when hottie stays in
to watch movies
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
dark
excerpt from "The Man from Albuquerque" - Julie Saget
from Ooh La La!: Contemporary French Erotica by Women
That's what I remember from the first time: it was in Barcelona, in that hotel room with a rancid smell, where I had been dragged by two Russian sailors from Novorossisk, who were wandering, like me, in the alleyways of the Barrio Chino. We had drunk too much, as if each of us wanted to lose some of our life in that bad drunken sate. We made love, the three of us. They rode me, shot all over me, soiled me with sperm and piss. Dawn surprised us, limbs entwined, in sheets soaked with urine. My teeth were chattering, my lips and tongue swollen from far too many bites, a taste of salt and ashes in my mouth, too much sperm swallowed. I was shaking.
.................
I would give my bush, my tuft to eat to anybody I fancied, and if I felt the desire, I would pay – with the money of the man whose name I bear – rough men who, however, don’t ask for anything other than fucking the woman who offers herself asking nothing in return. At the beginning I sought those men at the gates of factories, the men who worked by night. I waited for them in the early morning, I chose one at random. Some were frightened by my offer. The money scared them, they feared a devious trick. Others, fortunately, agreed to make the most of that godsend. They allowed me to slip my hand into their fly, forage around until I pulled out their naked penis, which I masturbated until it went stiff. Standing against the factory wall, I let them work me, but none managed to calm my fury. Like a crazy bitch, from my throat sprang the growls of a trapped animal. I ordered: “Deeper, deeper, smash me!” Then, with a nasty laugh: “Are you scared? Are you scared I’ll swallow you and your prick, and your balls, and all your shit? Scared I will gulp you down, drain you of your blood, drain you of your life? Fuck you! Go deeper, deeper than that! Do as I say!” They did their best. I could see in their eyes desire mixed with fear in the face of such rage. In the end I found those men too servile; they stunk of machine grease and obedience. I was aiming for something else. Men of another consistency – but their bodies always had to be dirty and their cocks had to stink – men whose language I would not understand and who would not hear my words, men coming from the four corners of the earth, with no home, no homeland, like myself. I knew I would find them in ports. Makeshift crews, they arrive from every part of the world, all races mixed, embarked for a mere pittance of a wage on tankers so decrepit that no repairs can save those floating monstrosities from disaster. Indians, Malaysians, Yemenites, they feed on spicy stews and raw onions; they have foul breath and their sweat reeks. It’s them I want, them I need.
.................
He showed me how to gain access to the holds. As I went in, I had difficulty discerning the dozen men sleeping on the bare floor. I slipped between them. The heat was stifling. The first body my hand encountered was half-naked and sweaty. I touched the damp torso and the sleeper woke up, muttering in an incomprehensible tongue. I quieted him by placing my mouth on his. His breath was repugnant and my tongue plunged into a cesspool. At the same time I undressed and lay down on top of him. I became an undulating reptile. My belly rubbed against his and when I felt the hard swollen penis, I undid the man’s sarong and, opening my thighs, I violently forced his penis inside me. There was a long moan, like a powerful note on the barely audible chords of the breath of the other sleeping sailors. My movements became more rapid, more violent, to make the man cry louder and wake up his companions. The first to wake up lit a hurricane lamp and moved closer. I beckoned him to come even closer. I undid the belt that held up his rough cotton trousers, I took his penis in my mouth. I started to suck him as if I was going to draw out the substance in his balls. The one I was riding let out an anguished rattle and I felt he was coming with all the power of a male deprived of women for ages. All the others were now crowding around the three of us. Each wanted his turn, now. I gave myself to all. I offered them my cunt, my lips, the furrow between my breasts, my armpits, my hair, all the places in my body where their come could pour out. I think they were laughing and crying at the same time. It lasted quite a while. Dawn was already breaking. Each part of my flesh was pain and pleasure at the same time, as if I had just gone up the Via Dolorosa on my knees with a crown of thorns on my forehead and the weight of the cross on my back. Transfiguration through abasement, with voluntary suffering. Before coming out into the open air, I threw them a bundle of banknotes, which the men rushed for, with the greediness of famished dogs.
.................
[Finding the man from Albuquerque, he says:]
“I know you’re looking for me. In fact I was told a while ago, and I was wondering where we would finally meet.”
As he pronounced those last words with an ironic smile I saw his teeth, so white in his carnassial mouth. He took his time, pulled a cigarillo from his shirt pocket, and lit it. The acrid smell of tobacco suited him. His voice grew louder:
“I know you’re looking for me. But what I don’t know is why.”
I answered simply:
“Snuff movies.”
“You’re a client? You need that to come?”
“It’s not what you think.”
The voice spoke with a falsely innocent tone. It was a way to make fun of me.
“But I don’t think anything! And I don’t care what others think! It’s none of my business.”
“I’m not a client. I just want to be the next.”
%%%%%
This is how I feel sometimes. Compelled to become forceful. Trying to drag forth a release from a man - trying to assault his senses to corner him into unleashing natural fury, passion, agression, strength, machismo, naked brute reaction.
This is how I feel sometimes. Wanting to slum it, hungry for cock in all the holes, in all the ways. Dirtier the better. Oozing thick black inky corners of my mind next to cobwebs and piles of dead bugs. Dust and oil stains. Cracked, dilapidated, torn floors and windows. Sobering, stark, stinked, like runaway prison sex.
This is how I want it on the inside. Forgetting the outside. Letting go under all his fault. I am just here. I can't say I want it.
I will it.
Transfiguration through abasement.
I wonder if SirMax would take me back to his dungeon after such a long time gone. I need a good beating.
from Ooh La La!: Contemporary French Erotica by Women
That's what I remember from the first time: it was in Barcelona, in that hotel room with a rancid smell, where I had been dragged by two Russian sailors from Novorossisk, who were wandering, like me, in the alleyways of the Barrio Chino. We had drunk too much, as if each of us wanted to lose some of our life in that bad drunken sate. We made love, the three of us. They rode me, shot all over me, soiled me with sperm and piss. Dawn surprised us, limbs entwined, in sheets soaked with urine. My teeth were chattering, my lips and tongue swollen from far too many bites, a taste of salt and ashes in my mouth, too much sperm swallowed. I was shaking.
.................
I would give my bush, my tuft to eat to anybody I fancied, and if I felt the desire, I would pay – with the money of the man whose name I bear – rough men who, however, don’t ask for anything other than fucking the woman who offers herself asking nothing in return. At the beginning I sought those men at the gates of factories, the men who worked by night. I waited for them in the early morning, I chose one at random. Some were frightened by my offer. The money scared them, they feared a devious trick. Others, fortunately, agreed to make the most of that godsend. They allowed me to slip my hand into their fly, forage around until I pulled out their naked penis, which I masturbated until it went stiff. Standing against the factory wall, I let them work me, but none managed to calm my fury. Like a crazy bitch, from my throat sprang the growls of a trapped animal. I ordered: “Deeper, deeper, smash me!” Then, with a nasty laugh: “Are you scared? Are you scared I’ll swallow you and your prick, and your balls, and all your shit? Scared I will gulp you down, drain you of your blood, drain you of your life? Fuck you! Go deeper, deeper than that! Do as I say!” They did their best. I could see in their eyes desire mixed with fear in the face of such rage. In the end I found those men too servile; they stunk of machine grease and obedience. I was aiming for something else. Men of another consistency – but their bodies always had to be dirty and their cocks had to stink – men whose language I would not understand and who would not hear my words, men coming from the four corners of the earth, with no home, no homeland, like myself. I knew I would find them in ports. Makeshift crews, they arrive from every part of the world, all races mixed, embarked for a mere pittance of a wage on tankers so decrepit that no repairs can save those floating monstrosities from disaster. Indians, Malaysians, Yemenites, they feed on spicy stews and raw onions; they have foul breath and their sweat reeks. It’s them I want, them I need.
.................
He showed me how to gain access to the holds. As I went in, I had difficulty discerning the dozen men sleeping on the bare floor. I slipped between them. The heat was stifling. The first body my hand encountered was half-naked and sweaty. I touched the damp torso and the sleeper woke up, muttering in an incomprehensible tongue. I quieted him by placing my mouth on his. His breath was repugnant and my tongue plunged into a cesspool. At the same time I undressed and lay down on top of him. I became an undulating reptile. My belly rubbed against his and when I felt the hard swollen penis, I undid the man’s sarong and, opening my thighs, I violently forced his penis inside me. There was a long moan, like a powerful note on the barely audible chords of the breath of the other sleeping sailors. My movements became more rapid, more violent, to make the man cry louder and wake up his companions. The first to wake up lit a hurricane lamp and moved closer. I beckoned him to come even closer. I undid the belt that held up his rough cotton trousers, I took his penis in my mouth. I started to suck him as if I was going to draw out the substance in his balls. The one I was riding let out an anguished rattle and I felt he was coming with all the power of a male deprived of women for ages. All the others were now crowding around the three of us. Each wanted his turn, now. I gave myself to all. I offered them my cunt, my lips, the furrow between my breasts, my armpits, my hair, all the places in my body where their come could pour out. I think they were laughing and crying at the same time. It lasted quite a while. Dawn was already breaking. Each part of my flesh was pain and pleasure at the same time, as if I had just gone up the Via Dolorosa on my knees with a crown of thorns on my forehead and the weight of the cross on my back. Transfiguration through abasement, with voluntary suffering. Before coming out into the open air, I threw them a bundle of banknotes, which the men rushed for, with the greediness of famished dogs.
.................
[Finding the man from Albuquerque, he says:]
“I know you’re looking for me. In fact I was told a while ago, and I was wondering where we would finally meet.”
As he pronounced those last words with an ironic smile I saw his teeth, so white in his carnassial mouth. He took his time, pulled a cigarillo from his shirt pocket, and lit it. The acrid smell of tobacco suited him. His voice grew louder:
“I know you’re looking for me. But what I don’t know is why.”
I answered simply:
“Snuff movies.”
“You’re a client? You need that to come?”
“It’s not what you think.”
The voice spoke with a falsely innocent tone. It was a way to make fun of me.
“But I don’t think anything! And I don’t care what others think! It’s none of my business.”
“I’m not a client. I just want to be the next.”
%%%%%
This is how I feel sometimes. Compelled to become forceful. Trying to drag forth a release from a man - trying to assault his senses to corner him into unleashing natural fury, passion, agression, strength, machismo, naked brute reaction.
This is how I feel sometimes. Wanting to slum it, hungry for cock in all the holes, in all the ways. Dirtier the better. Oozing thick black inky corners of my mind next to cobwebs and piles of dead bugs. Dust and oil stains. Cracked, dilapidated, torn floors and windows. Sobering, stark, stinked, like runaway prison sex.
["I have found some kind of temporary sanity in this. / Shit, blood, and come on my hands. I've come round full circle. / My lamb and martyr, this will be over soon. you look so precious. / You look so precious now"]
This is how I want it on the inside. Forgetting the outside. Letting go under all his fault. I am just here. I can't say I want it.
I will it.
Transfiguration through abasement.
I wonder if SirMax would take me back to his dungeon after such a long time gone. I need a good beating.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
A day in the life of a mistress
I hear the French give accolades to their French mistresses. I'm not high maintanence as you know, but I wouldn't mind to be 'kept.' I mean, I certainly never request it, and I've only accepted money once or twice - as a joke. But I wouldn't shun a few gifts at my shrine. Andy tried to jog my memory tonight, a cup of coffee, condoms and lube, a huge lolipop. But there's so much more that he's given me. Truly. An understanding, a not-too-long stay afterwards, conversation, warm-up emails, amazing head, great ass fucking, wonderful cunt fulfillment, intellectual discussions, friendship, a bending ear, my first gangbang. Yeah, yeah, not to inflate his ego, but to shed some comparison.
It's not easy to be a non-paid sluttish tasteful mistress.
Here are some things I've thought of:
1) Don't wear yourself out... I had an overactive week and school nights. I'm not growing lax on my policy of not going out on school nights but my week days aren't so important to me. They are extremely busy, but I'm still focused on being cognizant. That said, when it rains, it pours. Monday I worked out and focused on school. Tuesday, I saw "Zoo" which was just like this review here [about sex with animals, if I must explain], really, except that Sundance 608 sucks ass and I have no idea why Robert Redford thinks Madison is worthy. It was my second date with Phillip - the first I begged off any play with PMS hormones and the cold sore - and we'd been exchanging very, very dirty emails focused on Daddy/girl naughtiness. So, when he came over, we kissed finally and he quietly said, "Get on your knees." I did, in my pretty pettifore, hands in my lap, mouth on his cock. "I'm going to cum - do you want it in your mouth?" [I could expound on how nice it is for a man to be so gentelmanly and prepare his receiver, but I won't here.] After Zoo, I got a right as rain and such more than ever expected in all my life treat to Daddy/girl nasty talk and fucking. Wednesday, I had re-scheduled a date from online for sushi. It was nice enough. Thursday, I met Phillip again for climbing after a work party. My ass strapped in to a harness and scaling a wall with nooks and crannies. God, I really like it. After I get over my fear of heights. And later. Well, you'll have to see the pics, but he's taking his own interesting initiative to create bondage with climbing gear. [Ask me for the naughty pics on flickr.com if you don't already have access.] Friday, Andy visited. Now, in the past I've saved Andy for first visit. Today he was last. But still first. Phillip has a ways to go in the realm of naughty and dirty. His hand rests gently on the back of my neck as I suck his cock hoping he'll be overcome with force and pull me gagging. He doesn't. Andy, pushes his cock down my throat and spreads me on top of his face. I won't go on further as you've heard my praises before. Suffice to say, it was a long week. To be a good mistress, one has to not let oneself get too worn out. I was on the brink of exhaustion. I was not quite a flapping bird in the breeze, as it were, but I wasn't a fresh pink flower either.
2) Leave work early. Get out of that stuffy, demanding office. Sometimes I have the fortune of being able to exchange rapid Gmail emails back and forth filled with nasty wishes for the afternoon tryst. Sometimes not. In those cases, in all cases, make for the door about 2 hours in advance.
3) You are what you want to be and who you can be is creative. Phillip is learning. I hate teaching. But he's eager and engaged and taking the lead. Our emails included me explaining that I am fed up with teaching boys how to become dirty, nasty men. So, he's taken to creating scenarios. Of course, they're not bdsm-community-appropriate, but fuck that shit. Things don't have to be one set way. Thus, to him, I am a new playground and I like that he keeps opening his tastes: "It turns me on if it turns you on." So, he's not out trolling for women who want to play young girls. But he's pushing me in this realm more than I have ever explored before. Andy emailed earlier in the day that he'd seen a photo of stockings and heels. I asked if he preferred stockings vs. fishnets - he was going with more classy stockings. Garter? Corset? I was blowing his mind. He let me select.
3a) Eat. A starving mistress is a weak playmate. Even if your work day was so busy you hadn't had a chance to eat. Snack on an energy bar at home. Get something in your body to be able to perform and not sound like a roaring lion while being fucked. Nothing is more distracting than your own focus lost on hunger and your stomach growling.
4) Get good music. I'd had the same comp of sex music for a while. DJ Shadow, Kruder & Dorf, some Verve remix jazz. It was getting old. So, I threw some Brazillian Girls in, some Brazzaville [thanks, James!], some Saint Germain, some Thievery. I had to switch it up after listening to it for days in a row. Music can make your body move. Music can give a good vibe. Music can set the tone of the visit.
5) Have a drink - even if it's 2pm. It's been a fuck long day or week or hour. Pour a drink. I used to drink from dawn to night if I wanted. Then, I made it a habit only after the sun set. Now, it's when I think it's happy hour in my head. Home at 2, got a date at 3. Doesn't mean I have to get loaded, but a nice coctail never hurts for lubing the mind or joints.
6) Clean up. After I got back from Mexico, suddenly I started to peel in the weirdest of spots. My outer calves. Who peels there? So, for a week or so - while I was sick and at home and too busy to entertain - I just rubbed whereever I wanted. In the bathroom out of a shower, in the shower, at my desk, in my bed, on my bed, before heading to work. My carpet started to look like the constellation itself had dropped. Vacuum. Fuck yes. Clean up as you can. James once said that girls have more dust bunnies than even the Easter Bunny. Get some of the cracks and crevices once in a while. It feels good, and it looks good. Take a simple feather duster and get on the bookshelves. Pick up your used condoms and dispose of them. Then, take the garbage out. Nothing worse than an apartment that stinks like the last man's cum. Turn the TV from facing your bed - I know those drunk, solitary nights - and point it toward the more social part of your room. Discretely move all the semi-used batteries - yes, we all know you use vibrators but your guest might feel intimidated. It's summer, the spiders find their way in - clean the cobwebs. You had a bender, recycle the Pabst cans. You're a lady after all. Act like one. Oh, and that goes to bodies, too. Trim that bushy. Sure, we all like it natural, but who ever EVER likes picking the curlies out of their teeth [MEN - TAKE HEED!!! a little trimming does a wonder for a blowjob good lord!]. Get those pits, the cunnie, try for the crack, and make those legs smooth. [Unless you're being visited by natural hippie man, then, let it all go.] Brush your teeth -- after your cocktail. Gin&tonic and toothpaste is gross. If you just smoked a cig and drank and swished with mouth wash, THEN brush - nothing is worse than medicine mouth from mouth wash. Let's hope that our visitors have the same consideration, to at least use some good gum. And, if they come straight from work, well... hold your nose when you're down there. And I don't mean literally. We can all benefit from learning how to hold our nose without using a finger pinch.
6a) Others. Put a clean towel in the bathroom in case your playmate needs to clean up afterwards. You don't need new, clean sheets for every lover, but a nice fresh bedspread works. If you're a whore for a week, be sure you can flip the spread over and around. No one likes to smell the previous man in your bed. I found my face down in my old crusty wetness before. I found a scent from the previous lover. It's distracting. I'm trying to be better in this realm. It's cheap not to create a newness for each adventure. While I'm short on time, and short on quarters and time for laundry, it's important. Sometimes it doesn't matter. It's up to you to gauge your lovers. Perhaps lover 1 likes to piss on you, lover 2 might like to imagine you a dirty, sick whore so fear not for cleaning up. But lover 3 might balk at the idea of previous men in your bed. Go with your own discretion but know that a little stain could mean a half-assed fucking.
6b) Same goes for nails. Some playmates want a scratch or five. Some have to leave with no marks traceable. It's up to you to know who wants what and to decide when to clip your claws.
7) Lotion it up. If you're peeling or not. Lotion makes the skin soft and glowing and supple. It also gives a nice fragrance. But choose your lotion right. Nothing like your mom or your grandma would use. Who wants to smell rose petals? You smell rose petals on a death bed. I love Hempz lotion - I'm no hippie anymore, but it smells like a slow, subtle strawberry and feels thick enough to mean something and supple enough to soak in. It's not going to leave a fragrance on your visitor but it'll moisten up your body and make you smell slightly edible. So yummy! I never put it directly on my cunnie, but do spread it around the outer labia and inner thigh and a bit over my nipples. [Good lord, I hope my lovers like it.. no one has ever said anything so if it needs to be said, now's the time!]
8) Clothes. It depends on your mood and the mood of your visitor. I don't have a ton of outfits. So, I use what I got. Nudity is a great gift to an open door. Nudity and heels works. Stockings, thigh highs, corset. Girlie undies and a tee-shirt. Slip and fishnets. Workout sweats. Bare feet and a sundress. Bathing suit. Skirt and halter. We all have something in our closets that will match what our lover wants and what feels most sexy to us. Sometimes it's good to go beyond the call of duty. I like pretending I have to be someone new, wanting to be someone new. Picking a personality for my mood. Either way, it doesn't set the tone entirely because it comes off relatively quickly.
9) Show time! Music - check. Clothes - check. Breath - check. Attitude - check. Space - check. You don't have to June Cleaver out. I've opened the door and had to turn around to adjust volume or hitch up a panty or just plain been nervous and shy. Act as you feel is appropriate. But at that moment, all other things melt away. Bills, the leftover stain, the forgetful flip of the bedspread, the last shot of booze, the txt from an ex, the night's party, the tear in your asshole, the heat, the gas, the fight with your co-worker, last night's lover, tomorrow's exam, the spider in the corner, your own future... right now is right now. Be. Live. Be here now. You have a guest, you have some fun planned. Certainly you don't have to be sober, nor do you have to be begging or waiting hand on foot. But you should be focused as you can on the moment. Of course, I've bailed emotionally and physically on playmates and left them dumb-founded before, but I've learned a bit to try to curtail those feelings and confusions and drunkenness. Be with the one you want or want the one you're with.
10) Move on. Keep moving. Flaws in the looks or space or attitude. Pass it by. Make up for it. Distract. Andy came in, stunned by the heels, stockings, garter, corset. Kisses are amazing to ground me. Put me in the place in his body in our bodies. He turned me and pressed me up against the wall. I knew that I was recovering my asshole - from when he visited from failing my fiber diet from wiping too hard. It's not totally grody or medical, it's just tender and I'm trying to be careful. So, when I so wanted it and he wanted to give me a rim job, I said, "not the bummie." I didn't yell, I didn't freak out, I didn't scold. I just whispered. I didn't need to go into details. And he reacted oh so well and came up, flipped me and got me on my knees. IF a lover reacts poorly or tries to pursue a boundary you put up [and perhaps feel guilty about], stand your ground and re-direct. There are plenty of other parts and other playgrounds. If you're playing submissive try to move the scene to his body part and focus there. If he's playing dominant, submissively request that it's a hands-off area. Once, when I spotted a stain on the bed, I tried to manouver to cover it with my body. If that fails, disregard it and exert more energy to distract from it. Or, play it up as how much of a whore you are and how he wants that in his lover slut. If that fails, you're dating the wrong man or you're not paying enough attention to what your lovers request or you're not being honest and I can't help you there.
11) If it doesn't feel right. I don't have to talk about how it feels good so much, because the good just goes on and on. If it doesn't feel good though, this can be a huge thing for a mistress. We want to please so badly. If something feels uncomfortable [don't touch the owie bummie, don't finger fuck me so hard, my vagina tunnel shrinks monthy and can't take your cock so well, my throat hurts, my hand is cramping, my leg is cramping, I'm freaking out, the ropes are too tight, the slapping is too much, etc], for god's sake don't just stand there and take it. If you think you can re-position, do it. If you think you can slow it down, do. Take a bit of control and have your say. What I'm learning more than anything is that men don't care about anything else in sex other than getting you off. Getting you/me/their lover/their playmate/the fuck off gets them off ultimately. I'm not talking about rapists or manipulators - their game is all about not getting you off but getting their way. But for lovers, they want to feel the benefit of their balls stirring over your engorging and uncontrollable cumming all over them. That they created that wildness in you that they made you get wild that they fucked you so silly you made faces that you shouldn't make in public. That they got you so off that you begged to stop. That they finally get off because you've cum 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, times. Or, that they know they're gonna get you off at some point. Being a mistress isn't being a submissive slave. A submissive slave might not get her share, might not her offness. She might have to be punished and get fucked without a cum. I am that woman sometimes. When I'm a mistress though, I know my getting off gets him off. I am not being punished by his cock. I am fulfilling his cock's prophesy. If I'm not getting in the groove, if I'm not feeling well-positioned or comfortable or ready, there's no sense in continuing because my lover is here to fuck and get off on me with me all over me in me. [Here's my plug for condoms. Use them.] Thus, if I'm not feeling it, well, I might try to suck it up for a bit but that's not gonna last. I'll put my hand on my clitty to move me more. I'll put my hand on his abdomen to stave off the long cock. I'll open my eyes or close them. I'll say yes this no that. Because in the end, if I'm thrashing and pulsing and tingling and throbbing and cumming, he will too.
12) When it feels too good to be true. Remember, he is not yours and you are not his. You cannot call out his given name, the one his wife calls him. You cannot promise matrimony and 3 perfect children. You cannot say I will love you forever. You cannot say you're the only one in my life. You CAN say, I've been waiting all day for your hard cock. I've wanted you to fuck me all week. I love your fucking hard cock fucking me so fucking hard. I am your cumslut bitch. I am your babyslut fuck toy. I am yours yours yours. .... These are momentary and agreed upon. But, remember, you cannot look into his eyes and make promises or say things you really don't mean. Coitus lies but it doesn't not hide. It does not cover you entirely. It exposes. You are exposed naked or semi-dressed. But your words and eyes and lips can tell much more. Be careful. If he is your full-time lover or she your mate or that person your partner for life, grand. You still can't lie. You can't promise to do the dishes everyday for the rest of your life together, because for some reason that instant is always burned in your memories and if you open your moaning mouth and promise that you'll be home by 5 every day for the rest of your life - it's solid. You will not live that down. If you are in a part-time play with a married person, you will ruin it by turning it into love. You will wreck a system if you swear to keep that baby he's about to put into you while you're playing house. You will tear up minds if you try to rekindle old love in the midst of fucking. You will fuck up your chances if you try to move a late-night-lay into going steady by saying how much you care. Be careful of your cum-flooded mind while fucking. Your tongue has a mind of its own and usually it behaves, obeying your wet pussy screaming fuck me now harder harder you fucking hard cock I'm gonna cum all over you fuck fuck. But other times it takes the other fork in the road because you already started fucking with other things on your mind [disobeying #9] and all of a sudden your pussy is fucking but your heart thinks it has something wise to say and then your tongue is forming the words I heart you.
13) Post. I can't consult here. This is wild territory. This is where the heart and the pussy and the sweat and the skin and the brain and the outer and inner thigh and the ankle and the wrist and hair all combine and make a big fat mess. You can choose to lay together or choose to disappear from the parking garage as quickly as you came together. You can pat your hair and clear your throat and wonder how it happened or you can stare at your toes. You can let his hands caress your belly and tits and neck and wish he'd plant a thousand kisses on you. You can fall asleep and start to snore. You can lay and talk about politics or maybe his family. You can rest a couple of fingers in his hand and stare at the ceiling. You can lay legs intertwined. You can cuddle in a ball. This is unchartered territory and you have to navigate how you feel. I would counsel that crying at this point is only kosher if you have well established boundaries and understandings. Crying can freak a lover out or can drive them to cuddle too much. Crying is for you to do and for you to explain. I would counsel only that you keep a physical boundary if that's needed for the rest of the week and month and to keep sanity and keep interactions in a frame of mind. For, if you cry, most well-adjusted lovers will want to help and care for you. Because, hopefully you're not fucking neanderthals. Married lovers will feel compelled to help but might not want to care too much [depending on their situation]. Same goes for single lovers though [depending on their situation and personality]. Whatever happens, be a gracious hostess at the end. Allow for a shower if need be and don't pry in his pants while he's in there -- that's stalking and that gets you nowhere but crazy. Make conversation if you want to or fall asleep. Feign interest if you want to, but let me tell you, post-coitus is a magnifying glass and falseness is more obvious. So, if you don't care about your lover, bypass trying to do so. It only sounds and looks like disinterest and that gets you no more lays. Walk your lover to the door when they leave - naked or dressed. It's just polite. Well wishes or wistfulness is appropriate. Clutching their ankles is not.
14) Rinse. Repeat.
per a request from a reader.
It's not easy to be a non-paid sluttish tasteful mistress.
Here are some things I've thought of:
1) Don't wear yourself out... I had an overactive week and school nights. I'm not growing lax on my policy of not going out on school nights but my week days aren't so important to me. They are extremely busy, but I'm still focused on being cognizant. That said, when it rains, it pours. Monday I worked out and focused on school. Tuesday, I saw "Zoo" which was just like this review here [about sex with animals, if I must explain], really, except that Sundance 608 sucks ass and I have no idea why Robert Redford thinks Madison is worthy. It was my second date with Phillip - the first I begged off any play with PMS hormones and the cold sore - and we'd been exchanging very, very dirty emails focused on Daddy/girl naughtiness. So, when he came over, we kissed finally and he quietly said, "Get on your knees." I did, in my pretty pettifore, hands in my lap, mouth on his cock. "I'm going to cum - do you want it in your mouth?" [I could expound on how nice it is for a man to be so gentelmanly and prepare his receiver, but I won't here.] After Zoo, I got a right as rain and such more than ever expected in all my life treat to Daddy/girl nasty talk and fucking. Wednesday, I had re-scheduled a date from online for sushi. It was nice enough. Thursday, I met Phillip again for climbing after a work party. My ass strapped in to a harness and scaling a wall with nooks and crannies. God, I really like it. After I get over my fear of heights. And later. Well, you'll have to see the pics, but he's taking his own interesting initiative to create bondage with climbing gear. [Ask me for the naughty pics on flickr.com if you don't already have access.] Friday, Andy visited. Now, in the past I've saved Andy for first visit. Today he was last. But still first. Phillip has a ways to go in the realm of naughty and dirty. His hand rests gently on the back of my neck as I suck his cock hoping he'll be overcome with force and pull me gagging. He doesn't. Andy, pushes his cock down my throat and spreads me on top of his face. I won't go on further as you've heard my praises before. Suffice to say, it was a long week. To be a good mistress, one has to not let oneself get too worn out. I was on the brink of exhaustion. I was not quite a flapping bird in the breeze, as it were, but I wasn't a fresh pink flower either.
2) Leave work early. Get out of that stuffy, demanding office. Sometimes I have the fortune of being able to exchange rapid Gmail emails back and forth filled with nasty wishes for the afternoon tryst. Sometimes not. In those cases, in all cases, make for the door about 2 hours in advance.
3) You are what you want to be and who you can be is creative. Phillip is learning. I hate teaching. But he's eager and engaged and taking the lead. Our emails included me explaining that I am fed up with teaching boys how to become dirty, nasty men. So, he's taken to creating scenarios. Of course, they're not bdsm-community-appropriate, but fuck that shit. Things don't have to be one set way. Thus, to him, I am a new playground and I like that he keeps opening his tastes: "It turns me on if it turns you on." So, he's not out trolling for women who want to play young girls. But he's pushing me in this realm more than I have ever explored before. Andy emailed earlier in the day that he'd seen a photo of stockings and heels. I asked if he preferred stockings vs. fishnets - he was going with more classy stockings. Garter? Corset? I was blowing his mind. He let me select.
3a) Eat. A starving mistress is a weak playmate. Even if your work day was so busy you hadn't had a chance to eat. Snack on an energy bar at home. Get something in your body to be able to perform and not sound like a roaring lion while being fucked. Nothing is more distracting than your own focus lost on hunger and your stomach growling.
4) Get good music. I'd had the same comp of sex music for a while. DJ Shadow, Kruder & Dorf, some Verve remix jazz. It was getting old. So, I threw some Brazillian Girls in, some Brazzaville [thanks, James!], some Saint Germain, some Thievery. I had to switch it up after listening to it for days in a row. Music can make your body move. Music can give a good vibe. Music can set the tone of the visit.
5) Have a drink - even if it's 2pm. It's been a fuck long day or week or hour. Pour a drink. I used to drink from dawn to night if I wanted. Then, I made it a habit only after the sun set. Now, it's when I think it's happy hour in my head. Home at 2, got a date at 3. Doesn't mean I have to get loaded, but a nice coctail never hurts for lubing the mind or joints.
6) Clean up. After I got back from Mexico, suddenly I started to peel in the weirdest of spots. My outer calves. Who peels there? So, for a week or so - while I was sick and at home and too busy to entertain - I just rubbed whereever I wanted. In the bathroom out of a shower, in the shower, at my desk, in my bed, on my bed, before heading to work. My carpet started to look like the constellation itself had dropped. Vacuum. Fuck yes. Clean up as you can. James once said that girls have more dust bunnies than even the Easter Bunny. Get some of the cracks and crevices once in a while. It feels good, and it looks good. Take a simple feather duster and get on the bookshelves. Pick up your used condoms and dispose of them. Then, take the garbage out. Nothing worse than an apartment that stinks like the last man's cum. Turn the TV from facing your bed - I know those drunk, solitary nights - and point it toward the more social part of your room. Discretely move all the semi-used batteries - yes, we all know you use vibrators but your guest might feel intimidated. It's summer, the spiders find their way in - clean the cobwebs. You had a bender, recycle the Pabst cans. You're a lady after all. Act like one. Oh, and that goes to bodies, too. Trim that bushy. Sure, we all like it natural, but who ever EVER likes picking the curlies out of their teeth [MEN - TAKE HEED!!! a little trimming does a wonder for a blowjob good lord!]. Get those pits, the cunnie, try for the crack, and make those legs smooth. [Unless you're being visited by natural hippie man, then, let it all go.] Brush your teeth -- after your cocktail. Gin&tonic and toothpaste is gross. If you just smoked a cig and drank and swished with mouth wash, THEN brush - nothing is worse than medicine mouth from mouth wash. Let's hope that our visitors have the same consideration, to at least use some good gum. And, if they come straight from work, well... hold your nose when you're down there. And I don't mean literally. We can all benefit from learning how to hold our nose without using a finger pinch.
6a) Others. Put a clean towel in the bathroom in case your playmate needs to clean up afterwards. You don't need new, clean sheets for every lover, but a nice fresh bedspread works. If you're a whore for a week, be sure you can flip the spread over and around. No one likes to smell the previous man in your bed. I found my face down in my old crusty wetness before. I found a scent from the previous lover. It's distracting. I'm trying to be better in this realm. It's cheap not to create a newness for each adventure. While I'm short on time, and short on quarters and time for laundry, it's important. Sometimes it doesn't matter. It's up to you to gauge your lovers. Perhaps lover 1 likes to piss on you, lover 2 might like to imagine you a dirty, sick whore so fear not for cleaning up. But lover 3 might balk at the idea of previous men in your bed. Go with your own discretion but know that a little stain could mean a half-assed fucking.
6b) Same goes for nails. Some playmates want a scratch or five. Some have to leave with no marks traceable. It's up to you to know who wants what and to decide when to clip your claws.
7) Lotion it up. If you're peeling or not. Lotion makes the skin soft and glowing and supple. It also gives a nice fragrance. But choose your lotion right. Nothing like your mom or your grandma would use. Who wants to smell rose petals? You smell rose petals on a death bed. I love Hempz lotion - I'm no hippie anymore, but it smells like a slow, subtle strawberry and feels thick enough to mean something and supple enough to soak in. It's not going to leave a fragrance on your visitor but it'll moisten up your body and make you smell slightly edible. So yummy! I never put it directly on my cunnie, but do spread it around the outer labia and inner thigh and a bit over my nipples. [Good lord, I hope my lovers like it.. no one has ever said anything so if it needs to be said, now's the time!]
8) Clothes. It depends on your mood and the mood of your visitor. I don't have a ton of outfits. So, I use what I got. Nudity is a great gift to an open door. Nudity and heels works. Stockings, thigh highs, corset. Girlie undies and a tee-shirt. Slip and fishnets. Workout sweats. Bare feet and a sundress. Bathing suit. Skirt and halter. We all have something in our closets that will match what our lover wants and what feels most sexy to us. Sometimes it's good to go beyond the call of duty. I like pretending I have to be someone new, wanting to be someone new. Picking a personality for my mood. Either way, it doesn't set the tone entirely because it comes off relatively quickly.
9) Show time! Music - check. Clothes - check. Breath - check. Attitude - check. Space - check. You don't have to June Cleaver out. I've opened the door and had to turn around to adjust volume or hitch up a panty or just plain been nervous and shy. Act as you feel is appropriate. But at that moment, all other things melt away. Bills, the leftover stain, the forgetful flip of the bedspread, the last shot of booze, the txt from an ex, the night's party, the tear in your asshole, the heat, the gas, the fight with your co-worker, last night's lover, tomorrow's exam, the spider in the corner, your own future... right now is right now. Be. Live. Be here now. You have a guest, you have some fun planned. Certainly you don't have to be sober, nor do you have to be begging or waiting hand on foot. But you should be focused as you can on the moment. Of course, I've bailed emotionally and physically on playmates and left them dumb-founded before, but I've learned a bit to try to curtail those feelings and confusions and drunkenness. Be with the one you want or want the one you're with.
10) Move on. Keep moving. Flaws in the looks or space or attitude. Pass it by. Make up for it. Distract. Andy came in, stunned by the heels, stockings, garter, corset. Kisses are amazing to ground me. Put me in the place in his body in our bodies. He turned me and pressed me up against the wall. I knew that I was recovering my asshole - from when he visited from failing my fiber diet from wiping too hard. It's not totally grody or medical, it's just tender and I'm trying to be careful. So, when I so wanted it and he wanted to give me a rim job, I said, "not the bummie." I didn't yell, I didn't freak out, I didn't scold. I just whispered. I didn't need to go into details. And he reacted oh so well and came up, flipped me and got me on my knees. IF a lover reacts poorly or tries to pursue a boundary you put up [and perhaps feel guilty about], stand your ground and re-direct. There are plenty of other parts and other playgrounds. If you're playing submissive try to move the scene to his body part and focus there. If he's playing dominant, submissively request that it's a hands-off area. Once, when I spotted a stain on the bed, I tried to manouver to cover it with my body. If that fails, disregard it and exert more energy to distract from it. Or, play it up as how much of a whore you are and how he wants that in his lover slut. If that fails, you're dating the wrong man or you're not paying enough attention to what your lovers request or you're not being honest and I can't help you there.
11) If it doesn't feel right. I don't have to talk about how it feels good so much, because the good just goes on and on. If it doesn't feel good though, this can be a huge thing for a mistress. We want to please so badly. If something feels uncomfortable [don't touch the owie bummie, don't finger fuck me so hard, my vagina tunnel shrinks monthy and can't take your cock so well, my throat hurts, my hand is cramping, my leg is cramping, I'm freaking out, the ropes are too tight, the slapping is too much, etc], for god's sake don't just stand there and take it. If you think you can re-position, do it. If you think you can slow it down, do. Take a bit of control and have your say. What I'm learning more than anything is that men don't care about anything else in sex other than getting you off. Getting you/me/their lover/their playmate/the fuck off gets them off ultimately. I'm not talking about rapists or manipulators - their game is all about not getting you off but getting their way. But for lovers, they want to feel the benefit of their balls stirring over your engorging and uncontrollable cumming all over them. That they created that wildness in you that they made you get wild that they fucked you so silly you made faces that you shouldn't make in public. That they got you so off that you begged to stop. That they finally get off because you've cum 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, times. Or, that they know they're gonna get you off at some point. Being a mistress isn't being a submissive slave. A submissive slave might not get her share, might not her offness. She might have to be punished and get fucked without a cum. I am that woman sometimes. When I'm a mistress though, I know my getting off gets him off. I am not being punished by his cock. I am fulfilling his cock's prophesy. If I'm not getting in the groove, if I'm not feeling well-positioned or comfortable or ready, there's no sense in continuing because my lover is here to fuck and get off on me with me all over me in me. [Here's my plug for condoms. Use them.] Thus, if I'm not feeling it, well, I might try to suck it up for a bit but that's not gonna last. I'll put my hand on my clitty to move me more. I'll put my hand on his abdomen to stave off the long cock. I'll open my eyes or close them. I'll say yes this no that. Because in the end, if I'm thrashing and pulsing and tingling and throbbing and cumming, he will too.
12) When it feels too good to be true. Remember, he is not yours and you are not his. You cannot call out his given name, the one his wife calls him. You cannot promise matrimony and 3 perfect children. You cannot say I will love you forever. You cannot say you're the only one in my life. You CAN say, I've been waiting all day for your hard cock. I've wanted you to fuck me all week. I love your fucking hard cock fucking me so fucking hard. I am your cumslut bitch. I am your babyslut fuck toy. I am yours yours yours. .... These are momentary and agreed upon. But, remember, you cannot look into his eyes and make promises or say things you really don't mean. Coitus lies but it doesn't not hide. It does not cover you entirely. It exposes. You are exposed naked or semi-dressed. But your words and eyes and lips can tell much more. Be careful. If he is your full-time lover or she your mate or that person your partner for life, grand. You still can't lie. You can't promise to do the dishes everyday for the rest of your life together, because for some reason that instant is always burned in your memories and if you open your moaning mouth and promise that you'll be home by 5 every day for the rest of your life - it's solid. You will not live that down. If you are in a part-time play with a married person, you will ruin it by turning it into love. You will wreck a system if you swear to keep that baby he's about to put into you while you're playing house. You will tear up minds if you try to rekindle old love in the midst of fucking. You will fuck up your chances if you try to move a late-night-lay into going steady by saying how much you care. Be careful of your cum-flooded mind while fucking. Your tongue has a mind of its own and usually it behaves, obeying your wet pussy screaming fuck me now harder harder you fucking hard cock I'm gonna cum all over you fuck fuck. But other times it takes the other fork in the road because you already started fucking with other things on your mind [disobeying #9] and all of a sudden your pussy is fucking but your heart thinks it has something wise to say and then your tongue is forming the words I heart you.
13) Post. I can't consult here. This is wild territory. This is where the heart and the pussy and the sweat and the skin and the brain and the outer and inner thigh and the ankle and the wrist and hair all combine and make a big fat mess. You can choose to lay together or choose to disappear from the parking garage as quickly as you came together. You can pat your hair and clear your throat and wonder how it happened or you can stare at your toes. You can let his hands caress your belly and tits and neck and wish he'd plant a thousand kisses on you. You can fall asleep and start to snore. You can lay and talk about politics or maybe his family. You can rest a couple of fingers in his hand and stare at the ceiling. You can lay legs intertwined. You can cuddle in a ball. This is unchartered territory and you have to navigate how you feel. I would counsel that crying at this point is only kosher if you have well established boundaries and understandings. Crying can freak a lover out or can drive them to cuddle too much. Crying is for you to do and for you to explain. I would counsel only that you keep a physical boundary if that's needed for the rest of the week and month and to keep sanity and keep interactions in a frame of mind. For, if you cry, most well-adjusted lovers will want to help and care for you. Because, hopefully you're not fucking neanderthals. Married lovers will feel compelled to help but might not want to care too much [depending on their situation]. Same goes for single lovers though [depending on their situation and personality]. Whatever happens, be a gracious hostess at the end. Allow for a shower if need be and don't pry in his pants while he's in there -- that's stalking and that gets you nowhere but crazy. Make conversation if you want to or fall asleep. Feign interest if you want to, but let me tell you, post-coitus is a magnifying glass and falseness is more obvious. So, if you don't care about your lover, bypass trying to do so. It only sounds and looks like disinterest and that gets you no more lays. Walk your lover to the door when they leave - naked or dressed. It's just polite. Well wishes or wistfulness is appropriate. Clutching their ankles is not.
14) Rinse. Repeat.
per a request from a reader.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
When I drank more
I wrote some interesting shit:
"they say whiskey cures any ailment, honey."
she said it in a southern drawl with tight jeans, elvis belt buckle, white wife-beater, and a straw hat. god she was gorgeous.
"you know it ain't helpin' to smoke while you've got the croup."
she leaned back and forth in the rocker, white dressing gown with lace around the neck, her bony, veiny fingers clutching a slim cigarette.
i got up from the couch and sweat dripped down from my armpits. well, if i can't breathe now, it won't be any better later. i got the laundry basket together with quarters in my back pocket. i heard the music first then the screech of tires stopping outside my window. i bet it's romeo. he knocks on the door instead of bellowing his wild hollar from the alley (must be on his meds again).
"just one drink, lolita, come on..."
"i can't. i just can't. i'm too sick. i've got star wars raging in my lungs and jabba the hut in my head."
whiskey.
it came back to whiskey.
gold rush at my finger tips. they did find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and they put it in a bottle and called it maker's mark. saint mark of makers. there's a macon georgia. is there a makers tennessee?
what don't kill ya, only makes ya stronger. or more numb.
i've been on fire all day. fevers make me horny. sex on LSD - sex with a fever. it's all surreal. each fingertip laid here, resonates a pool of water there. each kiss of lips like burning comets. sweat it out. bundle up and take hot showers. eat spicy, hot soup in the middle of an 80F day.
i put the alphabet soup and crackers to the side of the bed and stretch my legs out and apart. even my fingers are like hot iron about to brand the pink nubbin.
closed eyes and martians appear. cars going too fast rear-ending each other. "you should have just taken it." batteries running out with their juice spilling to the ground. a tick tick tick of a heart pacer. white sands blowing below my body, as strands of my hair fly off to the side. all the naked bodies. "do you want to play?" "no." "i'm picky and you're my type."
i'm fast asleep before i get there.
someone likes the "eighties, nineties, and today" music up on full volume so i wake to the charlie brown theme song. i almost have to peel my naked body from the sheet. it must be a hundred degrees inside and outside my body.
if i can't stop thinking about him, will he never go away?
it's that pleasure place between awake and dead. red face, deep lines, horns, glowing eyes, a tail that wraps around his arm over and over again. an asymetrical pool of jizz in front of a computer with my photo on the screen. shrine. sacrifice. worship. just touch me. just touch.
if it ain't gonna cure me, it'll tie me over until i get a cure. pour a glass. i'll drink it straight. kill all the bugs in my body. raise the fever. i'm hallucinating again.
if i hit my head and died it would take 4 days for my body to start stinking up the place (in this heat at least). who would find me first? not the family, so disconnected. not the co-workers, so patient. not the lovers, so restrained. it'd have to be a neighbor. the next-door neighbor. "hey," pound pound. "hey, it stinks. are you home or what?"
ahhhh and now the rain... the rain outside... i'll go dance in the rain. drench, wash, cool, soak.
shit, need another glass of whiskey first.
7/20/2003
"they say whiskey cures any ailment, honey."
she said it in a southern drawl with tight jeans, elvis belt buckle, white wife-beater, and a straw hat. god she was gorgeous.
"you know it ain't helpin' to smoke while you've got the croup."
she leaned back and forth in the rocker, white dressing gown with lace around the neck, her bony, veiny fingers clutching a slim cigarette.
i got up from the couch and sweat dripped down from my armpits. well, if i can't breathe now, it won't be any better later. i got the laundry basket together with quarters in my back pocket. i heard the music first then the screech of tires stopping outside my window. i bet it's romeo. he knocks on the door instead of bellowing his wild hollar from the alley (must be on his meds again).
"just one drink, lolita, come on..."
"i can't. i just can't. i'm too sick. i've got star wars raging in my lungs and jabba the hut in my head."
whiskey.
it came back to whiskey.
gold rush at my finger tips. they did find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and they put it in a bottle and called it maker's mark. saint mark of makers. there's a macon georgia. is there a makers tennessee?
what don't kill ya, only makes ya stronger. or more numb.
i've been on fire all day. fevers make me horny. sex on LSD - sex with a fever. it's all surreal. each fingertip laid here, resonates a pool of water there. each kiss of lips like burning comets. sweat it out. bundle up and take hot showers. eat spicy, hot soup in the middle of an 80F day.
i put the alphabet soup and crackers to the side of the bed and stretch my legs out and apart. even my fingers are like hot iron about to brand the pink nubbin.
closed eyes and martians appear. cars going too fast rear-ending each other. "you should have just taken it." batteries running out with their juice spilling to the ground. a tick tick tick of a heart pacer. white sands blowing below my body, as strands of my hair fly off to the side. all the naked bodies. "do you want to play?" "no." "i'm picky and you're my type."
i'm fast asleep before i get there.
someone likes the "eighties, nineties, and today" music up on full volume so i wake to the charlie brown theme song. i almost have to peel my naked body from the sheet. it must be a hundred degrees inside and outside my body.
if i can't stop thinking about him, will he never go away?
it's that pleasure place between awake and dead. red face, deep lines, horns, glowing eyes, a tail that wraps around his arm over and over again. an asymetrical pool of jizz in front of a computer with my photo on the screen. shrine. sacrifice. worship. just touch me. just touch.
if it ain't gonna cure me, it'll tie me over until i get a cure. pour a glass. i'll drink it straight. kill all the bugs in my body. raise the fever. i'm hallucinating again.
if i hit my head and died it would take 4 days for my body to start stinking up the place (in this heat at least). who would find me first? not the family, so disconnected. not the co-workers, so patient. not the lovers, so restrained. it'd have to be a neighbor. the next-door neighbor. "hey," pound pound. "hey, it stinks. are you home or what?"
ahhhh and now the rain... the rain outside... i'll go dance in the rain. drench, wash, cool, soak.
shit, need another glass of whiskey first.
7/20/2003
Sunday, June 10, 2007
noman
is some man.
If you haven't visited my friend noman over at my secret life you really need to do so. He's such a wonderful writer with such beautiful attention to detail. A sexual encounter can be dirty and grimey or sensual and angelic. I love popping by his blog and finding things like this "There's something about an oiled-up hand job, especially after being rubbed down so expertly everywhere else, that draws something primal out of me - my whole sense of being focused on those few square inches of skin and muscle engorged with blood, sending a feeling through my core and out of my throat as guttural moans."
If you haven't visited my friend noman over at my secret life you really need to do so. He's such a wonderful writer with such beautiful attention to detail. A sexual encounter can be dirty and grimey or sensual and angelic. I love popping by his blog and finding things like this "There's something about an oiled-up hand job, especially after being rubbed down so expertly everywhere else, that draws something primal out of me - my whole sense of being focused on those few square inches of skin and muscle engorged with blood, sending a feeling through my core and out of my throat as guttural moans."
A day in the life...
He said: I was out climbing all day yesterday (9am to 6pm)! What a great day. I got to climb several routes that I've wanted to climb but never had ....It was a beautiful day to boot (the climbs we were on were in the shade, so it wasn't even hot). Great day all-in-all.
I said: so glad to hear. i took a pregnancy test [b/c I'm just like that... men have nothing to worry about every month - not fair.. i should really buy stock in some of these 1-test companies... oh, and i'm not preg], played with myself, laid in the sun in the park, sold my Econ book to a homie from the south side with a grill for teeth, bought booze and dinner for my friends who just moved to town, got a tad bit on the drunk side, walked to Mickeys for a shot of Jameson's and 1 game of pool, walked home, saw the sunrise from an overlook by my apt, and just woke up.
I neglected to tell him about the foot-long cock I sucked and being naked on the floor just as the voices reminded me that fucking without a condom right now would be such bad news and putting on my clothes in a panic while he stepped away after I said, "not without a rubber." And hurrying out the door after writing my cell number on a roll of paper towels. And the part about walking down Willy St when a car slowed next to me and the driver motioned to give me a lift - after I shook my head no, he whipped around to head in the other direction. And soaking my Mary Janes with blood from a heel blister I just didn't care about or feel. And the sobbing and the beauty of the morning and the 8 missed calls from the cock guy and how incredibly hungover I feel.
I also feel really, really good. It's been a while since I went crazy.
I said: so glad to hear. i took a pregnancy test [b/c I'm just like that... men have nothing to worry about every month - not fair.. i should really buy stock in some of these 1-test companies... oh, and i'm not preg], played with myself, laid in the sun in the park, sold my Econ book to a homie from the south side with a grill for teeth, bought booze and dinner for my friends who just moved to town, got a tad bit on the drunk side, walked to Mickeys for a shot of Jameson's and 1 game of pool, walked home, saw the sunrise from an overlook by my apt, and just woke up.
I neglected to tell him about the foot-long cock I sucked and being naked on the floor just as the voices reminded me that fucking without a condom right now would be such bad news and putting on my clothes in a panic while he stepped away after I said, "not without a rubber." And hurrying out the door after writing my cell number on a roll of paper towels. And the part about walking down Willy St when a car slowed next to me and the driver motioned to give me a lift - after I shook my head no, he whipped around to head in the other direction. And soaking my Mary Janes with blood from a heel blister I just didn't care about or feel. And the sobbing and the beauty of the morning and the 8 missed calls from the cock guy and how incredibly hungover I feel.
I also feel really, really good. It's been a while since I went crazy.
sun rise
so what? i sucked a black cock.
a huge black cock.
it doesnt beat the fuckin beautiful 5am sunsrise i saw over the lake today
i dont give more than i should to me, walking home at 3am, getting solicited from inside a car with a hand motion...get in , give u a ride.
i did cry. i'm not that dirty
but i was cheap tonight.
walked all the way to mickeys and back, solicited and all. bloody heels seeping.
i'm not that kind of whore.
tho maybe i shoulda tried it
but when i got to the pier
5am sunrise
monster fish flipping
birds chirping
innocence
i was new again
i sobbed
finally
freely
no one listening
no one caring
the birds helping
radiohead if i wanted to listen
but the silence
the laps of water
the me
the not me
the barely pink sky
barely showing me or them or us
i'm not a whore yet
i'm just over whelmed
patches of ripples
such peace on the water
me alone
not a single person in sight
i sobbed so loudly and then
muffled
ducks birds
kept chirping
reassuring
i'm clean
i'm good
it's not so hard
it's hard
it's all simple
clear sky
ruffled pink sunrise
so quiet
so silent
me
and me
and the birds
relief
alone
no one to touch me
no one to touch
i sobbed
finally
finally
such peace at sunrise
a huge black cock.
it doesnt beat the fuckin beautiful 5am sunsrise i saw over the lake today
i dont give more than i should to me, walking home at 3am, getting solicited from inside a car with a hand motion...get in , give u a ride.
i did cry. i'm not that dirty
but i was cheap tonight.
walked all the way to mickeys and back, solicited and all. bloody heels seeping.
i'm not that kind of whore.
tho maybe i shoulda tried it
but when i got to the pier
5am sunrise
monster fish flipping
birds chirping
innocence
i was new again
i sobbed
finally
freely
no one listening
no one caring
the birds helping
radiohead if i wanted to listen
but the silence
the laps of water
the me
the not me
the barely pink sky
barely showing me or them or us
i'm not a whore yet
i'm just over whelmed
patches of ripples
such peace on the water
me alone
not a single person in sight
i sobbed so loudly and then
muffled
ducks birds
kept chirping
reassuring
i'm clean
i'm good
it's not so hard
it's hard
it's all simple
clear sky
ruffled pink sunrise
so quiet
so silent
me
and me
and the birds
relief
alone
no one to touch me
no one to touch
i sobbed
finally
finally
such peace at sunrise
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Photos
I have photos for you finally.
Go visit me at flickr.com/photos/lolacdoa/sets. If all you see is 1 set called "travel, street, and non-sexxx" then you need to email me to invite you to view the private collection.
If you already have access to the private pirate collection, what you'll notice is more sets. I'm trying to clean house in anticipation of using the hell outta my awesome new camera. I've grouped by date [ie, man in my life not calendar day], by fetish [peeing vs. underwear -- I don't have a lot in these categories yet], nice, naughty, travel, etc... The new pics are in the "London-Paris," "Mexico," and "w. andy" sets. Don't expect anything outrageous or naughty in the travel sets.
[the "London-Paris" also features an awesome photo rendition by Clichemonster]
I took the last couple weeks off from planning for Paris just to settle back into work and then got a cold. I'm getting back on the horse. Craigslist has some very interesting apartment postings in gay ol' Paris. And I find myself wondering if I could spend 2 years with Claude and his boyfriend Marcel in a 4-room apartment. Or, if I'd prefer 2 girls who are hoping for 2 roommates for quiet weeks and partying on the weekends in either the 11th, 10th, or 6th arrondissements. Or, if I want a room I could easily acquire from one of the graduating students w/o a kitchen and a very small furnished space.
Meanwhile, trying to figure out loan paperwork, moving expenses, health insurance.
Anyway... brighter, gayer days ahead I hope...
Here's a taste for you:
Lola gets a burn in Mexico
Lola climbs a pyramid 136 feet tall
There is a bullfight... and only 1 winner
Lola's almost eaten by a crocodile
Andy pays a visit upon Lola's return
Go visit me at flickr.com/photos/lolacdoa/sets. If all you see is 1 set called "travel, street, and non-sexxx" then you need to email me to invite you to view the private collection.
If you already have access to the private pirate collection, what you'll notice is more sets. I'm trying to clean house in anticipation of using the hell outta my awesome new camera. I've grouped by date [ie, man in my life not calendar day], by fetish [peeing vs. underwear -- I don't have a lot in these categories yet], nice, naughty, travel, etc... The new pics are in the "London-Paris," "Mexico," and "w. andy" sets. Don't expect anything outrageous or naughty in the travel sets.
[the "London-Paris" also features an awesome photo rendition by Clichemonster]
I took the last couple weeks off from planning for Paris just to settle back into work and then got a cold. I'm getting back on the horse. Craigslist has some very interesting apartment postings in gay ol' Paris. And I find myself wondering if I could spend 2 years with Claude and his boyfriend Marcel in a 4-room apartment. Or, if I'd prefer 2 girls who are hoping for 2 roommates for quiet weeks and partying on the weekends in either the 11th, 10th, or 6th arrondissements. Or, if I want a room I could easily acquire from one of the graduating students w/o a kitchen and a very small furnished space.
Meanwhile, trying to figure out loan paperwork, moving expenses, health insurance.
Anyway... brighter, gayer days ahead I hope...
Here's a taste for you:
Some lovely candles in Notre Dame
trick photography in Paris
Lo in Trafalgar Square, London
Lola gets a burn in Mexico
Lola climbs a pyramid 136 feet tall
There is a bullfight... and only 1 winner
Lola's almost eaten by a crocodile
Andy pays a visit upon Lola's return
Friday, June 1, 2007
The order
Andy's lucky because he's reliable and I enjoy fucking him - so he comes first.
My dad talked me out of buying a laptop back when I bought this Dell desktop. I could have been outside on the back stairs typing this with my unhealthy smoke and the cool breeze. Behind the back door, the stairwell light is lit all the time. There is now a web, or many, filled with trapped small bugs. I watched the lady spider clean her house as she crawled about gathering and clipping off the weighted dead bodies. I don't think she would have stopped had I been directly beneath her web. So, I have to walk through clumps of dead tiny bugs. It's a graveyard. And I thought it was apropos to my way of ensnaring lovers, sucking them dry, and releasing them, but now I think it's just regular old housekeeping. I wish my landlord would send someone to clean it up and turn off the light.
I've overbooked myself and am trying to ignore the brink. The thin line where I could fall over into PMS and lose the raw, obsessive horny I felt earlier today. While I am not expected to put out at every date, I want to retain that feeling. The feeling of taut wire to dynamite. Of "take me out back and fuck me in your car."
The cold sore is healing over and now it's a scab on my lower lip. A small scab that color-blind James couldn't see, but that I feel is like the Titanic. I'm trying to avoid picking at it like all my knee scabs or elbow scrapes. Picking is fun. I'm trying to be good.
I've called in sick tomorrow. They pay out for vacation time but not for sick time. I have too many hours accumulated.
Friday night I'm taking Phillip for a ride at a local bar. We've been flirting after knowing each other in professional circles for a while. I wouldn't have pegged him for nasty, dirty but he very well might be. I've been no-holds-barred with my conversations lately as I don't care. I could ditch someone or take them but I'm not schooling anyone or helping them catch up. He's showing a bit of advancement, but being in the same space after our dirty thoughts have been fleshed out will be the real test. Too bad I can't show off my sucking skills right now. He's 48.
Saturday night, "no name" and I will go see "Je t'aime Paris" [Coen brothers] at the new Sundance 608 theatre. Of course, I'm in heat and have senioritis at work so I spent all day emailing the various lovers. He revealed an urgent desire to forcefully fuck me - call girl picked up on the street and taken to a dirty motel or exchange student Lola alone and teenager in Paris raped by an older stranger. He asked if he could stick his cock in my hole tonight. I was brief and said no.
Sunday I will rest in the lap of the Lord.
Monday this new guy wants to see me. The Lolita lover journalist. We chatted on the phone a bit while I was in post-coitus bliss. At times I felt overrun in conversation and like I was trying to get a word in edge-wise. He describes food like it's erotic fucking. Tomatos split open, lasagne that will get him laid. He doesn't want anything serious and he knows I don't. He's 43.
Conserve my energy. When it rains, it pours. I'm keeping Andy in rotation because we're very compatible playmates and we're infrequent enough to make me desire him deeply. [Don't think me a cold fish, Andy. You know what I mean.] I think "no name" has to go. While he's sweet, and if a chick asked me about him as a reference I'd give good reviews, there are too many ticks that drive me away. He does this weird stammer/breathing thing right before he says something out loud. It's like I know he's going to speak every time he goes to say something. Like he's testing the waters. Plus, [as James and I laughed hysterically] at one point toward the end of vacation I was packing and pulled out my heart monitor that wraps around my chest and he asked what that was - in a tone of curious giddiness. I told him and he said he thought it looked like a whip. We were both sunburned naked bodies packing and I joked that yeah, it looked like it and he jumped up on hands and knees on the bed and stuck his ass out like a gay boy wanting a lashing. I was aghast but tried to - unenthusiastically and clumsily - hit his ass with it. I laughed half-ways and said, yeah... uh... I'm just not good... uh... yeahhhh... he went to sit back down grinning, and I jokingly tried to strike again and he hopped up into the same position. I almost wretched. I almost puked. And it was at that moment, like a culmination of little annoyances, that I realized I just couldn't go on. James sent me the pic of Costanza - hilarious, yet mine was worse. I know.. I know.. I'm being horrible, but really. I've been so brutally honest that if he acts like a moron there's nothing I can do.
I'm peeling and my face is breaking out. Sun really isn't good for skin. I am starting to feel ugly although wearing a too-mini-for-work skirt today helped. Conserve the sex-ergy. Stay afloat in horny land. I don't want to leave just yet. I love feeling obsessed and distracted. I love feeling on fire.
Next weekend I'll bleed and find respite and alone time. Turn everyone away. Stay inside myself. Stay inside the apartment. After all, I installed the mini air conditioner today all by myself - trying to remember how James and I did it last year. It was manly and I sweated causing my tan skin to blister. I'm a big girl now.
My dad talked me out of buying a laptop back when I bought this Dell desktop. I could have been outside on the back stairs typing this with my unhealthy smoke and the cool breeze. Behind the back door, the stairwell light is lit all the time. There is now a web, or many, filled with trapped small bugs. I watched the lady spider clean her house as she crawled about gathering and clipping off the weighted dead bodies. I don't think she would have stopped had I been directly beneath her web. So, I have to walk through clumps of dead tiny bugs. It's a graveyard. And I thought it was apropos to my way of ensnaring lovers, sucking them dry, and releasing them, but now I think it's just regular old housekeeping. I wish my landlord would send someone to clean it up and turn off the light.
I've overbooked myself and am trying to ignore the brink. The thin line where I could fall over into PMS and lose the raw, obsessive horny I felt earlier today. While I am not expected to put out at every date, I want to retain that feeling. The feeling of taut wire to dynamite. Of "take me out back and fuck me in your car."
The cold sore is healing over and now it's a scab on my lower lip. A small scab that color-blind James couldn't see, but that I feel is like the Titanic. I'm trying to avoid picking at it like all my knee scabs or elbow scrapes. Picking is fun. I'm trying to be good.
I've called in sick tomorrow. They pay out for vacation time but not for sick time. I have too many hours accumulated.
Friday night I'm taking Phillip for a ride at a local bar. We've been flirting after knowing each other in professional circles for a while. I wouldn't have pegged him for nasty, dirty but he very well might be. I've been no-holds-barred with my conversations lately as I don't care. I could ditch someone or take them but I'm not schooling anyone or helping them catch up. He's showing a bit of advancement, but being in the same space after our dirty thoughts have been fleshed out will be the real test. Too bad I can't show off my sucking skills right now. He's 48.
Saturday night, "no name" and I will go see "Je t'aime Paris" [Coen brothers] at the new Sundance 608 theatre. Of course, I'm in heat and have senioritis at work so I spent all day emailing the various lovers. He revealed an urgent desire to forcefully fuck me - call girl picked up on the street and taken to a dirty motel or exchange student Lola alone and teenager in Paris raped by an older stranger. He asked if he could stick his cock in my hole tonight. I was brief and said no.
Sunday I will rest in the lap of the Lord.
Monday this new guy wants to see me. The Lolita lover journalist. We chatted on the phone a bit while I was in post-coitus bliss. At times I felt overrun in conversation and like I was trying to get a word in edge-wise. He describes food like it's erotic fucking. Tomatos split open, lasagne that will get him laid. He doesn't want anything serious and he knows I don't. He's 43.
Conserve my energy. When it rains, it pours. I'm keeping Andy in rotation because we're very compatible playmates and we're infrequent enough to make me desire him deeply. [Don't think me a cold fish, Andy. You know what I mean.] I think "no name" has to go. While he's sweet, and if a chick asked me about him as a reference I'd give good reviews, there are too many ticks that drive me away. He does this weird stammer/breathing thing right before he says something out loud. It's like I know he's going to speak every time he goes to say something. Like he's testing the waters. Plus, [as James and I laughed hysterically] at one point toward the end of vacation I was packing and pulled out my heart monitor that wraps around my chest and he asked what that was - in a tone of curious giddiness. I told him and he said he thought it looked like a whip. We were both sunburned naked bodies packing and I joked that yeah, it looked like it and he jumped up on hands and knees on the bed and stuck his ass out like a gay boy wanting a lashing. I was aghast but tried to - unenthusiastically and clumsily - hit his ass with it. I laughed half-ways and said, yeah... uh... I'm just not good... uh... yeahhhh... he went to sit back down grinning, and I jokingly tried to strike again and he hopped up into the same position. I almost wretched. I almost puked. And it was at that moment, like a culmination of little annoyances, that I realized I just couldn't go on. James sent me the pic of Costanza - hilarious, yet mine was worse. I know.. I know.. I'm being horrible, but really. I've been so brutally honest that if he acts like a moron there's nothing I can do.
I'm peeling and my face is breaking out. Sun really isn't good for skin. I am starting to feel ugly although wearing a too-mini-for-work skirt today helped. Conserve the sex-ergy. Stay afloat in horny land. I don't want to leave just yet. I love feeling obsessed and distracted. I love feeling on fire.
Next weekend I'll bleed and find respite and alone time. Turn everyone away. Stay inside myself. Stay inside the apartment. After all, I installed the mini air conditioner today all by myself - trying to remember how James and I did it last year. It was manly and I sweated causing my tan skin to blister. I'm a big girl now.
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