An Honest Question

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...

quick and fast

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.

girls

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.

meeting

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...

reality

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.

party girl

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was not going to take long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

circle

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?

bloody mary

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

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

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

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

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

That is always the beginning of the end.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He reads. I wait. So wonderful.

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

Do you have any more?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----------------------------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----------------------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

car service

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

alive

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... ;)

want

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.

interview

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

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

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

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.

car

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...

transcript

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

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

(!)

wish you were here

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

...

...


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

...

...

...

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

...

...

...

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

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

Wish you were here.

wide open territory

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

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

Apparently, he never has to stand up.

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

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

And of course, I was going to like it.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

the least i can ask

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is what I want.

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

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

That's the least I can ask.