The trouble about meeting erstwhile lovers under strictly platonic conditions is that the forbidden fruit is likely to arouse you like crazy. I shall go to bed now, and wank myself silly. My account of tonight can wait until tomorrow.
Fuck, I'm horny.
31 January, 2008
30 January, 2008
Wank
Yesterday's orgasm count: five, self-inflicted, and intense.
And I'll write more when I feel like it.
And I'll write more when I feel like it.
29 January, 2008
My hormones' bitch.
Yesterday's orgasm count: three, self-inflicted.
Keeping this blog so regularly really gives me a clearer insight into how much my sex drive is determined by my cycle. I have definitely gone into horny hormonal mode now, and it appears that I have already ovulated for this month, which is surprisingly early. I wonder if my cycle is still influenced by my flatmate, who is currently on the pill. That might explain it.
What this current stage in my cycle means is that I am now perpetually tingling with horniness, and once again keeping an eye out for the next viable candidate to satisfy my needs. I woke up dripping wet this morning, and spent some quality time wanking myself into oblivion, going through imagining four or five different men fucking me. That's the thing, it can be hard to keep my attention on only one man in my imagination. That's the reason why I generally don't shout out my lover's name during sex, as that would just be a recipe for disaster. Often, when in the arms of a vaguely casual shagrat, I think my way through three or four names before I get to the name of the person I'm actually with. It's not that I can't tell my lovers apart, far from it. It's rather that I reach similar states of arousal, in which I have thought many a name, so when I'm in such a state again, my well-meaning brain unhelpfully provides me with a whole database of names that have been in conjunction with my arousal.
I suppose it's also a product of my mind being so prone to wandering. I can be pondering something completely mundane mid-coitus, such as the fact that I need to water the potplants once I'm done shagging, and still easily come moments later. I hear that it's a perfectly common syndrome for women to get distracted and start mentally multitasking during sex, but supposedly that also stops them from reaching orgasm. Not so with me. Granted, an orgasm while multitasking probably won't be as intense, but I'll still come. But it does make me grateful that my beloved can hold my attention more completely, not only for the sake of the orgasms, but because I always get his name right when I scream it to the heavens.
Oh God, I'm horny. It honestly makes me hope that I meet someone today whom I will hit it off with and swiftly end up in the sack with.
Keeping this blog so regularly really gives me a clearer insight into how much my sex drive is determined by my cycle. I have definitely gone into horny hormonal mode now, and it appears that I have already ovulated for this month, which is surprisingly early. I wonder if my cycle is still influenced by my flatmate, who is currently on the pill. That might explain it.
What this current stage in my cycle means is that I am now perpetually tingling with horniness, and once again keeping an eye out for the next viable candidate to satisfy my needs. I woke up dripping wet this morning, and spent some quality time wanking myself into oblivion, going through imagining four or five different men fucking me. That's the thing, it can be hard to keep my attention on only one man in my imagination. That's the reason why I generally don't shout out my lover's name during sex, as that would just be a recipe for disaster. Often, when in the arms of a vaguely casual shagrat, I think my way through three or four names before I get to the name of the person I'm actually with. It's not that I can't tell my lovers apart, far from it. It's rather that I reach similar states of arousal, in which I have thought many a name, so when I'm in such a state again, my well-meaning brain unhelpfully provides me with a whole database of names that have been in conjunction with my arousal.
I suppose it's also a product of my mind being so prone to wandering. I can be pondering something completely mundane mid-coitus, such as the fact that I need to water the potplants once I'm done shagging, and still easily come moments later. I hear that it's a perfectly common syndrome for women to get distracted and start mentally multitasking during sex, but supposedly that also stops them from reaching orgasm. Not so with me. Granted, an orgasm while multitasking probably won't be as intense, but I'll still come. But it does make me grateful that my beloved can hold my attention more completely, not only for the sake of the orgasms, but because I always get his name right when I scream it to the heavens.
Oh God, I'm horny. It honestly makes me hope that I meet someone today whom I will hit it off with and swiftly end up in the sack with.
28 January, 2008
For the hell of it...
Yesterday's orgasm count: two, self-inflicted.
I have decided to be a copycat, and follow my beloved's lead in putting an orgasm count at the side of my blog. This meant that I had to go back and count how many I have had so far. I can't help but be almost a little embarrassed: not counting the three I have had so far today, my count for this year is 113. That's a lot of endorphins. Twenty-six of them were assisted. This clearly means I need to have more sex. Though I suppose that so far, I'm averageing on once a week.
Eh. Suppose it's a bit silly to try and quantify my sex life. But it makes me anticipate my beloved's return all the more, so that I can even out the proportions a bit...
I have decided to be a copycat, and follow my beloved's lead in putting an orgasm count at the side of my blog. This meant that I had to go back and count how many I have had so far. I can't help but be almost a little embarrassed: not counting the three I have had so far today, my count for this year is 113. That's a lot of endorphins. Twenty-six of them were assisted. This clearly means I need to have more sex. Though I suppose that so far, I'm averageing on once a week.
Eh. Suppose it's a bit silly to try and quantify my sex life. But it makes me anticipate my beloved's return all the more, so that I can even out the proportions a bit...
27 January, 2008
In the interest of brevity...
Yesterday's orgasm count: nine, three self-inflicted.
And today, I was too damn productive to have my hands down my pants too frequently.
And today, I was too damn productive to have my hands down my pants too frequently.
Afternoon Delight, and other samples.
Yesterday's orgasm count: one. Very poor, even if it was a good extended one.
I have quite a few things to ramble on about today, so I shall break it into three parts: My Wank, My Shag, and My Perve.
My Wank
Yup, I definitely had the horn again. After breakfast this morning, I found myself flinging off my clothes and throwing myself onto my bed, where I spent some quality time with some lubricant and my clitoris. I eventually got out my lovely vibrator, and had a play with him, sometimes having him humming away inside me as I continued to stroke my clit, sometimes thrusting him in and out of me, sometimes just holding him over my clit. It was during the first of those options that I ended up coming hard. When I took the vibe out, I ended up fingering myself. For some reason, after playing with that vibrator, I always find myself sliding more fingers into myself... I only got to slide in three before I came hard for a second time, my pussy clenching hard along the whole length of my three fingers, and actually pulling them in a little further. Interesting. I have noticed on occasion with the vibrator, if I happened to come while thrusting it inside me, that my muscles would clench so hard that I couldn't actually pull it out, and it actually got pulled in a little further. Interesting. Certainly a neat trick to have.
In any case, I wanked myself to a third, smaller, climax before getting up to wash my juices off my hands and go about my day.
My Shag
Paul came over in the afternoon, and while things started out platonic, I guess you just can't count on my self-control when there's no really good reason not to have sex when given the opportunity. Paul was mildly surprised, as I had technically "dumped" him a few weeks back, but he didn't need a lot of convincing. It did take a bit of creeping closer to each other, and there was a moment of hesitation before we started kissing, but shortly afterwards, I was down to my underpants, him fucking me with his fingers, my hands around his cock. I am kind of aware that our compatibility isn't actually that great, but it's still enough when I happen to be horny. He fucked me with my legs slung over his shoulders, and I had a few minor orgasms before he took me from behind, and set me off hard when he came. It is really quite interesting how I will invariably come hard when a cock is in its orgasmic spasms inside me. I suppose it is a handy bit of conditioning to have, though it does arguably make the simultaneous climax a little less special. I guess that's why I tend to reserve things like prolonged eye contact and so on for my more intimate romps. With most of my casuals, I tend to go off into my own little world when I orgasm, rather than sharing that little world with my partner, as I do with my beloved.
After the initial high of my shag wore off, I did find myself missing my beloved. I just have to keep reminding myself that we will see each other again soon.
My Perve
Randomly, I saw a customer at work tonight who inspired some interesting feelings in me. It was the smile. Fuck, that man had a sexy smile. I love it when a man grins widely and unabashedly, plainly completely at ease. He had gorgeous laughter lines around his eyes, and even though I would guess him to have been in his late thirties, there was something wickedly boyish about him. I found myself standing there, idly wondering what he'd look like naked, what his cock would feel like in my hand, and what look would replace that sexy smile on his face if I had the chance to torment him...
Well, as it was, I had work to do, but it was still a fun thought for a few moments. Besides, I was already feeling those phantom caresses and fondles from my beloved, which were distracting me. It really is quite interesting how I can almost feel him, even though we are still so far apart.
I have quite a few things to ramble on about today, so I shall break it into three parts: My Wank, My Shag, and My Perve.
My Wank
Yup, I definitely had the horn again. After breakfast this morning, I found myself flinging off my clothes and throwing myself onto my bed, where I spent some quality time with some lubricant and my clitoris. I eventually got out my lovely vibrator, and had a play with him, sometimes having him humming away inside me as I continued to stroke my clit, sometimes thrusting him in and out of me, sometimes just holding him over my clit. It was during the first of those options that I ended up coming hard. When I took the vibe out, I ended up fingering myself. For some reason, after playing with that vibrator, I always find myself sliding more fingers into myself... I only got to slide in three before I came hard for a second time, my pussy clenching hard along the whole length of my three fingers, and actually pulling them in a little further. Interesting. I have noticed on occasion with the vibrator, if I happened to come while thrusting it inside me, that my muscles would clench so hard that I couldn't actually pull it out, and it actually got pulled in a little further. Interesting. Certainly a neat trick to have.
In any case, I wanked myself to a third, smaller, climax before getting up to wash my juices off my hands and go about my day.
My Shag
Paul came over in the afternoon, and while things started out platonic, I guess you just can't count on my self-control when there's no really good reason not to have sex when given the opportunity. Paul was mildly surprised, as I had technically "dumped" him a few weeks back, but he didn't need a lot of convincing. It did take a bit of creeping closer to each other, and there was a moment of hesitation before we started kissing, but shortly afterwards, I was down to my underpants, him fucking me with his fingers, my hands around his cock. I am kind of aware that our compatibility isn't actually that great, but it's still enough when I happen to be horny. He fucked me with my legs slung over his shoulders, and I had a few minor orgasms before he took me from behind, and set me off hard when he came. It is really quite interesting how I will invariably come hard when a cock is in its orgasmic spasms inside me. I suppose it is a handy bit of conditioning to have, though it does arguably make the simultaneous climax a little less special. I guess that's why I tend to reserve things like prolonged eye contact and so on for my more intimate romps. With most of my casuals, I tend to go off into my own little world when I orgasm, rather than sharing that little world with my partner, as I do with my beloved.
After the initial high of my shag wore off, I did find myself missing my beloved. I just have to keep reminding myself that we will see each other again soon.
My Perve
Randomly, I saw a customer at work tonight who inspired some interesting feelings in me. It was the smile. Fuck, that man had a sexy smile. I love it when a man grins widely and unabashedly, plainly completely at ease. He had gorgeous laughter lines around his eyes, and even though I would guess him to have been in his late thirties, there was something wickedly boyish about him. I found myself standing there, idly wondering what he'd look like naked, what his cock would feel like in my hand, and what look would replace that sexy smile on his face if I had the chance to torment him...
Well, as it was, I had work to do, but it was still a fun thought for a few moments. Besides, I was already feeling those phantom caresses and fondles from my beloved, which were distracting me. It really is quite interesting how I can almost feel him, even though we are still so far apart.
25 January, 2008
TP.
Yesterday's orgasm count: three, self-inflicted.
I woke up this morning, and once again found myself fantasising about being triple-penetrated. It's all the easier to imagine, as I do have three men in mind, and the likelihood is just high enough for me to find it ever so enticing. It makes me want to try and get the three of them in the same place, and see if I can deviously manipulate the situation.
Needless to say, I happily wanked myself into oblivion, thinking about it. In fact, I managed another 30-second climax. It feels like I have once a gain broken through that barrier that had prevented me from coming for more than maybe ten seconds. Quite a relief, really.
I woke up this morning, and once again found myself fantasising about being triple-penetrated. It's all the easier to imagine, as I do have three men in mind, and the likelihood is just high enough for me to find it ever so enticing. It makes me want to try and get the three of them in the same place, and see if I can deviously manipulate the situation.
Needless to say, I happily wanked myself into oblivion, thinking about it. In fact, I managed another 30-second climax. It feels like I have once a gain broken through that barrier that had prevented me from coming for more than maybe ten seconds. Quite a relief, really.
24 January, 2008
Orgasms, love, and manly domesticity.
Yesterday's orgasm count: three, self-inflicted.
It does seem like my libido is back, which is nice to see. Apart from the orgasms mentioned above, I've been cheerfully fiddling away today, at one point getting myself to a very nice climax which must have lasted at least thirty seconds. Now, eighteen months ago, this would have actually been a bit disappointing, as I was routinely popping off one- and two-minute orgasms, but I find myself somewhat out of shape these days. And I think that I find it easier to orgasm with my beloved around, even if it's been a day or two since we last saw each other, because the memory of him and his pheromones is still fresh then. But upon parting, my "performance" has deteriorated, and I found myself just manageing the normal four- to eight-second orgasms, which was a bit frustrating. Which is why I am very pleased to see some recovery in that area. I do wonder whether it has something to do with my beloved returning in less than a month though, because we have both noticed that our "phantoms" (a sort of imaginary presence of each other we perceive when apart) are a lot more pronounced at the moment, and have been growing moreso with our impending reunion.
We spoke again on the phone today, which is always nice. I do like to reconnect with him, especially now, as we have crossed that threshold where we get really impatient to see each other again. I'm also looking at photos of him more frequently now, with the obligatory soppy expression on my face.
On a tangent, I have come to the conclusion that I am not a Man. At least, not the kind of Man that Mr Birmingham and Mr Flinthart would have me be in How to be a Man. I was having a flick through it again today, as it's a hilarious read, besides being so very informative. And while relationship-wise, I seemed to be a pretty adequate Man, I obviously wasn't in terms of keeping the kitchen clean. So with Messrs Birmingham and Flintart as my guides, I attacked the kitchen, armed with a scrapey sponge and some Jif detergent. I doubt it has received such a thorough clean since we even first moved in, to be quite frank. I am still unearthing interesting artefacts. But as long as I find no sentient life forms in the crack between the bench and the oven, it's all positive.
Perhaps, once I have finished cleaning the kitchen, I will be a Man. Except, you know, with breasts, a vagina, and a uterus. And without a penis and prostate and testicles and stuff.
Actually, I suspect it's my bedtime. I'm getting a bit silly. I must be tired.
It does seem like my libido is back, which is nice to see. Apart from the orgasms mentioned above, I've been cheerfully fiddling away today, at one point getting myself to a very nice climax which must have lasted at least thirty seconds. Now, eighteen months ago, this would have actually been a bit disappointing, as I was routinely popping off one- and two-minute orgasms, but I find myself somewhat out of shape these days. And I think that I find it easier to orgasm with my beloved around, even if it's been a day or two since we last saw each other, because the memory of him and his pheromones is still fresh then. But upon parting, my "performance" has deteriorated, and I found myself just manageing the normal four- to eight-second orgasms, which was a bit frustrating. Which is why I am very pleased to see some recovery in that area. I do wonder whether it has something to do with my beloved returning in less than a month though, because we have both noticed that our "phantoms" (a sort of imaginary presence of each other we perceive when apart) are a lot more pronounced at the moment, and have been growing moreso with our impending reunion.
We spoke again on the phone today, which is always nice. I do like to reconnect with him, especially now, as we have crossed that threshold where we get really impatient to see each other again. I'm also looking at photos of him more frequently now, with the obligatory soppy expression on my face.
On a tangent, I have come to the conclusion that I am not a Man. At least, not the kind of Man that Mr Birmingham and Mr Flinthart would have me be in How to be a Man. I was having a flick through it again today, as it's a hilarious read, besides being so very informative. And while relationship-wise, I seemed to be a pretty adequate Man, I obviously wasn't in terms of keeping the kitchen clean. So with Messrs Birmingham and Flintart as my guides, I attacked the kitchen, armed with a scrapey sponge and some Jif detergent. I doubt it has received such a thorough clean since we even first moved in, to be quite frank. I am still unearthing interesting artefacts. But as long as I find no sentient life forms in the crack between the bench and the oven, it's all positive.
Perhaps, once I have finished cleaning the kitchen, I will be a Man. Except, you know, with breasts, a vagina, and a uterus. And without a penis and prostate and testicles and stuff.
Actually, I suspect it's my bedtime. I'm getting a bit silly. I must be tired.
Yesterday's orgasm count: three, self-inflicted.
I do wonder why on Earth one is so damn erogenous on one's period. Last night, it only took five seconds of my fingers inside me for me to come. I mean, does it serve any evolutionary purpose, or is it just a pesky glitch?
In other news, I have told the amorous Indian that I have no sexual interest in him, so now I seem to have a platonic friendship. Excellent. We'll still be spending some time together while he's in town.
And I really have nothing more interesting to report. Sorry.
I do wonder why on Earth one is so damn erogenous on one's period. Last night, it only took five seconds of my fingers inside me for me to come. I mean, does it serve any evolutionary purpose, or is it just a pesky glitch?
In other news, I have told the amorous Indian that I have no sexual interest in him, so now I seem to have a platonic friendship. Excellent. We'll still be spending some time together while he's in town.
And I really have nothing more interesting to report. Sorry.
23 January, 2008
So much for the premenstrual horn.
Orgasm count: four. Self-inflicted, one yesterday, three the day before.
Now for more important things:
Dear uterus,
Why do you hate me so? Why do you cause me such pain? Why did you start giving me cramps after five blissful cramp-free years of menstruation? Are you laughing at me? Have I ever done you wrong? I'd really like to know, because I want our relationship to be loving and productive. Have you truly not forgiven me for cramming you with hormones? I said I'm sorry!
Love,
Queenie
Yes, I started my period yesterday, and found myself cramping unusually painfully. Enough to make me wince and groan and whimper. I would really love to have those days back when I had no concept of these mysterious menstrual cramps. But sometimes I suspect that my body is just a late bloomer, and I have somehow reached a new level of physical maturity. Let me tell you this: it sucks. God dammit, I want my fucking teenage body back! ::sniffles::
Alright, enough whingeing. I spent some of last night having dinner with, and resisting the sexual advances of an amorous Indian. He's a very nice fellow, excellent company, but I'm just not terribly interested in him, sexually. I can completely understand how this man can generally charm himself into many a pair of knickers, but I suspect that I'm just too much of a vain cow to ignore the fact that he's half a head shorter than me, and next to my Amazonian physique, he looks like he's made of toothpicks. I also find that men who are extremely different from my beloved tend to turn me off a little. I suppose that is somewhat disturbing, but nonetheless true. Some months ago, I dallied with a gentleman who was of average and rather hairy physique and had a shaven head. I found myself a bit irked by this, and passionately wanting my beloved's smooth wiry body and wild bush of hair back. This was obviously not this fellow's fault, and for what it's worth, he was very accomplished in the sack, but it was still enough for me not to seek him out again.
I want my beloved back. ::pout:: I miss him. I suppose I'm also being a bit hormonally whingey right now.
Now for more important things:
Dear uterus,
Why do you hate me so? Why do you cause me such pain? Why did you start giving me cramps after five blissful cramp-free years of menstruation? Are you laughing at me? Have I ever done you wrong? I'd really like to know, because I want our relationship to be loving and productive. Have you truly not forgiven me for cramming you with hormones? I said I'm sorry!
Love,
Queenie
Yes, I started my period yesterday, and found myself cramping unusually painfully. Enough to make me wince and groan and whimper. I would really love to have those days back when I had no concept of these mysterious menstrual cramps. But sometimes I suspect that my body is just a late bloomer, and I have somehow reached a new level of physical maturity. Let me tell you this: it sucks. God dammit, I want my fucking teenage body back! ::sniffles::
Alright, enough whingeing. I spent some of last night having dinner with, and resisting the sexual advances of an amorous Indian. He's a very nice fellow, excellent company, but I'm just not terribly interested in him, sexually. I can completely understand how this man can generally charm himself into many a pair of knickers, but I suspect that I'm just too much of a vain cow to ignore the fact that he's half a head shorter than me, and next to my Amazonian physique, he looks like he's made of toothpicks. I also find that men who are extremely different from my beloved tend to turn me off a little. I suppose that is somewhat disturbing, but nonetheless true. Some months ago, I dallied with a gentleman who was of average and rather hairy physique and had a shaven head. I found myself a bit irked by this, and passionately wanting my beloved's smooth wiry body and wild bush of hair back. This was obviously not this fellow's fault, and for what it's worth, he was very accomplished in the sack, but it was still enough for me not to seek him out again.
I want my beloved back. ::pout:: I miss him. I suppose I'm also being a bit hormonally whingey right now.
21 January, 2008
Near the end of the lull
Yesterday's orgasm count: one. Sigh. But it was a bit of a busy day, I actually didn't have that much time or energy for wanking.
Actually, it still feels a bit like life and its problems are getting in the way of my poor unfortunate libido. Mind you, that being said though, I woke up this morning with my skin feeling exquisitely erogenous. I love it when just running my palm over my skin makes me purr. Looks like the body is becoming more willing again... in a few days' time, I'll probably be rambling about how fucking horny I am, and how I need to find me some tasty man-totty. Quite funny, really, how much your hormonal cycle controls you.
I did have a lovely conversation on the phone with my beloved, both last night and this morning. Apparently he has been having some moments of realisation in terms of the power play in our relationship over these last few years, and come to the conclusion that he liked it. I almost blushed. In any case, I won't go into detail about this, as I believe that is an entry for him to write.
I, for one, shall turn my attention to domestic pursuits for now. There are some blueberry muffins begging to be made.
Actually, it still feels a bit like life and its problems are getting in the way of my poor unfortunate libido. Mind you, that being said though, I woke up this morning with my skin feeling exquisitely erogenous. I love it when just running my palm over my skin makes me purr. Looks like the body is becoming more willing again... in a few days' time, I'll probably be rambling about how fucking horny I am, and how I need to find me some tasty man-totty. Quite funny, really, how much your hormonal cycle controls you.
I did have a lovely conversation on the phone with my beloved, both last night and this morning. Apparently he has been having some moments of realisation in terms of the power play in our relationship over these last few years, and come to the conclusion that he liked it. I almost blushed. In any case, I won't go into detail about this, as I believe that is an entry for him to write.
I, for one, shall turn my attention to domestic pursuits for now. There are some blueberry muffins begging to be made.
20 January, 2008
Excuses, excuses.
Yesterday's orgasm count: two, self-inflicted. I seem to be in a two orgasms a day rut, I've noticed. Might just be the time in my cycle though... I suspect that once I go pre-menstrual, I'll be a horny monster again.
Today hasn't been a terribly interesting day on a sexual level. Mostly, I just focussed on life and career-oriented things, so sex and masturbation had to take a backseat. I know, crazy! I did have another chat with the fellow from yesterday, and it turned out that during yesterday's strange phone conversation, he had mistaken me for someone else whom he really didn't want to speak to, and had thus lied about his whereabouts and hung up on me. It all becomes clear. And he asked whether I was going to come over before he left town. I considered: I was absolutely knackered from my day so far, but then again, the prospect of sex was kind of alluring. But, after some more flirting out, it turned out he had some friends coming to visit him, so it wasn't practical, unless I was up for a foursome. And while I am not against the concept itself -- far from it, in fact -- the point remained that I didn't know those two other guys, and I also have an agreement with my beloved that I wouldn't take such an opportunity until we had experienced it together.
In the end, I decided to make my way to town in case he managed to shoo out his friends in time -- I had a few other things to do. I ended up loafing around the Erotica section at Borders, reading large chunks of The Illustrated Guide to Extended Massive Orgasm, and deciding I quite liked it. I then bought myself a DVD and wandered out to enjoy the sunshine. The fellow didn't call, which I was not terribly surprised about, so I finished my walk, and made my way home. Even though the misunderstanding was alleviated, I am still wondering whether I should bother with this boy. He could have at least had the etiquette to call me and let me know it wasn't happening. But some people seem to have a limited understanding of the fact that you should treat your casual dalliances with respect, too. Granted, he did say that it wasn't a sure thing, and didn't want to feel bad about me making my way to town for nothing, but still. I'm just not sure I can be bothered with him. No hard feelings, or anything, but I do think I can find others more willing to walk the walk.
Supposedly I'll be hearing from the fellow from last week tomorrow. I won't hold my breath, but he did seem pretty keen. As for me, I'm bloody knackered now, so I think I might head off to bed.
Today hasn't been a terribly interesting day on a sexual level. Mostly, I just focussed on life and career-oriented things, so sex and masturbation had to take a backseat. I know, crazy! I did have another chat with the fellow from yesterday, and it turned out that during yesterday's strange phone conversation, he had mistaken me for someone else whom he really didn't want to speak to, and had thus lied about his whereabouts and hung up on me. It all becomes clear. And he asked whether I was going to come over before he left town. I considered: I was absolutely knackered from my day so far, but then again, the prospect of sex was kind of alluring. But, after some more flirting out, it turned out he had some friends coming to visit him, so it wasn't practical, unless I was up for a foursome. And while I am not against the concept itself -- far from it, in fact -- the point remained that I didn't know those two other guys, and I also have an agreement with my beloved that I wouldn't take such an opportunity until we had experienced it together.
In the end, I decided to make my way to town in case he managed to shoo out his friends in time -- I had a few other things to do. I ended up loafing around the Erotica section at Borders, reading large chunks of The Illustrated Guide to Extended Massive Orgasm, and deciding I quite liked it. I then bought myself a DVD and wandered out to enjoy the sunshine. The fellow didn't call, which I was not terribly surprised about, so I finished my walk, and made my way home. Even though the misunderstanding was alleviated, I am still wondering whether I should bother with this boy. He could have at least had the etiquette to call me and let me know it wasn't happening. But some people seem to have a limited understanding of the fact that you should treat your casual dalliances with respect, too. Granted, he did say that it wasn't a sure thing, and didn't want to feel bad about me making my way to town for nothing, but still. I'm just not sure I can be bothered with him. No hard feelings, or anything, but I do think I can find others more willing to walk the walk.
Supposedly I'll be hearing from the fellow from last week tomorrow. I won't hold my breath, but he did seem pretty keen. As for me, I'm bloody knackered now, so I think I might head off to bed.
19 January, 2008
How to receive your first blowjob from Queenie
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An apathetic day
Orgasm count since last entry: Seven. Five yesterday, two the day before, all self-inflicted.
Dear me, I actually forgot to write yesterday. I suppose things other than sex were occupying my mind, which is a relatively rare occurence, I suppose.
Come to think of it, I don't feel like I have a whole lot to rave on about today, either. How disappointing. I had a shag prospect for today who turned out to no longer be in town, and I'm beginning to think that I just shouldn't bother with him at all, even if he is hung like a moose. Not that I really care terribly about penis size, but it would be nice to find a big boy, as my beloved has a bit of a fantasy of watching me get fucked by someone huge.
Maybe I'll feel more inspired to write something that'd set the pope's boxer shorts on fire later on.
Dear me, I actually forgot to write yesterday. I suppose things other than sex were occupying my mind, which is a relatively rare occurence, I suppose.
Come to think of it, I don't feel like I have a whole lot to rave on about today, either. How disappointing. I had a shag prospect for today who turned out to no longer be in town, and I'm beginning to think that I just shouldn't bother with him at all, even if he is hung like a moose. Not that I really care terribly about penis size, but it would be nice to find a big boy, as my beloved has a bit of a fantasy of watching me get fucked by someone huge.
Maybe I'll feel more inspired to write something that'd set the pope's boxer shorts on fire later on.
17 January, 2008
Girl talk, and the ensuing research.
Yesterday's orgasm count: two, both self-inflicted. Somewhat disappointing.
Just before going to bed last night, I found myself having an interesting conversation with my housemate. In retrospect, it gave me quite a bit to think about, but most of all, it made me appreciate how freely women talk about sex these days:
Me: Hey Housemate, have you ever ejaculated?
Her: ...no. Have you?
Me: Twice.
Her: Wow.
Me: Yeah, I'm sort of trying to figure out how I can get it to happen... it seems to be a G-spot thing.
Her: How high a percentage of women can do it, anyway?
Me: Beats me... but I should think that any woman can learn it.
Her: Even if she has kind of a deformed G-spot like me?
Me: ...oh, you mean the way yours sort of hangs outside your vagina?
Her: Yeah, but it's not just that. It's really weird, it's like sheets of paper stacked up together, on their side...
Me: Oh, you mean like little ridges?
Her: Yeah. Ridges.
Me: I've got that, too. I reckon it's normal.
Her: Oh, okay then.
Me: Yeah, I don't think that's the G-spot. I mean, the ridgy bit is erogenous, yeah, but isn't the G-spot supposed to be more behind the vaginal wall, rather than on it?
Her: Yeah, isn't it supposed to be kind of connected to the female version of the prostate?
Me: Yeah. And something with the paraurethral glands, I think... I mean, that's what the female ejaculate comes out of.
Her: So maybe, in order for a woman to be able to squirt, she actually needs the G-spot to be connected to that gland.
Me: Well yeah, probably. (Why would only some women have that though?)
Her: I don't really seem to get G-spot orgasms, though. I mean, you read about all these deep orgasms that women get in the ESO book, but that's not what it's like for me. For me, an orgasm is just sort of an external fluttering around here. (gestures towards vagina)
Me: (takes a moment to digest this) Okay, so just around the clitoris then. No, I definitely get internal orgasms, and the feeling can fill me up, sometimes right up to my fingertips.
Her: (nodding) Oooh.
Me: I mean, it doesn't always spread that far, but it quite often goes this far. (gestures around solar plexus and knees)
Her: So what is this liquid actually like, in consistency, and how it looks?
Me: Well, it's sort weirdly pearlescent, and kind of cloudy, usually.
Her: ...so that couldn't just be normal wetness?
Me: Er, I doubt it, considering it can leave wet spots easily this big. (Holds up hands to indicate an area the size of a large saucer)
Her: Oh. No. Not normal wetness then.
Me: Yeah, first time I ejaculated was actually a very short time after I lost my virginity, and I thought the guy had just leaked when he pulled off the condom or something, but in retrospect, I'm pretty sure that was me. And when I got that through masturbation, I found myself with my bum in a big puddle of girl cum.
Her: Huh. Yeah, my wetness is always cloudy though.
Me: That's usually after ovulation though... usually it's kind of clear and egg-whiteish before ovulation.
Her: Huh.
Me: Anyway, I'm sort of trying to teach myself to squirt now. Not much luck so far though...
Her: Yeah, I guess it's harder when you're thinking about it too. You'd have to sort of relax and not think about it.
Me: Oh yeah, definitely. But last time it happened, I had also been aiming for one of those extended orgasms, and I had taken it very slowly. You'd sort of have to set time aside to masturbate, if you want to achieve that.
Her: Yeah, wheras for me it's, "Can I get this done in fifteen minutes before I go to work?"
Me: Heh heh, yeah. I have trouble getting into the right headspace for that, myself. I just don't feel like frustrating myself, and I'm thinking, "Damn it, I want to come NOW, I don't CARE if it gets better if I take longer!
Her: Heh heh.
So it was a bit late last night to be doing the research, but I had a look today. Very interesting to note that the G-spot is also referred to as the urethral sponge. Obviously, there is a link to the urethra in there. Though I was still so vindicated to read that no, girl-cum is not urine. Some traces on occasion, maybe, but that's not what the stuff itself is made of. It made me want to call an old acquaintance of mine and gloat: she is a bit sexually cynical, and when I started talking about female ejaculation to her a few years back...
Her: (dismissively and decisively) It's piss.
Me: No it's not! I've had that happen myself, and it's not piss!
Her: It's piss. You just pissed yourself.
Me: ...!!
You get the idea. But then again, about a year before that conversation, I had a conversation with the same girl, describing an incident of when I had had six orgasms in a row through intercourse, and also managed to get that thing going where you manage to feel the orgasm in your whole body, not just your genitals. Again, ever the cynic, she said, "That's impossible", leaving no room for argument. I just laughed at her then and dropped it. Not like I as going to label her the expert: she had, at that point, never had an orgasm with a man (or woman).
It does show though how complacent some people are when it comes to their sexual boundaries. It is really so wonderful to prove wrong those people who try to place limits on the orgasmic capabilities of the human being. They will always set themselves up to look like idiots, I think. And of course, if you just believe something's impossible, then you're not going to achieve it now, are you?
Just before going to bed last night, I found myself having an interesting conversation with my housemate. In retrospect, it gave me quite a bit to think about, but most of all, it made me appreciate how freely women talk about sex these days:
Me: Hey Housemate, have you ever ejaculated?
Her: ...no. Have you?
Me: Twice.
Her: Wow.
Me: Yeah, I'm sort of trying to figure out how I can get it to happen... it seems to be a G-spot thing.
Her: How high a percentage of women can do it, anyway?
Me: Beats me... but I should think that any woman can learn it.
Her: Even if she has kind of a deformed G-spot like me?
Me: ...oh, you mean the way yours sort of hangs outside your vagina?
Her: Yeah, but it's not just that. It's really weird, it's like sheets of paper stacked up together, on their side...
Me: Oh, you mean like little ridges?
Her: Yeah. Ridges.
Me: I've got that, too. I reckon it's normal.
Her: Oh, okay then.
Me: Yeah, I don't think that's the G-spot. I mean, the ridgy bit is erogenous, yeah, but isn't the G-spot supposed to be more behind the vaginal wall, rather than on it?
Her: Yeah, isn't it supposed to be kind of connected to the female version of the prostate?
Me: Yeah. And something with the paraurethral glands, I think... I mean, that's what the female ejaculate comes out of.
Her: So maybe, in order for a woman to be able to squirt, she actually needs the G-spot to be connected to that gland.
Me: Well yeah, probably. (Why would only some women have that though?)
Her: I don't really seem to get G-spot orgasms, though. I mean, you read about all these deep orgasms that women get in the ESO book, but that's not what it's like for me. For me, an orgasm is just sort of an external fluttering around here. (gestures towards vagina)
Me: (takes a moment to digest this) Okay, so just around the clitoris then. No, I definitely get internal orgasms, and the feeling can fill me up, sometimes right up to my fingertips.
Her: (nodding) Oooh.
Me: I mean, it doesn't always spread that far, but it quite often goes this far. (gestures around solar plexus and knees)
Her: So what is this liquid actually like, in consistency, and how it looks?
Me: Well, it's sort weirdly pearlescent, and kind of cloudy, usually.
Her: ...so that couldn't just be normal wetness?
Me: Er, I doubt it, considering it can leave wet spots easily this big. (Holds up hands to indicate an area the size of a large saucer)
Her: Oh. No. Not normal wetness then.
Me: Yeah, first time I ejaculated was actually a very short time after I lost my virginity, and I thought the guy had just leaked when he pulled off the condom or something, but in retrospect, I'm pretty sure that was me. And when I got that through masturbation, I found myself with my bum in a big puddle of girl cum.
Her: Huh. Yeah, my wetness is always cloudy though.
Me: That's usually after ovulation though... usually it's kind of clear and egg-whiteish before ovulation.
Her: Huh.
Me: Anyway, I'm sort of trying to teach myself to squirt now. Not much luck so far though...
Her: Yeah, I guess it's harder when you're thinking about it too. You'd have to sort of relax and not think about it.
Me: Oh yeah, definitely. But last time it happened, I had also been aiming for one of those extended orgasms, and I had taken it very slowly. You'd sort of have to set time aside to masturbate, if you want to achieve that.
Her: Yeah, wheras for me it's, "Can I get this done in fifteen minutes before I go to work?"
Me: Heh heh, yeah. I have trouble getting into the right headspace for that, myself. I just don't feel like frustrating myself, and I'm thinking, "Damn it, I want to come NOW, I don't CARE if it gets better if I take longer!
Her: Heh heh.
So it was a bit late last night to be doing the research, but I had a look today. Very interesting to note that the G-spot is also referred to as the urethral sponge. Obviously, there is a link to the urethra in there. Though I was still so vindicated to read that no, girl-cum is not urine. Some traces on occasion, maybe, but that's not what the stuff itself is made of. It made me want to call an old acquaintance of mine and gloat: she is a bit sexually cynical, and when I started talking about female ejaculation to her a few years back...
Her: (dismissively and decisively) It's piss.
Me: No it's not! I've had that happen myself, and it's not piss!
Her: It's piss. You just pissed yourself.
Me: ...!!
You get the idea. But then again, about a year before that conversation, I had a conversation with the same girl, describing an incident of when I had had six orgasms in a row through intercourse, and also managed to get that thing going where you manage to feel the orgasm in your whole body, not just your genitals. Again, ever the cynic, she said, "That's impossible", leaving no room for argument. I just laughed at her then and dropped it. Not like I as going to label her the expert: she had, at that point, never had an orgasm with a man (or woman).
It does show though how complacent some people are when it comes to their sexual boundaries. It is really so wonderful to prove wrong those people who try to place limits on the orgasmic capabilities of the human being. They will always set themselves up to look like idiots, I think. And of course, if you just believe something's impossible, then you're not going to achieve it now, are you?
16 January, 2008
Fucking machines, longing, and female ejaculation
Yesterday's orgasm count: six. Three-self-inflicted, and three thanks to the shag I had. Happy days!
I don't feel like today has been too interesting on a sexual level, although I did find myself watching some dirty videos starring me and a sex machine. Just a little amateur at-home video, but still fun. I had an hour-long conversation on the phone with my beloved, which made me long for him like crazy... well, it's only a little over five weeks until we see each other again. But it's always the home stretch that seems the longest.
I think I might go do some further research into female ejaculation...
I don't feel like today has been too interesting on a sexual level, although I did find myself watching some dirty videos starring me and a sex machine. Just a little amateur at-home video, but still fun. I had an hour-long conversation on the phone with my beloved, which made me long for him like crazy... well, it's only a little over five weeks until we see each other again. But it's always the home stretch that seems the longest.
I think I might go do some further research into female ejaculation...
Wham-bam, thank you, ma'am.
I met up with my fellow tonight. We made a date to meet up at a pub, though we stayed there for barely two seconds. The reason being, neither of us are big on pubs. It just seemed like a good place to meet. So we went to his place for a cup of tea instead, and chatted along the way... he was a pleasant enough fellow, and not bad in the looks department. As we both have some French roots, there was a little common ground, especially as it turns out our roots are from similar regions, as well.
Things started to happen very quickly, actually. We were sitting on the couch with our mugs of tea, chatting, and before I knew it, he had scooted closer to me, draped one arm around my shoulders, and as I leaned forward to put my mug of tea on the coffee table, found his mouth against the side of my neck. Damn, I thought, good thing for him that I want to fuck him, or he'd be hurting in all kinds of ways right now. I turned to kiss him, and trailed my fingers down his chest as he carressed my breasts. My fingers encountered wiry chest hair as I ran my hand under his shirt and let my fingertips graze over his nipple.
We moved up to the bedroom very quickly afterwards, and I found myself very quickly peeled out of my clothes -- not that that means much, as I was just wearing my dress and my undies. I shrugged inwardly, and followed his example in getting him naked as well. Doing away with the bullshit works just fine for me, really. But again, I couldn't help but think how lucky this boy was to have found me, rather than a less sexually liberated girl. And, as previously mentioned, he was lucky that I wanted him. One man in the past has found himself forcefully thrown against my windowsill as a reward for unwanted advances.
Once on the bed, he started to finger me, apparently impressed with how slick and wet I already was. When he tried to rub my clitoris a little too directly ("Look at me, I know where the clitoris is, I deserve a prize!"), I politely told him to ease up.
Me: You don't need to rub my clitoris that directly.
Him: Bit sensitive, is it?
Me: (drily) Well, yeah, newsflash, all girls tend to have a sensitive clitoris.
Here's hoping that he will remember that with the next girl in his bed. He did take my words to heart, anyway, and I amused myself stroking his hard cock. He was a good size for me, just slightly above average, which was nice. I pulled his undies off him, and took him in both my hands, alternating between stroking both of them along his shaft, and stroking him with one while stroking his perineum with the other. I love the way when you do that, and the cock in question twitches, you can feel the way it's all connected. Beautiful. And he had a nice, sensitive one, which responded to me trailing my fingers over it as I gripped the base. Nice.
But I didn't feel like dragging out the somewhat limited foreplay. He did suck my nipples a few times, which was all well and good, but frankly, I just wanted him to fuck me. So, with his cock in my hand, and his fingers still plunged into my pussy, I slightly teasingly asked him if he planned to use that anytime soon. He took his cue and put on a condom, then got between my legs and slid his cock inside me. I groaned loudly and threw my head back: I really am one for the cock, there's no denying it. Fingers and tongues are all very nice, but in the end, it's a cock that will get me hot and bothered. He seemed to be enjoying himself, too: "God, you're good," he whispered as he thrust into me. I snorted inwardly at how easily pleased he was, considering that I was really just lying there like a starfish, being passive. I'm still sort of programmed to prefer riding, though it hasn't really worked too well with recent lovers, I have found. Besides, this one seemed perfectly happy where we was, and really, so was I. I was enjoying such a nice slick fuck, really.
As I came close to coming, I clarified how much noise I was allowed to make. As suspected, I had to keep reasonably quiet. I had to snort inwardly again when he said that he was enjoying the noise, as the gasps and occasional quiet groans I was giving were really only the very tip of the iceberg for me. But I behaved, and kept relatively quiet as I came. He slowed down for a moment, and had a moment of waxing lyrical about my eyes. They're quite a nice pair, sure. So I locked gazes with him squarely, and told him to take a good look, then. It seemed to satisfy him in that department, and I could let my eyes slide shut again as he continued to fuck me.
Him: Are you close to coming?
Me: (a bit drily) I already have once, actually.
Him: I'm so close to coming, it's dangerous.
Me: Go for it, it'll set me off either way.
So he sped up and thrust to his little heart's content, and came within a few moments. My hips rose to meet him as I came in response, my pussy clenching tightly around his cock. I had two definite peaks there, after which he pulled out. I still had my twitching and gasping aftershocks for a minute or so before I came down myself.
As soon as I was done, I decided to retrieve my abandoned teacup. He decided to be chivalrous and get it for me, which I thought was kind of cute. I still got up though, to have my post-shag piss... UTIs make me sad, after all. We then lay down together for a bit, me occasionally sitting up to take a swig of my lukewarm tea. We didn't exactly cuddle, but we lay quite close to each other, and he held both my hands. I do wonder how long this guy had gone without before I popped up like that. He certainly was one for the absolute basics, and doesn't seem to be the one-night-stand type, even if our courtship was rather brisk... an hour after we had met up at the pub, we had already finished shagging. The rest was just as brisk: he had to get up very early for work, and it was getting late, so he drove me back to where I had parked my car, and we said our farewells, parting with a quick snog. The whole thing had taken one and a half hours. He apologised profusely for being so rude and kicking me out, but he works in a place where it is actually essential to be alert, otherwise bad badness happens. I shrugged goodnaturedly and told him that was fine. It's not like I had any doubts that he liked me -- I can count at least five times throughout our quick date that he had waxed lyrical about how beautiful and all-round great I am, and he said he'd definitely love to catch up again.
I drove home mildly amused, although also still horny. Three orgasms is nowhere near enough to exhaust me, after all. But I do think I'll be going back for seconds. I suppose the tone of this entry does sort of convey the aloofness I maintained throughout tonight, but I did still enjoy myself, and it's been a while since I've encountered a penis roughly in the right dimensions for me. Don't get me wrong, I love cocks in all shapes and sizes, but I find them perfect around the six, seven inch mark. That's the kind of cock that gives me maximum stimulation without getting uncomfortable.
Plus, I do want to try riding this boy, and widen his sexual repertoire a bit. But I suppose that's just the reaction I get when it is blatantly obvious that I'm the more experienced one.
There is a sweetish scent clinging to my skin. It's a bit too synthetic-smelling to be his body scent -- in fact, I didn't notice much of that at all. I'm guessing it must be his deodorant or something.
Things started to happen very quickly, actually. We were sitting on the couch with our mugs of tea, chatting, and before I knew it, he had scooted closer to me, draped one arm around my shoulders, and as I leaned forward to put my mug of tea on the coffee table, found his mouth against the side of my neck. Damn, I thought, good thing for him that I want to fuck him, or he'd be hurting in all kinds of ways right now. I turned to kiss him, and trailed my fingers down his chest as he carressed my breasts. My fingers encountered wiry chest hair as I ran my hand under his shirt and let my fingertips graze over his nipple.
We moved up to the bedroom very quickly afterwards, and I found myself very quickly peeled out of my clothes -- not that that means much, as I was just wearing my dress and my undies. I shrugged inwardly, and followed his example in getting him naked as well. Doing away with the bullshit works just fine for me, really. But again, I couldn't help but think how lucky this boy was to have found me, rather than a less sexually liberated girl. And, as previously mentioned, he was lucky that I wanted him. One man in the past has found himself forcefully thrown against my windowsill as a reward for unwanted advances.
Once on the bed, he started to finger me, apparently impressed with how slick and wet I already was. When he tried to rub my clitoris a little too directly ("Look at me, I know where the clitoris is, I deserve a prize!"), I politely told him to ease up.
Me: You don't need to rub my clitoris that directly.
Him: Bit sensitive, is it?
Me: (drily) Well, yeah, newsflash, all girls tend to have a sensitive clitoris.
Here's hoping that he will remember that with the next girl in his bed. He did take my words to heart, anyway, and I amused myself stroking his hard cock. He was a good size for me, just slightly above average, which was nice. I pulled his undies off him, and took him in both my hands, alternating between stroking both of them along his shaft, and stroking him with one while stroking his perineum with the other. I love the way when you do that, and the cock in question twitches, you can feel the way it's all connected. Beautiful. And he had a nice, sensitive one, which responded to me trailing my fingers over it as I gripped the base. Nice.
But I didn't feel like dragging out the somewhat limited foreplay. He did suck my nipples a few times, which was all well and good, but frankly, I just wanted him to fuck me. So, with his cock in my hand, and his fingers still plunged into my pussy, I slightly teasingly asked him if he planned to use that anytime soon. He took his cue and put on a condom, then got between my legs and slid his cock inside me. I groaned loudly and threw my head back: I really am one for the cock, there's no denying it. Fingers and tongues are all very nice, but in the end, it's a cock that will get me hot and bothered. He seemed to be enjoying himself, too: "God, you're good," he whispered as he thrust into me. I snorted inwardly at how easily pleased he was, considering that I was really just lying there like a starfish, being passive. I'm still sort of programmed to prefer riding, though it hasn't really worked too well with recent lovers, I have found. Besides, this one seemed perfectly happy where we was, and really, so was I. I was enjoying such a nice slick fuck, really.
As I came close to coming, I clarified how much noise I was allowed to make. As suspected, I had to keep reasonably quiet. I had to snort inwardly again when he said that he was enjoying the noise, as the gasps and occasional quiet groans I was giving were really only the very tip of the iceberg for me. But I behaved, and kept relatively quiet as I came. He slowed down for a moment, and had a moment of waxing lyrical about my eyes. They're quite a nice pair, sure. So I locked gazes with him squarely, and told him to take a good look, then. It seemed to satisfy him in that department, and I could let my eyes slide shut again as he continued to fuck me.
Him: Are you close to coming?
Me: (a bit drily) I already have once, actually.
Him: I'm so close to coming, it's dangerous.
Me: Go for it, it'll set me off either way.
So he sped up and thrust to his little heart's content, and came within a few moments. My hips rose to meet him as I came in response, my pussy clenching tightly around his cock. I had two definite peaks there, after which he pulled out. I still had my twitching and gasping aftershocks for a minute or so before I came down myself.
As soon as I was done, I decided to retrieve my abandoned teacup. He decided to be chivalrous and get it for me, which I thought was kind of cute. I still got up though, to have my post-shag piss... UTIs make me sad, after all. We then lay down together for a bit, me occasionally sitting up to take a swig of my lukewarm tea. We didn't exactly cuddle, but we lay quite close to each other, and he held both my hands. I do wonder how long this guy had gone without before I popped up like that. He certainly was one for the absolute basics, and doesn't seem to be the one-night-stand type, even if our courtship was rather brisk... an hour after we had met up at the pub, we had already finished shagging. The rest was just as brisk: he had to get up very early for work, and it was getting late, so he drove me back to where I had parked my car, and we said our farewells, parting with a quick snog. The whole thing had taken one and a half hours. He apologised profusely for being so rude and kicking me out, but he works in a place where it is actually essential to be alert, otherwise bad badness happens. I shrugged goodnaturedly and told him that was fine. It's not like I had any doubts that he liked me -- I can count at least five times throughout our quick date that he had waxed lyrical about how beautiful and all-round great I am, and he said he'd definitely love to catch up again.
I drove home mildly amused, although also still horny. Three orgasms is nowhere near enough to exhaust me, after all. But I do think I'll be going back for seconds. I suppose the tone of this entry does sort of convey the aloofness I maintained throughout tonight, but I did still enjoy myself, and it's been a while since I've encountered a penis roughly in the right dimensions for me. Don't get me wrong, I love cocks in all shapes and sizes, but I find them perfect around the six, seven inch mark. That's the kind of cock that gives me maximum stimulation without getting uncomfortable.
Plus, I do want to try riding this boy, and widen his sexual repertoire a bit. But I suppose that's just the reaction I get when it is blatantly obvious that I'm the more experienced one.
There is a sweetish scent clinging to my skin. It's a bit too synthetic-smelling to be his body scent -- in fact, I didn't notice much of that at all. I'm guessing it must be his deodorant or something.
15 January, 2008
Same same?
Today, I spent a little time browsing around a bookshop. Invariably, I ended up in the sex section... I just can't resist its siren call! Among the various things there, I found The One-Hour Orgasm: How To Learn The Amazing Venus Butterfly Technique. I had a bit of a flick through it, trying to decide whether it would be worth buying or not. One thing in its favour was that it didn't seem to be crammed with the spiritual approach that a lot of tantra books have. But, while I was intrigued, I found myself a little bit dubious about this particular book. Not that I don't believe a one-hour orgasm is possible -- I have every faith that it is, considering that I have only dabbled, and still managed to keep my beloved coming for twenty minutes straight. But I think there was something I didn't quite like about the tone the book was written in... it was probably angled at people with unsatisfying sex lives, which I certainly don't have. I just believe you can always strive for more.
I also couldn't help but wonder how different this book is to ESO : How You and Your Lover Can Give Each Other Hours of Extended Sexual Orgasm. The One-Hour Orgasm seems to be a little newer. I have little basis for this, because I didn't check its publishing date, but ESO was first published in 1983. What I assume to be the original reference is more recent than that: 1986.
In any case, I didn't buy the book, but it still is sort of tempting. It would be nice to find out beforehand how much new material it has though. At the end of the day, when you read books like that, you have to accept though that nobody is ever completely right. And you have to decide for yourself which parts are spot on, and which are a bit more dubious.
I also couldn't help but wonder how different this book is to ESO : How You and Your Lover Can Give Each Other Hours of Extended Sexual Orgasm. The One-Hour Orgasm seems to be a little newer. I have little basis for this, because I didn't check its publishing date, but ESO was first published in 1983. What I assume to be the original reference is more recent than that: 1986.
In any case, I didn't buy the book, but it still is sort of tempting. It would be nice to find out beforehand how much new material it has though. At the end of the day, when you read books like that, you have to accept though that nobody is ever completely right. And you have to decide for yourself which parts are spot on, and which are a bit more dubious.
Sexpectations...
Yesterday's orgasm count: three. A little less pathetic.
I'm looking forward to my date tonight. It might be a little bit presumptuous of me to be so filled with sexpectation, but it's been almost two weeks, and that is usually the point at which I get really antsy. I've certainly been having a lot of thoughts of cock in the last few days.
Not that men give a flying fuck, but I've even shaved my legs. Say what you like, it's a sexy feeling for my skin to be so smooth... it feels almost a little disconcerting to be wearing pants when you're not used to having smooth legs. Tonight, I plan to be strutting around in a dress I have had many good times with... it has been ripped off me in many a moment of passion, so maybe it will bring me luck. Fuck luck. Heh heh.
I'm looking forward to my date tonight. It might be a little bit presumptuous of me to be so filled with sexpectation, but it's been almost two weeks, and that is usually the point at which I get really antsy. I've certainly been having a lot of thoughts of cock in the last few days.
Not that men give a flying fuck, but I've even shaved my legs. Say what you like, it's a sexy feeling for my skin to be so smooth... it feels almost a little disconcerting to be wearing pants when you're not used to having smooth legs. Tonight, I plan to be strutting around in a dress I have had many good times with... it has been ripped off me in many a moment of passion, so maybe it will bring me luck. Fuck luck. Heh heh.
14 January, 2008
Self-confidence = libido?
Yesterday's orgasm count: One. One! Pathetic. And yes, self-inflicted.
Today has been uninteresting. Though I did get a call from the more interesting of the two fellows I made contact with yesterday. This pleases me. He seems quite nice, actually. We have agreed to meet up tomorrow evening, which should be pleasant enough.
As for the other fellow: he is starting to get on my nerves right royally. Pushy bugger. I think I might tell him to get lost. Call me old-fashioned, but I do not think it to be particularly polite or respectful to first ask for a threesome upon hearing I have a female housemate, and then ask for anal, before having even met me in the flesh. Fuckhead. I really don't appreciate people who try to push comfort zones so early on, and this one obviously just looked at my photos and my stats, without reading what I had to say for myself.
In a slightly different vein, I found myself having a conversation with my friend Zac while we were waiting for the bus. It had started with him belting out the various whimsical little pop songs he writes, and then moving to a more serious one, which he had written for a female friend of his whose boyfriend beats her.
Me: In that situation, I'd beat him right back.
Him: Yeah, but you've got self-confidence.
Me: ...true. Sigh. When you get right down to it, very few women seem to have self-confidence. Or enjoy sex, for that matter.
Him: Yep.
Me: I wonder if the two are related...
Him: Shrugs Maybe.
Me: I don't know, men like that just make my blood boil. The kind of situation that would make the stereotypical girl cringe away and feel intimidated, would just fill me with rage and make me roar.
Him: Nods Yeah, guys like that really shit me, too.
It also got me thinking once again what a frighteningly large number of people in my acquaintance have been sexually abused in some way, shape or form. And I'm not talking exclusively about women, either. It makes me realise once again how damn lucky I have been, and how sheltered. And I find myself wondering, how did I stay safe? I'm starting to think that my mum going through her self-defense course phase when I was ten has served to vaccinate me as much as is possible. Back when I was the punching bag for the boys in the schoolyard, I had nowhere near the self-confidence I have now. Mum told me that all the women in her self-defence course were scared little mice in the beginning. When the instructor told them to yell, none of them had the guts to do even that. Not surprising: it breaks social norms, which I suspect women are less willing to do. After the course, mum told me that if ever I got into that kind of situation, I should never be afraid to scream, raise a fuss, and draw attention to the situation, as that is precisely what molestors, rapists, and attackers fear most. Back then, it seemed such a ridiculous thing to do, with me being the timid little girl I was.
Even my motivation to take up Karate in order to defend myself has its roots with mum, when I really think about it. She actually would have joined me, if her permanently injured elbows could have supported it. As it was, she watched with admiration, which was probably the best motivation I could get. And the result of learning a martial art was that I actually became less aggressive and more relaxed. And yet, the men who are often accused of being disrespectful to women just don't try anything with me. The result is, actually, that I have started to view men with rose-tinted glasses, and I forget that there is a breed of man out there that I would label "scumbag". I am only reminded of their existence when I see my friends fall victim to them, or when I talk to one online, because text on a screen does not convey that demeanor of mine, which seems to act as such a strong deterrent.
I suppose it's no wonder I attract Nice Guys(TM): they probably feel the least threatened by me. It makes me think, maybe when something doesn't work out between a Nice Guy and myself, I should refer him to one of my abused friends. Then again, a lot of said abused friends probably wouldn't be attracted to them, considering how they seem to have their wires crossed.
Sometimes I do wonder though: how many women don't seem to enjoy sex simply because they lack the self-confidence? How often is sex dampened by feelings of shame, self-deprecation, and inadequacy? I mean, how is a girl going to enjoy sex if she is worrying about her appearance, or doesn't feel strong and capable? How can she enjoy it if she doesn't love herself? I have frequently been accused of being a narcissist, and perhaps there is some truth in that; I am, after all, a spoiled brat. But such statements seem to be provoked by something as benign as me catching sight of myself in the mirror and saying to myself, "My hair looks good today". Frankly, until someone self-confident calls me a narcissist, I'd be tempted to disregard it. To someone with no self-confidence, someone who does have that sort of confidence probably does look like a flaming narcissist.
It brings to mind the lyrics of I touch myself, by the Divinyls:
I love myself,
I want you to love me...
I think they had it right.
Come to think of it, the pushy bloke doesn't deserve a chance with me. He has struck out. Cockrag. But it makes me all the more pleased that I have heard from the other one, who really does seem nice.
Today has been uninteresting. Though I did get a call from the more interesting of the two fellows I made contact with yesterday. This pleases me. He seems quite nice, actually. We have agreed to meet up tomorrow evening, which should be pleasant enough.
As for the other fellow: he is starting to get on my nerves right royally. Pushy bugger. I think I might tell him to get lost. Call me old-fashioned, but I do not think it to be particularly polite or respectful to first ask for a threesome upon hearing I have a female housemate, and then ask for anal, before having even met me in the flesh. Fuckhead. I really don't appreciate people who try to push comfort zones so early on, and this one obviously just looked at my photos and my stats, without reading what I had to say for myself.
In a slightly different vein, I found myself having a conversation with my friend Zac while we were waiting for the bus. It had started with him belting out the various whimsical little pop songs he writes, and then moving to a more serious one, which he had written for a female friend of his whose boyfriend beats her.
Me: In that situation, I'd beat him right back.
Him: Yeah, but you've got self-confidence.
Me: ...true. Sigh. When you get right down to it, very few women seem to have self-confidence. Or enjoy sex, for that matter.
Him: Yep.
Me: I wonder if the two are related...
Him: Shrugs Maybe.
Me: I don't know, men like that just make my blood boil. The kind of situation that would make the stereotypical girl cringe away and feel intimidated, would just fill me with rage and make me roar.
Him: Nods Yeah, guys like that really shit me, too.
It also got me thinking once again what a frighteningly large number of people in my acquaintance have been sexually abused in some way, shape or form. And I'm not talking exclusively about women, either. It makes me realise once again how damn lucky I have been, and how sheltered. And I find myself wondering, how did I stay safe? I'm starting to think that my mum going through her self-defense course phase when I was ten has served to vaccinate me as much as is possible. Back when I was the punching bag for the boys in the schoolyard, I had nowhere near the self-confidence I have now. Mum told me that all the women in her self-defence course were scared little mice in the beginning. When the instructor told them to yell, none of them had the guts to do even that. Not surprising: it breaks social norms, which I suspect women are less willing to do. After the course, mum told me that if ever I got into that kind of situation, I should never be afraid to scream, raise a fuss, and draw attention to the situation, as that is precisely what molestors, rapists, and attackers fear most. Back then, it seemed such a ridiculous thing to do, with me being the timid little girl I was.
Even my motivation to take up Karate in order to defend myself has its roots with mum, when I really think about it. She actually would have joined me, if her permanently injured elbows could have supported it. As it was, she watched with admiration, which was probably the best motivation I could get. And the result of learning a martial art was that I actually became less aggressive and more relaxed. And yet, the men who are often accused of being disrespectful to women just don't try anything with me. The result is, actually, that I have started to view men with rose-tinted glasses, and I forget that there is a breed of man out there that I would label "scumbag". I am only reminded of their existence when I see my friends fall victim to them, or when I talk to one online, because text on a screen does not convey that demeanor of mine, which seems to act as such a strong deterrent.
I suppose it's no wonder I attract Nice Guys(TM): they probably feel the least threatened by me. It makes me think, maybe when something doesn't work out between a Nice Guy and myself, I should refer him to one of my abused friends. Then again, a lot of said abused friends probably wouldn't be attracted to them, considering how they seem to have their wires crossed.
Sometimes I do wonder though: how many women don't seem to enjoy sex simply because they lack the self-confidence? How often is sex dampened by feelings of shame, self-deprecation, and inadequacy? I mean, how is a girl going to enjoy sex if she is worrying about her appearance, or doesn't feel strong and capable? How can she enjoy it if she doesn't love herself? I have frequently been accused of being a narcissist, and perhaps there is some truth in that; I am, after all, a spoiled brat. But such statements seem to be provoked by something as benign as me catching sight of myself in the mirror and saying to myself, "My hair looks good today". Frankly, until someone self-confident calls me a narcissist, I'd be tempted to disregard it. To someone with no self-confidence, someone who does have that sort of confidence probably does look like a flaming narcissist.
It brings to mind the lyrics of I touch myself, by the Divinyls:
I love myself,
I want you to love me...
I think they had it right.
Come to think of it, the pushy bloke doesn't deserve a chance with me. He has struck out. Cockrag. But it makes me all the more pleased that I have heard from the other one, who really does seem nice.
Some failures, and the memories they bring back.
Yesterday's orgasm count: five. Once again, all self-inflicted.
I spent some time online today, poking at an adult personals site which I have been visiting on and off over the last few years... it's always a matter of fishing the gems out of the rubbish, I have found. Eventually, you get sick of the rubbish, and stay away for a while, but eventually, the desire for the gems (or should I be saying, "family jewels"?) sends you back.
I did come across a reasonably interesting fellow, with whom I hope to meet up sometime. There was also another, who was more pretty than intelligent, and I suspect my actions were driven by my pussy. We ended up chatting for a bit, and making a tentative time to meet up later on tonight, after I was finished with a prior engagement I had. I was having one of those moments when I just wanted to fuck something, and really didn't care about the specifics.
As it was, I met up with a few friends for some drinks, as I had already promised to do, and we spent some time sitting around, having the philosophical conversations people holding glasses of beer tend to have. It was pleasant enough. I also got to meet the Fijian boyfriend of a friend of mine, whom I hit it off with quite nicely. While my friend was off socialising elsewhere, I ended up going for a short walk with him. He was a nice enough fellow, and very pretty in the face, but he was also a smoker, which would have been a deal-breaker for me, even if he weren't in a presumably monogamous relationship. This made me wonder all the more why he seemed to be encouraging a mild sexual tension between us. When he asked to hold my hand on the pretext of stopping me from stumbling, I politely declined. He may have meant it to be quite harmless, but I'm not a stranger to one thing leading to another. In addition to that, I do have a history of breaking up couples simply by being platonic friends with the guy.
I have come to the conclusion that if you ever wanted to break up a couple, the key is to not try to do it. Your continued presence, if there's a spark between you and one member of the couple, is enough to slowly drive a wedge between them, and because you honestly don't want them to break up, they don't blame you, and treat you as a friend, and so you continue to be around, until it all comes tumbling down. You don't have to have done anything remotely sexual for that to happen. All it takes is a little paranoia from the other member of the couple (usually the female), and you get into a catch-22 of the couple fighting, the male confiding in you, and so on. It is for that reason that now, when I see that kind of pattern start to repeat itself, I run like hell. I'd rather sacrifice a new friendship than destroy another relationship. But at the same time, it saddens me how many women seem to feel threatened by my mere presence, on the basis of me being physically attractive.
Back to tonight: eventually, a few of us went on a wild goose chase around town, by the end of it my libido had decided to call it a day, so I gave my prospective shag a call, and we decided to maybe meet some other time. Besides, it's probably not the greatest idea to make such decisions when my pussy is throbbing, and when I've only orgasmed once on that day. I was quite glad to get home. Though the wild goose chase we went on brought us to a place that reminded me of an incident a little over two years ago: I had been on a date with a prospective shag who happened to live in that area. We'd had dinner together at a seafood place, and then sat in the grass together, looking up at the stars. Eventually, we started kissing, but it was getting late, and I had to catch a tram home. Before I left, he remarked that I had such gorgeous kissing lips, he could imagine they would be talented elsewhere. Well, quite.
We met up again some time later, at my place. The sex was unremarkable, and throughout the procedure, he had started to irritate me. I was twenty, he was twenty-six, and thus seemed to have delusions of grandeur over me. This disgusted me, as my regular lover was five years his senior, so this arrogant little cockrag had absolutely no reason to think himself so high and mighty. Every time he called me "sweetie", my hackles went up a little. At the end of it, when he left, I found that I was glad to be rid of him. I also came to the conclusion that he really didn't deserve me, so I deleted his phone number and hoped that he would get a urinary tract infection from our encounter. Not nice, I know, but I'm not always above being a little spiteful. As it was, he messaged me again a few days later, which surprised me: from the way I had read his signals, I had thought he wasn't particularly interested in repeating the experience, either. As it was, I simply ignored him, and he never called me again. The end.
I spent some time online today, poking at an adult personals site which I have been visiting on and off over the last few years... it's always a matter of fishing the gems out of the rubbish, I have found. Eventually, you get sick of the rubbish, and stay away for a while, but eventually, the desire for the gems (or should I be saying, "family jewels"?) sends you back.
I did come across a reasonably interesting fellow, with whom I hope to meet up sometime. There was also another, who was more pretty than intelligent, and I suspect my actions were driven by my pussy. We ended up chatting for a bit, and making a tentative time to meet up later on tonight, after I was finished with a prior engagement I had. I was having one of those moments when I just wanted to fuck something, and really didn't care about the specifics.
As it was, I met up with a few friends for some drinks, as I had already promised to do, and we spent some time sitting around, having the philosophical conversations people holding glasses of beer tend to have. It was pleasant enough. I also got to meet the Fijian boyfriend of a friend of mine, whom I hit it off with quite nicely. While my friend was off socialising elsewhere, I ended up going for a short walk with him. He was a nice enough fellow, and very pretty in the face, but he was also a smoker, which would have been a deal-breaker for me, even if he weren't in a presumably monogamous relationship. This made me wonder all the more why he seemed to be encouraging a mild sexual tension between us. When he asked to hold my hand on the pretext of stopping me from stumbling, I politely declined. He may have meant it to be quite harmless, but I'm not a stranger to one thing leading to another. In addition to that, I do have a history of breaking up couples simply by being platonic friends with the guy.
I have come to the conclusion that if you ever wanted to break up a couple, the key is to not try to do it. Your continued presence, if there's a spark between you and one member of the couple, is enough to slowly drive a wedge between them, and because you honestly don't want them to break up, they don't blame you, and treat you as a friend, and so you continue to be around, until it all comes tumbling down. You don't have to have done anything remotely sexual for that to happen. All it takes is a little paranoia from the other member of the couple (usually the female), and you get into a catch-22 of the couple fighting, the male confiding in you, and so on. It is for that reason that now, when I see that kind of pattern start to repeat itself, I run like hell. I'd rather sacrifice a new friendship than destroy another relationship. But at the same time, it saddens me how many women seem to feel threatened by my mere presence, on the basis of me being physically attractive.
Back to tonight: eventually, a few of us went on a wild goose chase around town, by the end of it my libido had decided to call it a day, so I gave my prospective shag a call, and we decided to maybe meet some other time. Besides, it's probably not the greatest idea to make such decisions when my pussy is throbbing, and when I've only orgasmed once on that day. I was quite glad to get home. Though the wild goose chase we went on brought us to a place that reminded me of an incident a little over two years ago: I had been on a date with a prospective shag who happened to live in that area. We'd had dinner together at a seafood place, and then sat in the grass together, looking up at the stars. Eventually, we started kissing, but it was getting late, and I had to catch a tram home. Before I left, he remarked that I had such gorgeous kissing lips, he could imagine they would be talented elsewhere. Well, quite.
We met up again some time later, at my place. The sex was unremarkable, and throughout the procedure, he had started to irritate me. I was twenty, he was twenty-six, and thus seemed to have delusions of grandeur over me. This disgusted me, as my regular lover was five years his senior, so this arrogant little cockrag had absolutely no reason to think himself so high and mighty. Every time he called me "sweetie", my hackles went up a little. At the end of it, when he left, I found that I was glad to be rid of him. I also came to the conclusion that he really didn't deserve me, so I deleted his phone number and hoped that he would get a urinary tract infection from our encounter. Not nice, I know, but I'm not always above being a little spiteful. As it was, he messaged me again a few days later, which surprised me: from the way I had read his signals, I had thought he wasn't particularly interested in repeating the experience, either. As it was, I simply ignored him, and he never called me again. The end.
12 January, 2008
Phallic thoughts and memories, in a possibly incoherent order.
Yesterday's orgasm count: two, self-inflicted.
Which I suppose explains why I am so damn fixated today. I think I have been thinking of penises pretty much all day, starting off with humorous contexts, and eventually leading to me imagining a nice hard cock in my hands. My favourite thing about penises has to be how they respond to my touch.
While it is relatively rare for me to give handjobs and seeing them through to completion, I love the way a cock feels in my hand moments before orgasm, when I can feel it ready to pump out the cum, the way the it flexes and pulses in my hand. I suppose in a way, it explains why Paul recently told me I was great with my hands: I do actually love touching a cock, and enthusiasm goes a long way, especially for girls. And when it comes to feeling exactly what stage a cock is at, what it's up to, hands definitely win, er, hands down.
That being said though, you can feel the same thing whilst giving head.
I'll admit it: like probably the vast majority of women, I started out not that keen on it. The first cock I ever sucked was a rather large one, which probably wasn't the best thing for an entry-level student, so to speak. I knelt there with this big cock in my mouth, wondering how the hell it was physically possible to suck on something that big, when you didn't have the room to spare in your mouth (I guess that's an acquired skill, because no matter what the size, I have no problem with that now). Luckily, I guess I was always creative-minded, because even when I was a beginner, my technique was somewhat praised. It just took me a while to gain some real confidence -- every time I found myself with a cock at mouth level, I felt like I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
So what changed my mind? Initiative, I suppose. Roughly six months after I had lost my virginity, I found myself with my third lover, who would enthusiastically eat me out, and I couldn't help but think that it was common courtesy to return the favour.* But I still found myself lacking confidence in that particular art. So how did I learn my technique? Well, Google is your friend. I ended up searching for "blowjob techniques", or something like that, and came across a website in which a gay man explained how to give a good blowjob. Perfect, I thought, for who would know better than one who both gives and receives it?**
What I read changed my perception on the art of fellatio. Before that, I had approached it as a chore. This man, whoever he was, offered a completely different viewpoint: To give fellatio is intimate. It's loving. If you're going to be sucking a cock, take the time to explore it, get to know it. That certainly worked for me; the next time I sucked my boyfriend's cock, I no longer did it with the objective of making him happy enough so that I could stop, but rather, I did it with a new curiosity, really taking in how he felt inside my mouth. My attitude had changed completely. And add to that some of the specific techniques I had learned***, I got to work with great gusto. I had of course practised on my fingers beforehand, but what are they in comparison to an eager cock?
The second time I tried out my new skills, I was rewarded with the first time a guy came in my mouth. I had been sucking him, playing around, exploring, and vaguely thinking that I was sort of starting to enjoy this more, and suddenly realised he was on the verge of coming. And in my mind, I coaxed him, "Come on, baby, come for me!". And come he did. And I, after swallowing the load, wondered what the big deal was about the taste of semen. Sure, it doesn't exactly taste of fine wine, but it's not sulphuric acid, either. Sheesh. Of course, I eventually discovered that changes in diet and lifestyle do seem to affect the taste of a person's orgasmic secretions.
In any case, after that incident, I was converted, and have enjoyed giving head ever since. In fact, I really miss giving head, but I do it so very rarely these days. My beloved is the only one who gets the full extent of that privilege, as we are fluid bonded to each other, which, obviously, includes oral sex. And generally, I don't bother giving head to my other suitors, because, let's face it, flavoured condoms taste like shit. Thus, I only do it when I'm truly burning for it, and that tends to require me to like and more or less trust the recipient. As a result, fellatio has become a much more intimate thing for me than actual intercourse.
I suppose one thing which will always come to mind when I think of how much I enjoy giving head is actually one of my casual encounters: this was some time before my beloved and I agreed on fluid bonding, back when our relationship was still casual. I had met this man through a swinger's site, and we quite impulsively decided to meet at a pub. Less than an hour later, we were naked in bed together. One of the things I most fondly remember about him, actually, was how when I had been straddling him on the couch, kissing him deeply, he got up and lifted me in the same movement, my legs around his waist. He carried me up the stairs to his bedroom that way, and lowered me onto the bed. Let me explain: while I may be quite slender, my height still makes me quite heavy, so being carried in such a way is a very rare treat for me indeed.
But back to the events of that night: we got naked very quickly, and I found my pussy practically worshipped by this man. Within moments, I came; and, after having donned a condom, he folded my legs over his shoulders and slid into me. We shagged with a gleeful passion, and he asked whether I'd like to ride him. Gladly, I said, although I found that I really didn't want him to stop. He thrust into me a few more times, then pulled out and rolled over onto his back so I could straddle him. I slid back onto him and rode him slowly, often forcing him to slow down until finally, I allowed him to build proper speed and rode him to climax.
It was after we had spent some time lying next to each other, recovering and swapping amusing sexual anecdotes, that he kissed his way up the insides of my thighs and ate my pussy out again. By the end of that, I was itching to return the favour, so I straddled his legs, and started licking and stroking his cock back into hardness. I then went to work properly, realising how much I had missed giving head (I had already kept it a relatively rare thing back then). I was reminded of how I enjoy it, not for the power that it gives me, but for the feeling of this thing quivering and practically singing out, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" as I stroke it with my tongue. I went slowly, dragging it out, enjoying the slow build-up I was giving him before working towards actually getting him off. I could tell a moment or two before he was going to come, and from then on, made sure to suck him hard through his orgasm, savagely prolonging it. I was rewarded with an exclamation of "Oh God!", which satisfied me that I had done my job well. He took a while to recover from that, and basically wrapped all his limbs around me in what I suspect was a moment of throwing caution to the wind. He had been attentive all along, but in no way affectionate. It was nice to see that some people do have some one-night-stand etiquette.
We actually met up one more time a few weeks afterwards, and had sex, but our second time was quite unremarkable, so in my mind, I still like to treat this one as a one-night-stand, and remember it with great fondness. Some months later, partly spurred on my being reminded of how much I had enjoyed giving head again, I crossed that line with my beloved: we had been lovers for several months, but had never had oral sex, as he was at the time fluid-bonded with someone else, and I respected that. But I guess one day, I decided that I wanted his cock in my mouth, and was happy for it to be a one-sided thing. It was actually in a very random heated moment, near a playground at twilight (yes, the children had gone home!), that I sucked him off for the first time. It was only a very quick and fleeting thing, but in retrospect, it was probably one of the many turning points in our relationship. I got myself tested for any STD's shortly afterwards, and since then have been careful almost to the point of paranoia when it comes to fluid exchange. I sometimes think back to the days before that, and cringe at the risks I took back then. But it seems to be quite normal, which is all the more disturbing, considering what can be transmitted through oral sex alone.
Well, it is probably time for me to wrap up this entry now. I think I have adequately conveyed the extent to which I've been thinking of cock today. On that note, I think it is time for me to go and have a wank. I did have a very nice one earlier today though... I love how dripping wet I get with such slow stimulation. Though my poor vibrator is taking a bashing -- I think I might have to buy a AA battery charger!
*That being said though, I hate it when a man will eat me out because he feels he should, or because he wants me to suck him off. If you don't enjoy what you're doing in the sack, what's the point? My only excuse for having had that same attitude back then was that I was only eighteen.
**That perception was partly fuelled by the fact that a few months prior to that, a male friend of mine had flippantly said that women should have penises for a few years early in life, just so they learn how to give decent blowjobs. Apparently that same friend of mine has been guilty of saying, whilst receiving a blowjob from a girl, "Nup. You're crap. Stop it."
***The one that impressed me the most, and which I still find to be a keeper these days, is the bob and twist: as you do the classic bobbing up and down motion associated with a blowjob, you twist your head from side to side, thus allowing your tongue to swirl around your lover's cock... trust me, he'll thank you for it!
Which I suppose explains why I am so damn fixated today. I think I have been thinking of penises pretty much all day, starting off with humorous contexts, and eventually leading to me imagining a nice hard cock in my hands. My favourite thing about penises has to be how they respond to my touch.
While it is relatively rare for me to give handjobs and seeing them through to completion, I love the way a cock feels in my hand moments before orgasm, when I can feel it ready to pump out the cum, the way the it flexes and pulses in my hand. I suppose in a way, it explains why Paul recently told me I was great with my hands: I do actually love touching a cock, and enthusiasm goes a long way, especially for girls. And when it comes to feeling exactly what stage a cock is at, what it's up to, hands definitely win, er, hands down.
That being said though, you can feel the same thing whilst giving head.
I'll admit it: like probably the vast majority of women, I started out not that keen on it. The first cock I ever sucked was a rather large one, which probably wasn't the best thing for an entry-level student, so to speak. I knelt there with this big cock in my mouth, wondering how the hell it was physically possible to suck on something that big, when you didn't have the room to spare in your mouth (I guess that's an acquired skill, because no matter what the size, I have no problem with that now). Luckily, I guess I was always creative-minded, because even when I was a beginner, my technique was somewhat praised. It just took me a while to gain some real confidence -- every time I found myself with a cock at mouth level, I felt like I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
So what changed my mind? Initiative, I suppose. Roughly six months after I had lost my virginity, I found myself with my third lover, who would enthusiastically eat me out, and I couldn't help but think that it was common courtesy to return the favour.* But I still found myself lacking confidence in that particular art. So how did I learn my technique? Well, Google is your friend. I ended up searching for "blowjob techniques", or something like that, and came across a website in which a gay man explained how to give a good blowjob. Perfect, I thought, for who would know better than one who both gives and receives it?**
What I read changed my perception on the art of fellatio. Before that, I had approached it as a chore. This man, whoever he was, offered a completely different viewpoint: To give fellatio is intimate. It's loving. If you're going to be sucking a cock, take the time to explore it, get to know it. That certainly worked for me; the next time I sucked my boyfriend's cock, I no longer did it with the objective of making him happy enough so that I could stop, but rather, I did it with a new curiosity, really taking in how he felt inside my mouth. My attitude had changed completely. And add to that some of the specific techniques I had learned***, I got to work with great gusto. I had of course practised on my fingers beforehand, but what are they in comparison to an eager cock?
The second time I tried out my new skills, I was rewarded with the first time a guy came in my mouth. I had been sucking him, playing around, exploring, and vaguely thinking that I was sort of starting to enjoy this more, and suddenly realised he was on the verge of coming. And in my mind, I coaxed him, "Come on, baby, come for me!". And come he did. And I, after swallowing the load, wondered what the big deal was about the taste of semen. Sure, it doesn't exactly taste of fine wine, but it's not sulphuric acid, either. Sheesh. Of course, I eventually discovered that changes in diet and lifestyle do seem to affect the taste of a person's orgasmic secretions.
In any case, after that incident, I was converted, and have enjoyed giving head ever since. In fact, I really miss giving head, but I do it so very rarely these days. My beloved is the only one who gets the full extent of that privilege, as we are fluid bonded to each other, which, obviously, includes oral sex. And generally, I don't bother giving head to my other suitors, because, let's face it, flavoured condoms taste like shit. Thus, I only do it when I'm truly burning for it, and that tends to require me to like and more or less trust the recipient. As a result, fellatio has become a much more intimate thing for me than actual intercourse.
I suppose one thing which will always come to mind when I think of how much I enjoy giving head is actually one of my casual encounters: this was some time before my beloved and I agreed on fluid bonding, back when our relationship was still casual. I had met this man through a swinger's site, and we quite impulsively decided to meet at a pub. Less than an hour later, we were naked in bed together. One of the things I most fondly remember about him, actually, was how when I had been straddling him on the couch, kissing him deeply, he got up and lifted me in the same movement, my legs around his waist. He carried me up the stairs to his bedroom that way, and lowered me onto the bed. Let me explain: while I may be quite slender, my height still makes me quite heavy, so being carried in such a way is a very rare treat for me indeed.
But back to the events of that night: we got naked very quickly, and I found my pussy practically worshipped by this man. Within moments, I came; and, after having donned a condom, he folded my legs over his shoulders and slid into me. We shagged with a gleeful passion, and he asked whether I'd like to ride him. Gladly, I said, although I found that I really didn't want him to stop. He thrust into me a few more times, then pulled out and rolled over onto his back so I could straddle him. I slid back onto him and rode him slowly, often forcing him to slow down until finally, I allowed him to build proper speed and rode him to climax.
It was after we had spent some time lying next to each other, recovering and swapping amusing sexual anecdotes, that he kissed his way up the insides of my thighs and ate my pussy out again. By the end of that, I was itching to return the favour, so I straddled his legs, and started licking and stroking his cock back into hardness. I then went to work properly, realising how much I had missed giving head (I had already kept it a relatively rare thing back then). I was reminded of how I enjoy it, not for the power that it gives me, but for the feeling of this thing quivering and practically singing out, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" as I stroke it with my tongue. I went slowly, dragging it out, enjoying the slow build-up I was giving him before working towards actually getting him off. I could tell a moment or two before he was going to come, and from then on, made sure to suck him hard through his orgasm, savagely prolonging it. I was rewarded with an exclamation of "Oh God!", which satisfied me that I had done my job well. He took a while to recover from that, and basically wrapped all his limbs around me in what I suspect was a moment of throwing caution to the wind. He had been attentive all along, but in no way affectionate. It was nice to see that some people do have some one-night-stand etiquette.
We actually met up one more time a few weeks afterwards, and had sex, but our second time was quite unremarkable, so in my mind, I still like to treat this one as a one-night-stand, and remember it with great fondness. Some months later, partly spurred on my being reminded of how much I had enjoyed giving head again, I crossed that line with my beloved: we had been lovers for several months, but had never had oral sex, as he was at the time fluid-bonded with someone else, and I respected that. But I guess one day, I decided that I wanted his cock in my mouth, and was happy for it to be a one-sided thing. It was actually in a very random heated moment, near a playground at twilight (yes, the children had gone home!), that I sucked him off for the first time. It was only a very quick and fleeting thing, but in retrospect, it was probably one of the many turning points in our relationship. I got myself tested for any STD's shortly afterwards, and since then have been careful almost to the point of paranoia when it comes to fluid exchange. I sometimes think back to the days before that, and cringe at the risks I took back then. But it seems to be quite normal, which is all the more disturbing, considering what can be transmitted through oral sex alone.
Well, it is probably time for me to wrap up this entry now. I think I have adequately conveyed the extent to which I've been thinking of cock today. On that note, I think it is time for me to go and have a wank. I did have a very nice one earlier today though... I love how dripping wet I get with such slow stimulation. Though my poor vibrator is taking a bashing -- I think I might have to buy a AA battery charger!
*That being said though, I hate it when a man will eat me out because he feels he should, or because he wants me to suck him off. If you don't enjoy what you're doing in the sack, what's the point? My only excuse for having had that same attitude back then was that I was only eighteen.
**That perception was partly fuelled by the fact that a few months prior to that, a male friend of mine had flippantly said that women should have penises for a few years early in life, just so they learn how to give decent blowjobs. Apparently that same friend of mine has been guilty of saying, whilst receiving a blowjob from a girl, "Nup. You're crap. Stop it."
***The one that impressed me the most, and which I still find to be a keeper these days, is the bob and twist: as you do the classic bobbing up and down motion associated with a blowjob, you twist your head from side to side, thus allowing your tongue to swirl around your lover's cock... trust me, he'll thank you for it!
11 January, 2008
Yesterday's orgasm count: six. All self-inflicted.
And I must be at an un-horny time in my cycle, because tonight, I could almost take it or leave it, and so far, it's only been two orgasms today.
I suppose it does happen. Just as well that there's no action on for tonight. Not that I'd say no if it were offered to me...
I did have an alternately horny and lovey-dovey chat on the phone with my beloved though. That got me fired up for a bit, but then I got interrupted mid-wank by a phonecall from his mother. Sigh. Oh well. Even I can be served a passion-killer every now and again...
And I must be at an un-horny time in my cycle, because tonight, I could almost take it or leave it, and so far, it's only been two orgasms today.
I suppose it does happen. Just as well that there's no action on for tonight. Not that I'd say no if it were offered to me...
I did have an alternately horny and lovey-dovey chat on the phone with my beloved though. That got me fired up for a bit, but then I got interrupted mid-wank by a phonecall from his mother. Sigh. Oh well. Even I can be served a passion-killer every now and again...
10 January, 2008
Odds and ends
Yesterday's orgasm count: eight. All self-inflicted. Why yes, it was a very horny day, how did you guess?
Today was shaping up to be similar, but just when I was about to go and rub myself into oblivion, again, I found some teenager starting an online conversation with me. Said teenager was a boy with an extra X chromosome, giving him a definitely female appearance. Huh. I found myself taking it with a grain of salt at the beginning, figuring it might just be someone playing a joke on me, but I sort of came to the conclusion that he was probably legit. It was an interesting conversation. When he told me about having recently been sexually abused by a group of guys though, I felt my blood boil and my horniness evaporate. We really do have a long way to go as a society, it seems. I mean, obviously, rape is not solely focussed on the unusual, but it still pissed me off like crazy.
When our conversation turned to more normal things, my libido returned, and I found myself getting pestered and propositioned online by a young man I had met for coffee a few weeks back. And damn it, I was tempted, even though I wasn't really that physically attracted to him. The thing that stopped me from taking him up on his offer, in the end, was an upset stomach. Looks like the tahini was a little bit off...
I also had a chance to talk to Gabe today. I had started to think that maybe he was avoiding me, but apparently he was just busy, and adament that he did not want me to leave him alone. Well, that's good to know. :) Not that we're likely to get much time to catch up anytime soon, but still, it's nice to know I'm appreciated.
I am counting the days until my beloved and I are reunited. Not long now!
Today was shaping up to be similar, but just when I was about to go and rub myself into oblivion, again, I found some teenager starting an online conversation with me. Said teenager was a boy with an extra X chromosome, giving him a definitely female appearance. Huh. I found myself taking it with a grain of salt at the beginning, figuring it might just be someone playing a joke on me, but I sort of came to the conclusion that he was probably legit. It was an interesting conversation. When he told me about having recently been sexually abused by a group of guys though, I felt my blood boil and my horniness evaporate. We really do have a long way to go as a society, it seems. I mean, obviously, rape is not solely focussed on the unusual, but it still pissed me off like crazy.
When our conversation turned to more normal things, my libido returned, and I found myself getting pestered and propositioned online by a young man I had met for coffee a few weeks back. And damn it, I was tempted, even though I wasn't really that physically attracted to him. The thing that stopped me from taking him up on his offer, in the end, was an upset stomach. Looks like the tahini was a little bit off...
I also had a chance to talk to Gabe today. I had started to think that maybe he was avoiding me, but apparently he was just busy, and adament that he did not want me to leave him alone. Well, that's good to know. :) Not that we're likely to get much time to catch up anytime soon, but still, it's nice to know I'm appreciated.
I am counting the days until my beloved and I are reunited. Not long now!
09 January, 2008
Fight fucking club
Yesterday's orgasm count: two. Very poor. That would also explain why when I wanked this morning, my juices drenched my hand, and I wanked to three intense orgasms right on the spot. I think I'm getting closer to this whole squirting thing, too, because the juice that drenched my hand had that strange pearly quality that I seem to remember ye olde proper girl cum having.
I'm half-way through watching Fight Club at the moment. It's been a little while since I last saw it. Ever notice when you watch the same movie or read the same book a few years apart, you realise new things about it? It's obvious, of course, but I still had to say it.
For some reason, I find that the whole fighting element of it resounding with me more these days. I think that's because I've been feeling a bit more cathartic lately. And when you add to that the noisy Tyler and Marla sex scenes, it just makes me want to fight fuck someone. I want the kind of fuck where you snarl at each other like animals, literally struggling against each other, nails biting into each other's skin, trying to gain the upper hand.
Actually, I suspect my "fight fuck" desires might be a bit of a manifestation of the "rape fantasy" that is kind of common among women, though few of us will admit to it. Now, before I go on, let me make this perfectly clear: Women do not want to be raped, and if you interpreted my last words in a way that suggested that they did, then you're fucked in the head.
There are plenty of misconceptions about rape, it seems. Some people seem to honestly think that rape occurs because men want the sex, rather than to control and overpower the women. While there probably are some rape cases that fall into the former category, at the end of the day, rape is about power and control, and when control is taken from someone that way, it is obviously profoundly damaging. I have too many isolated little theories to go into right now, and this is not really what I want this post to be about, but I do think that the common "rape fantasy" is actually the desire to lose control, to relinquish it, like any other form of submission. And yeah, there is a certain appeal in a man just wanting you so badly that he just takes you. In the safe little realm of your fantasy, it does manage to be appealing.
I, however, relish more in the power struggle. The truth is, the thought of someone trying to violently take control of me fills me with rage, which, in a horny moment like this, can manifest in that desire to fight fuck; to take on someone who wants to take control of me, to struggle for the upper hand, and end up taking control of him.
Maybe that's why my dominant tendencies generally only surface with men who are generally also dominant, or at least fancy themselves in some sort of position of power over women. I get a certain sadistic delight out of showing them how wrong they are, and putting them in their place.
Though I suppose the Tyler and Marla sex scenes will always strike a chord with me, as it is rare for couples to be so unbridled and noisy. It's rapidly getting old how my lovers are initially shocked at the way I let loose. I do wonder sometimes how many people realise just how much sexual potential they are restraining simply by putting so much effort into being quiet. I quite honestly believe that it should be more socially acceptable to have noisy sex. But maybe that's because I kind of like listening in on people fucking with a gleeful passion...
I'm half-way through watching Fight Club at the moment. It's been a little while since I last saw it. Ever notice when you watch the same movie or read the same book a few years apart, you realise new things about it? It's obvious, of course, but I still had to say it.
For some reason, I find that the whole fighting element of it resounding with me more these days. I think that's because I've been feeling a bit more cathartic lately. And when you add to that the noisy Tyler and Marla sex scenes, it just makes me want to fight fuck someone. I want the kind of fuck where you snarl at each other like animals, literally struggling against each other, nails biting into each other's skin, trying to gain the upper hand.
Actually, I suspect my "fight fuck" desires might be a bit of a manifestation of the "rape fantasy" that is kind of common among women, though few of us will admit to it. Now, before I go on, let me make this perfectly clear: Women do not want to be raped, and if you interpreted my last words in a way that suggested that they did, then you're fucked in the head.
There are plenty of misconceptions about rape, it seems. Some people seem to honestly think that rape occurs because men want the sex, rather than to control and overpower the women. While there probably are some rape cases that fall into the former category, at the end of the day, rape is about power and control, and when control is taken from someone that way, it is obviously profoundly damaging. I have too many isolated little theories to go into right now, and this is not really what I want this post to be about, but I do think that the common "rape fantasy" is actually the desire to lose control, to relinquish it, like any other form of submission. And yeah, there is a certain appeal in a man just wanting you so badly that he just takes you. In the safe little realm of your fantasy, it does manage to be appealing.
I, however, relish more in the power struggle. The truth is, the thought of someone trying to violently take control of me fills me with rage, which, in a horny moment like this, can manifest in that desire to fight fuck; to take on someone who wants to take control of me, to struggle for the upper hand, and end up taking control of him.
Maybe that's why my dominant tendencies generally only surface with men who are generally also dominant, or at least fancy themselves in some sort of position of power over women. I get a certain sadistic delight out of showing them how wrong they are, and putting them in their place.
Though I suppose the Tyler and Marla sex scenes will always strike a chord with me, as it is rare for couples to be so unbridled and noisy. It's rapidly getting old how my lovers are initially shocked at the way I let loose. I do wonder sometimes how many people realise just how much sexual potential they are restraining simply by putting so much effort into being quiet. I quite honestly believe that it should be more socially acceptable to have noisy sex. But maybe that's because I kind of like listening in on people fucking with a gleeful passion...
08 January, 2008
Musings on the good, the bad, and the fucking gorgeous.
Yesterday's orgasm count: six. All self-inflicted, none of them really that spectacular.
Today, after having rented two DVDs to watch, I found myself looking at some of the pictures of Brad Pitt in Fight Club. And while I'm not really a fan of Brad Pitt, I do have to admit that Tyler Durden is a sexy bitch. Why? Because he's a dirty, nasty bastard. He is the classic "bad boy" who manages to be so god damn appealing.
That got me thinking about how a lot of women complain about the fact that they attract arseholes, and they can never seem to find a nice guy. I can't help but chuckle at that, because really, I am increasingly coming to believe that women are in fact more attracted to the so-called "arseholes". In fact, as Neil Strauss, author of The Game: Penetrating the Secret society of Pick-Up Artists would probably also point out, in order for a woman to pay any attention to him, many a nice guy would have to emulate the behaviour of the aforementioned "arseholes".
I, however, have found the exact opposite happening to me. More often than not, I seem to end up with the nice guys, those sweet, caring, and all-round wonderful people. Apparently, I'm a little differently wired. I know I have lusted after the occasional bad boy, but it's the nice guy I end up in the sack with, more often than not. Not that I'm complaining, but I can't help wondering why that is. I have a few theories, of course. Having gone through a period of mistrusting boys to the point of not letting them within an 18-inch radius of me, perhaps the bad boys have been permanently ruined for me. It was the good guys I learned to trust enough to let them touch me at all, so I guess it's them I learned to be attracted to.
That, and I don't really have the attention span to stress about the bad boys' horrible deeds, or the fact that they never call or whisper sweet romantic fluff in our ears, and generally don't seem to give a flying fuck about us. Women are generally hard-wired to seek approval, whether it be from men or otherwise. And I'm not saying that I'm not, because to a certain extent, I am. I am still a woman, after all.
But I guess I have learned to "override" that instinct, to a certain extent. Sure, I catch myself at it, but then I get bored with it, and move on to something else within a day or two, instead of angsting all week. And, if the Peases' questionnaire determining how typically male or female you are is to be trusted,
I'm pretty damn close to being a man in my mind, so perhaps I seek approval a little less. I suppose higher testosterone levels would also explain this fixation with sex.
I really shouldn't complain, because nice boys are, well, nice. They do all those nice things, like cuddling you after sex, and treating you the way I assume girls generally like to be treated. They're good to you, and unlikely to toy with your emotions.
But.
There's always a "but", isn't there? The thing is, only few of these "nice guys" (in my experience at least), will "do the nasty" or get "down and dirty" with you, as opposed to the kind of sex that often comes frighteningly close to "making love". Nothing against "making love" -- I know I love it. I can't even articulate how wonderful, how beautiful, how bloody mind-blowing it is to make love to someone you are head over heels in love with. That being said though, there is a time and place for everything. And sometimes, even us girls (well, okay, I'm speaking for myself here) like it nasty. I have recently been indulging quite a bit in a little fantasy of mine, in which one of my casual nice guys stops to kiss me in a dark corner at a pub, slides his hands up my skirt, pulls my g-string aside, unzips his fly, and lifts me onto his cock, fucking me against a wall. Typing this up was enough to make my pussy throb, actually.
But who am I kidding? The chances of this particular young man doing something that risquee are slim to none.
I'm not saying that all nice guys are straight-laced though; hell no. I actually suspect that a whole lot of them are much dirtier than they'll admit. But in my experience, most of the nice guys I have ended up with have not acted on their desires, which I think is a crying shame. It makes me all the more grateful though that my beloved is pretty damn adventurous, and not afraid to get dirty.
But I suspect that this whole thing with being nice and not acting on your desires is basically because the Nice Guy doesn't want to upset the women around him. In other words, he seeks approval from females, just like a woman would. Meanwhile, the bad boy is more likely to take risks, disregard other people's feelings, and ends up getting more variety, albeit probably not a whole lot in terms of long term relationships, which is what the nice guy gets.
It does make evolutionary sense, of course. The nice guy provides the stability for the girl, who procreates with the bad boy, and thus the bad boy's offspring is in fact raised by the nice guy, alongside the nice guy's own offspring. It works, even if it doesn't seem fair. Though I can't quite help but wonder how the nice girls/bad girls fit into this equation. Whom do they end up with? Whose offspring would they bear, if it weren't for birth control? From what I understand, it is the nice girl who gets pursued by the bad boy. Or rather, she seeks approval from the bad boy, and thus ends up with him in her pants, because of her attempts to get him to "settle down". I however, when faced with a situation when a girl would seek approval, just shrug and go back to talking to the nice guy. I suppose there is also this whole business with beinbg a "challenge" to bed, which I'm not. If I want someone, I fuck them, if I don't, I don't. I don't really have that middle-ground of needing to be wheedled and cajoled and enticed into the sack. I have had a few nice guys comment on my apparent lack of "restraint".
Well, at this point, I'm entering sort of fuzzy territory, and trailing off abit, so I'll leave it at that. I was also going to rave on about a fucking gorgeous redhead I saw on the bus today, but I've been blogging for almost two hours now, so I'll leave that for later.
Today, after having rented two DVDs to watch, I found myself looking at some of the pictures of Brad Pitt in Fight Club. And while I'm not really a fan of Brad Pitt, I do have to admit that Tyler Durden is a sexy bitch. Why? Because he's a dirty, nasty bastard. He is the classic "bad boy" who manages to be so god damn appealing.
That got me thinking about how a lot of women complain about the fact that they attract arseholes, and they can never seem to find a nice guy. I can't help but chuckle at that, because really, I am increasingly coming to believe that women are in fact more attracted to the so-called "arseholes". In fact, as Neil Strauss, author of The Game: Penetrating the Secret society of Pick-Up Artists would probably also point out, in order for a woman to pay any attention to him, many a nice guy would have to emulate the behaviour of the aforementioned "arseholes".
I, however, have found the exact opposite happening to me. More often than not, I seem to end up with the nice guys, those sweet, caring, and all-round wonderful people. Apparently, I'm a little differently wired. I know I have lusted after the occasional bad boy, but it's the nice guy I end up in the sack with, more often than not. Not that I'm complaining, but I can't help wondering why that is. I have a few theories, of course. Having gone through a period of mistrusting boys to the point of not letting them within an 18-inch radius of me, perhaps the bad boys have been permanently ruined for me. It was the good guys I learned to trust enough to let them touch me at all, so I guess it's them I learned to be attracted to.
That, and I don't really have the attention span to stress about the bad boys' horrible deeds, or the fact that they never call or whisper sweet romantic fluff in our ears, and generally don't seem to give a flying fuck about us. Women are generally hard-wired to seek approval, whether it be from men or otherwise. And I'm not saying that I'm not, because to a certain extent, I am. I am still a woman, after all.
But I guess I have learned to "override" that instinct, to a certain extent. Sure, I catch myself at it, but then I get bored with it, and move on to something else within a day or two, instead of angsting all week. And, if the Peases' questionnaire determining how typically male or female you are is to be trusted,
I'm pretty damn close to being a man in my mind, so perhaps I seek approval a little less. I suppose higher testosterone levels would also explain this fixation with sex.
I really shouldn't complain, because nice boys are, well, nice. They do all those nice things, like cuddling you after sex, and treating you the way I assume girls generally like to be treated. They're good to you, and unlikely to toy with your emotions.
But.
There's always a "but", isn't there? The thing is, only few of these "nice guys" (in my experience at least), will "do the nasty" or get "down and dirty" with you, as opposed to the kind of sex that often comes frighteningly close to "making love". Nothing against "making love" -- I know I love it. I can't even articulate how wonderful, how beautiful, how bloody mind-blowing it is to make love to someone you are head over heels in love with. That being said though, there is a time and place for everything. And sometimes, even us girls (well, okay, I'm speaking for myself here) like it nasty. I have recently been indulging quite a bit in a little fantasy of mine, in which one of my casual nice guys stops to kiss me in a dark corner at a pub, slides his hands up my skirt, pulls my g-string aside, unzips his fly, and lifts me onto his cock, fucking me against a wall. Typing this up was enough to make my pussy throb, actually.
But who am I kidding? The chances of this particular young man doing something that risquee are slim to none.
I'm not saying that all nice guys are straight-laced though; hell no. I actually suspect that a whole lot of them are much dirtier than they'll admit. But in my experience, most of the nice guys I have ended up with have not acted on their desires, which I think is a crying shame. It makes me all the more grateful though that my beloved is pretty damn adventurous, and not afraid to get dirty.
But I suspect that this whole thing with being nice and not acting on your desires is basically because the Nice Guy doesn't want to upset the women around him. In other words, he seeks approval from females, just like a woman would. Meanwhile, the bad boy is more likely to take risks, disregard other people's feelings, and ends up getting more variety, albeit probably not a whole lot in terms of long term relationships, which is what the nice guy gets.
It does make evolutionary sense, of course. The nice guy provides the stability for the girl, who procreates with the bad boy, and thus the bad boy's offspring is in fact raised by the nice guy, alongside the nice guy's own offspring. It works, even if it doesn't seem fair. Though I can't quite help but wonder how the nice girls/bad girls fit into this equation. Whom do they end up with? Whose offspring would they bear, if it weren't for birth control? From what I understand, it is the nice girl who gets pursued by the bad boy. Or rather, she seeks approval from the bad boy, and thus ends up with him in her pants, because of her attempts to get him to "settle down". I however, when faced with a situation when a girl would seek approval, just shrug and go back to talking to the nice guy. I suppose there is also this whole business with beinbg a "challenge" to bed, which I'm not. If I want someone, I fuck them, if I don't, I don't. I don't really have that middle-ground of needing to be wheedled and cajoled and enticed into the sack. I have had a few nice guys comment on my apparent lack of "restraint".
Well, at this point, I'm entering sort of fuzzy territory, and trailing off abit, so I'll leave it at that. I was also going to rave on about a fucking gorgeous redhead I saw on the bus today, but I've been blogging for almost two hours now, so I'll leave that for later.
07 January, 2008
Meatmarket
Sometimes it really sucks, cutting down on your sexual adventures for reasons that you fathom intellectually, but that your loins want to know nothing of. The result, in my case at least, is that I end up all the hornier, and find myself looking at and considering random people who I generally probably wouldn't go for. Today, getting groceries, I found myself noticing a total of maybe seven men whom I considered to be definite possibilities.
At least I have calmed down now. And when I stop and think about it, most of those men only set off my grope reflex, which isn't quite the same as wanting to fuck someone. Maybe there's hope for me yet. And if I keep my hands off my friend Zac, whom I will probably be meeting up with tomorrow, I'll be downright proud of myself.
I suppose all this horniness does explain my insane craving for chocolate.
At least I have calmed down now. And when I stop and think about it, most of those men only set off my grope reflex, which isn't quite the same as wanting to fuck someone. Maybe there's hope for me yet. And if I keep my hands off my friend Zac, whom I will probably be meeting up with tomorrow, I'll be downright proud of myself.
I suppose all this horniness does explain my insane craving for chocolate.
The first real blog entry, and an explanation.
There, I have finished transferring entries! I do feel ever so accomplished. As you may have gathered, I keep another copy of this journal elsewhere, but have come to the conclusion that I want to host it here. So this is it. No more entries where the title begins with "Backlog:". This is in real time now. Huzzah!
Backlog: untitled (7. January 2008)
Yesterday's orgasm count: Seven. All self-inflicted.
I'm feeling a bit ill at ease. And I miss my beloved.
I can tell that today is going to be awesome.
I'm feeling a bit ill at ease. And I miss my beloved.
I can tell that today is going to be awesome.
Backlog: A few reluctant realisations (6. January 2008)
Today, I decided I didn't want to fuck either Gabe or Paul any more, at least not for a while. The main reason for this is that I've caught myself having sex because I crave intimacy, and even worse, both of the aforementioned men give me that, in a genuine, caring way.
This would all be well and good; but the trouble is, my traitor body, with its hormones and all, is trying to take me through a manufactured post-break-up, moving-on stage. Except for one problem: I haven't in fact broken up with anyone. My stupid body just assumes that because I haven't seen my beloved for nigh on six months. Goddamn chemical processes. So for now, I have to restrict my sex to completely casual encounters, rather than with men who care about me, and whom I care about. That, and masturbation. How vexing!
As for actual intimacy, I think I'll just have to stick to hugs, from whoever is willing to give them. Unfortunately, simultaneous orgasms, kissing, or even platonically waking up next to each other is a bit of an explosive thing for me to be doing right now. I have to pointedly not listen to my pussy here.
I have already let Paul know about this. He was quite nice about it, really. Glad to know that. I like to think that I'm pretty decent at maintaining friendship with people I have slept with, after the fact. we were talking again quite comfortably shortly afterwards, though apparently some things had to be said:
Him: you realise you've ruined me for other women don't you?
Me: Uh, why?
Him: loves to fuck, anytime of day or night, you're hot, open to suggestion and you cum like a train... what's not to like?
Me: Well, I'm sure there are others like me out there. :) Not many, but they do exist. Mind you, I get what you're saying... it creeps me out how much less the average girl seems to enjoy sex than i do.
As for Gabe: well, it's kind of in limbo. And part of me doesn't want to cut him off just yet, with the excuse that I probably won't see him for another few months anyway, so who cares?
Actually, I'm just being weak. Earlier today, I was still a little put out about not having heard from him, and then felt appeased by a two-page SMS from him, affectionate and complimentary as you please. Aargh! I'm acting like some cock-slapped (or whatever the counterpart of the term "pussywhipped" is) girly girl! And while it's not like he's even that high up in quality of shags I've had in my time, by any stretch of the imagination, he does smell damn good. Sometimes, I do hate the power of pheromones, even though the effect of them can be so wonderful.
I think I'll just ignore him for a while. Seems to be what he does too, except when we happen to be together. That's when he gets really affectionate. He has complained to me about past attempts at casual relationships, which have resulted in the girl falling for him. I'm starting to think that that's his own damn fault, if he's going to be so affectionate and nice, only to withdraw it long enough to make a girl want his attention, and then giving it just before she is about to ditch him. I doubt he does it on purpose, but it's certainly a potent combination, and it pisses me off that to a certain extent, it works on me, too.
Yep. I think ignoring him will be the best choice for now. And once I have properly reconnected with my beloved, and my traitor body is no longer trying to pull these stunts with my emotional state, I can figure out whether I want to bed Gabe again. Though when I think about it, it probably is just wiser to go for the friendship default. We shall see.
For now, I think I shall once again focus on my masturbatory project: seeing if I can get myself to squirt. Though I think that tonight, I'm a little too tired and irked for it. It'll probably just be a quick fiddle before I go to sleep.
Night y'all.
This would all be well and good; but the trouble is, my traitor body, with its hormones and all, is trying to take me through a manufactured post-break-up, moving-on stage. Except for one problem: I haven't in fact broken up with anyone. My stupid body just assumes that because I haven't seen my beloved for nigh on six months. Goddamn chemical processes. So for now, I have to restrict my sex to completely casual encounters, rather than with men who care about me, and whom I care about. That, and masturbation. How vexing!
As for actual intimacy, I think I'll just have to stick to hugs, from whoever is willing to give them. Unfortunately, simultaneous orgasms, kissing, or even platonically waking up next to each other is a bit of an explosive thing for me to be doing right now. I have to pointedly not listen to my pussy here.
I have already let Paul know about this. He was quite nice about it, really. Glad to know that. I like to think that I'm pretty decent at maintaining friendship with people I have slept with, after the fact. we were talking again quite comfortably shortly afterwards, though apparently some things had to be said:
Him: you realise you've ruined me for other women don't you?
Me: Uh, why?
Him: loves to fuck, anytime of day or night, you're hot, open to suggestion and you cum like a train... what's not to like?
Me: Well, I'm sure there are others like me out there. :) Not many, but they do exist. Mind you, I get what you're saying... it creeps me out how much less the average girl seems to enjoy sex than i do.
As for Gabe: well, it's kind of in limbo. And part of me doesn't want to cut him off just yet, with the excuse that I probably won't see him for another few months anyway, so who cares?
Actually, I'm just being weak. Earlier today, I was still a little put out about not having heard from him, and then felt appeased by a two-page SMS from him, affectionate and complimentary as you please. Aargh! I'm acting like some cock-slapped (or whatever the counterpart of the term "pussywhipped" is) girly girl! And while it's not like he's even that high up in quality of shags I've had in my time, by any stretch of the imagination, he does smell damn good. Sometimes, I do hate the power of pheromones, even though the effect of them can be so wonderful.
I think I'll just ignore him for a while. Seems to be what he does too, except when we happen to be together. That's when he gets really affectionate. He has complained to me about past attempts at casual relationships, which have resulted in the girl falling for him. I'm starting to think that that's his own damn fault, if he's going to be so affectionate and nice, only to withdraw it long enough to make a girl want his attention, and then giving it just before she is about to ditch him. I doubt he does it on purpose, but it's certainly a potent combination, and it pisses me off that to a certain extent, it works on me, too.
Yep. I think ignoring him will be the best choice for now. And once I have properly reconnected with my beloved, and my traitor body is no longer trying to pull these stunts with my emotional state, I can figure out whether I want to bed Gabe again. Though when I think about it, it probably is just wiser to go for the friendship default. We shall see.
For now, I think I shall once again focus on my masturbatory project: seeing if I can get myself to squirt. Though I think that tonight, I'm a little too tired and irked for it. It'll probably just be a quick fiddle before I go to sleep.
Night y'all.
Backlog: Dredging up past possibilities (6. January 2008)
Yesterday's orgasm count: three. All self-inflicted.
I woke up this morning horny as hell, and found myself thinking about Peter, a man I have lusted after years ago. We met somewhat by chance, and I was immediately attracted to him, and flirted outrageously. From what I could tell, he was flirting back, and there was a certain glint in his eyes when he looked at me. We shared a few geeky interests, and often found ourselves in the same places late at night as a result of those interests. Sometimes, he'd drive me home, and we got on like a house on fire. In fact, I was cautiously eyeing him as a candidate for potential boyfriend material -- my relationship with my beloved was still much more casual at that point.
Of course, I had to give up on the idea quickly enough: he turned out to have a girlfriend, and let's face it, the vast majority of relationships in the Western world is monogamous. Shit. Still, nothing changed between us, we still flirted, and eventually, he took me to meet his girlfriend, having explained beforehand that she was bisexual. Aah. It all became clear. Well, I shrugged inwardly, and accepted the situation. I was no stranger to the threesome initiated by the man wanting me, and thus giving me to his bisexual girlfriend in hopes that she'll share.
In any case, the girlfriend, Sally, turned out to be nice enough, though I felt no particular spark for her, nor did we share any particular interests. Still, I was happy enough to get involved, and after a few occasions of "sniffing each other out", as it were, the three of us ended up enmeshed together on the couch at their place. And while I pointedly focussed my attention on Sally, I found myself responding to Peter's affections more than I was entirely comfortable with. I just liked him a little bit too much. I wanted him like crazy, but kept myself more passive towards him, simply because I had no idea what I was and wasn't allowed to do to him. So when he kissed me, I'd kiss him back, when he spooned me, I pressed against him, feeling his erection in the small of my back, wishing I could just fuck him, and when he fingered me, I arched and moaned, wanting him all the more. I behaved. I didn't sense that openness and freedom to do anything you wanted, which I had felt in previous threesomes with other people. I wasn't going to push it.
Afterwards, I sort of drifted apart from them, as sometimes, you really don't need to complicate your life even further. I also found myself distracted by my relationship with my beloved getting more serious, and at the end of the day, my attraction to Peter didn't really compare. But this morning, I found myself remembering Peter, and the effect he'd had on me, and I couldn't resist fantasising about him as I fucked myself with my vibrator, which is incidentally roughly the same size as him. And I'm tempted to contact him and make a time to catch up with both of them again. We recently took up loose contact again, about six months ago, after maybe 18 months of silence. It's damn tempting, but probably not wise. Damn it.
I've also been thinking about Gabe quite a bit. I've just found out through the grapevine that he's no longer in town, and has gone home. Hm. I suppose it's just as well, but I am a little put out about the fact that he didn't tell me that. I'd sort of thought we'd catch up again before he left, even if just for a platonic chin wag.
Then again, it's not like I do the usual thing that girls do, when they keep calling and pestering their men. In fact, I haven't really contacted him at all, unless you count the bulk message I send out to a whole group of people, which is hardly personal. I guess like many men, I actually expect my shag partners to contact me, and not vice versa.
I woke up this morning horny as hell, and found myself thinking about Peter, a man I have lusted after years ago. We met somewhat by chance, and I was immediately attracted to him, and flirted outrageously. From what I could tell, he was flirting back, and there was a certain glint in his eyes when he looked at me. We shared a few geeky interests, and often found ourselves in the same places late at night as a result of those interests. Sometimes, he'd drive me home, and we got on like a house on fire. In fact, I was cautiously eyeing him as a candidate for potential boyfriend material -- my relationship with my beloved was still much more casual at that point.
Of course, I had to give up on the idea quickly enough: he turned out to have a girlfriend, and let's face it, the vast majority of relationships in the Western world is monogamous. Shit. Still, nothing changed between us, we still flirted, and eventually, he took me to meet his girlfriend, having explained beforehand that she was bisexual. Aah. It all became clear. Well, I shrugged inwardly, and accepted the situation. I was no stranger to the threesome initiated by the man wanting me, and thus giving me to his bisexual girlfriend in hopes that she'll share.
In any case, the girlfriend, Sally, turned out to be nice enough, though I felt no particular spark for her, nor did we share any particular interests. Still, I was happy enough to get involved, and after a few occasions of "sniffing each other out", as it were, the three of us ended up enmeshed together on the couch at their place. And while I pointedly focussed my attention on Sally, I found myself responding to Peter's affections more than I was entirely comfortable with. I just liked him a little bit too much. I wanted him like crazy, but kept myself more passive towards him, simply because I had no idea what I was and wasn't allowed to do to him. So when he kissed me, I'd kiss him back, when he spooned me, I pressed against him, feeling his erection in the small of my back, wishing I could just fuck him, and when he fingered me, I arched and moaned, wanting him all the more. I behaved. I didn't sense that openness and freedom to do anything you wanted, which I had felt in previous threesomes with other people. I wasn't going to push it.
Afterwards, I sort of drifted apart from them, as sometimes, you really don't need to complicate your life even further. I also found myself distracted by my relationship with my beloved getting more serious, and at the end of the day, my attraction to Peter didn't really compare. But this morning, I found myself remembering Peter, and the effect he'd had on me, and I couldn't resist fantasising about him as I fucked myself with my vibrator, which is incidentally roughly the same size as him. And I'm tempted to contact him and make a time to catch up with both of them again. We recently took up loose contact again, about six months ago, after maybe 18 months of silence. It's damn tempting, but probably not wise. Damn it.
I've also been thinking about Gabe quite a bit. I've just found out through the grapevine that he's no longer in town, and has gone home. Hm. I suppose it's just as well, but I am a little put out about the fact that he didn't tell me that. I'd sort of thought we'd catch up again before he left, even if just for a platonic chin wag.
Then again, it's not like I do the usual thing that girls do, when they keep calling and pestering their men. In fact, I haven't really contacted him at all, unless you count the bulk message I send out to a whole group of people, which is hardly personal. I guess like many men, I actually expect my shag partners to contact me, and not vice versa.
Backlog: Knuckling down (5. January 2008)
My libido has been a bit patchy over the last two days, but today, it managed to rear its (ugly) head again. I did tingle a little bit this morning, waking up next to Paul. As previously mentioned, there was no sex last night, just a little kissing and cuddling, and the occasional nuzzle in places that make me tingle. I think Paul tingled a bit too, as I could feel his erection pressed up against me through his pants. Neither of us acted on this fact though, and he left for work shortly afterwards. Still, the memory of his hard cock pressed up against me served to distract me a little throughout the day.
I spent some time chatting online with my beloved, which helped take care of some grumpiness I'd been feeling earlier today. He also sent me some pictures of the holiday he's on at the moment, and looking at those photos of him really brought home that I want to be with him again. Two days ago, a pheromone-soaked T-shirt of his arrived in the mail, which I have been alternating between sniffing and wearing. He smells so good. When I went to wank after our conversation, there was a phantom of his naked self kneeling on the bed, looming over me, ready to fuck me senseless. I can't wait to replace the phantom with the real thing! As for now, I gave my new vibe a bit of a thrashing, and happily vibed myself to two orgasms... I wasn't coming as easily as usual today, but I guess we all have off days.
As it was, once I was finished with the vibe, I started fingering myself, with my G-spot in mind... I always figured I knew where it was, but now I'm wondering whether it's some other erogenous zone I've been rubbing all these years. I mean, the g-spot is supposed to be closely linked to making you squirt, but I've only squirted twice in my life, which I find disappointing. Thus, I fingered myself a bit, and encountered once again what I figured to be my g-spot. I wonder, would I be more likely to squirt if I focussed solely on that, rather than abusing my clitoris at the same time? Might be a worth a try. I still sort of fondly remember the last time I squirted, after which I found myself with my arse lying in a puddle of girl-cum.
G-spot aside, I found myself sliding more and more fingers into myself, until I had all five on one hand inside. I have been through a few fisting attempts in my time, all of which stopped short at the knuckles. But hand size is obviously an issue, and the only hands that have been that far inside my pussy have been my own, and my beloved's, and our hand size is pretty much identical. But I think this time round, I came just a little bit closer. At least, I managed to get my middle three knuckles definitely in, and the knuckles of my thumb and pinky were on the cusp. I got to the point where you gasp in a mixture of pleasure and pain, and I actually had a small third orgasm. I felt rather accomplished...
I spent some time chatting online with my beloved, which helped take care of some grumpiness I'd been feeling earlier today. He also sent me some pictures of the holiday he's on at the moment, and looking at those photos of him really brought home that I want to be with him again. Two days ago, a pheromone-soaked T-shirt of his arrived in the mail, which I have been alternating between sniffing and wearing. He smells so good. When I went to wank after our conversation, there was a phantom of his naked self kneeling on the bed, looming over me, ready to fuck me senseless. I can't wait to replace the phantom with the real thing! As for now, I gave my new vibe a bit of a thrashing, and happily vibed myself to two orgasms... I wasn't coming as easily as usual today, but I guess we all have off days.
As it was, once I was finished with the vibe, I started fingering myself, with my G-spot in mind... I always figured I knew where it was, but now I'm wondering whether it's some other erogenous zone I've been rubbing all these years. I mean, the g-spot is supposed to be closely linked to making you squirt, but I've only squirted twice in my life, which I find disappointing. Thus, I fingered myself a bit, and encountered once again what I figured to be my g-spot. I wonder, would I be more likely to squirt if I focussed solely on that, rather than abusing my clitoris at the same time? Might be a worth a try. I still sort of fondly remember the last time I squirted, after which I found myself with my arse lying in a puddle of girl-cum.
G-spot aside, I found myself sliding more and more fingers into myself, until I had all five on one hand inside. I have been through a few fisting attempts in my time, all of which stopped short at the knuckles. But hand size is obviously an issue, and the only hands that have been that far inside my pussy have been my own, and my beloved's, and our hand size is pretty much identical. But I think this time round, I came just a little bit closer. At least, I managed to get my middle three knuckles definitely in, and the knuckles of my thumb and pinky were on the cusp. I got to the point where you gasp in a mixture of pleasure and pain, and I actually had a small third orgasm. I felt rather accomplished...
Backlog: Some time out (5. January 2008)
Yesterday's orgasm count: three. Two of them self-inflicted.
Paul came over tonight, but we agreed on no sex this time round. It was kind of nice to just have his company. He filled my hug quota for the day, which is always a good thing. Though when he left this morning, I found myself somewhat horny. Looks like my new vibe is in for a thrashing.
A thing I notice when I have sex with anyone other than my beloved, by the way: I am so damn grateful that I generally don't yell out the name of the person I'm with. It was never a thing I did, and my beloved is an exception. Luckily, I don't get names mixed up with him, but that's because he stands out from the crowd, so to speak. I mean, last time I shagged Paul, I caught myself thinking Gabe's name. It's so damn easy to get names confused. I have on occasion caught myself cycling through three, four, even five names in my mind before getting to the appropriate one. Oops.
Like I said, it's a good thing I don't generally yell out names. It's a recipe for disaster.
Paul came over tonight, but we agreed on no sex this time round. It was kind of nice to just have his company. He filled my hug quota for the day, which is always a good thing. Though when he left this morning, I found myself somewhat horny. Looks like my new vibe is in for a thrashing.
A thing I notice when I have sex with anyone other than my beloved, by the way: I am so damn grateful that I generally don't yell out the name of the person I'm with. It was never a thing I did, and my beloved is an exception. Luckily, I don't get names mixed up with him, but that's because he stands out from the crowd, so to speak. I mean, last time I shagged Paul, I caught myself thinking Gabe's name. It's so damn easy to get names confused. I have on occasion caught myself cycling through three, four, even five names in my mind before getting to the appropriate one. Oops.
Like I said, it's a good thing I don't generally yell out names. It's a recipe for disaster.
Backlog: Breaking the record (4. January 2008)
Frankly, I can't really be stuffed to recount last night in painstaking detail, but I do have a tendency of waffling on, so let's see how long and detailed this entry ends up, shall we?
My first orgasm of the day was the result of my usual early-morning wank. Very rare for me not to indulge in that -- it tends to take one or two orgasms to get me out of bed. But then I decided to save myself for the evening, what with Paul coming over, and he has a bit of a tendency to keep going like a Duracell bunny, because it takes him ages to come. Excellent in terms of getting lots of orgasms, but he's a big boy, so it can lead to soreness, and after five or six orgasms, even I dry up. Lube only lasts for so long. And, well, it's not like I was absolutely gagging for it or anything, considering the thorough shagging I had received from Gabe on the previous day.
In retrospect, maybe I should have engaged in some proper phone sex with my beloved during the day, but I still had saving my juices for the upcoming exhaustion in mind. That, and it's very difficult (for me at least) to wank effectively whilst sitting in an office chair. But at least the previous reason turned out to be useless, as about an hour before Paul rocked up, I found myself getting blindly horny and not being able to stop myself from breaking in my new vibrator. Oops. It was a fantastic wank, though, I love the way that little red love machine feels inside me. It's certainly a nice change from my fingers, no matter how skilled they are. I know there are some predominantly hetreosexual women out there who don't really go for the cock, and are perfectly happy with clitoral stimulation, but that's just not me. If given the choice between a finger twiddling my clitoris or a big hard cock thrusting in and out of me, I will choose the latter every time. Well, except maybe when I'm on my period.
In any case, I was far from spent by the time Paul arrived. In fact, despite the orgasm I'd just had, I was still tingling like crazy, and tried to distract myself by watching TV. It did help a little bit, but by the time Paul knocked on the door, I was pantsless and eyeing my legs and flat tummy in the mirror. Let it not be said that I'm not a vain cow.
Instead of ripping each other's clothes off immediately, Paul and I ended up sitting down together, and just chatting about mundane things. Still, eventually, we did start kissing, and Paul gleefully set about nuzzling some of the happy spots on my throat. We slowly peeled out of our clothes, and I dipped my hands into is underpants. My hand around his cock got his attention, and he thrust his fingers into my pussy, hard. It looks like my moans were a turn-on for him, as every time he slammed his finger into me, making me moan, his cock would strain in my hand for a moment. Eventually, I started to lose patience, and explicitly demanded that he fuck me.
He fumbled with the condom wrapping, but I had no problem keeping his cock hard in my hands while he got that sorted out. I'm mildly surprised, actually, how impressed he is with my ability to use my hands, as I wasn't really doing anything beyond the old squeezing and stroking. In any case, he got the condom on, and rammed his cock into my pussy. I was quickly reduced to a thrashing, moaning mess. After two or three orgasms, he paused to smile at me very smugly, and confided that it was a point of pride to get at least seven orgasms out of me, to beat the six that I had had the night before. Ah, the male ego. Then again, I can see myself guilty of similar things. As it was, he got me off five times before I was pretty much spent. He pulled out then, having lost his erection, and we rested for a while. There was some sort of conversation afterwards, but my brain was a little fried, so I was nowhere near as articulate as I usually am.
Eventually, he took me from behind and brought me to another three orgasms before coming himself. By then, my brain was pretty much broken, and I crashed out pretty quickly. This morning, we went for another quickie before he had to run off to work.
Okay, I've definitely lost interest in listing extra gory details at this point, so this will have to do.
My first orgasm of the day was the result of my usual early-morning wank. Very rare for me not to indulge in that -- it tends to take one or two orgasms to get me out of bed. But then I decided to save myself for the evening, what with Paul coming over, and he has a bit of a tendency to keep going like a Duracell bunny, because it takes him ages to come. Excellent in terms of getting lots of orgasms, but he's a big boy, so it can lead to soreness, and after five or six orgasms, even I dry up. Lube only lasts for so long. And, well, it's not like I was absolutely gagging for it or anything, considering the thorough shagging I had received from Gabe on the previous day.
In retrospect, maybe I should have engaged in some proper phone sex with my beloved during the day, but I still had saving my juices for the upcoming exhaustion in mind. That, and it's very difficult (for me at least) to wank effectively whilst sitting in an office chair. But at least the previous reason turned out to be useless, as about an hour before Paul rocked up, I found myself getting blindly horny and not being able to stop myself from breaking in my new vibrator. Oops. It was a fantastic wank, though, I love the way that little red love machine feels inside me. It's certainly a nice change from my fingers, no matter how skilled they are. I know there are some predominantly hetreosexual women out there who don't really go for the cock, and are perfectly happy with clitoral stimulation, but that's just not me. If given the choice between a finger twiddling my clitoris or a big hard cock thrusting in and out of me, I will choose the latter every time. Well, except maybe when I'm on my period.
In any case, I was far from spent by the time Paul arrived. In fact, despite the orgasm I'd just had, I was still tingling like crazy, and tried to distract myself by watching TV. It did help a little bit, but by the time Paul knocked on the door, I was pantsless and eyeing my legs and flat tummy in the mirror. Let it not be said that I'm not a vain cow.
Instead of ripping each other's clothes off immediately, Paul and I ended up sitting down together, and just chatting about mundane things. Still, eventually, we did start kissing, and Paul gleefully set about nuzzling some of the happy spots on my throat. We slowly peeled out of our clothes, and I dipped my hands into is underpants. My hand around his cock got his attention, and he thrust his fingers into my pussy, hard. It looks like my moans were a turn-on for him, as every time he slammed his finger into me, making me moan, his cock would strain in my hand for a moment. Eventually, I started to lose patience, and explicitly demanded that he fuck me.
He fumbled with the condom wrapping, but I had no problem keeping his cock hard in my hands while he got that sorted out. I'm mildly surprised, actually, how impressed he is with my ability to use my hands, as I wasn't really doing anything beyond the old squeezing and stroking. In any case, he got the condom on, and rammed his cock into my pussy. I was quickly reduced to a thrashing, moaning mess. After two or three orgasms, he paused to smile at me very smugly, and confided that it was a point of pride to get at least seven orgasms out of me, to beat the six that I had had the night before. Ah, the male ego. Then again, I can see myself guilty of similar things. As it was, he got me off five times before I was pretty much spent. He pulled out then, having lost his erection, and we rested for a while. There was some sort of conversation afterwards, but my brain was a little fried, so I was nowhere near as articulate as I usually am.
Eventually, he took me from behind and brought me to another three orgasms before coming himself. By then, my brain was pretty much broken, and I crashed out pretty quickly. This morning, we went for another quickie before he had to run off to work.
Okay, I've definitely lost interest in listing extra gory details at this point, so this will have to do.
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