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.
4.30.2006
4.28.2006
park
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.
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.
4.26.2006
one thing
I am still here.
I have just been working so much. Too much. This, you see, is part of my frustration.
Why can't I just meet you for a few hours at an adult film place near midtown, get a drink, and watch porn with you in a small, dark room until you are rock hard and begging me to let you take your cock out of your jeans and jack off for me? Then you would pay me some amount that felt completely worth it to you, and that would, upon repeated meetings, allow me not to be working so much, so I could spend that much more time making you cum again and again and again.
It all seems so simple when I say it that way.
Someone invited me to go to one of those swinger parties - and, I admit, it sounds fun - but I would be thinking the whole time: I can give sex away for free anytime. How does this free up my time?
How does this ridiculous waste of time forge a powerful and private exchange with a handful of people who come to me for one thing, so that they leave feeling drained, taken care of, and I am filled up and able to spend the rest of the day focusing on my work in the world, which is to read, to write, and to make things?
I need a patron. Are there still such things?
Feeling dejected.
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.
4.22.2006
don't fucking hang up
He called my hotel room at almost 11:30. I was sleepy, already in bed, watching some stupid movie with Tom Hanks, which, I realize is redundant.
I thought maybe he had gotten nervous. I think he was used to more run-of-the-mill phone encounters. Girls with breathy voices that called him baby. When I picked up the phone and said hello, he laughed and said, wow.
[fast forward]
Take off everything. I'll wait. Now put whichever hand is not holding the phone on your stomach and do not move it until I tell you to.
Have you ever read Vox?, I said. By Nicholson Baker. My favor...
Mmmm, I heard him say, obviously distracted. I decided to be quiet.
After about ten seconds, I heard him sigh, and then he asked, how...
In my thirties, cute, thin, fit, 5'5", 34B, artsy, smart and verbal, can pick up a non-loser guy in a bar in under fifteen minutes and I am not wearing anything.
Right, he said. You better not be.
[fast forward]
Do it again, he told me. A bit more sternly this time. So I obeyed. Not like I could argue. It was his money. The second time, he obviously liked it better. His voice began to dissolve, his orders were gutteral, urgent. I loved his orders! I could hear the his breath catch at the end of each stroke, so I knew exactly how to time things.
I positioned the camera so he could see everything.
[fast forward]
I read in the New York Times that no real woman ever feels like having sex enough for her partner - that is what people like me are for.
He was still breathing hard, and I waited a moment, listening.
Look, he said finally. Don't hang up. Don't fucking hang up. I want you to think about me cumming on your face while you are walking down the street or on the subway or in a meeting or something. Don't fucking hang up.
I'm not going to hang up! I am walking towards the bathroom mirror now. There is my flushed face, hair everywhere, hands wet. I catch my eye and don't let it go.
Fuck, he said. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
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.
4.18.2006
you will think this is not about you
I know you wouldn't hurt me.
I mean, I would like to think that something
you don't even know about
or want to know about
wouldn't come over you
and make you squeeze me too hard
hold me down a little too long
follow me home
give me something you think I need
take me somewhere you think I want to go.
I think I am good judge of people.
Your eyes are so blue in that picture.
You say you are a doctor, a lawyer, a philanthropist, an ivy league grad.
You have kids, a wife, a dog.
But does the part of you that talks to me
live on some other island from the one they live on inside of you,
separated by a dark watery gulf?
Would you see their face while you pushed me a little too far
or for a little too long?
Sex lives in the same house as death.
I know I can't have one without the other, but
can you really call me a slut
while remembering that there are people who love me very much
and that I have a long, rich life behind me
and - if you will allow it - ahead of me?
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?
4.17.2006
three times
Back from my trip. I'll admit, after an uneventful flight out there, I felt, on the return trip, obligated to create some fun for you to read about ;)
Alas, I was sitting next to an older man who just slept the whole time. Yes, you say, and you are right, his loss. So I decided that I would try to masturbate three times over the course of the flight, but it had to be in three different places.
The first two, predictably, were easy. My seat and the bathroom. No great excitement - well, except for me, of course. For the first one, I came quickly. I experimented with just squeezing my legs together, which, if I had been, oh, I don't know, watching someone jerk off for example, would have been enough. I just pulse the muscles of my pussy really hard, cross my arms and pinch my nipples HARD.
In the end, all I had to do was put a blanket over my lap (the poor man, snoring away, inches to my left, what a spectacle he was missing), unzip my jeans - I had the tight ones on, which made the pussy-pulsing just that much more effective as the seam was directly on my rock hard clit - and slip my finger inside.
Ok, yes, clearly, things were a bit slippery. The beautiful thing is that, when I am this worked up, all I have to do is baaaaarely touch myself. I put my finger on my clit, focused on the seat in front of me, and just moved my finger about a millimeter... over and over...
Another nice thing about planes - they are noisy. I mean, I actually moaned and no one so much as looks up from their book. And most of the people have headsets on, watching the movie. Even easier.
So when I came, I just came! Not screamingly, but not even softly. I suppose, to someone, watching, it might look as if I were thinking of something funny and kind of laughing to myself. But if you really looked, I was not really even trying to hide the fact that I was having a huge, rolling orgasm.
On to part two. I had to step over the sleeping man, my steaming clit about an inch from his knee. So sad.
Stood in line for the bathroom thinking about a mutual masturbation experience I had, sort of by accident a few years ago, with a man who was considerably older than me, under the table at some horrible chain restaurant. All I have to do is think of the things he said to me, which I know he was embarrassed about later, his red face, his grunting, the cum hitting the underside of the table and dripping onto the floor, and I am all set.
Once I was in the bathroom, I though it would be fun to just take my clothes entirely off. I know, there was a line of people waiting. But there were two other bathrooms, so they would manage (!)
So I did. Take everything off. And I just stood, looking at myself in the mirror. Pinching my nipples until they stood ready. Then I put one knee on the sink, and put my other foot on the toilet so I could see my pussy clearly in the mirror. Then I fucked myself as hard as I could. And this time, I really was loud. Because there was no way anyone would hear. Fun.
Part three. Shit. Now what?
I put my clothes back on quickly, flushed the toilet so that I would look legit, and exited the bathroom. (Nobody looked at me strangly, which is just so funny! I just came about a foot away from them! Loudly!) I thought I should just walk around a bit, like I was stretching my legs, and do a little location scout for spot #3.
The plane had two aisles, so I walked up to the front of the economy section and cut across to the other aisle. There was a small passageway between the two aisles. The movie was still on, and most people just went back to the bathrooms in their own aisle, so it didn't seem to get much traffic. Perfect.
I had taken my long jacket with me (always thinking ahead) so I put it on now, and just leaned up against the wall in the passageway. Then I pulled my arm out of the sleeve so that it was inside my jacket, and viola! Instant passageway to my cunt.
The third orgasm is always the deepest. When I cum for a third time, my legs get weak, blood rushes from my lips so they get a bit numb. I was about halfway there when, YAY, a man, about fifty or so, comes around the corner. He stops, also stretching his legs, and stands against the opposite wall but down a few feet from me.
So, I have to apologize now. As much as I felt loyal to you, and wanted to be able to tell you the best story possible, I just could not get up the courage to show him what I was doing. I think if I had had time to build up to it, maybe noticed him watching, or noticed that he was aroused - but he just looked tired and sort of annoyed.
So I just came for him anyway, even though he didn' t know it. I just slipped my fingers a little further inside my pussy, and thought of him watching me, his cock growing more and more defined under his suit pants, his hand wandering over to give it a quick squeeze while he watched me finger myself.
I tried not to look at him, but at the very end, just as I started to come, I did catch his eye for a second. Then I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes like I was just resting while my pussy clamped down on my fingers and I came in wave after wave.
So many men who just did not appreciate what I was doing for them on that flight. I wish I could send the man in the hallway a note: Dear disgruntled businessman. While you were stretching your legs in the hall, I was the girl across from you, and I want you to know that I was imagining you releasing a load of cum in my mouth while I came for you. Which I did. Cum for you, I mean. While I was standing there. Sorry you missed it. Love, CuriousGirl.
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.
4.13.2006
fast forward
Yes, well, ahem. Not sure how to follow up that last post. Like waking up from some kind of fugue state. What do I do now - discuss the weather?
So, just to put all the panting and groaning and references to dampness on hold for a minute, I just wanted to say that I will be travelling for a few days. (Already working out various possible scenarios for the plane. Just kidding. Sort of.) So I will be scarce.
But this extended experiment will continue on the other side, I promise.
I was just thinking that I should put some sort of bookend on it - a date by which some definitive something should happen and, whether it does or doesn't, I will disappear from here. But then I thought, that is just a cop-out. A halfhearted construct designed so that I don't have to integrate myself with what I am doing here. It makes it easier to call this, say, a three month aberration rather than calling it a part of myself finding expression for three months. Or longer.
I know. This is like the part of porn flick where they try to insert some form of limp narrative for the sex scenes to arrange themselves on. If you are not interested in my psychological goings on, feel free to rewind or fast forward to the next cum shot. I won't mind ;)
If you are still here, I am, you should know, dreaming about you in some fashion. I want to find a way to be what you need.
Of course, this all comes back to the money issue. I am going to have to come to terms with this - either I can accept it, or I can't. And if I can't, then certain aspects of this experiment cannot go on. And if I can, then what can I accept it for? And how can it be accepted in a way that will not ruin the part of the exchange that I love the most? This, especially, may not be possible.
I want SO MUCH to live in Japan at the time of the Geishas, or to be a part of a culture where I could actually support my lifestyle by being a kind of living dreamcreature for selected men. What makes this different to me than some of the options I see around me is, first, the level of respect for the women, which, to me, also translates into a greater degree of safety, and the fact that the exchange is more than purely physical.
There is something about the understood boundaries that makes this kind of a relationship very intriguing to me. The very fact that I would not be accessible at all times, or not fully "accessible" even if I were physically present, would, in fact, be an essential part of my effect on the other person, and theirs on me, along the fact that our... purpose together would be, well, somewhat more defined than usual.
Still trying to work this out. Perhaps I will have time to think about it on the plane. (While I am working out how to let the guy in the suit across the aisle know to follow me into the tiny. little. bathroom.)
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.)
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