. Wave after wave. I had needed that so much. She held me until it was over.

By this time, someone was knocking insistently on the door. She said she wanted to make me do it again, but I said we should go. Not that I didn't have it in me.

We went back out, smiling at the woman who was waiting, and sat back on the barstools. The bartender came over to us, eyebrows raised. We made small talk, evading his questions. I felt like I had been run over.

I am seeing her again tomorrow night.

sugasm

2007-03-13T16:15:00.000-04:00

One of my blog posts is in Sugasm (an "informal sex blog network") this week. Here are some selections from other blogs on the list...

This Week's Picks
You’re So Dirty When You’re Clean. (http://middleurge.blogspot.com)
“The side of your hand slipping along her pussy lips. Her laugh, a mix of I-knew-it and do-that-more.”
Before ( http://thismuse.blogspot.com)
“Condoms and lube go into the bedside drawer next to the Bible. Purse into the drawer with clothes, whore-bag into the closet with my street shoes.”
Rude Bits: Tracy Quan on the Raunch Debate (http://susiebright.blogs.com)
“If someone is making money off your body, you should too.”
Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sex Mad(ness) (http://sugarbank.com)
Editor’s Choice
The art of pegs (some artistic CBT) ( http://mistress160.blogspot.com)
More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

my favorite craigslist m4w posting ever

2007-03-11T18:22:00.001-04:00

You,

And there will be lots of adventures, sniffing through glasses and past lips and: Woody Allen said if sex isn't dirty then you're not doing it right: I agree. There doesn't have to be sex, though. Just, at least, a clicking. Great musics listened-to and great books read-discussed and great movies seen-lived and sweating--cause of the adventuring and etc's. Bothered-by-a-big-ol'-moon walks; dinner-thru-night-till-tomorrow experiences--boozy, maybe, I mean, doesn't have to be. The air Cat-Power's-voice-smokey--good stuff, you know. Taffy-streched mystery, never, you know, outted in the beginning--but teased and really fun. Rollings and tumblings and weird crystal-ball-refracted moments you only get in extremis. Odd-but-still-pretty-and-specific-faced people laughing-out unboring stories: everything weird-mooded, florid; you--terrifically experienced and novel-inspired after answering this and adventuring up up up and setting down somewhere new--sexed (not necessarily literally) and through the fugue and chilled to the cockle. You know: if you wanna answer. No arm-twistin's here. Let's. This is expressionistic just cause I want to meet the specifics who would answer an add like this. Pics and that, too.

hotel 3

2007-03-11T17:32:00.003-04:00

Yes, I know. What happened to "hotel 2"?

Well, the local boys and girls got me last night. Went out wandering around this odd little city. Danced, drank, flirted, danced some more. I wish I could tell you something about myself that would make this story so much more interesting - but, alas... I can't.

But I can say that I ended up at a heartbreaking little karaoke bar (but then, karaoke always breaks my heart... so much earnestness) where a woman was singing a country western song. She must have been in her early twenties, with shoulder length dark hair, big eyes and hips, and wearing tennis shoes. Clearly a lesbian - or, at least, clear to me.

I could not stop staring at her. Could. Not. Velcro eyeballs. On her.

After she put the mic back in the stand and went back to her friends, I had to rip my pupils off of her so that I wouldn't appear to be the raving lunatic stalker that I was so close to becoming. No idea why, suddenly, all I wanted - all I want - is a woman. All over me. And this is all I could think about all day.

And, in some way, the universe, as it often does, provided. At lunch, a woman I had not noticed before, and who is here attending the same event that I am, came over and sat at my table. We made small talk about the event, but, given today's private obsession, I felt like all I could do was look at the curve of her neck, her hands, her lips. She is from the north of England and had a slightly raunchy sense of humor. We were laughing loudly by the end of the meal.

As dessert was arriving, she suddenly said that she had seen me earlier and felt like she wanted to meet me. For a second, it was awkward. I was trying to read behind what she was saying - same sex interactions are, if there is even a hint of the erotic involved, so muffled by layers of water-testing. Is she? Could she be?

I was still taking it in when she got up to leave. We had been talking about going out to an Irish pub nearby, so it didn't seem odd that she asked for my room number, saying that she will call later to see if I am still up for going.

I had to sit and listed to a presentation for about an hour after that, and I was vibrating. I did that delicious thing where I innocently crossed my legs, draping my sweater over my lap, my hands in full view on the table taking notes, while I pulsed my inner thighs and vaginal muscles until I was on the edge of an orgasm. I just kept imagine what her breasts would feel like against my skin, against my tongue. And yes, sometimes I would think of you watching.

But at the last minute, I didn't cum. And now, several hours later, here I sit. Still damp, and wondering if she will call later. I will, of course, keep you well informed.

Going to take a nap now. And I will be very, very good. Very, very, very, very good.

hotel 1

2007-03-10T00:12:00.000-05:00

Arrived. Started stripping the second the door shut behind me. Took a bath. Ordered room service. Got in bed, a huge king-sized expanse of white sheets with me in the middle, fingers brushing my already wet, wet...

I've brought myself to the edge about three times, stopping at the last minute. My hands smell of my juices, nipples poised... waiting...

Three more days...

hotels

2007-03-08T11:16:00.000-05:00

I will be traveling again this weekend and in a hotel room on Friday, Saturday and Sunday night.

You know what this means.

keys

2007-03-07T17:05:00.000-05:00

Whenever I need to cum, I get an
ache in my lower belly that extends in a warm wave
downwards
to my clit and then
separates out to my inner thighs.

I have come to think that when this happens,
if it happens in public,
small molecules of "fuck me" begin to
leap off of my skin and travel through the air and are
breathed in by
unsuspecting victims who suddenly find their eyes on
my belly,
which,
if I haven't mentioned this five hundred times before,
is smooth and flat and toned and today on the train

my hand was

drawn to it.
Just lighting there for a minute,
a bit too low.
Thumb disappearing
under my waistband and he just

could not take his eyes off of it.

Fluttering away, coming back, small bulge,
now larger.

I can help it.
I just don't want to.
I want him to think of me when he gets home,
fly unzipped before the door closes behind him,
cock springing out,
keys falling to the floor as he leans against the wall
imagining the way my legs were open just a
little
too
wide.

door

2007-03-05T18:33:00.000-05:00

Whew. Last week just about killed me. In a good way. I think I blew out my new vibrator already! Someone suggested it might be the full moon. Whatever it was, if I could bottle it, I could retire early.

So. Ready?

For the next few months, or more, I won't be reading or answering most of the emails I receive.

You see, this is how it goes. I open the door every once and awhile and let people in. And this is fine, even great, for awhile. But then, eventually, too many people come in (I sometimes get over a hundred emails in a day) and I start to lose the sense of each individual person. I don't have time to spend actually doing what I want to do, which is, well, making you cum in several different ways.

In addition, I end up spending more and more time making small talk and much too little time with people who have actually come to value my time and want to... go deeper, so to speak.

I have had a very, very (VERY) wonderful time getting to know people over the last few weeks, but now the door is closing. I will keep writing here of course, but other than that, for the next few months, on the days when I am around to talk, I will send out a note only to the people on my NF list or post a note for them here. If I do read/respond to any email, it will only be email from people on the list - and even that will be rare and in order of, well.. preference.

If you don't know what this list thing is and want to find out more, or if you know what it is, but are not sure if you are on it, you can email me anytime and put the word "list" in the subject line so I know to open it. And I completely understand, as always, if it is not for you.

I have to remind myself every once and awhile, why I first started doing this almost a year ago. Among other things, the point was to find a way to free up my time to do my more creative, less moneymaking things (like write and make art). I also want to get to know a few people very well, and save the best of myself for them, not spread myself all over the place to people who do not always... get me.

You can get hot email exchanges, and even explicit chat, almost anywhere. You can only get me here. I am aching to cum for you, or to make you explode, or to be or do whatever you want. But maybe nothing truly wonderful is free.

(For those of you who want it free anyway, you are, of course, free enjoy my posts here. As I've said a million times, the thought of you reading my words - cock swelling, reddening, straining against your pants - is what makes the process of writing so deeply pleasurable. I wish you many, many urgent and mindblowing orgasms.)

More soon...

talk

2007-02-28T16:52:00.000-05:00

Killing time before I have to go somewhere.

I am in the mood to talk frankly with someone. This does not have to end in any heavy breathing or anything - I am all dressed up and need to stay reasonably put together, but I am open for intelligent conversation and/or teasing.

Perfect if you are at work and can't really get too, um, detailed. Also good if you have been reading/corresponding with me, and just want to talk for minute and get to know me better.

Enjoy me while you can - before I retreat back into my inner circle, so to speak ;)

Anyway, if you have a few minutes, email me and I will send you the link to the service I use. (If your response to that is: What! You use a service! I don't PAY for conversation/fantasy/orgasms, or something similar, please read this and feel free not to email me for the link. ;)

horizon

2007-02-27T18:37:00.001-05:00

I just got a request to make a... a sort of targeted recording. I mean, a recording that aims to please a particular someone.

He described in detail what he wanted to hear- and so, right now, I am thinking about how, exactly, to give him exactly that in a one of a kind, digitally recorded masterpiece of my own making.

Could be fun ;)

A tidbit: He asked for me to slide something, a large something, into my ass while I talk. I am thinking it needs to be just large enough so that he will hear the intake of air, the tightness in my throat, the ache of pleasure in my voice, but not SO big that I can't talk at all!

I think I have just the thing. One of my girlfriends bought a strap on dildo. Big and black. She was nice enough to give it to me when we broke up. The gift that keeps on giving. I think I will use that.

He asks for a few other things that I won't describe in detail, except to say that they involve giving myself over to him for at least a few minutes. I can do that.

I am not kidding when I say that I want to be used. I want to go anywhere you want to go. I will not be faking it. I am an open horizon, stretching out endlessly in all directions at once. In this liminal place, nothing is off limits.

I want to reduce you to a grunting, panting, greedy mess. I want you to think about jacking off all the time. I want your cock to be sore, your balls to be raw. I want you to be distracted in meetings, check your email obsessively, and think about my hard nipples until you have to sneak off and find somewhere to jack off thinking of my dripping cunt.

Show me everything. I want to see it. The way I feel now, I would even beg you for it.

later

2007-02-16T14:55:00.000-05:00

Just a quick update - I just got off the phone with someone at work who was in a cubicle! Not even full walls!

He didn't say anything the whole time - well, maybe uh huh, and yep, like I was talking about something really important.

I just told him exactly what I was doing to myself and brought myself to the edge of cumming. Then he said, thanks, and took a little bathroom break.

We talked on skype, which I don't do often. Too complicated, but it worked well for this.

Anyway, now I am really in pain! I mean, a pleasurable sort of pain. A swollen, hot clit, nipples raw from pinching them. A delicious hotel day...

two hours

2007-02-16T12:24:00.000-05:00

I am traveling for the weekend and am in quite possibly the most boring midwestern town on the map.

I got here early, and am lying, completely naked, in my hotel room.

I know you are probably at work. Which could be fun.

I don't necessarily need to cum. Though I could if you wanted me to.

I could also just... flirt. Tease you. Talk to you. Get you through your long and tedious day.

Or we could just talk for a few minutes - long enough for you to get my voice in your head so that you could imagine it later, or for you to say a few things that you need to say... things you might have only thought before, but never said out loud.

Though, I suppose, if you are at work,you'd have to say these things very quietly - unless you have a private office. Or a storage closet. ;)

I am going to do something unprecedented. I am going to post the secret link for about an hour or two, and then make it disappear. If you are up for it, and ok with it, then follow where it leads and make an arrangement/appointment to talk with me. If not, then send me some entertaining email, though I might not get to respond until later.

Strike while the doors are open. Longtime readers know that this almost never happens.

You can find me here. [Sorry - link gone, door closed. But who knows... it is a long weekend...]

recording

2007-02-13T18:41:00.000-05:00

I am in the mood to make another recording.

I think I know exactly what I want to do on it.

I am going to strip down to my thong, which is already soaked as I type this, put on some heels, just because its fun and adds to the tacky porno effect, lay back in my chair, slide my fingers into my wet pussy, and imagine you standing in front of me, still in your clothes, your erection straining at your pants.

Then,
I am going to tell you
exactly
what I want you to do.

This is only the second recording I have ever made, but the first was very, very, VERY fun, so I think that warrants a part two.

More in a sec.

LATER: Done. Sopping. Exhausted. ;)

yours yours yours

2007-02-12T19:04:00.000-05:00

In keeping with the theme of these two posts, way back when, I found a choice couple of paragraphs from this month's Harper's (below). I don't think I am any less ambivalent about all of this, but I have been finding my way through it.

Oh, that is really beautiful.

I hadn't actually finished reading the entire article, and I googled a line from a paragraph I wanted to quote here. The line was:

"It is the cardinal difference between gift and commodity exchange that a gift establishes a feeling-bond between two people, while the sale of a commodity leaves no necessary connection."

But the only reference I got was an exact quote from Lewis Hyde's The Gift, whereas the article I was quoting in Harper's was written by Jonathan Lethem and is called...

Oh.

Duh.

It is called "The Ecstasy of Influence" and is subtitled "A Plagiarism."

Meaning, as part of his extended reflection on plagiarism, he actually plagiarized almost every line in the article.

I know I am getting way off of the topic of sex here, so feel free to move on if your hard on is drooping, but that was such a brilliant moment. Made more brilliant by the fact that I was already thinking the article was brilliant, and now I think it is yet more so.

As you might have gathered, words and ideas are the "commodities" that Jonathan is using Lewis' words to point out in this case. Not exactly the kind of commodity I was about to use (what I thought were) Jonathan's words to illuminate.

The article, using what I am sure are yet someone else's words, goes on to say, "I go into a hardware store, pay the man for a hacksaw blade, and walk out... The disconnectedness is, in fact, a virtue of the commodity mode. We don't want to be bothered, and if the clerk always wants to chat about the family, I'll shop elsewhere. I just want a hacksaw blade. But a gift makes a connection."

So very familiar!

At any rate, where I was going with this is that some men instinctively get this concept, and I am always sort of surprised and thankful for that. Not only do some of the people in my, um, inner circle, so to speak, understand that they are showing their respect for the time that I should be spending working instead of talking to them, they also understand that this keeps the boundaries cleanly drawn. Which, in some strange way, makes things so much easier, and, yes, so much hotter.

I am absolutely abstract.
I want to be your fantasy.
I want you to need to cum for me in a way that feels a little bit bad. Or a little bit excessive. Or a little bit secretive.
I want you to be completely free to say anything to me.

All of these things are made possible by clear boundaries.

So why don't I just do this full time, or become a prostitute for that matter?

Well, the article goes on:

"Of course, in the real world, we know that child-rearing, family life, education, socialization, sexuality, political life, and many other basic human activities require insulation from market forces. In fact, paying for many of these things can ruin them."

Enough said.

I can only go so far, and there is something in me that always says stop before I cross a certain line. I love to play here and there, but I only want to play with a few people here and there. In some odd way, I think they appreciate knowing that, too. This is why I don't always return every email, and go for weeks at a time without writing. I am working, yes, but I am also, shall we say, focusing my energies.

Lucky for the masses, I am opening the windows for the time being. I have more than enough to go around, even if you only get to see it here instead of in a private show ;)

Anyway, enjoy it while it lasts. And thank you again to the ones who "get it". I am yours, yours, yours.

recovery

2007-02-09T14:50:00.000-05:00

Who knew I could cum so many times in one day? I am still trying to recover from yesterday. I just cannot say what has come over me this week! Whatever it is, I say, bring in on ;)

Wish I had time to play more today, but I only have about a half an hour. Who would like to bid for this welling orgasm?

I am kidding, but only because I don't have time to take bids... I want to cum NOW. A few months ago, I made a recording of myself cumming in about two minutes, but I am going to try to beat that time...

But first, if you could just do one thing for me... If you are at work, reach one hand down, very casually, under your desk, locate the head of your cock, and just rub it gently for a minute. Then, if you can, grab as much of the shaft as you can and squeeze. Hard.

I want to be here for you. There is nothing you can't say to me (or write to me). Take advantage of it, ok?

meeting

2007-02-08T15:51:00.000-05:00

Ok, clearly I am in the middle of some kind of... uprising. What is it that suddenly wakes up in me and won't be denied?

I just got out of a large meeting. Boring.

During the meeting, I started having flashbacks to one of two times I have gone back to a hotel room with someone I met earlier on the same day.

It was while I was in grad school, in an east coast city, and I had gone out dancing by myself. I did this often. It was a straight bar, but I ended up meeting a woman who I found really attractive. We were dancing near each other, talking here and there.
Then she went off to make a phone call.

A few minutes later, I noticed one guy watching me, and he came up to me while I was getting a drink. We flirted, the usual stuff, but at some point, he started to get very serious. I am going to be completely truthful, he said, I am here for one more night and I want you to come back to my room with me.

He didn't mention the woman I had been flirting with, so I wondered if he had seen her. I told him that I was here with a friend, and I needed to talk with her.

Back on the dance floor, I pulled the woman aside and told her about the guy as if it were something funny. Now she became serious as well. Don't go with him alone, she said. I said that this was fine, I wasn't planning on it.

A few hours later, she and I are dancing, talking, and the guy, whom I thought had left, comes up to me again. I'm going. Come with me.

I look at the woman, smiling. She is looking at him. Ok, she said. She will go with you. But only if I can go too. But you can't touch me.

Now I am staring at her!

Less than an hour later, we are walking into his hotel room. The whole way there in the cab, she and I were all over each other. He just sat and watched, and every once and awhile, he would say something like, "Wow." Or, "What are you up to over there?"

But when we walked in the room, she sat on a chair in the corner and told him not to pay any attention to her. She was here to make sure I was safe.

The scary thing for me to remember about this story, is that the guy turned out to be very violent in some ways. But the wonderful thing about it is that I felt like I could let go and almost enjoy it, if that is the right word, because she was there. On the way in, she had called somebody, and she told the person on the phone where she was and what hotel room we were going in to. I know that she did it so that the guy could hear her.

This man, I remember thinking, must not have cum for a long time. He was really rough with me. And he talked the whole way through. He wanted me to tell him I was his slut, and he kept telling me to repeat that. To scream it, even.

At one point, I remember thinking that I should stop him. I felt like he was getting too out of control, but there was a part of me that liked it, I think, and wanted to push it a little more.

At one point, he entered me from the front and every time he would thrust, and not gently, he would slap me lightly on my tits. Then he did it harder. At one point, he slapped my face, gently at first, and I started to prostest. He did it one more time, much harder that time, while he thrust so hard into me that my ass came up off the bed.

At one point, I looked over at the woman. She was just watching. She wasn't touching herself, which I thought she might be doing, or wanted her to be doing. But she looked wary, on guard. Which, in retrospect, I think was a good thing.

You are such a little whore, he said. You like this, I can tell. You are pretty dirty aren't you? He spread my legs open and started to finger fuck me, but with lots of fingers, and very violently. I want to see your pussy stretch out, he said. His voice was raspy at this point, strained.

I could see his cock now, but the odd thing to me at the time was that it wasn't that hard. But while he was fucking me with his hand, he reached down and started yanking on it. Then he took his hand out of me and just focused on jerking himself off for a minute. He told me to watch him and started calling me a range of things. I remember thinking that he was going to be sore... he was pumping so hard and his cock was shiny and red. He let some saliva fall down on the head and grunted while he spread it over his shaft.

At one point, he stopped, and pushed me down on the bed. He entered me again, but this time, his hand was around my neck. I looked over at the woman. She was watching carefully.

How do you like that, he said. Does that make you nervous? He was pumping me hard. he put a little pressure on my neck and I felt light headed. I know this turned him on and he started really banging me, saying Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah every time he slapped up inside me, drawing his cock all the way outside of me, then slamming in again.

But he stopped after a minute, rolled me over, and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back hard. I felt him fingering my asshole, then, suddenly, he was inside. I love to be fucked in the ass, so even though my head was pulled back, I started to moan, and this sent him over the edge. I think this is the most insane I have ever seen someone... Ah, you fucking little cunt, I am going to fuck this ass, this dirty fucking ass... he was almost screaming, grunting with every thrust.

But he didn't cum. I, not surprisingly, had come about three times already, and at this point, I was, frankly, getting really sore. I told him I wanted to watch him jack again, and he threw me on my back and straddled me so that his balls were dangling over my mouth. Then he started to jerk off in short strokes, muttering to himself under his breath. Fucking cunt... you little whore... going to fuck you in the mouth... uhh uhh uhh uhh uhh uhh.

Nothing.

Now I am actually worried for him. He is going to get a blister or something on his cock! I look over at the woman, and she is standing up.

We have to go, she says.

And we did. We just left.

To this day, I feel so, incredibly bad for the guy. It was as if he were trying everything to get to the other side, to let go, but he just couldn't let himself release.

I always wonder if he was able to come after I left. I would like to think that if I had another chance, I could make him, or help him to come. I think I would know what to do now.

I actually kept in touch with that woman for a long time after that - though she has since moved to another country, so we haven't talked in awhile. We never ended up having sex, but I wanted to for a long time.

Another interesting thing about that experience was that it woke me up to a kind of submisssive or masochistic side of me. I don't want to die early or be bruised, but there is something so delicious about just being... used.

But back to the meeting.

I came.

In the meeting.

As in, I came while the meeting was happening as I was remembering this night.

How? No vibrator, no hands, just by crossing my legs and squeezing the muscles together, like I was doing the other day. That's it.

And I feel like I could do it again right now...

public places

2007-02-07T12:23:00.000-05:00

Well, after months of relative quiet, I decided to take a break and do something fun yesterday.

A few months ago, someone sent me a particularly generous gift. He said that he would like to meet me, even though I made it clear that I don't do that. If things happen spontaneously, I often - as you know - go with it, so to speak, but I don't plan meetings with people I have been in touch with in other ways.

But I wanted to give him something back. And I was thinking, wouldn't it be fun if he knew I was in the room, but didn't know which person I was? I did a version of this game last year when I went to a Starbucks on a certain date/time, which I posted online. No one, of course, figured out which one, out of all of the women with laptops, typing away, was the one (though there may have been more than one!) on the edge of cumming.

For this version, however, I told this guy to go to a large, busy public place of my choosing (it was indoors) at a particular time. I told him to find a place to sit for awhile and said that I could show up for any length of time within the hour. The important thing I wanted him to know was that I would have a vibrator directly on my clit the whole time (I just got a tiny one that is controlled wirelessly and I put the controls in my pocket) and that I would, at some point during the hour, cum.

I LOVED this! In fact, I came twice, just for good measure. I never even looked over at the guy (actually, I wasn't entirely sure which one he was, either). If you had been sitting nearer to me, you might have heard my breathing change a bit, or noticed when I pinched my nipples for a minute. And at the last minute, I arched my back a little, pushing my clit harder against the vibrator. But that's all.

He wrote me later in the day saying that he felt as though he had memorized every woman in the place, but still had no idea which one was me. He made a few guesses, which were wrong. He also said that it took him a while to be able to stand up to get to a private place where he immediately jerked himself off, hard and fast.

I told him, predictably, that I wish I could have been whereever he went, mouth open, hands up my cunt, waiting for him.

disassembly line

2007-01-29T13:46:00.000-05:00

My clit is aching today.

Why today? I couldn't say. I have been traveling for the last week... maybe I have been working too hard.

But here I sit, legs crossed, squeezing my thigh muscles together every few seconds, which sends a rush of pleasure from my swollen cunt down my legs and up my stomach to my nipples.

Here is what I wish was possible:

I want to set a time, like 3pm on some boring work day. At that moment, everyone who would like to participate would start stealing touches to their hardening cocks. You'd start feeling the precum dampen your underwear, shifting in your seat in anticipation if you are at work, or stripping naked if you are at home, porn on, cock in hand.

Then I would just start down the list. You would have five minutes to cum for me and then I would go on to the next cock. So by the time I called, you would be ready. Desperate, even. Needing me to hear you jack off for me while I pumped my pussy with my wet fingers. Feeling like you will die if you don't get that rush, that hot spurt, while you grunt into my ear.

I want to be your release.

If anyone is around this afternoon, I could at least satisfy some part of that fantasy...

disconnected

2007-01-10T18:31:00.000-05:00

Behold... she lives.

If you have emailed me in the past month or so, then I have not received it. My email account was discontinued because I didn't check it for so long. (I am sure there is some deeper meaning in this.)

Not only did I lose all of my email archives, but I lost all of my addresses as well. So if you have not heard from me in awhile, well, you will never hear from me again if you don't email me.

This is just the way it will go - now here, now not here... but, as you know, when I am on, well, I am on. Very, very on.

Keep in touch...

reality

2006-12-01T16:17:00.000-05:00

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.

So.

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.

rubicon

2006-11-23T01:52:00.000-05:00

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.

rubicon

2006-11-21T18:16:00.000-05:00

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

2006-11-11T02:00:00.000-05:00

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

2006-11-01T12:04:00.000-05:00

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

2006-09-27T15:58:00.000-04:00

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

2006-08-25T17:52:00.000-04:00

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

2006-08-24T22:14:00.000-04:00

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

2006-08-24T10:29:00.000-04:00

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

2006-08-23T10:46:00.000-04:00

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!)

circle

2006-08-21T14:58:00.000-04:00

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?

normal

2006-08-21T11:59:00.000-04:00

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.

fly

2006-08-18T10:17:00.000-04:00

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

2006-08-17T10:02:00.000-04:00

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.

dude

2006-08-12T16:00:00.000-04:00

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

2006-08-04T16:56:00.000-04:00

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

2006-08-04T10:20:00.000-04:00

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.

(feeds)

2006-08-01T12:50:00.000-04:00

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

2006-08-01T11:22:00.000-04:00

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.

alive

2006-07-28T12:49:00.000-04:00

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... ;)

poor

2006-07-27T17:02:00.000-04:00

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.

soaked

2006-07-26T17:42:00.000-04:00

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.

want

2006-07-24T09:50:00.000-04:00

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.

vacation

2006-07-22T10:41:00.000-04:00

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?

interview

2006-07-20T09:36:00.000-04:00

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?

summer

2006-07-19T10:51:00.000-04:00

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.

1,2,3

2006-07-18T12:16:00.000-04:00

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...

1

2

3fuuuuuuuuuuuuck oh fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck fuuuuuck me dkf

quiet man

2006-07-16T07:32:00.000-04:00

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

2006-06-12T17:49:00.000-04:00

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.

Seriously.

I am not kidding.

Go. Get busy.

car

2006-06-12T15:03:00.000-04:00

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

2006-06-09T15:29:00.000-04:00

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. ;)

transcript

2006-06-07T18:22:00.000-04:00

(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

2006-06-05T19:16:00.000-04:00

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.

.
.
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.
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.
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Wish you were here.

ice cream

2006-06-03T10:59:00.000-04:00

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

2006-05-28T17:32:00.000-04:00

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...

taboo

2006-05-18T15:05:00.000-04:00

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.

waves

2006-05-12T06:24:00.000-04:00

Well, this is just how it is going to go - in waves. Which is somehow an appropriate metaphor ;)

Now you see me, now you don't. Don't worry, it's not you.

It's just the nature of the thing.

Don't forget me.

twenty minutes

2006-05-07T02:14:00.000-04:00

Hey from the west coast... from a hotel room. My roommate just left today so I am all alone. Let me repeat that: I am all alone in a hotel room.

Last night, I spent four hours in a kind of spa-like place. Started with a steam room, on to the best massage of my life. Yes, even better than THAT massage. And then, steamed up and slicked down, I was submerged in a hot tub under the stars.

I am sorry to say that I did nothing even remotely sexual.

But while I was in the steam room - and I love it REALLY hot, so I was pouring sweat - I did some slow yoga stretches and then I just lie there for a minute, staring down the length of my body.

I have a sort of little girl body - very petite and very... efficient. Nothing really jiggles or floats in water. My stomach is completely flat, my ass is smooth and muscular, my legs are strong, and my hands are not the delicate kind. They are feminine, but they look like they get things done. My body still looks almost exactly the way it did when I was eighteen. I even weigh the same. It is, some days, like an odd time warp. I know that it will change. Especially if I ever have children. And I think it will be sad, somehow - I will miss the body I have had.

I keep my pubic hair trimmed and partially shaven. I ran my fingers over it, and then I sat up and spread my legs and took a closer look.

My clit is not the tiny, buried variety, though it is not enormous. But it is prominent, and I pulled the skin up a little so that it was exposed. The lips of my pussy are very full and a rich, pink color. I spread them open a bit so that I could see the smooth passageway leading deep inside me.

There are moments when I can really see the parallels between men and women's genitalia. I can see how the lips are the vestigial balls, and I can almost feel the length of what might have been a cock buried in my pelvis, with just the most sensitive tip peeking out from the folds.

I can almost feel what it would be like.

Maybe it was because I was being so clinical and reflective about it, but I didn't feel turned on at all. Just curious and sort of... nostalgic? Warm? You know, like, here is this vessel that I live in or that is me, that is carrying me through this life, bringing me so much pleasure, etc.

But today, in the middle of the conference I am in, while the presenter was in the middle of her powerpoint presentation, I suddenly had to excuse myself. I came back up to my room, stood in front of the mirror, stripped off my jeans and underwear, and made myself cum in about three minutes flat. Fast and furious.

I went over to my bag, pulled out a dildo I had brought along, went back to the mirror, and slowly slid it inside me. It is a little bit large for me, so it stretched my pussy lips all the way open as I slowly fucked myself with it, watching every move.

I just wanted to watch the whole thing - the wet dildo, my clit swelling, my nipples hard and pink, aching to be grabbed, pinched, twisted. I was moaning, grunting, bending down a bit, crouching so that I could shove the dildo deeper inside me.

But what made me cum was the thought of you shooting your load on me - all over my tits and neck and face. When I thought of that, I pulled the dildo all the way out, and then slammed it back in just as I came, hard, crying out, tasting your cum.

Then I washed my hands, slipped back into my jeans (left the underwear off), walked back downstairs and sat back down in my seat. Only twenty minutes had passed.

all of me

2006-05-02T10:45:00.000-04:00

I read everything you write to me. Every word. And I think I am starting to see my way through this. I am still putting words to it, though, so I won't say anything yet.

You should know that I hate doing things halfway. I want the time to pay full attention to you, to be here at the exact moment when you need to talk to me. You know what I mean by that. I know that ache. You have no idea.

But, you should also know that I am getting on another plane (hmmm...), and will be gone for about a week. I will be checking email, but will have almost no time to respond. So don't be sad.

You see the problem: What is it going to take to cut into my life, peel away the fluttering busyness, and get my attention? This is not just what you might be wondering, it is at the heart of what I am wondering, too.

One thing is certain: When I do talk to you, you will have all of me in that moment.

the least i can ask

2006-04-30T13:18:00.000-04:00

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.

park

2006-04-28T16:09:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-26T19:43:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-22T15:05:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-18T15:28:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-17T11:29:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-13T09:50:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-10T17:48:00.000-04:00

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.

massage

2006-04-08T13:33:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-07T15:44:00.000-04:00

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. ;)

trains

2006-04-04T15:56:00.000-04:00

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

2006-04-03T16:27:00.000-04:00

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.

dying

2006-04-03T13:00:00.000-04:00

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.

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

hostel man

2006-04-02T12:14:00.000-04:00

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...

typing with one hand

2006-03-22T18:29:00.000-05:00

I was working at home all day today and just took a break to masturbate.

I brought myself just to the edge - my hands are damp on the keyboard - and I thought, I am going to try to blog myself coming.

Now, this, as you might imagine, presents certain... logistical challenges.

I can either stop and start, or I can try to type with one hand.

So... here goes...

typing with one hand now hard to
concentrate clit is so hrd
legs sueezing back arching
breayhing heavy i want you to imagine me
coming for you so wet
dripping for you hand is moving fast now
clit hard as a rock breath in gasps i want you to
touch yourself while you wattch me cum fo you
so hard i wnt to se the precum on your cock as you
jerk yourself off for me strocke your cok for me
hard an imagin fucking me in th ass
i am going to com for you
now atch me cummmkmin g f

ok, that was hilarious. i think i pulled a muscle ;)

dinner

2006-03-09T18:25:00.000-05:00

Last night, I had to go to dinner with a friend. All through the appetizers, I was squeezing my legs together under the table. When my friend got up to go to the bathroom, I reached my hands down like I was arranging my napkin, and BARELY touched myself.

My head tilted back slowly, my eyes closed. I can only imagine what this looked like! I took a deep breath and came so hard that I thought I might pass out. I pressed my hand on the top of the table for a minute to have something to hold onto.

When I opened my eyes, I saw that there was a table of two guys across the aisle from me. I don't think they were sure what they were seeing, but they knew that something was going on! The most bizarre part was that I was so completely, sopping wet that I was afraid to get up after dinner, so I kept prolonging things. Dessert. Second beer. Third beer. New topic.

Finally, I felt steady enough to ask for the check.

Why am I telling you this? To let you in on one of my biggest fantasies, in hopes of combing through the field of invisible readers to find the ones who share this fantasy (not that there aren't more where this came from), which is: I love to watch and be watched.

More later. Need to board a plane.

finally

2006-03-06T17:15:00.000-05:00

Ok. So I am finally doing this. I've thought about it a million times. I need a place to talk about the things that I think about. And I need to know that people are listening (or reading).

I think about sex all the time, but I can't do anything about it - I'll get into that later. But I am so incredibly turned on, and it turns me on to know that someone might read this. So I just want a place where I can explore this kind of thing. Even as I type this, I am, well, squirming in my seat ;)

I'm going to try to write as often as I can. I even set up a chat button (on the right) though I think I might be too nervous for that.

Anyway - more soon...

links

2006-03-02T20:38:00.000-05:00

I have a few, small partial body pics that I can send you on request just so you can see that I am thin, fit, and potentially as hot as I say I am. I am uncomfortable with sending out more explicit or full body pics, so if you really want them, feel free to make a creative offer or I can give you a paid link to download them, but I am not just going to send them out for nothing to whoever wants them. Sorry. And, for the whiners, yes, I do very much understand that you can get lovely nudie pics for free all over the internet so why am I being so mercenary, and my answer is that there are a a few people who want to see me in particular, so if that is not you, great.

If you want to talk to me or listen to recordings of me or have me watch you on a cam, or any of that, well, first let me say that my primary interest is not phone sex or other paid services. If that were my main gig, I would be going about this a completely different way. I do that here and there only with people who I have established some rapport with and who I really like, or who really turn me on. This site is here for me to look for some like-minded people, to get off, to get you off, and to explore/write about, well, sex.

If you don't have huge baggage with the concept of compensating me, you can email me for the links to the paid stuff, or you can send me more creative gifts, if you like, and we can also talk about all of the other possibilities for interacting. But I am deeply tired of people thinking that this site is a front or a lure for an escort service or other paid services. If you don't find additional kinds of interaction with me valuable, or you can get it somewhere else for free, that is completely fine. I am not pushing anything on you. You can just enjoy my stories.

I will give the links to you only if I like you, you are ok with it, you want it, and you are nice. Otherwise, I can direct you to some of my hotter blog entries where you can jerk off at your leisure. I get off - in a big way - knowing you are reading them. But I beg you not to ask if I will call you directly (not using the service), or see you in person, no matter how fabulous, smart, hot, and not-an-axe-murderer you are. Won't happen. I am a fantasy object. And the exchange of goods and services is an integral part of the whole deal for multiple reasons which I have analyzed in painful detail in many posts on this site.

I am not independently wealthy, so I usually do not have time to email or IM much, since I need to work, but I can do it every once and awhile. I always enjoy hearing your responses to what you read here. So please write me, I read everything, but don't be hurt if I don't get around to responding right away. Along with having a "real" life to attend to, I do have to prioritize certain people who value my time more than others.

PS. As of March 2007, here is the deal.