the life and musings of a kinky slut

Spank Bank 1.3: Action

~ erotica ~

The door muffled the music, but couldn’t stop the thumping through the floor or in the walls.

It was a sparse room, though fitting for the 250 person venue. An old leather couch. A few chairs around a card table. Coffee maker and hot water kettle on a cart. A desk-high dressing table that lined a mirrored wall. Four folding chairs tucked under the long table with backpacks and hoodies on or beside each.

She took in the full scope of the room in a second, the only second she had before her focus once again snapped onto him.

His eyes were prettier than she realized, prettier than photos could convey. Years of struggle had grown into his gaze., but instead of hardening they had enriched him.

As he looked on her, she held back the urge to run both towards and away from him. Was this really happening? Where did those words she’d spoken just minutes ago come from? How had she found the stillness to be funny, genuine, and flirty all at once? She thanked whatever God there was for her performance, but she now felt the rub of her good fortune.

Fear, genuine fear, crept up her spine. What if this was to be a disaster? What if this man she had so longed to just chat with turned out to be nothing more than testosterone filth? What if she’d read him all wrong?

Though not reading her mind, he did see the change in her body. Her relaxed air had vanished. In the warm light of the dressing room, the glow that previously emanated from her had quenched. She’d grown tense, anxious. He didn’t want to scare her, but he didn’t want to let her go either.

Something in her clicked with a part of him. He felt it when he first saw her, though he initially pushed the instinct away. Did he really want to deal with a fan tonight? Wasn’t this suppose to be just low key fun for him? His boy was on stage performing, yet here he was commandeering the dressing room for what exactly? A one night stand? A quick fun fuck? She was so forward before, bold, to the point. He realized it was his turn now to be brave.

His eyes stayed locked on hers. His hands cupped her face. She gripped the dressing table behind her. His thumb grazed her temple, back and forth. Her hands relaxed. Her shoulders slumped. She exhaled.

“I will always ask. And you will always answer honestly. Okay?”


She smelled like lemons. He longed to taste her.

“May I kiss your cheeks?”


He kissed at the puckering of her dimples. She grinned and giggled, showing them again.

“May I run my fingers through your hair?”


He slid his hands onto her scalp. Her eyes closed. Her head and chest rolled back and up. She leaned against the table and cooed.

“You said you like it when people pull your hair. May I?”


He gripped at the base of her skull. She gasped. Her knees buckled. She grabbed his arms, but he didn’t stop. Nor did she want him to.

“May I kiss your neck?”


He tilted her head to the side and tasted the lemon scent on her skin. His tongue traced warm wet designs on her neck. Her breathing accelerated.

“Do you like your neck bitten?”




Her sharp exhalation was followed by deep slow expletives and her hands in his hair. She traced her fingers up his scalp, pulling him in closer. Her right leg, of its own volition, flew up and encircled his waist. With each gasp, her crotch lifted up and against his, grinding her desire into his pants.

He lifted his mouth off her neck and brushed his lips on her ear.

“Where can I touch you?”


“Where can I taste you?”


His hands traced down her sides, caressing each curve as they traveled. Coming to the bottom of her dress, he slid the fabric up and smiled.

“No panties for me to take home.”

“Memories last longer.”

She kissed him, her lips jumping to devour his again. His hands clenched her ass and lifted her onto the table. She bit his lower lip gently, a tease of her true carnal nature.

He gazed down and saw her nipples straining against stretchy fabric.

“No bra either.”

“My goals for tonight were fun and freedom.”

“Mission accomplished.”

He brushed the back of his hand along her breast, eliciting a shudder. Easing her left leg aside, the smell of her sex made his mouth water. Middle and forefinger slid against her lower lips, then came up to his mouth.

“Are you hungry?”


One knee on cold tile, the other supporting his decent. Her leg around his hip became both her legs on his shoulders. His hands to her ass; her hands in his hair.

Expletives dripped from her mouth. Desire dripped from her lips which he gladly lapped up. As she gripped his mane, he gripped her flesh and would not stop enjoying her until he felt her body tremble and heard the lilting in her screams.

He stood, her sex-drunk eyes finding his again. The jingle of his unlatched belt drew another bitten lower lip on her part. Gold foil reflected warm mirror light.

Teeth rip. Latex slid down. Stares never broken. Both her legs around his waist. Him inside her. Dual exhalations.

Lips flew towards each other. Hips rocked against the other. Hands in hair, around chests, gripping and pulling the other closer. Cheek to cheek, breath in ears, whispers and expletives alike. Desire danced dialogue.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

“I want all of you. Always. Inside me.”

Grunts and moans and tears of jubilation.

“You’re so hot.”

“Oh god, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Their thumping paced with the music. Their connection became carnal. She wrenched down the top of her dress. He grabbed her breast, sucked on her nipple. She slid her hands under his shirt and clawed his back.

Crowd noise invaded their ears.

“What the? What are you? Well shit, I know what you’re doing, but did you have to do it on my spot in the room?”

The best friend had walked in. She hid her face in the hair she’d previously pulled.

“Dude, I can see your ass. I did not want to see your ass tonight, or any night for that matter. We have hotel rooms for this, and there is a motel a block away.”

“Man, stop. First off you know you do not take a prospect to a secondary location. That is law. If you offer and they say yes, they crazy. If you offer and they say no, you just cock blocked yourself.

“As is, I have not removed my dick from this lovely soul because she is many steps above. Now would you kindly close the door and give me a fucking minute so I can reassure her I have not embarrassed her nor that I’m just gonna pull out and bolt. I’d like to fucking finish fucking, but that can’t happen now and we have to make arrangements. Get. Out.”

“You lucky I love you.”

“I love you too, bro.”

The best friend departed. He knew his bro would be standing guard. She knew this would be a great story to tell someday, but not soon. She leaned back from her hiding place, but kept him inside her.

“Is that the first time he’s seen your ass?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean he exactly enjoys the experience.”

“I guess his set went well.”

“He was dripping sweat, so probably yeah.”

He was still inside her, and didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“We can’t finish. He looked exhausted.”

“You say that as your legs are squeezing my waist.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to finish, because I want to finish. I really want to feel you come against me, and for you to feel my pussy bear down on your cock.”

“You’re not making this easy.”

“But that wouldn’t be any fun.”

He kissed her, forgetting about his friend for a moment.

“When you ease out, do it slowly. I want to feel every inch of you.”

“Fuck woman, are you trying to make me harder?”


His hands on her hips. Small step and easing back. Dual gasps. Latex rolled off and disposed of. Pants uncomfortably pulled back up. Stepping forward, leaning against her again.

She lifted a foot onto the table, reached her hand down, and brought back up her scent, smearing it across his lips, up his cheek, and into his hair. Her forefinger traveled back down his face to his mouth, which gobbled at it as well as the rest of her fingers.

“We’re suppose to be stopping.”

He brought her hand under his shirt to his nipple.

“He can’t see my ass if he comes back in. He can wait a little longer.”

She leaned forward and felt at his pockets. Pulling out his phone, she offered it to him while still manipulating his chest. He took it reluctantly.

“What are you going to label me in your phone? You don’t even know my name.”

“You’ll be…Mine, because if you think I will ever let you go you are sorely mistaken.”

Spank Bank 1.2: Anticipation

~ erotica ~

It was so quick. I was touching his tattoo, purposely not looking into his eyes. We were talking. I was nervous but trying to not show it. And then I was against him.

He didn’t kiss me at first. He took a breath, looked into my eyes, and gave me a moment. His gaze asked for my permission, and I consented.

He opted for the breathless all-in telenovela style kiss. His hands tangled in my hair; mine swam in his mane. Hot breath and saliva bathed us both. Our tongues lapped one another. I tasted the residue of his half drank rum & coke.

One of his hands disentangled from my locks and splayed against my lower back, pulling my pelvis towards his. I rocked my hips forward, grinding against his thigh.

I wrenched myself from his lips and pressed my cheek against his to catch my breath. In that moment, I asked the question on my mind for the past ten minutes.

“Alley or my car?”

He pulled his cheek away and cupped my face in his hands, looking into my eyes. He flashed a sly grin.

“You forget. I know the band. Green room.”

He took my hand and led me against the side wall through the crowd to the back.

The music was loud, the lights flashed, and the concert goers danced and jubilantly sang . All eyes, save mine, were on the stage. I could only look at him.

Spank Bank 1.1: Foreplay


Me: “Please, take it.”

Him: “I can’t take your money.”

Me: “But I’ve enjoyed so much of your music without being able to pay you a dime for it. Like, can I buy you a drink or something? I feel like I owe you.”

Him: “I make music because I love making music. I don’t need your twenty to keep doing that.”

Me: “But it would help. And it would make me feel better about having your shit on nonstop repeat for the past week. Please.”

Him: “What do you want?”

Me: “To show my gratitude for your art and to help you keep making it.”

Him: “No, what do you want right now?”

Me: “Truthfully?”

Him: “Please.”

Me: “Eiffel Tower with you and your bestie that transitions to DP with lots of hair pulling and dirty talk.”

Him: “Well, that was blunt.”

Me: “Yeah, I’m the type of person who’d much rather be honest than disappointed.”

Him: “I think you’re gonna be disappointed either way.”

Me: “True. Seeing as you both have partners, and there is no way in hell both of your relationships are open, I kinda knew that before I said hi. Can’t blame me for trying.”

Him: “What makes you think I got someone?”

Me: “Please, you’re too pretty to be single. Plus I follow your Twitter, and I listen to your lyrics. I have my guess as to who you’re with, but you’re smart enough to make it only a guess.”

Him: “And?”

Me: “And I also know you’re jaded enough, but hopeful enough, to be with someone who deserves you. No matter what, a true fan wants only the best for their celebrity crush, even if it means less for me.”

Him: “So I’m your celebrity crushes sh?”

Me: “Don’t let that shit get to your head. The minute you become anything less than the hot spitting Bay Boy from Oakland with geektastic killer rhymes, my crush will be crushed.”

Him: “Nice metaphor.”

Me: “Nice brain.”

Him: “Is that what turns you on?”

Me: “Among other things.”

Him: “What are you imagining right now?”

Me: “Truthfully? Kissing you. I’ve wondered if you’re the soft slow type, with cheek caresses and nose nuzzles, or the fiery passionate pull-my-face-to-yours fingers-tangled-in-my-hair…”

Him: “You have a lot of hair.”

Me: “I do. Yours isn’t short either.”

Him: “What type are you?”

Me: “I mix them up.”

Him: “You avoided the question.”

Me: “I like it when people pull my hair. Is that answer sufficient?”

Him: “It tells me what I wanted to know.”

Me: “Which is?”

Him: “What will happen in about a minute.”

Me: “But you…”

Him: “Look.”

Me: “Oh, it’s the same size as my pendent.”

Him: “But I can’t lose it.”

Me: “May I?”

Him: “Yes.”

Me: “Affirmative consent?”

Him: “Hearing someone say ‘yes’ repeatedly is a turn on. Why did you just bite your lower lip?”

Me: “It’s funny you should mention that. I, well I…”

Him: “Breathy or screams?”

Me: “Quiet moaning that grows to loud deep screaming.”

Him: “Do you say anything else?”

Me: “A lot more. Is there anything you don’t like to hear?”

Him: “No.”

Thoughts Of You

Thoughts of you invade my days,
muscling their way into moments
not meant to be titillating.
School lectures.
In my car listening to NPR.
As I clean my room,
for the first time ever,
trying desperately to do something
that takes my mind off you.
And your hands in my hair.
And your lips on my neck.
The smell of you.
The taste of you.
So many days filled
with pieces of you
dripped about.

If only they’d go away…

No, wait.

Stay, just a little longer.


Perfect Goodbye

I keep imagining how it will be when I finally say goodbye to him. For so long, I’ve held back my true feelings. I’ve never let him know just how much I care about him, how much I want him to be more in my life.

But, on that last afternoon before I leave, I will tell him the truth.

He won’t be the only one there, but he’ll be the only one I must see. I’ll try to be coy, or maybe just quiet, but I know at some point I will finally say the thing I have always wanted to say.

Maybe I will sequester him to the side, sneaking a moment alone. Maybe I’ll brush my hand against his, casually on purpose. Maybe I’ll look into his eyes, get lost for a moment, then smile and look away. And then I’ll make myself speak.

“You’re a good man. In an industry that’s full of not good men, you were a comfort, a sign of warmth and relief whenever I worked with you. In another situation, or at another time, I might have said something, but this isn’t that time or place. Anyway, thank you for being a good man.”

I’ll lean forward and kiss his cheek. I’ve always wanted to do this. I know this will be my last chance.

I’ll turn away and leave, knowing at least I said it, finally.

But maybe he’ll catch my hand. Squeeze it. Maybe I’ll stop. Turn back towards him.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll see in his eyes what I’ve felt in my heart for so long.

And he’ll tug me towards him.

And I’ll come in close.

And finally feel the warmth of his lips against mine.

Taste his tongue with my own.

Wrap my arms around his neck.

Feel his hands on my hips.

Press my body against his.

Wanting, needing, more.



~ erotica ~

“What are you willing to risk?”

I sat in his lap, my legs straddling his hips. My eyes stared into his, watching him lie to me.

I ground into his lap, seeing the expression change on his face: arrogance turned into confidence. I felt his hands on my waist, then flung them aside.

“That’s against the rules.”
“Are we playing a game?”
“Always. And right now, you’re losing.”
“What am I trying to win?”
“If you don’t know…”

I stood up from his seat.

“Wait. You, I’m trying to win you.”
“You’re getting closer.”

I stepped away. Opened his legs. Turned around. Sat down, back arched, ass against his crotch. Hands in my hair. Hips moving the way he likes.

In my periphery, I saw his vice gripped hands on the chair.

“I want you to say it.”
“I’ll say anything you want.”
“I know, but will you be lying?”

I leaned back. Rested my head against his face. Unbuttoned my shirt. Swept the fabric aside. He stared at my breasts in their pretty lace bra.

“You like this, don’t you?”
“You can feel I do.”

He wasn’t wrong. I ground his dick harder.

“When you wake up tomorrow, will you kiss me good morning?”
“In more places than one.”
“Will you make me cum?”
“Every time.”
“Will you forget my name when you leave?”
“That’s not possible.”

I stood up. Turned around. Sunk my stiletto into his thigh.

“I said don’t lie.”
“If you think I could ever forget you, you under estimate you’re impact.”

I smirked.

“You want to kiss me.”
“So much.”
“And fuck me.”
“God yes.”
“Please, let me. I want to make you cum. And I want you to know I will always come back to you, if you’ll only let me.”

I sucked his cock while he watched. No touching allowed. No cuming either.

I grabbed his shirt and led him to my room. I let him fuck me til the first hints of morning hit my window.

He liked kissing me while he stroked deep and slow. I giggled when he told me to turn over. He fucked me from behind while pulling my hair. “Harder you beautiful bastard,” I screamed a few times as my headboard thumped the wall.

I fucked his face for what seemed like an hour. I came three times with his tongue on my clit. He wanted to go for four, but I pushed him off.

He made coffee. His goodbye kiss tasted bitter with the slightest hint of hazelnut. I shoved my hand into his pants. I wanted to feel his cock one more time before he left. As I stroked him, and he moaned into my ear, I said, “Now prove to me you’re not a liar.”

He left hard and wanting. And, like so many other liars, he never came back.

What He Needs

~ erotica ~

His head rests on my chest. His breathing, slowed by sleep, is my lullaby. Our naked bodies, salty and slick, don’t want to decouple.

He leaves in the morning. This truth keeps my lids from remaining shut, keeps my mind from quieting. I don’t know when I’ll see him again.

He has a key. I pray it is the one thing he never loses.

This time he gave me a few days warning. I bought the beer he likes and threw the extra ice packs in the freezer. Fluffed the pillows on the couch, and checked my supply of condoms.

He didn’t even bother with his usual routine. Just took my face in his hands, encircled his arms around my waist, and stumbled me into the bedroom.

His head was between my legs before any clothing was removed. I screamed his name and said ‘I’ve missed you’ as I came that first time.

He was rough, impatient. His pants were barely down the first time he entered me. The denim grated against my thighs. But him inside me was more than enough to push anyway any discomforts.

Once he collapsed after his first release, I pulled his clothes off. Folded them up neatly. Undressed myself.

Then I stroked his hair and kissed his face. I saw the strain melt some.

He grabbed my hips. Squeezed. Guided me on top of him. I rode slow. He matched my hips with his own. I reclined my head, my chest, and breathed in full.

He sat up. His lips found my nipples. I gasped. Then my hands found his hair and hugged his head to me.

Seated became lying on my back, became his deep strokes into me.

Kisses that lasted many breaths. Tongues that missed each other.

Moans. Groans. Sighs. Fucks. Oh shit. Fuck yes. Oh god. Oh fuck. Harder. Closer. More. More. Deeper. Faster. God yes. God yes.




“What do you need?”
“Just you. Only ever you.”


Fusion Flashbacks

We fucked for three hours.
We broke a futon frame,
and kept going.

Slut achievement unlocked.


He thought I’d somehow be disappointed, never getting his cock hard with my mouth. Little did he know, sucking his softness while he used me as an ashtray was the highlight of my night.


Images constantly played on the backs of my eyelids. My head felt light, as if filled with helium, inducing giggles and glee.

He drove slow. I realized it had already hit him, too. We made it back to his place okay.

I talked A LOT, and was loud until he pointed it out. Then I whispered the rest of the night, except for when I screamed.

We had ridiculously high sex. And it was our first PIV fuck. So awesome.


His driving away was gut wrenching.
The 4am arrival text made it better, though.


The last night of camp always seems to elicit profound conversations. And, most of the time, I am the vessel people heave their emotions into.

This time, though, it was a two way release.


Oink’s porch is magical.


Had we kissed more than a peck on the cheek before our random drive by make out session?

Hmm, things to remedy later.


2am Sunday night is when shit gets real.
Bravo, friends.


I was a bitch.
Did he deserve it?
Do I care?


Scritches are the best.
And puppies are the cutest.


Are we geeks that are kinky or kinksters that are geeky? Either way, we all knew (most) of the words and sang/rapped/screamed until our throats were raw.

I love my people.


~a poem~

Let his kiss wash over you,
a tidal wave of lust and wanting.

Let his touch tempt away your torments.

Fall into the bliss of flesh on flesh.

Let his teeth sink into your skin,
marking you,

gifting your body with
bruises and dull aches.

Enjoy these constant reminders.

Let him slip into you,
again and again;
moan, groan.

Express your pleasure into his ear,
and forget how he dismissed you.

Forget his inability to love.

Forget his words, so easily spoken,
that sliced your heart into halves.

Hold back your tears,
except in ecstasy.

Push down your love, your hopes
of anything more than this moment.

His truth, shattering your girlish fantasies,
was a blessing.

Enjoy the play, and,
as for your dreams,


“Love is when the other person’s happiness is more important than your own.” – H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Love is listening to every song on the album and knowing all the lyrics. Love is waiting for 36hrs on the street to buy your magical ticket. Love is watching the show, singing along, and being beyond grateful for the privilege of that experience.

Love is not running after Lin’s car for two blocks.

Love is not forcing yourself into his life, demanding more than he is willing to give.

That is obsession.

I’m glad Lin’s leaving the show cause this shit is scaring me.

I know it’s easier for me to say that because I’ve seen it, but I’d feel the same either way. I want Lin around for years, decades to come, creating more art for us to marvel. I don’t want a fan to take a turn and this situation ending in tragedy.

Ham4Ham, the Hamiltome, the upcoming documentary, and his Twitter/Facebook; Lin gives us pieces of his life just about every day. Be thankful he is so engaged with his fans. Appreciate all the different ways he opens up and shares parts of himself with us.

Don’t chase after his car. Don’t harass him for an autograph when all he wants is to get back to his family.

Lin is a person, not a god you placed on a pedestal. He is an artist, not all knowing, but complicated and flawed like the rest of us. He is a geek and a nerd and we love him for that, but loving him is letting him go.

Let Lin live his life free of the fear of one day interacting with the wrong fan. Let Lin be a man instead of some mythic figure you’ve created in your mind.

For the love of all that is good in this world, be polite, be kind, and love him by leaving him alone.