I find it somehow fitting or ironic that, when I have not checked email for over a month, hotmail deletes my entire inbox. It is as if this world I have created will not let me leave, and if I do leave, it will not let me come back.
Or at least, if I do come back, it is like I am presented with a blank slate and the echo of my own... voice?... keyboard clicks?
So, FYI, if you haven't heard from me, or don't hear from me, it is because I did not get your email and no longer have your email address! Feel free to correct the situation at your leisure.
Anyway, hello again. Been awhile. For those who have been around since I started this odd little project, this is nothing new. I come (and come, and come...) and then I go. And then I come again.
Summer is approaching. Long, hot days. I don't think I will be around as much as last summer, but anything could happen. I am not sure, too, how I will set things up. I am in the mood for a bit of a change ;)
Soon. I hope. But can never promise.
5.31.2007
4.09.2007
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.
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.
3.13.2007
sugasm
One of my blog posts is in Sugasm (an "informal sex blog network") this week. Here are some selections from other blogs on the list...
This Week's PicksYou’re So Dirty When You’re Clean. (http://middleurge.blogspot.com)
“The side of your hand slipping along her pussy lips. Her laugh, a mix of I-knew-it and do-that-more.”Before ( http://thismuse.blogspot.com)
“Condoms and lube go into the bedside drawer next to the Bible. Purse into the drawer with clothes, whore-bag into the closet with my street shoes.”Rude Bits: Tracy Quan on the Raunch Debate (http://susiebright.blogs.com)
“If someone is making money off your body, you should too.”Mr. Sugasm Himself
Sex Mad(ness) (http://sugarbank.com)Editor’s Choice
More Sugasm
The art of pegs (some artistic CBT) ( http://mistress160.blogspot.com)
3.11.2007
my favorite craigslist m4w posting ever
You,
And there will be lots of adventures, sniffing through glasses and past lips and: Woody Allen said if sex isn't dirty then you're not doing it right: I agree. There doesn't have to be sex, though. Just, at least, a clicking. Great musics listened-to and great books read-discussed and great movies seen-lived and sweating--cause of the adventuring and etc's. Bothered-by-a-big-ol'-moon walks; dinner-thru-night-till-tomorrow experiences--boozy, maybe, I mean, doesn't have to be. The air Cat-Power's-voice-smokey--good stuff, you know. Taffy-streched mystery, never, you know, outted in the beginning--but teased and really fun. Rollings and tumblings and weird crystal-ball-refracted moments you only get in extremis. Odd-but-still-pretty-and-specific-faced people laughing-out unboring stories: everything weird-mooded, florid; you--terrifically experienced and novel-inspired after answering this and adventuring up up up and setting down somewhere new--sexed (not necessarily literally) and through the fugue and chilled to the cockle. You know: if you wanna answer. No arm-twistin's here. Let's. This is expressionistic just cause I want to meet the specifics who would answer an add like this. Pics and that, too.
hotel 3
Yes, I know. What happened to "hotel 2"?
Well, the local boys and girls got me last night. Went out wandering around this odd little city. Danced, drank, flirted, danced some more. I wish I could tell you something about myself that would make this story so much more interesting - but, alas... I can't.
But I can say that I ended up at a heartbreaking little karaoke bar (but then, karaoke always breaks my heart... so much earnestness) where a woman was singing a country western song. She must have been in her early twenties, with shoulder length dark hair, big eyes and hips, and wearing tennis shoes. Clearly a lesbian - or, at least, clear to me.
I could not stop staring at her. Could. Not. Velcro eyeballs. On her.
After she put the mic back in the stand and went back to her friends, I had to rip my pupils off of her so that I wouldn't appear to be the raving lunatic stalker that I was so close to becoming. No idea why, suddenly, all I wanted - all I want - is a woman. All over me. And this is all I could think about all day.
And, in some way, the universe, as it often does, provided. At lunch, a woman I had not noticed before, and who is here attending the same event that I am, came over and sat at my table. We made small talk about the event, but, given today's private obsession, I felt like all I could do was look at the curve of her neck, her hands, her lips. She is from the north of England and had a slightly raunchy sense of humor. We were laughing loudly by the end of the meal.
As dessert was arriving, she suddenly said that she had seen me earlier and felt like she wanted to meet me. For a second, it was awkward. I was trying to read behind what she was saying - same sex interactions are, if there is even a hint of the erotic involved, so muffled by layers of water-testing. Is she? Could she be?
I was still taking it in when she got up to leave. We had been talking about going out to an Irish pub nearby, so it didn't seem odd that she asked for my room number, saying that she will call later to see if I am still up for going.
I had to sit and listed to a presentation for about an hour after that, and I was vibrating. I did that delicious thing where I innocently crossed my legs, draping my sweater over my lap, my hands in full view on the table taking notes, while I pulsed my inner thighs and vaginal muscles until I was on the edge of an orgasm. I just kept imagine what her breasts would feel like against my skin, against my tongue. And yes, sometimes I would think of you watching.
But at the last minute, I didn't cum. And now, several hours later, here I sit. Still damp, and wondering if she will call later. I will, of course, keep you well informed.
Going to take a nap now. And I will be very, very good. Very, very, very, very good.
Well, the local boys and girls got me last night. Went out wandering around this odd little city. Danced, drank, flirted, danced some more. I wish I could tell you something about myself that would make this story so much more interesting - but, alas... I can't.
But I can say that I ended up at a heartbreaking little karaoke bar (but then, karaoke always breaks my heart... so much earnestness) where a woman was singing a country western song. She must have been in her early twenties, with shoulder length dark hair, big eyes and hips, and wearing tennis shoes. Clearly a lesbian - or, at least, clear to me.
I could not stop staring at her. Could. Not. Velcro eyeballs. On her.
After she put the mic back in the stand and went back to her friends, I had to rip my pupils off of her so that I wouldn't appear to be the raving lunatic stalker that I was so close to becoming. No idea why, suddenly, all I wanted - all I want - is a woman. All over me. And this is all I could think about all day.
And, in some way, the universe, as it often does, provided. At lunch, a woman I had not noticed before, and who is here attending the same event that I am, came over and sat at my table. We made small talk about the event, but, given today's private obsession, I felt like all I could do was look at the curve of her neck, her hands, her lips. She is from the north of England and had a slightly raunchy sense of humor. We were laughing loudly by the end of the meal.
As dessert was arriving, she suddenly said that she had seen me earlier and felt like she wanted to meet me. For a second, it was awkward. I was trying to read behind what she was saying - same sex interactions are, if there is even a hint of the erotic involved, so muffled by layers of water-testing. Is she? Could she be?
I was still taking it in when she got up to leave. We had been talking about going out to an Irish pub nearby, so it didn't seem odd that she asked for my room number, saying that she will call later to see if I am still up for going.
I had to sit and listed to a presentation for about an hour after that, and I was vibrating. I did that delicious thing where I innocently crossed my legs, draping my sweater over my lap, my hands in full view on the table taking notes, while I pulsed my inner thighs and vaginal muscles until I was on the edge of an orgasm. I just kept imagine what her breasts would feel like against my skin, against my tongue. And yes, sometimes I would think of you watching.
But at the last minute, I didn't cum. And now, several hours later, here I sit. Still damp, and wondering if she will call later. I will, of course, keep you well informed.
Going to take a nap now. And I will be very, very good. Very, very, very, very good.
3.10.2007
hotel 1
Arrived. Started stripping the second the door shut behind me. Took a bath. Ordered room service. Got in bed, a huge king-sized expanse of white sheets with me in the middle, fingers brushing my already wet, wet...
I've brought myself to the edge about three times, stopping at the last minute. My hands smell of my juices, nipples poised... waiting...
Three more days...
I've brought myself to the edge about three times, stopping at the last minute. My hands smell of my juices, nipples poised... waiting...
Three more days...
3.08.2007
hotels
I will be traveling again this weekend and in a hotel room on Friday, Saturday and Sunday night.
You know what this means.
You know what this means.
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