Thursday, March 27, 2008

What does this say about me?

(written Tues, 24 March)

Spring Break: now.
3,000 word paper on "Why have politicians throughout the world chosen to create independent regulatory agencies?": now; due 31 March.
Action: can't get no.
Health: sick with a cold.
Scary: wishing I had a boyfriend.
Cooking: soup.
Saw today: the literary walk in the Latin Quarter, hence, where Ginsburg crashed, where "Ulysses" was published, the 2nd Shakespeare Books; Paris by boat.

...and now back to our regularly scheduled program...



Back in January when I posted the Craigslist ad.

The winner was Royal Air Force ("RAF"), who boldly included a face photo. It was framed just below his neckline which was covered in (my good guess) pea green, which equals military. I was hooked.:

"Hi and if I may I'd like to start with the fun.

The first quote leaves me excited but forlorn whilst the next speaks of Hemingway and the last of Miller. The order is tall but I sense the benefits will be a fine reward. I am a British guy, geographically separated from my love interest, and would love to make proper use of my time in Paris. I am here till the end of June working and a special friend would really enhance my so far excellent time in Paris.

I am busy like you but look to escape and play naughty and fast as much as possible. Dominant yes, the rest you will have to decide for yourself, including easy on the eyes with the attached photo. I'm not in my 20s, have thought long before replying, but I am older.

Coffee I love, hosting I can (3eme).
Back to you
John Doe"


Our first date, we met at Église de Saint Germain-des-Pres to have coffee. He was shorter than I'd imagined and wore a funny little Sherlock Holmes hat. I chalked it up to something united kingdom-like. We did the French cheek-kiss, which is a great boundary breaker if anything - really, we need to introduce that into the US. Then, we walked across the street to the cafe called Les Deux Magots. The coffee was dismissed for pression pints, of course, and at 15h my semi-empty belly got a bit tipsy. I think I peed like 4 times, but we also sat there until almost 20h. I laughed quite a bit, and loudly. Which made all the French scowl, who were sitting in this revered place wherein Hemingway, Camus, Sartre and de Beauvoir wrote great stories and philosophized life and death.

I think we had the mind to go find food at a Scottish pub (The Highlander) but ended up drinking more beers there instead. I had to go to the bathroom but before I got up - as is the case historically and will continue to be so if I choose to accept my skywalker fate - I leaned in and kissed him. I wasn't planning anything, just figuring for a quick lip plant and tongue dance. Instead, he accepted my quick and reacted in slow, soft, luscious, moment-seeking, slow-motion-moving, fluffy-pillow-making, dampening-between-my-legs kisses. (How do I end up making on all these soft lips and having kisses burned into my memory?)

Paris has all these bathrooms with shared hand basins and both gender's toilets in the same area, as I was about to leave the restroom he came in. I think a woman came in meanwhile, but he and I were both pressed against each other kissing and moving hands slightly and slowly. This was not a hunger, this was not starvation, this was not dominance gaining ground. It was slow, soft, and .. not meaningful, but experiencing.

We laughed about sneaking out together back to the bar. It was only 21h and people were not as toasted as we were.

I think I suggested his place. I wish there were photos - or I wish my drunk brain could remember better. There was sipping stings of Pepe el Molar Orujo. Slow-motion wrestling, naked, on his floor. Me, trying to resist submissively. Him gently taking over. My knees were red and I had a bruise the size of a quarter-dollar on my upper arm for weeks after. We did all the positions and made all the noises until it was too late to move and too early to get up.

The next day:
He replied: "Bite you? Possibly a rat!! Definitely fun - you have a laugh to savour and a taste like lychee - yummi. Look forward to your return. Have an unfeasibly excellent time in India and remember, it was the British who made India what it is!!!!

Be inspired and live this beautiful day in Paris. Despite the French it is a special place."

A month later, while I was heart-racing over the planned echangiste date with the other couple, I reminisced over our first date "I've also been replaying a bit our first date in my mind. The morning when we were fucking, you were behind me, I was leaning back, sitting on your cock, knees bent, thighs spread open, you moved just centimeters in and out of me."

There are things that keep me from romancing him too much, which is good. He's almost too goofy at points. He's definitely too metrosexual for me, but I love his shampoo. He's into dance music, like club dance, and some sweeping girl ballads that make me want to bust out laughing when I should be tight lipped around his cock. These are minor details that keep me just safely on the side of interest without crossing into longing. He is in love with his wife, and says they have a general understanding that when apart what happens, happens. He spends at least every other weekend back in the UK with her. I need him to love her and I need to find him slightly irritating. It's the only way it will work out.

Our second date was with the other couple. A guy from his class and his mistress/girlfriend. Supposedly, she had introduced his buddy to swingers clubs and he was interested in getting us involved.

But before that....


My first date with RAF was Friday, Feb 1st.

...................................................

On Monday, Feb 4th, I had a date with my neighbor for the hamman. This time I felt I knew the routine a bit better and felt a bit more comfortable. We paid (dutch this time), went upstairs and undressed into our towels/wraps. Another couple was there undressing and I could tell they were old school French, or hippies by their strong scents and relaxed clothing. We went down to the hottub which is more of a lukewarm tub, for sure. We stayed a long time and I wished it was shorter and that there was more drinking.

As a naked woman delicately climbed the wet stairs out of the hottub, I asked him why he stared at women that way, with a visible up-down of the head moving the eyes. He said because he's an actor and likes to check people out, see how they move, how they react, and also because he wasn't wearing his glasses and couldn't see people very well. It made me feel pathetic towards him. It revealed more of his desperate, gangly, Jack Tripper personality than I wanted to see or admit. I ignored it for the adventure, despite feeling terribly turned off.

We went upstairs to the sauna. This time my body temperature could stand the heat, needed the heat in dead winter, and I wanted to stay, while he wanted to move on. We ventured to the steam room and watched couples interlace and separate through the dense fog.

This time, when we left to cruise the sex 'huts,' we didn't stop in the one, secluded room, but he maneuvered me into a longer room with a long table/bench covered in a soft, plastic mat. There were two entryways to the room and a couple was already kissing on one end. I giggled and tried to beg off out of shyness but he encouraged me into the room, and helped me up onto the mat, gently pushing me back and opening my thighs. I let my wrap fall open and closed my eyes. I settled my head and felt my body fill with familiar thumpings. A wave of cooler air past me and I opened my eyes to see the other couple, the hippie couple from the changing room, setting up next to my left shoulder. She was laying on her back, her brown, soft hair on my shoulder and he was above her, sliding into her.

My neighbor definitely knows how to fuck a woman to almost complete distraction, but I was too sensitive to the other, soft moans of the brunette next to me. And, then, opening my eyes, to another brunette on my right, laying down with her hair on my belly. It seemed like moths to the light, bears to honey, flies to flesh. All of a sudden, between my heavy, dazed eyelids I could see flashes of bodies gathering. The doorways slowly darkened the room, couples looking in and then peeling off to create their own. The smell of gentle curls bouncing on my skin. The sound of a woman's body edging across the mat from each of her lover's thrusts. The woman on my left, my age or younger, her gentle moans in response to his hips. His hand reaching over to my left tit to squeeze or pinch a nipple. His dark curls down in my face, stretching for a kiss from me, kissing her, hand on her shoulder, on my side. The older woman on my right, the scent of flower blossoms, her hair draped over and showering my belly, occasionally snagged between the crease of my hip. Her lover...

My neighbor pulled out of me and I opened my eyes in protest to see the older lover, grey beard and a bit of a pot belly. He looked into my eyes and paused for a split second for my agreement or declination, and then picked my thighs up with his arms and pulled me further down toward him, to slide onto his cock. I looked over above the older woman (I imagined her Brazilian) and saw my neighbor on top of her looking at her face, at me, smiling. I turned to the older man (German French, I dreamed) and smiled with a relaxed sigh, drowsy, drunk, hot as hell, hungry, nervous, embarrassed. I glanced over to the left to see the hippies still jolting her body with his fucks.

And then, I let go. I stopped looking, my eyes fluttered open only to see shadows of bodies, to move a bit of hair, to bite my lip, to move my arm, to grab his arms pulling my hips. I rubbed my clit and whispered, "yes, yes, yes." He said something in return in English. I smelled the hair, the sweat, the sex in the air, and heard my own moaning and then, the most unforgettable sounds of my life. Tiny, soft, whimpering but begging, encouraging and air-like, "oui.... oui.... oui..." The most beautiful words uttered from a woman ever. The breathless /wh/ wh wh wh quickly ending in a childlike, hummingbird sound that would only come from a throat in the softest neck attached to the most perfectly round breasts .. ee. oui. oui. oui. Whispered it can melt icebergs. Whispered repeatedly in rise to hunger, in sex filled, it could shatter the great white marble of the Taj Mahal.

Amidst these dreams, and the flashes of thimble bronze nipples and coconut hyacinths, my temporary lover slowly guided his cock into my tight ass, easing in and out between the moans of my companions. I bit the back of my hand so as not to exclaim my English yeses to the world and moved my fingers back and forth more quickly on my clit. His partner turned over onto her knees and he whispered something to her in French which I could only guess was, "I'm in her ass, sweetie." Her hair, again hanging over my belly, started drifting back and forth, caressing me as my neighbor bounced her haunches off his thighs and her body off and on his cock.

I'm not sure who came first or how the orgasms sounded or who glowed with so much intensity that they imploded and drifted away to paradise. But at some point, we were satisfied enough to stop. And had the evening ended there I would have been content to drift home like a balloon head on a light string dangling over Paris, nary a fear of heights.

Unfortunately, the night was to extend itself and soon I felt overextended. As my previous lovers know, I'm not a sixty minute man at all. Or, maybe, I'm only a sixty minute man and beyond that I am a sleeping, snoozing man. Or, maybe, it takes a really stellar lover to bring me out of sex-coma and back into continuing sexy sexual mode. Or, maybe it's just that I put so much of myself into it that there's only so much to give. Either, any way. My neighbor was hoping to go further and once I cross a threshold things start to feel negative and imposed upon me. So, in order to keep our memories back to the happy, sexy place, I'll encourage you to skip the following portion of the blog.

[[[[[
The neighbor took me downstairs to the bar to get our 1 free drink (included). I was dazed and he laughed at me - not nice. We kind of talked about it, kind of talked about other things. It's hard to think about life outside of the nice mood-lighting cave of the hammam. It's kind of weird to think that there is other time that exists than my first swapping in public. After my gin and tonic we went back upstairs and he coaxed me into a private room. I'm still very self-conscious about sex acts with an audience (yes, the booze does help) and even more shy about watching other people have sex. It seems like, if the door ain't open, you ain't welcome. But I guess that's not it at all. Some people might close the door but leave it unlocked because hearing lookers-on open the door makes them more excited - like they're being spied on.

After I gave the neighbor a semi-bored sucking (I really wanted to swap around again with that older, bearded man), we wandered the rooms until he found a big enough room with a young blonde couple. He kind of gestured "could we join?" We got up on the padded bench/bed and he crouched over me while I sucked him again as he fondled the blonde's tits. He reported later that her lover seemed really into it but she wasn't at all and kind of shrugged his hand off her. The hippie guy (without his partner) followed us in and tried to touch me but I wasn't interested. He was carrying a plastic bag around with him (filled with who knows what sex-related items) and I wasn't so convinced that his girl was all that thrilled to be at a swinger's club (despite her lovely "oui"s), on top if it he came alone. That's just not cool in my book. Neighbor guy kind of - in naked, swinger fashion - hinted that we weren't interested and he left.

I guess I was really over it all by now because I had been thinking about how if he didn't cum soon I was going to bite his cock off. That's just not nice, now is it? I was just hitting a threshold and the longer the neighbor guy wanted to go, the less I wanted to be there. I had hit a high back there with the group sex action, and should have stopped then. But now I was being rubbed the wrong way and it's all my fault for letting it go. The older couple came in after a bit right as neighbor guy started fucking me. He knew I'd hit the wall, despite swapper couple in the room, and whispered that he'd be fast.

As we walked up to the locker room he told me that his ideal Monday nights were to be at the hammam from 20h until 8am and then go for sushi across the street, come home and nap all day. I guess I could imagine that kind of ideal if I was with a lover who I found extremely enticing. Even then, I'm not sure that my drive could go for that long without booze or some kind of viagra - which I'm not all that convinced he isn't taking.

As we were leaving, our older couple was coming in to change and leave, too. I just felt so beaming about my experience with them. In the light, I could tell that they were in their late 40's early 50's. Earlier, I had noticed her belly was one of a woman who'd had children, and her tits were full and heavy. But they made me feel so incredibly at ease with my first public swapping that I really wanted to hug them. I didn't. I remained calm. (God, I'm a retard.) I did thank them in French, which was probably entirely unnecessary.

Neighbor and I walked home and said our good night's. I was off to India 2 days later.
]]]]]]

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India was amazing. It was complicated by the fact that we had 35 people on a trip together over 10 days. There were moments when it looked quite like the UN with China hating all the democracy talk and being disgruntled with anyone who represented the free world, Iran was pissed with some of the Muslim-bashing by one of the conservative Indian politicians, one of the US guys and Colombian guys drank sugar cane juice from the street like they were on a Ft Lauderdale vacation, Japan got mad at the room accommodations since 3 people were roomed together once, and at one point the Indians all freaked out privately at hearing everyone complaining about the negative things about their country. Aside from that though, the country itself is amazing, complicated, beautiful, depressing, harsh, colorful.

I had no sex on this trip, although the navigator / side-kick to our Delhi leg of the trip had eyes for me.

...................................................

Friday, 22 Feb I picked up my 18-year-old cousin and his friend from the train from southern France where they had been skiing and boarding for a week. I found out that the night before was the first time my cousin has been drunk and apparently everyone tried to hook him up with some girl. He wasn't into it. Personally, I think he's gay but then again I'm starting to think everyone is gay. We had a lovely time while they were in town.

Friday night we had pizza at my favorite place on Rue Lepic and then went to a party thrown by my classmate (who was once Miss XYZ state for a Miss USA contest). By the time we got there with our 2 bottles of wine everyone was pretty much drunk. The Asians were sitting on the couch looking unimpressed, the Latin Americans were dancing and singing, the Canadians were playing deejay and smoking out the window. It was one of those parties where you've got 2 options: hurry up and catch up with to the drunks or sit back and mock. My cousin didn't like the wine apparently (though he might have been drinking crap since it was a BYOB and it wasn't ours), his buddy was all over it, and I was choosing somewhere between a and b. They were warmly welcomed into the group and invited to dance just as the Asians decided it was a good time to bail. In the end, the boys said it was the best party they've ever been to and they felt more at home than any other time. Cute.

Saturday we toured Paris and had dinner at a nice resto with good wine and good food. We snuck into the disco in the basement, had one overly priced drink, had our photo taken for the local "see/be seen" rag, and decided to head back to our district. It was very endearing, but after dessert and after I came back from the restroom, they'd conspired together to say that for their choice of the evening they'd rather go back and see if the Thai massage / happy ending parlors were open. Frankly, I knew they weren't but I wasn't going to rain on their parade. So, we went back to my street and lo and behold, bummer, they were closed, so I took them over to the Russian mafia pool hall / casino. Unfortunately, the manager caught the friend's ID that he wasn't 18 yet and had to kick us out. He was so totally bummed but I told him he had to look at the bright side, kicked out from a Russian mafia pool hall, man!

Sunday they left early in the morning.

...................................................

On Wednesday, 27 Feb I went to the Fleche d'Or for a Tapes n' Tapes show - since they're from Minneapolis and I dig them. I was definitely in the mood to tie one on. I got a drink from the bar and kind of stood around until the bartender called me over and we started chatting. Turns out he was cute and I was available. He poured way too much Jack in the coke and I drank too much of it. He flattered me ("Qu'une belle à Paris a peine à se defendre de la poursuite des galants!" roughly: A beauty in Paris has the pain of putting up a fight from the pursuit of admirers!.... correct me if i'm wrong, Sarah or Wilfried) - though I only read it later. I remembered, later, giving him my number on a note scrawled with "I don't want <3, I want to fuck." Lordy.

I have a short video of him from that night but need to create a lola youtube account to upload it. I'd like it if there were a youtube for personal porn as I'm not interested in posting my sexy videos to the whole world on page 1 of youporn (love that site! So far, Amy's posting of rapidshare.com seems the best option).

I left the bar dignified - not puking or stumbling or succumbing to a one-nighter - and made all the trains home.

...................................................

He called me on Friday, 29 Feb when I was in class. I had planned an afternoon of errands - from school I'd go to the sports store and pick up hand weights (I'm starting to see my 60 year old mother in my body and it's freaking me out), then groceries. Instead, I ran home, dropped off the hand weights, and took the metro back south to L'An Vert du Decor, a nice modern resto-bar. We sat in a corner booth for a while. He flirted and I played shy. We didn't say much of importance because the ground was already there - I don't want love, I want to fuck. He's 36, which surprised me, but my age surprised him - "we look young for our age," he said in French-thick English.

He had a way about him, a way of flipping his hand around and how his sunglasses were on his forehead and he feigned actor-cum-bartender - it seems like every European has a bit of bisexuality in him and it confuses me and heightens my insecurity, makes me wonder if the guy is just tripping the light fantastically hetero or if he's "man enough" for me. It's a very new feeling for me, since most men in the US are cut and dry. Andy was an exception. I knew he had played with men as a top. James didn't mind being close to naked men, but he wasn't into them. And now, in Europe, I'm finding men who meander between lines of sexuality, who switch between dom and sub, who comment on guys' asses or attractiveness of transsexuals - and they do this without pause, without hesitation or guilty confession, but with pride in their well-roundedness, or - even more - with indifference. This isn't men being feminist. This isn't men being experimentalist. This isn't them engaging in yin-yang balance. This is just how they are. And it totally, wholly unnerves me. Even my RAF has talked about playing across the field (as taboo in the RAF as it is in the US military, I guess). My sex has lusted so hard and so long for dominant, macho-y type men that I'm not sure what to make of this fluidity I'm finding in the men here. But I tangent...

It wasn't like Fleche d'Or guy was flouncing around like a pimsy. He just came across as faux show business, I guess. But at the same time, he stared at me, oooo did he stare. I felt like a squirmish girl with hot pants on a frying pan. He definitely had the upper hand and knew what he was doing, while I had just come from running errands and thought we'd have a nice coffee and maybe decide to see each other again before he had to run off to work. Little did Lola know.

There we were chatting casually (and slightly uncomfortably) about the UK, Paris, the US, when his hand went to the exposed knee between my knee-high socks and the skirt (it was 50F then, as opposed to 36F now). I blushed, I'm sure. His sneaky French accent covering all his English words with coyness, as if he was making the whole thing up. And his voice level wasn't embarrassed into whispering away from the table across from us, which was engaged in a pleasant little English-French exchange between innocent college school girls. Oh no, he didn't care as he asked me if I liked it. As he slid his hand up my thigh and into my average-girl cotton thong. As I sat transfixed, smiling, blushing, not moving to encourage or discourage, afraid to move, wanting to open up wider and not being able to - I'm a whore, I'm not a whore.

"I'm going to go downstairs to the bathroom. I think you should follow me," he smiled.
I felt like a Mormon missionary. "Uhm, uh, oh. Okay.... What about --" I looked at our bags.
"Ask those nice girls over there to watch them."
As if! ... the inner nerd in me laughed like she was the dorkiest, luckiest, oh-my-god-iest girl in the universe. All of a sudden I felt Bowfinger, and had no idea what to do.

So I sat.
And I thought, jesus, how do I plot my way to the bathroom to seem innocent yet pointed yet not like I'm bailing on the tab yet not like I'm going to fuck?
And I got up. Act cool. Be cool. The waitress looked at me. If you think it, you will be it, "Just gotta go to the potty. Might as well now. Actually, been running errands all day, you see. Have to pee so badly. Yeah. Pee." Don't ask where the bathroom is, just believe that it's downstairs.

The doors - 3 of them. This one. Push it open. There he is washing his hands at the basin. He tries the door to the right - locked. The door to the left, where I presume he came from moments before, open. The lighting is dark, complete opposite of the bright, exposing daylight above. The room is big, a small, modern, metal toilet, toilet paper and then ample room for at least a six-person standing orgy. I back up against the wall, he kisses me and tries to pull my tit out from the neck of my shirt. Damn this shirt! There's a big button on it but it was gaping so I safety-pinned it. God I'm a moron. He reaches under my skirt and fondles my cunnie. Damn my cunnie! I haven't shaved in days. I totally was not planning this. Mannnn.. I feel like a Sunday slob watching the SuperBowl with the guys in my old sweats.

I'm kissing him and thinking other thoughts, that I'm sexy that I AM sexy.. hell yes, oh my god, I totally want to fuck in here, bent over, hands on the wall, his hands on my hips and ass.. I pull my kiss away, "do you have a condom?" "No," he says. We keep kissing and I half-laugh, "I'm not fucking without a condom, ok?" "Okay," he says. He kind of half pulls away a bit but is still touching me and trying to find my tits from the top of my shirt. I unbuckle his pants and slowly push him backwards against the other wall. I pull his pants down and find his cock, his uncircumcised cock, it's limp and I wonder if he's totally not into it. I put it in my mouth. I'm clearly not used to uncircumcised cocks because I think if I can snake my tongue through the skin to the head that that will somehow brighten him up a bit while my hand slowly strokes him. I'm fast for time's sake. I don't think we can be down here for a long, noticeable time. He pulls his cock away and strokes himself, saying something like "You make me too excited right now." He puts his cock back into my mouth and I put my hand back into my thong on my clit. I suck for maybe a whole minute - which can be a long time if you count the seconds - and he says, "I want to cum on your face." Instead, he pulls out and shoots away from me. He pulls up his pants and fetches toilet paper to try to clean the cum. He asks if I'm okay. "Of course, but I didn't get off." I laugh and tell him, "I might have to stay in here to finish myself. You should go though." He leaves and I wonder if I could finger myself to orgasm but I don't feel in it enough. And I can't hang out much longer. So I wash my hands and rinse my mouth in the sink and head up. I try to remain calm, like, maybe I had to poop, yeah, that's it. I couldn't wait. If you think it, you will be it.

At this point our table of French-English language exchange has been joined by Frenchie's boyfriend and they're happily chatting away like everything is rosy. I sit down and he says he has films to recommend to me. Or something very mundane and normal. At some point I tell him he owes me and too bad he has to go to work because I'd really like to put his cock in me.

We leave and I ask for a cigarette, in very uncharacteristic fashion of me.
"Do you think I'm a whore?" I ask him with a half-grin.
"No, no I don't think you're a whore."
"Too bad."

The next day I text him that I liked the way he was domineering. I hear nothing -- until yesterday. A text: Do I want a cafe creme with him? He calls me three times and leaves a message in French which I only kind of understand to be, sorry it's been so long what am I doing and do I want to hang out. I don't answer, I don't pick up, I don't return his call. A month? Pfft - dream on, loverboy.

...................................................

Wednesday, 5 March the RAF texted me at school: "The proposition I had for Friday is now available for Thurs night. Dinner with another couple then possibly sex fun all together if it seems right. Him Irish Royal Marine. Her French & not into women just cock! Interested? I'll call you tonight."

Hilarious. Needless to say, I was interested. Half of me wished them away so I could have a normal fucking which was way long overdue. But the other half was ready to pour on the excess.

Thursday, 6 March - I must have texted something like, I'm almost too excited to see you to wait for all the activities. "Me too! Do you want to eat with them or I can cook you something while u shower? Smoked salmon pasta on the menu! Need to let them know so they can eat or wait 4 us." I opted for the smoked salmon. And this was where I reminisced about our first date and the deep, long fucking in the morning.

"Great. It will be my please to cook 4 u. Call or text when you are on metro & I'll come meet u." We misinterpreted my reply "ok" which was about 10 minutes later to signify that I was almost at his metro stop - he thought I was simply replying ok, I'll text you. It was no big deal, I wanted the time to walk. I wasn't sure what was in store and I obviously went above and beyond.

Got to his place and he was already watching me come up the street from his first-floor flat. He leaned out the window and kissed me. Got inside and immediately started kissing. Which led where it needed to: my lips on his cock, his fingers in my drawers ("God, you're SO wet!"), and then his mouth on my cunnie with me spread out on top of the arm of his couch, grabbing at the back of his head to pull him in further. (I'm never sure if this is too much or not - is there facial rug burn or is it too smothering? Haven't had many complaints but often wonder.) We tumbled into his bed giggling about how we couldn't wait for the echangistes. I told him to go slow. My god, it had been more than a month. Ahhh, the new virgin cunnie. Ever so tight upon entry yet drenching wet.

He cooked, and I just stood there - both of us nude, drinking champagne. We ate in barely clothes. I got ready for the night and over-dressed, but thought we'd be going to a show-and-tell echangiste club. Heels, knee-high classy socks, knee-length tight skirt, black tank top. We walked to a nearby pub and they met us. IRM in jeans, she in relaxed wear. Hm. RAF had informed me that the echangiste club would be a 'surprise' to the girlfriend - to which I scoffed that I doubted that would be favorable or get us there. I was right. We had nice conversation at the bar, and the IRM was definitely overtly trying to engage me while RAF was only kinda interested in his French tart.

We went back to RAF's and - as you can follow by the Flickr pics - had an interesting time. See, the poor girl had to leave because she's got her first job (yes, she's like 23) and is on probation which is super strict. So, it was about 2am and she had to bail. Whereas, I was down on my knees sucking IRM's cock hoping she'd jump into the action. Instead, I ended up between the two where IRM was ass obsessed and such a dirty boy as to suck my toes while fucking me. But I called RAF to me alone on more than one occasion.

IRM fucking me from behind while I sucked RAF and looked up at him, my head jerking forward, mouth half-open in amusement and smiling, eyes up to his smiling face.

Asking him to come to the bedroom so I can fuck him for a while.

Him trying to fuck my ass but being too drunk limp.

Me, on my back, getting fucked by IRM, my head over the edge of thebed, looking out of the bedroom to the living room where RAF lounged on the floor, naked, hands back, watching me with a smile.

Me, on my belly, with the IRM spanking me open handed and RAF spanking me with a hairbrush and saying something along the lines of "I prefer to do it this way." And me, loving loving loving it. Wishing I could have had more.

Me, passing out before the boys. Sacked, tired.

Me, leaving in the morning for home, last minute packing, class, and then for Edinburgh in the evening to spend time with the Scot.

RAF texted: "I really enjoy you. Have a fab weekend."

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Friday, 7-9 March - sat next to a Texan who drank more wine in one 2-hour flight than I've ever seen someone drink. Admitted to beating his first wife and deserving that divorce. Now he takes in abused animals, is raising 2 daughters, and is married to a lovely woman about whom he passive-aggressively jokes. Toward the end of the flight he was getting a bit too friendly with some hugs with me, but it was ok. He works for a computer company and checks the electrical engineering of parts in countries outside the US for quality assurance. More or less. Interesting guy, interesting travel.

Then again, it was me who spurned the conversation. My laptop out, when the steward came around with the cart and I asked, "What do you have for liquor and isn't wine or beer?" It was that kind of moment: the day after fucking the UK brigade, class all day long, a paper staring me down, and on a flight to fuck the other representative of the UK.

Ah, the Scot. Sigh. ...By now I feel drained from re-living everything in the blog... Sad, because he's psychologically interesting and sexually kind-of kinky. He says he's started to become interested in latex porn - people fucking while wearing latex. When I saw him in Madrid, I brought him a butt plug for a present as he'd hinted at it when we screwed in Paris. This time, it was more focused on sucking his balls. He likes them both to be sucked at once and sometimes sucked hard. And I know I'm not stroking him hard enough when I do it, but I also don't own a cock so I'm a bit afraid to stroke too hard. A funny dichotomy.

I could probably love the Scot easily. As easily as the RAF. But the Scot's in love with some French girl and he's definitely not decisive or confident or dominant enough for me. He's got that kind of weak, self-denigrating sense of humor. Hilarious but also depressing at the same time. He's a really smart guy and a brilliant chef. I laughed so hard hanging out with him, got to drive on the other side of the car, felt comfortable enough to sleep well. But at some point I started feeling the same way as I did with the neighbor. It was like the Scot was kind of asleep and not so sexual before I arrived, and then we started playing and he woke up and became insatiable and it over-stretched its welcome in my sexual playground and I started to lose interest. Let's not get into details now.

Needless to say, there's a hot cock/ball sucking video from us hanging out that I'd like to share and will do so soon.


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Whew.

That's been it. And I think it's enough. Not too much, but slightly out of count. I have found my thoughts jealous of a classmate who went off to Vienna for Spring Break with her boyfriend. It would be nice to be one-on-one for a bit and to be swept off somewhere with romance. But this feeling is few and far between in me. It's definitely there, inside me, along with the idea of Whole Wide World - which was one of many underlying themes while I was applying for grad school. But more than that, I'm just finding this newness destabilizing and I'm terrified that by the time I figure it all out it will be time for me to leave. So, part of me is looking around wondering if I should get married just to stay. No, no, I'm kidding.

And it's way past my bedtime for a girl who has been sick lately.

Whew. I'm totally not editing this tonight. But I'm also not holding on to it before publishing. I don't think I should. I'll let it go for now and then read it tomorrow for corrections.



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addendum Thursday, 27 March, midnight+: read the post a few minutes after making it live and had to retract it for editing. It's still not great, but it's something. I can tell I haven't written for a while because it takes many more paragraphs to warm up and then sometimes it feels forced.

I have found Cocteau Twins from the '80s and Bon Iver from this year. I guess I have a bit of wasteland, desolateness, driftless zone, snow drifts inside right now. I just found out that a supremely wonderful friend of mine, a woman who is a walking hilarious ray of sunshine was diagnosed with MS. It's hard being reminded of the temporariness of life when I feel so far away from those people that I care about whose lives are temporary. My grandma. My parents. My friends.

I guess it's the first flinch of "homesickness."

Though today, I found Paris again and fell in love. Something about the way the rain dampens everything but then the tortured sky opens up to light greys cottoned with deep blues and outlined with bright whites, swirled and hazed, burned mutely by the sun. It's no wonder painters tried to capture it. I also found a stencil in my neighborhood, "La beauté est dans la rue."

6h40m

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

ha! -- it says that you're damned sexy, and you make me hot!

lychee - ! - i want! i want!

!licks!~

rune

a said...

Thank you...

Goddamn.

noman said...

'Whew' is right. It says that you are one ripe and giving woman