“Kissing. That’s why I was asking back there why you don’t. Might have something to do with the tongue ring. Or the oral fixation. Or really both. But it’s a shame you’ll never get to experience it.”
“Totally. Such a shame.”
I missed this flirting, this tete-a-tete we have. Our banter. I volley, you return, and we go stroke for stroke for however long you allow the rally to last.
I am an amazing kisser. Many have confirmed this. People underestimate the value of variety, playfulness, and control of your tongue. Not only do I have a tongue ring, but I can also clover my tongue. Genetics. And, well, talent.
I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted you to sink your fingers into my hair, grip my locks, and pull my face towards your lips, us melting into a passionate kiss. Intense. Gasping for air. Tongues at once battling and dancing. Lightly biting my lip.
My fantasy is us fucking and kissing. Moaning into your mouth while I’m cuming. But that’s my fantasy, not yours.
Unconsciously, mostly, I tend to accentuate my mouth when I am around you. Today it was the milkshake straw. And the fork. Playing with my tongue ring. And biting my bottom lip.
You said I should get rid of my tongue ring. It tells the whole world that I’ve sucked cock, which is a true statement but not the best look for a budding professional. But I love it. I love playing with it. I love forgetting it’s there and then remembering all over again those moments that it helped create. I’ll probably get a clear spacer; fair compromise.
You jacked off twice before seeing me so we wouldn’t fuck today. Twice. Forever in control.
Still, it’s lovely to be wanted, desired, even if nothing came of it today except conversation. And thoughts of one long passionate kiss.
I hate being so fucking capable, so dependable, so able to do it on my own. I don’t want to have to fucking do it in my own all the time. I want help. I want someone by my side to make the shit easier. Or, at the very least, feel easier.
Last weekend I cleared out my storage unit, drove the contents to my apartment 700 miles away, unpacked the trailer, returned the trailer, threw away a bunch of shit, and then drove the 700 miles back. All in one weekend.
Yes, it needed to be down for the sake of my bank account. Yes, this will be helpful in the long term. But being so fucking capable is physically and emotionally exhausting. I feel wrenched up, twisted out, and thrown asunder for the work of my capability.
Incapable people aren’t asked to do the hard thing. They’ll fuck it up. Capable people do all the things, are put in charge, responsibility foisted upon them. (One of my old jobs did this masterfully to me.) The capable are made to do the work, damn how hard the work or what the sacrifice may be.
I’m just so tired of being capable. When do I get to say, “Not my job.” or “Nope, not me.” ?When do I just get to be?
“I want to make you cum,” he whispered into my ear.
In my sleepy daze, I replied, ”Then why aren’t you inside me?”
His hands went to my hips, pushed my pajama pants down and into the mess of the covers. His hands, again at my hips, lifted up my sweatshirt and tank top, exposing my nipples, turning them hard from the cool morning air. He pulled the fabric up over my arms, converting my warm limbs to goose flesh. I was now awake.
At once, his arm encircled my hip, brought my body against his. I felt his chest on my back, and his hard and ready cock slid between my thighs. I gasped, just a little.
He stroked his cock, back and forth, back and forth, along the edges of my lips. Soon, his cock was wet from my wanting.
His hand on my belly sunk its nails into my skin, the only sign of his hesitation, his anticipation.
“Why aren’t you inside me?”, I asked again.
He nibbled on my ear and answered, “Because I have time.”
A growling hum escaped me. This was going to be good.
Double Take looks like Gent in his email profile picture. It’s uncanny and a little nerve wracking.
Also, like Gent, when I met DT he was engaged. Now he’s married.
Unlike Gent, DT is sweet and kind, with a smile that makes
me soft and warm inside. Experiencing
this made my liking DT so much worse.
I’m happy for him, especially because he is excelling in
school and finding a way to maintain a life outside of the rigorous demands we
are all suffering through. Still, I
wonder when the influence of my parents’ actions will stop effecting my
Learning a man is taken is not a turn off. If anything, it makes me want him more. And then my brain tumbles down a path of
intentional avoidance to try to mitigate the eventual hurt that is to, or will,
come if I keep this wonderful person in my life. It’s like an early response system to try to
stop me from making the same mistake my mother made so many years ago: falling
for a man she could never truly have.
So, I’m keeping DT at arm’s length, and trying to not think
about how much I want him.
I had sex with Community Boyfriend this weekend. It wasn’t planned at all. I went into my first kinky camp in 2.5 yrs
with little to no expectations. I wanted
to see my friends. I wanted to be naked
in the woods. Those things alone made
the 20 hr round trip car ride worth it.
On a whim, I asked CB for a cuddle date. The weather afforded us naked cuddles on one
of the mattresses in the Sexy Times area (a geodesic dome covered in white
cloth, lined with string lights, and featuring a comfy carpeted floor).
CB and I have cuddled before. We have this knack for small enjoyable
movements as we lay together: fingernails across the back, head and neck massages,
small delicate kisses here or there.
As we laid together, I thought about how lucky I was to have
so many good friends in my life. I
thought about how happy I was to be near them, to have a community, loving and
welcoming whenever I can make it back.
And I marveled that, whereas I am touch starved in school, I was now
full of oxytocin feels with my friend.
We shifted here or there depending on which limb was
numb. Eventually, he laid his head on my
chest as I stroked his short hair. He
then asked if he could suck on my nipples.
We hadn’t negotiated this, but I am not one to turn down such an
enjoyable gesture. And soon, my engine
was revved up.
“I didn’t plan to have sex with you, but do you want to have
sex?” I asked.
“Yes!” he said.
Condom on. Chux laid
down. And then there we were, fucking in
the woods. He remarked how he missed me,
how much he loved my sounds and my facial expressions, and how happy he was
that I was able to come to camp. I
moaned and giggled and screamed to my little slut’s content. I was so thankful for my hot sexy married polyamorous
sweet fuck-buddy friend.
When I had to leave camp early, because school, I took a
moment outside my car and said a little prayer thanking God for my experience:
for love, community, and healing, for cuddles and kisses and orgasms, for the
amazing life he had allowed me with all the good and bad in between.
I’ve liked Gunner since I met him as a new medical student;
he was my tutor.
Gunner is now a member of my class (he took a year off), and
now when interacting with him it is both awesome and weird.
We talk as true equals.
We are in the same educational situation and we relate in this new
way. But I also have those old feelings
that I have for every attractive male that has some modicum of authority over
me. The school girl thing never goes
Also, and you could have already predicted this, Gunner is
engaged. It’s like I have an unconscious
slutty sixth sense about this shit.
From Brain Twin to DT, from Gunner to Gent: whether I know
it or not, if I am attracted to a man, he is mostly likely already married,
engaged, has a girlfriend, or is gay.
(The last being the least common of all choices.) And it’s just a matter of time before I find
out which category each new man falls into, and my small spark of hope for a
partner is dashed, again, for the fifty-leven-billionth time.
Your girl wants a boy so so bad, but these boys ain’t been
Lips is in Germany. He’s
Army, so that’s how that goes. I’m just
glad we had our one night before he had to leave.
One day, I may get around to all the lovely details of our (almost)
Or I may just leave those wonderful memories in my
Either way, even though it was just one night, he was totally
Sometimes, when I’m not even meaning to, I think about Gent.
More accurately, I fantasize about him visiting me. About him fucking me.
He’ll be waiting at the front door of my apartment. We dash up to my room and ravish each other.
Or he’ll find me studying, and we quietly fuck so no one
close by can hear us.
A kiss on the neck.
Fingers through the hair. The
little gestures I want, I miss.
It’s never intentional.
In fact, I try not to think about him, even when I masturbate.
I try not to hope for things I know I can’t have.
But somehow, this man that I know can’t be mine is always on my mind.
I am tired of seeking validation from men only to end up disappointed and in pain, physically and emotionally and mentally.
I want a life full of happiness and love, children and dogs, friends who make me smile and who get me.
I must live a life that makes me happy and feels purposeful; I can’t do that when my thoughts always go back to trying to “find a man” or “trap a man”, though my “trapping” was more on the lines of fucking him so well he’d want to stick around. (See how well that worked out.)
My physical and emotional health are more important than any false hope of marriage, especially because of the fucked-up way people view marriage in this country and in society writ large.
I am no one’s maid. I’m not your cook, your assistant, or your housekeeper.
I am not your therapist.
I am me. And I love me some me. So fuck all the rest of y’all. Im’ma go study and then listen to The Read.
I’m tired and sticky and still in his bed.
I arrived at his place twelve hours ago.
My pussy is so sore, and yes a bitch still wants more.
Multiple squirting orgasms.
The wave of six damn near continuous orgasms.
It is damn near unlawful how long, how thick his cock is
and how good this man is at fucking.
And. AND. He a geek too.
We talked about Avatar: The Last Airbender
(cartoon, not that move abomination)
The Boondocks, Game of Thrones, The Wire, Invader Zim,
we’re both Slytherins,
I’m contemplating life choices cause THE DICK WAS THAT GOOD.
He frat, he fine as fuck, and I’m like
pulling myself back into reality that
I’ve only known this man for twelve hours,
but we fucked for five of them, so…
Bitch, his dirty talk.
A bitch is in trouble.
I know, I know, but I got Outkast lyrics going through my head.
Bitch… his playlist was FIRE.
He pulled out Keith Sweat. Jon B.
I just, for why Lord?
How can you make such a man?
Like, can I have him?
Can I actually have him???
Cause a bitch just might.
Starts by saying, “Lie back and let me.”
And then, “You taste so good.”
And, “Fuck, you feel so good. You are so wet.”
“Yeah, it’s one of my superpowers,” I said.
Bitch, his lips.
His Mother Fucking LIPS.
Full and soft and this man CAN KISS.
Like, I didn’t want to stop kissing him.
And kissing all over my body.
And then biting when I asked him to.
And pulling my hair.
And a hand on my neck.
Nigga, did you read my erotica before I walked in the got damn door?
… Okay, back home.
Y’all, my pussy was throbbing all the way on the drive back.
We fucked again after I started this post (on my phone).
We fucked in this position.
We fucked in that position.
He was an encyclopedia of sex positions.
I experienced innumerable orgasms.
I literally could not count them all cause they
just… kept… coming.
This morning, he let me worship his cock,
and, may I just say, it is fucking beautiful.
Like an artist could not sculpt a cock more perfect than this man’s.
In my mouth.
Slapping my face.
(He really liked when I did that.)
The gag at the back of my throat.
Fuck, having someone on your level like that is just
At one point, I sent a prayer of thankfulness up to God,
cause only he could bless me with this ultimate experience.
And so close to my birthday, too.
His sweat smelled good.
He didn’t give two shits about the wet spots.
His sucked on my titties like that were breakfast.
Those fucking lips.
Little dicks are not inherently a problem. They are simply genetics. Those who have penises have no control over
how short or long, small or large they are.
However, knowing what you are working with should motivate your actions
Thus I ended up having an okay time with a guy who had a
small dick. Maybe five inches. Girth was okay.
It was long enough that when he did put it inside of me, it
hit my G-spot just so. The width was enough
to feel it (yup, I’ve had ones I could just barely notice). And he knew what positions maximized his
But the thing that made the evening most worthwhile was his
openness to toys. I brought my
masturbation bag with me just in case.
And thank God I did. It had two
dildos, more condoms, gloves, lube, and other fun accoutrement that we didn’t
get to but possibly in the future could try.
When I showed him all the fun things I’d brought, he immediately
picked up the larger of the two dildos and was more than happy to use it on me.
There was oral, 69, pounding of the dildo into my hole,
dirty talk, biting, and the best rim job I’ve ever had. Note: I didn’t know I liked my asshole licked,
but FUCK YES I love that shit.
He was sweet, constantly saying how beautiful I am and
loving to cuddle in between fucking and sucking sessions.
He let me sleep over, though the thrashing of his body
throughout the night made rest hard to grasp.
He’s a smoker, so my throat is not so happy. Clothes were immediately placed in the hamper
once I got home, and hair will be washed as soon as I’m finished this blog.