Showering

I've never showered with a man. That's right you read it right. For all my wanton ways, showering naked with a man was never a common thing with me. If anything, for every kinky act I'm willing to do, I avoid shower sex and related activities like the plague. Why? I think it all boils down to body image. Like all women, I think my body looks like shit. Men find it attractive, I find it fat and shitty. But hey, I figured, if the boys get turned on by it, I guess it's fine.

One glorious afternoon, after every last drop of BB's cum splashed down my throat, and he was down to his last sharp breath and shaking orgasm, he looked down at me, gently stroked my hair and said... "you're such a good little girl... my little cumslut" which took my breath away. I wanted to ask him if I have any chance of getting fucked before we part company, but I knew better than to ask him. He was the boss and he calls the shots. Instead, I got a cigarette to enjoy the afterglow of post-fellatio bliss. He told me he was gonna hop in the shower and bounded upstairs. About 5 minutes after he comes down, and takes the cigarette from me. I looked up at him, expecting him to give it back to me, which he then told me while waving the cigarette "you want it back? take the shirt off and I will give it back to you." Obedient slut that I was, I took my shirt off in a huff which made my breasts bounce and his dick hard. Again I looked at him expectantly. "come," he said. "we'll take all your clothes off in the bathroom". I stopped in my tracks "why?" I asked. "you're taking a shower with me" menacingly he turned to me and whispered "are you disobeying me?" while grabbing a fistful of my hair. For a moment, I was toying with the idea of digging in my heels and saying "yes I am, I don't want to get fully naked with you in the daytime... in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly build like a cheerleader." But something in the way he looked at me told me, he doesn't care. So obediently, silently, I shook my head and followed him towards the bath, like a lamb being led to slaughter. "Did I ever tell you that you're such a good little cum slut and I like when you follow me?" he nonchalantly told me while he watched me strip from his position in the tub. I tried not to focus on what my body might look like and focus on the rivulets of water running down the length of his body. He lazily lathered up and made room for me in the tub. In the confines of that little tub... we rubbed, lather, touched, caressed under the warm water. In the shower, we also stripped away our roles. He was just, him and I was just me... intimate and real and not locked in a power struggle. Dominant as he was, there was a few things he'd like to try. More than one occasion, he has mentioned wanting to try a golden shower. I didn't exactly warm up to the idea, but I didn't say no to it either. That afternoon, under the flow of water, I experienced my first golden shower. He wasn't a pig, he was considerate. He asked me to turn around, ran water over me first and then peed on my lower back. I wasn't sure where the peeing began and the water stopped but I knew he did it... and there was no humiliation on my part or attempt to humiliate me on his. Afterward, he made the effort to clean me up and make sure that I was comfortable with what happened. I assured him I was. And that I was horny. That led to the dirtiest, nastiest sex we've had. So far.

(p.s. yes I know I skipped, but a golden shower is too good to pass up)

A sort of haiku (but not really) primer

Late night touching
Kissing
Caressing
Violently erupting
Slowly ebbing
Yearning to start
Violently --- touching, kissing, caressing.

Being comfortable...

Before I start with the latest guy I'm seeing... I just have to know....

What does it mean when early on in our "relationship" he let's one go? As much as I get around, I hate to admit sometimes I'm still clueless about a man and his signals.

We had a long night (wink wink) and we basically went to bed as others were going to work. Waking up early afternoon, we decided to stay in bed, read the paper, listen to music and smoke. In the middle of reading scores for his favorite team, we both hear it... that magical, strong smelling emissions from his nether regions. I started laughing out of shock and he laughed because he could not believe that he just let it go. To be honest, it gave me a warm fuzzy feeling that he might be getting comfortable with me. On the other hand, maybe he just had to. I don't know.

An apology

To the three people reading this blog. If you can see in my dashboard I have 12 entries I have yet to finish and I can't seem to find the "oomph" to finish it. It's not that I don't want to --- it's just I can't find the motivation to do so. Then one day, I figured out why. It's not the lack of sex, or the drive -- it's the method. I always wrote on paper before committing it to the digital process. It's how I work and it's how my rhythm flows. Lately, I gone to writing directly from my head to the laptop and somehow it feels so, I don't know, forced. It's like I don't give myself time to think and once the thought is gone, it's gone. Two days I go, I sat down with my notebook of written whatever and I started to write. I started to write my last encounter and before I knew it, I finished what I started and I was able to squeeze every last detail. So, give me a few days to commit it to the blog, and I'll be up and running again. :)

Cassanova

I've had one too many beers tonight and I won't even start how much nicotine I've ingested (yep... it was a lot it felt like I ate them). If you knew me (which hopefully you don't unless we're talking about knowing me in the biblical sense), I never like going to bed reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. Nevermind if I fell into beer keg or a burning cigarette factory or how late it is, I will clean up. After all, it is one of the rules if you're sleeping around... ALWAYS CLEAN UP. Anyhoo, while waiting for while waiting for my hair to dry, I suddenly remembered the first time I had sex.

My first sexual experience occurred at the ripe old age of 15. Before you balk at that, remember kids here mature waaaaay faster than I did. So there, shut up and read. At that time, my boyfriend was 22. Nevermind the legality of it all, where I grew up the age difference of people in a relationship was not a big concern. Looking back, I could've done better but I was 15, what the fuck did I know. He was a self-proclaimed cassanova. Had a record of (according to him) 35 women. He's done it all, he's seen it all. SO there I was, a nervous, giddy and curious 15 year old ready to be introduced to the world of carnal pleasures and sexual exploration. I just knew he would be this increadible lover, the person who would shake me to the core with earth shattering orgasms and the one who would make me a woman way ahead of schedule. I was a fucking idiot. Any virgin would tell you that the memorable thing about their first time, was the pain. I remembered the sheer boredom, disappointment and yes, the pain. Cassanova here knew nothing about sex. I felt that, as someone without any experience and know how, I should have been handled with kid gloves. Made to feel relaxed and in the mood. I had a bad feeling when I saw his dick. He said he was a size 9, so his dick would be proportional. It was quite the opposite. It was the little engine that wished it could. He poked at me like you would poke the dying embers of the logs in the fire place. He really wanted to go deep but little engine had it's limits. He clumsily cupped my ample (that's underexaggeration) breasts and could not find my damn nipple. When he did, he poked, twisted and prodded it like it was some sort of science experiment. He never even knew that he'd broken through and made my guarded virginity non-existent. He just huffed and puffed and I never even knew what I was supposed to do. There was no foreplay, no gentle finger stimulation not even oral sex, which incidentally I was expecting due to the numerous porn flicks I saw. I wanted it. I expected it. It should come with the fucking package!!! None of that happened. After about 10 minutes I knew I had to do something. Coincidentally, this was also the night, I learned to fake my orgasm. I learned to fake it just so he would stop. And when he was done, he rolled over, fully satisfied and spent. And lovingly, douchebag here turns to me and smiles sweetly and asks "did you like it? was it good?" my mistake at that time was I lied to him. I made him believe he was the emperor of sex. ANd for a year I had nothing but bad sex. I told myself I would never ever, ever see the light of another bad sexual encounter in the future (unfortunately, it happend but in 3 different versions... more to come).

On my 16th birthday, he did me a favor by going down on me. Finally!! I get some pussy licking!!. I figured, he must have some redeeming quality. It's like when you see a totally butt ugly person but this person has an increadible sexy voice, that's sort of a redeeming quality. If Cassanova was bad at sex, maybe he was good at oral sex. Maybe now he can make my toes curl and give me a chance to roll my eyes back. Again, I was proven to be a totally fucking idiot. Cassanova's tongue was a short as his dick was. The guy could not find my clit even if his life depended on it. I wanted to grab the lamp on the night stand, point towards my clit and say "HERE IT IS YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!! RIGHT INFRONT OF YOU!!! LICK THERE!!!!" he tried for the first five miutes, had the gall to look up and ask "did you cum?". I could not hide my shock. Are you serious?!? he mistook my shock for I wanted some more, so he went down again after which, and up to this day I could not believe that I did, (I) faked the orgasm again... during oral sex. Suffice it to say, I didn't ask for another round of oral sex and he never offered. A few months later, Cassanova and I broke up. Now that was a redeeming quality.

An Ode to Self Love and phone sex -- part 2: afterglow

Turns out I didn't need a time machine, things got quiet early so "TJ" my "phone pal" for the night got down to business. There are a lot of things I like about phone sex, apart from, given the honesty to your gender, you can totally look like put together shit and it won't matter the person on the other line. You could be dressed in sweat pants and an old old t-shirt or covered in cold cream with a bucket of very rocky road next to you while you watch The Jay Leno show (or replays of that fucker Kanye West) and still, the moment you say "hello..." you turn into this vixen in fishnet stockings wearing come fuck me heels and nothing else. Nevermind if you're a 220 lb cutie that likes to wear faded jeans and bras too small for you (woah, Dr. Freud cleanup on aisle 4!!), point is to TJ, I was hot.

ANd the action was hot. Steamy, sweaty, wet and not to mention loud. I could have possibly broadcasted to my neighbors that I was having this phenomenal phone sex but honest truth, I could not give a rats ass. And to this date, this was the nastiest, dirtiest and most imaginative phone sex I've had. There were no visuals. I have absolutely no idea what he looked like, but I knew he had facial hair. That's my requirement. SOmething about a non-manscaped man that's kempt that just makes me hot... but I digress. We start simple, but we start fast. And the guy can make his imagination fly. THing about me, I love dirty talk. The dirtier the better. Things I would find offensive in everyday conversation turns sexy in the heat of the moment. For example, call me a "bitch whore" in normal conversation, I'd drop kick your balls in a heartbeat.... but call me that while you tell me your slamming deep into me, gets me all hot and bothered. TJ spewed the nastiest shit you could possibly say (ok just to be clear, there was no nasty bodily functions involved) and it got my blood pumping and my juices flowing. From his end, I've been licked, sucked, spanked, spun, some spitting was involved and of course fucked out of my brains. And you could tell this guy wasn't faking it. You could actually hear him jerk off which adds to the sexy factor of the moment. The night ended in a very satisfying and much needed orgasm. It's different when you orgasm by yourself as opposed to orgasming by yourself but with vocal help from someone. The orgasm comes (no pun intended) harder, like how it feels after getting something from delaying gratification. It's almost like you have tunnel vision, and you become oblivious to all around you. Is it really like that? or have I been not having sex for a long time.

An Ode to Self Love and phone sex -- part 1

I was reminiscing about the late 80's early 90's about 3 days ago. I thought I'd keep my youth close by downloading some tunes. Today I came upon that wonderful DiVinyls song "I Touch Myself". That song says it all. It's an unabashed love song about thinking about someone and getting all hot and bothered. Glorifying masturbation at it's best. I remember in catholic school the nuns would say masturbation is a sin. Can it really be bad if it's so good? wouldn't the nuns, in all their hollier than thou approach to preserving the virginity for the marital bed, be happy that instead of boffing the boy next door's brains out, I'd boff my own brains out? at least I kept my virginity. Haha. NO one really listened to the nuns. Years later, research showed that masturbation (in moderation) is actually very healthy. Hallelujah!! score one for the nerds, nada for the nuns :)

I'm a fairly healthy individual, I indulge in a little sexual excess every now and then but there are days that I just would like to forgo human contact, but not totally. So with the thought of spending the night alone but in a masturbatory state of mind, I decided to troll a certain site that advertises everything. A few lines and a major suggestion and BAM!!! I got more emails than a B movie celebrity and a schedules phone sex to end all phone sex. I have someone lined up for tonight. Our first few emails could make your toes curl, suffice it to say hot enough to make me wish I had a time machine so I could jump 3 hours into the future for our scheduled telephone romp.