Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Shit, yeah!
Ok, so I haven't been the best at writing in my blog these past few days. Wellllll, I have a pretty good reason. Why? Because your bachelor writer is single no more! I'm certain that you would all love for me to regale you with tales of my most recent of conquests, but I am afraid that you will have to love in vain, for a gentleman never kisses and tells.
Yeah, right.
No, I will not tell you of my sexual exploits with ms. k--- for two reasons. First, she very specifically asked me not to, and secondly (to be perfectly honest), there simple hasn't BEEN any sexual exploits. I'm sure this will come as a bit of a shock to some of you, but... {He shrugs} it simply hasn't been on the top of either of our lists. Frankly, I am more than willing to wait on this one, especially since I'm still very much enjoying my physical pleasure gained at the very capable hands of a---. So instead, you will simply have to be satisfied with my rendition of my adventures with the infamous S---.
We met at a pool hall. I was there with my friend Gregg, and we were sharking the locals for whatever pocket change and boozing money they had been unfortunate enough to bet with. Fun times, I know. Another friend of mine was working security that night, and I noticed that he'd been spending a lot of time over at one of the far tables with his girlfriend au jour. I originally paid no bother, but then I realized that there was probably the single most gorgeous gothy chick with them that I had ever seen. I further realized that she WAS the signle most gorgeous gothy chick I had ever seen because I had never met her before.
This could not be acceptable, and I immediately trotted over there in my skirt and combat boots and told my buddy that he just HAD to introduce us. This he did with aplomb, and that was that. We spent the next six years of our lives together, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, but certainly not till death did us part. Such is life, but it was definitely worth most of what I went through.
See, I normally have this rule. Never fuck a virgin. I developed this rule after V----, and if you've read my previous post on her, you can certainly understand why.
Bt, you know, I will be damned if I didn't break that rule for S---. 22 and a virgin. Seriously. Hot as fuck, sensual like you wouldn't believe, and she had a mouth that could suck a golf ball through a garden hose. She liked it in every hole, she played dirty, and she had only even French kissed a guy ONCE. Huge red flags went up like a motherfucker, and I gleefully ignored each and every one of them as I gallantly rode down that path into hell.
We didn't fuck for almost a week after we started dating. Oh, we messed around a lot, snuggled, even slept together. I found out about that aforementioned garden hose trick, but no sex. Why would that be, you might ask? I'm a large guy, you see, and she was tiny. Four foot tenandahalf, 100 pounds, and a body to fucking die for. Like hell was I going to screw that up by fucking her broken on the first night out. Heck, even when we did eventually try, she couldn't take all of me and we had to stop. She finished me off with a glorious game of how far down your pretty little throat can I shove my cock, but
I knew my patience would pay off.
Oh, and it did, in spades. Insatiable, reliable, and utterly without shame. She was up for anything, and I did things to that girl that I'm certain would get me banned for life from any of the judeochr istian cults. We fucked all the time, with guests watching, by ourselves, outside, inside, in the car, on every single piece of furniture in my house, my parents house, and most of the pieces in her parents house.
Anal, vaginal, mouth, hand, whatever. She even let me piss on her. She was a kinky bitch, my lovely little S---, and I loved her with every single bit of love I could muster. Even in those last days when she was fucking that rancid piece of filth and not me. When she would rather play WoW than spend time with her husband or daughter, I still loved her.
Even today, after she ripped my heart out with a spoon and fed it to her creature on a silver platter.
But none of you have come here for that.
She was kinky as fuck, but she certainly wasn't into the kink I was into. Yes, a spanking here and there was ok, even the occasional choke and vomit. She even drank my piss from time to time. Bt she couldn't handle the level of pain I dished out. She hated the thought of my even LOOKING at someone else in a sexual manner. She hated how much sex I have had, she was intimidated by my 30ish versus her 1. And, like a fool, I never really did anything to help her through all of that.
I remember one time we fucked with my roommate watching. She was a fucking wildcat, and she rode me as if mine was a golden cock that ejaculated chocolate.. Randy, racy, vibrant, and incredible. Every time my hips would rise to hers, her pelvis would come crashing down like the fist of an angry god. We fucked until we couldn't fuck anymore, and we embarrassed my poor roommate to no end. I'm sure his balls were a lovely shade of indigo after that, but... I didn't care, still don't care, and will never care.
Her nipples were like coffee toffee, tasty, big, and a wonderful thing to slip into my mouth. Her cunt tasted like syrup, and she would grind her labia in my chin until I got neck strain. Then she would come close and her hips would jerk down into the floor/bed/carpet/grass like she couldn't handle it. She would cum with a shriek and a shudder, and her flavor would explode in my mouth with the force of a thousand dying stars. I owned her body, and she owned my soul.
I am out of time, I will post more shortly.
Yeah, right.
No, I will not tell you of my sexual exploits with ms. k--- for two reasons. First, she very specifically asked me not to, and secondly (to be perfectly honest), there simple hasn't BEEN any sexual exploits. I'm sure this will come as a bit of a shock to some of you, but... {He shrugs} it simply hasn't been on the top of either of our lists. Frankly, I am more than willing to wait on this one, especially since I'm still very much enjoying my physical pleasure gained at the very capable hands of a---. So instead, you will simply have to be satisfied with my rendition of my adventures with the infamous S---.
We met at a pool hall. I was there with my friend Gregg, and we were sharking the locals for whatever pocket change and boozing money they had been unfortunate enough to bet with. Fun times, I know. Another friend of mine was working security that night, and I noticed that he'd been spending a lot of time over at one of the far tables with his girlfriend au jour. I originally paid no bother, but then I realized that there was probably the single most gorgeous gothy chick with them that I had ever seen. I further realized that she WAS the signle most gorgeous gothy chick I had ever seen because I had never met her before.
This could not be acceptable, and I immediately trotted over there in my skirt and combat boots and told my buddy that he just HAD to introduce us. This he did with aplomb, and that was that. We spent the next six years of our lives together, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, but certainly not till death did us part. Such is life, but it was definitely worth most of what I went through.
See, I normally have this rule. Never fuck a virgin. I developed this rule after V----, and if you've read my previous post on her, you can certainly understand why.
Bt, you know, I will be damned if I didn't break that rule for S---. 22 and a virgin. Seriously. Hot as fuck, sensual like you wouldn't believe, and she had a mouth that could suck a golf ball through a garden hose. She liked it in every hole, she played dirty, and she had only even French kissed a guy ONCE. Huge red flags went up like a motherfucker, and I gleefully ignored each and every one of them as I gallantly rode down that path into hell.
We didn't fuck for almost a week after we started dating. Oh, we messed around a lot, snuggled, even slept together. I found out about that aforementioned garden hose trick, but no sex. Why would that be, you might ask? I'm a large guy, you see, and she was tiny. Four foot tenandahalf, 100 pounds, and a body to fucking die for. Like hell was I going to screw that up by fucking her broken on the first night out. Heck, even when we did eventually try, she couldn't take all of me and we had to stop. She finished me off with a glorious game of how far down your pretty little throat can I shove my cock, but
I knew my patience would pay off.
Oh, and it did, in spades. Insatiable, reliable, and utterly without shame. She was up for anything, and I did things to that girl that I'm certain would get me banned for life from any of the judeochr istian cults. We fucked all the time, with guests watching, by ourselves, outside, inside, in the car, on every single piece of furniture in my house, my parents house, and most of the pieces in her parents house.
Anal, vaginal, mouth, hand, whatever. She even let me piss on her. She was a kinky bitch, my lovely little S---, and I loved her with every single bit of love I could muster. Even in those last days when she was fucking that rancid piece of filth and not me. When she would rather play WoW than spend time with her husband or daughter, I still loved her.
Even today, after she ripped my heart out with a spoon and fed it to her creature on a silver platter.
But none of you have come here for that.
She was kinky as fuck, but she certainly wasn't into the kink I was into. Yes, a spanking here and there was ok, even the occasional choke and vomit. She even drank my piss from time to time. Bt she couldn't handle the level of pain I dished out. She hated the thought of my even LOOKING at someone else in a sexual manner. She hated how much sex I have had, she was intimidated by my 30ish versus her 1. And, like a fool, I never really did anything to help her through all of that.
I remember one time we fucked with my roommate watching. She was a fucking wildcat, and she rode me as if mine was a golden cock that ejaculated chocolate.. Randy, racy, vibrant, and incredible. Every time my hips would rise to hers, her pelvis would come crashing down like the fist of an angry god. We fucked until we couldn't fuck anymore, and we embarrassed my poor roommate to no end. I'm sure his balls were a lovely shade of indigo after that, but... I didn't care, still don't care, and will never care.
Her nipples were like coffee toffee, tasty, big, and a wonderful thing to slip into my mouth. Her cunt tasted like syrup, and she would grind her labia in my chin until I got neck strain. Then she would come close and her hips would jerk down into the floor/bed/carpet/grass like she couldn't handle it. She would cum with a shriek and a shudder, and her flavor would explode in my mouth with the force of a thousand dying stars. I owned her body, and she owned my soul.
I am out of time, I will post more shortly.
Monday, May 30, 2011
The Littlest Death.
Whoa, it's daytime and I'm writing in my blog. How fucking weird is that.
I had a very long conversation last night with someone that I love. It is extremely odd for me to have these conversations with her, because I never really know how to react with them. I want desperately to continue our conversations, but I know that any further conversation is just going to be frustrating.
So here it is, for those of you in the know, I am certain you have all been waiting for one of two blogs. One about S---, and the one about A-----. Well, those of you sick fucks that were hinge my first pop out of the bag would be S---, you are just going to have to wait, this one is all about A-----.
I was performing with her brother in law. He was a fine guy, all things considered, and he was an excellent swordsman. We fought live steel, the rush of defense and offense, the sharp metallic ring of the blades connecting over s muddy field, the dull stink of sweat and armor, the soft grunts of exertion as two men shuffled about the field, locked in some sad little replica of something infinitely more primal. It was fun, swinging around elegant pieces of steel like we knew what we were doing.
She was stunning, and she often came to each us reherse. I loved it, because I felt like I was performing for her, showing off my manliness in front of the unattainable. It made me a better fighter, it made me push harder, focus closer, move faster. The dance of steel is not unlike the sexual combats, though the piercings tend to be a little less final, though easily as dangerous. The slow dance, the sounds, the stink, the feral exhiliration, it's all the same, really. I fought like I wanted to fuck, harshly but with finesse, the quick jabs and slow thrusts, each one measured and precise, in my own amaturish little way. I fought like I wanted to fuck her.
We finally were ready and we performed at the Faire. It was great, lots of stories, but the real story I brought from it played itself out on the last day.
"so, I hear you and Phil are going to take M----- and I out after?" who the fuck is Phil? Who the fuck is M-----? "Certainly? How about ice cream after I get a chance to clean up?" must find this 'Phil' fellow. "sure, give me your number and I will call you!"
We didn't go for ice cream. We went for Event Horizon and a heavy make out session on my couch. We didn't watch the film, and I didn't fuck her. It was amazing. She had the best tits I had ever laid eyes on, and even now, I look back on those days and have to restrain my turgidity.
"Why didn't you fuck me that first night?" she asked me later, and my response was lame. Something about not wanting to take all the tools out of the bag, wanting her to come back for more, blahblahblah. The truth? I was terrified of not being able to please her. I was scared. I didn't know how the fuck I had somehow gotten this incredibly hot piece of ass back to my place, and I didn't want to fuck it up. I guess it worked, cause she came back almost every weekend for two years.
The sex was incredible, some of the best I have ever had. She fucked with everything she had, danced the little death like it was the last goddamn thing she would ever do. She would grind on my cock like it was the best thing in the universe, and I fucked her every single way I could.
"don't worry about making me cum, i almost never do. Its fun without it, and it takes an act of god to bring out my orgasm." I became that act of god, and I stopped counting sometime after 300. Sure, she didn't get her rocks off every time, but I am certain she never faked it. She was never ambiguous about that, never left me wondering if I had satisfied her.
I remember one night, I was playing swamp the boat with my tongue, and my roommate started up with his girlfriend in the next room. Oh wow, she was loud as fuck. Screaming and panting like a bitch in heat. A----- suddenly stopped moving in time with my caresses, and she started to laugh at the absurdity of it. I was so pissed off, I hurled a shoe against my wall and told them to shut the fuck up. I really screwed it up for my bro, and I don't think his little bitch ever forgave me for that, but I didn't care I had a goddess to fuck, and his little two dollar couldn't even compare.
Our relationship was explosive. The sex was breathtaking, and the same passion that went into our bed play also went into our fighting. Oh, they were glorious, those fights. Screaming and yelling and crying and breaking things. We fought with our backs to the corners and our spikes out. We never turned physically violent, but oh man out barbs drew blood.
She started sleeping with other guys somewhere in there, and I was pissed. Aroused like a motherfucker, I will admit that. She turned me on something fierce with her escapades, and I never could accept that. I yelled at her for cheating on me, and she told me to fucking deal with it.
Oh, we had a couple of play parties with several other people, but she never fucked any of them. No, that I did. Once. I fucked him in the ass with her laying in bed next to us. Afterward, she was cold and distant and she cried, and I felt like I had transgressed something I should never have transgressed. Oh, it was fun as he'll and left me with the ability to say that I have fucked my ex fiancé's new husband in the ass. But, that's just a stupid thing to be proud of. Not the fucking, mind you, but the maliciousness in which I revelled in that fact.
I don't regret much in my life, though since most of them are from some of my sexual exploits, you wouldn't get that from reading this, but I regret how nasty I was towards the end of that relationship. I fucked up big time, and it took me a long time to rectify with myself the fact that I had lost one of the best things to ever happen to me.
But you see, I didn't. She WAS the best thing that ever happened to me, and I never would have realized it until after she was gone. I look back on those times now and I realize that I have used her as the measuring stick for every fuck, every relationship, every emotional mistake I have ever done. She set the standard for my behavior, she set the bar so high that few since have ever even come close to touching it.
She tought me that I really fucking love sex. I really love the voyeur. I really love the kink, the dirty, the glorious, the highs, the lows. It took me getting my heart shattered to learn an extremely important lesson about myself, and I am so incredibly grateful.
Our last session was... Impressive. Maybe not to her, but it certainly left an impression on me. I had borrowed her car, and she dropped me back off at my apartment. I asked her up for a few, and she said she had somewhere to go, but she would stay for a minute or two. She was dressed in her work outfit, nice professional white shirt, elegant black slacks. I sat at my computer desk and we started chatting about nothing. Her phone rang, and she sat on the floor to take care of it. I noticed a small hole in her crotch. Then I noticed she wasn't wearing panties.
Oh boy. I had to play, and like an immature little boy, I stuck my finger and tickled her cunt with my fingertip right through that small little opening into heavenly bliss. Oh, I should take this moment to mention that her cunt tasted like nothing I had ever had or have had since. It was this intense mixture of salt, sex, seduction, and anticipation. It was amazing, and it was more addictive than any drug. I hate using the phrase she tasted like candy, but she really did. Not sweet candies, but sweat candies. Delicious and prepared like the feast set before a god.
And I played with it and rejoiced in the aroma of her arousal. We had been split for a while at this point, and we hadn't fucked since. Oh my goddess, I wanted it so bad. She got off the phone and we started it right there on the floor. Not for long, she wanted the bed and I lifted her to it with aplomb. I started into her like a rutting bull, and she came on my cock like I've never seen her or anyone else cum. Explosive and intense and I almost lost it right then.
But her phone rang, and she got out of our bed of sin and debauchery to answer. Oh man, she was late, she gave an excuse, and I thought it was over.
I was wrong. Oh my fuck, I was wrong. She climbed back in and we went at it again. She came again, and I was in heaven. I burst into her with one of my top three orgasms of all time, and I never fucking looked back. She got up, cleaned, and I sat there in my computer chair like a helenic God of Fuck.
I love that story. I remember it like yesterday. I remember the way she glided on my cock. I remember her fingers pressed into my back. I remember her thighs clamped about my legs like a vice. I remember her grunting and moaning as if the world meant piss and beans to her. I remember my orgasm slamming into me with the force of a heavyweight knockout blow. The little death? Like hell. I never felt more alive.
She also had a profound effect on my life. She taught me much of myself, and she continues to do so to this day. I loved her with all of my heart and soul, and I love her with equal fervor today.
This is why I believe in polyamory. This is why I carry three brightly burning torches deep in my inner heart. I never stopped loving either of my three great romances. I love them a little differently now, I will grant you that, but it has never diminished.
The best part of that? There are brackets on that inner chambers walls for quite a few more. I wonder, when all is said and done, how many of those brackets will hold a torch? How many more people will I love till death do us part?
I had a very long conversation last night with someone that I love. It is extremely odd for me to have these conversations with her, because I never really know how to react with them. I want desperately to continue our conversations, but I know that any further conversation is just going to be frustrating.
So here it is, for those of you in the know, I am certain you have all been waiting for one of two blogs. One about S---, and the one about A-----. Well, those of you sick fucks that were hinge my first pop out of the bag would be S---, you are just going to have to wait, this one is all about A-----.
I was performing with her brother in law. He was a fine guy, all things considered, and he was an excellent swordsman. We fought live steel, the rush of defense and offense, the sharp metallic ring of the blades connecting over s muddy field, the dull stink of sweat and armor, the soft grunts of exertion as two men shuffled about the field, locked in some sad little replica of something infinitely more primal. It was fun, swinging around elegant pieces of steel like we knew what we were doing.
She was stunning, and she often came to each us reherse. I loved it, because I felt like I was performing for her, showing off my manliness in front of the unattainable. It made me a better fighter, it made me push harder, focus closer, move faster. The dance of steel is not unlike the sexual combats, though the piercings tend to be a little less final, though easily as dangerous. The slow dance, the sounds, the stink, the feral exhiliration, it's all the same, really. I fought like I wanted to fuck, harshly but with finesse, the quick jabs and slow thrusts, each one measured and precise, in my own amaturish little way. I fought like I wanted to fuck her.
We finally were ready and we performed at the Faire. It was great, lots of stories, but the real story I brought from it played itself out on the last day.
"so, I hear you and Phil are going to take M----- and I out after?" who the fuck is Phil? Who the fuck is M-----? "Certainly? How about ice cream after I get a chance to clean up?" must find this 'Phil' fellow. "sure, give me your number and I will call you!"
We didn't go for ice cream. We went for Event Horizon and a heavy make out session on my couch. We didn't watch the film, and I didn't fuck her. It was amazing. She had the best tits I had ever laid eyes on, and even now, I look back on those days and have to restrain my turgidity.
"Why didn't you fuck me that first night?" she asked me later, and my response was lame. Something about not wanting to take all the tools out of the bag, wanting her to come back for more, blahblahblah. The truth? I was terrified of not being able to please her. I was scared. I didn't know how the fuck I had somehow gotten this incredibly hot piece of ass back to my place, and I didn't want to fuck it up. I guess it worked, cause she came back almost every weekend for two years.
The sex was incredible, some of the best I have ever had. She fucked with everything she had, danced the little death like it was the last goddamn thing she would ever do. She would grind on my cock like it was the best thing in the universe, and I fucked her every single way I could.
"don't worry about making me cum, i almost never do. Its fun without it, and it takes an act of god to bring out my orgasm." I became that act of god, and I stopped counting sometime after 300. Sure, she didn't get her rocks off every time, but I am certain she never faked it. She was never ambiguous about that, never left me wondering if I had satisfied her.
I remember one night, I was playing swamp the boat with my tongue, and my roommate started up with his girlfriend in the next room. Oh wow, she was loud as fuck. Screaming and panting like a bitch in heat. A----- suddenly stopped moving in time with my caresses, and she started to laugh at the absurdity of it. I was so pissed off, I hurled a shoe against my wall and told them to shut the fuck up. I really screwed it up for my bro, and I don't think his little bitch ever forgave me for that, but I didn't care I had a goddess to fuck, and his little two dollar couldn't even compare.
Our relationship was explosive. The sex was breathtaking, and the same passion that went into our bed play also went into our fighting. Oh, they were glorious, those fights. Screaming and yelling and crying and breaking things. We fought with our backs to the corners and our spikes out. We never turned physically violent, but oh man out barbs drew blood.
She started sleeping with other guys somewhere in there, and I was pissed. Aroused like a motherfucker, I will admit that. She turned me on something fierce with her escapades, and I never could accept that. I yelled at her for cheating on me, and she told me to fucking deal with it.
Oh, we had a couple of play parties with several other people, but she never fucked any of them. No, that I did. Once. I fucked him in the ass with her laying in bed next to us. Afterward, she was cold and distant and she cried, and I felt like I had transgressed something I should never have transgressed. Oh, it was fun as he'll and left me with the ability to say that I have fucked my ex fiancé's new husband in the ass. But, that's just a stupid thing to be proud of. Not the fucking, mind you, but the maliciousness in which I revelled in that fact.
I don't regret much in my life, though since most of them are from some of my sexual exploits, you wouldn't get that from reading this, but I regret how nasty I was towards the end of that relationship. I fucked up big time, and it took me a long time to rectify with myself the fact that I had lost one of the best things to ever happen to me.
But you see, I didn't. She WAS the best thing that ever happened to me, and I never would have realized it until after she was gone. I look back on those times now and I realize that I have used her as the measuring stick for every fuck, every relationship, every emotional mistake I have ever done. She set the standard for my behavior, she set the bar so high that few since have ever even come close to touching it.
She tought me that I really fucking love sex. I really love the voyeur. I really love the kink, the dirty, the glorious, the highs, the lows. It took me getting my heart shattered to learn an extremely important lesson about myself, and I am so incredibly grateful.
Our last session was... Impressive. Maybe not to her, but it certainly left an impression on me. I had borrowed her car, and she dropped me back off at my apartment. I asked her up for a few, and she said she had somewhere to go, but she would stay for a minute or two. She was dressed in her work outfit, nice professional white shirt, elegant black slacks. I sat at my computer desk and we started chatting about nothing. Her phone rang, and she sat on the floor to take care of it. I noticed a small hole in her crotch. Then I noticed she wasn't wearing panties.
Oh boy. I had to play, and like an immature little boy, I stuck my finger and tickled her cunt with my fingertip right through that small little opening into heavenly bliss. Oh, I should take this moment to mention that her cunt tasted like nothing I had ever had or have had since. It was this intense mixture of salt, sex, seduction, and anticipation. It was amazing, and it was more addictive than any drug. I hate using the phrase she tasted like candy, but she really did. Not sweet candies, but sweat candies. Delicious and prepared like the feast set before a god.
And I played with it and rejoiced in the aroma of her arousal. We had been split for a while at this point, and we hadn't fucked since. Oh my goddess, I wanted it so bad. She got off the phone and we started it right there on the floor. Not for long, she wanted the bed and I lifted her to it with aplomb. I started into her like a rutting bull, and she came on my cock like I've never seen her or anyone else cum. Explosive and intense and I almost lost it right then.
But her phone rang, and she got out of our bed of sin and debauchery to answer. Oh man, she was late, she gave an excuse, and I thought it was over.
I was wrong. Oh my fuck, I was wrong. She climbed back in and we went at it again. She came again, and I was in heaven. I burst into her with one of my top three orgasms of all time, and I never fucking looked back. She got up, cleaned, and I sat there in my computer chair like a helenic God of Fuck.
I love that story. I remember it like yesterday. I remember the way she glided on my cock. I remember her fingers pressed into my back. I remember her thighs clamped about my legs like a vice. I remember her grunting and moaning as if the world meant piss and beans to her. I remember my orgasm slamming into me with the force of a heavyweight knockout blow. The little death? Like hell. I never felt more alive.
She also had a profound effect on my life. She taught me much of myself, and she continues to do so to this day. I loved her with all of my heart and soul, and I love her with equal fervor today.
This is why I believe in polyamory. This is why I carry three brightly burning torches deep in my inner heart. I never stopped loving either of my three great romances. I love them a little differently now, I will grant you that, but it has never diminished.
The best part of that? There are brackets on that inner chambers walls for quite a few more. I wonder, when all is said and done, how many of those brackets will hold a torch? How many more people will I love till death do us part?
Crosspost.
This was recently posted on craigslist. I though it was poignant, and so I am reposting this here. THIS IS NOT MY WORK.
--
Dear Men of Craigslist,
Look, I know you men have it difficult. Women are just about impossible to understand, much less please. In a post-feminist society, you never know exactly what you should be doing. Women are bloody picky, I know we are. It can be scary, too, when women freak out about what appear to be benign issues. And men who do their best to be respectful, female-positive humans, I salute you, I do.
But please, please just fuck me already. Honestly, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I like that you want to take things slow. I can totally get behind the idea of emotional connection, but dearjesusinheaven, FUCK ME. We've done dinner and drinks. We've gone dancing. We've cuddled and watched a movie. I'm wearing a low cut shirt and you've been staring at my breasts all night. Goodgodalmighty, get to it and fuck me.
When we get hot and heavy, please take charge. Please, please fuck me. Trust me, I'm not going to just lie still - I'll get involved. But don't make me force your hand into my panties. That makes me feel like a rapist. We've been kissing for a half hour and your hand keeps grazing my ass. That's nice, but it's time to move forward. Get on top of me. Don't make me get on top right out of the gate and start bobbing up and down on your cock like I'm practicing some crazy new aerobic yoga because YOU won't go down on me. Roll on top and start dry humping like a good boy should. Don't gently suck my nipples and then pull back when I moan with pleasure. You being coy is totally not what I want. It's not what WE want.
OK, I know it's scary. There are lots of women out there who make fucking really difficult. So, I have compiled some handy tips. Don't think of this as complaining, or as schadenfreude for the Andrea Dworkins of the world. Just some simple tips, for timid men who have forgotten what it means to fuck like men:
1. Taking charge is not bad. Oh, there will be some women who feel that you are pushy. If you are making out with a woman, and she starts to push back, ask nicely if things are moving too fast. If she says yes, say something like "I'm sorry - you just look so fucking delicious. I'll go slower." Otherwise, skillfully move forward. If you start kissing a woman, and she responds well, and before long, you're both on the floor with her skirt pushed up, and you on top of her, it's not the time to roll onto your back and start awkwardly stroking the top of her head. Seriously, grow a goddamn pair. YOU'RE the man. Act like one.
2. Ohmyfuckinggod, please learn to respect the clit. It's different for every woman, so ask what she likes. Do not, I repeat, do not just wiggle your fingers around her pussy like you're trying to tickle her. Do not drum your fingertips against her vulva like you are impatiently waiting at the Sears Tire Center for your receipt. Do not push the clit like it is a doorbell at some house that you need to get inside of. Start by using all four fingers with firm yet gentle pressure against the outside of her pussy. Do not charge in with a single finger and start jabbing at things. And if you really don't know what to do, ask her. Just ask. "How do you like it?". It's a simple question, and most women will answer straight out. If she's being all coy, ask "Do you like pressure? Is it sensitive?" The clitoris is a varied item, indeed. Treat each one as though you have never encountered one before. Forget everything that your last partner liked.
3. Most women like to be fucked, and fucked well. Yes, there are women out there who want to "make love" every time - sweet, gentle, rocking love with lots of eye contact and loving kisses. Those women are not the majority. The majority like to be pounded. The majority like to have their hair pulled. The majority like a good, solid jackhammering. When a woman is bucking wildly against you, it's not because she wants you to pull back and slowly swirl your cock around her vagina like you're mixing a cake batter up there. It's because she wants you to hold down her arms, or grab her hips, or push her legs above her head, and fuck her harder. Don't be too afraid of what this means as far as gender equality goes - I am a raging feminist bitch, but I still want to be penetrated like you are planning on fucking my throat from the inside out.
4. A little roughness is nice. Do not pretend that you had no idea that some women like their hair pulled. Do not act shocked if she wants you to spank her ("Really? Spanking? Won't it hurt?" - yes, it does. That's the fucking point). We know you've read Stuff and Maxim, and that's all those laddie mags talk about in their "How to Please Her" sections. Start with light, full handed smacks to the area of her ass that she sits on. Judge her response and continue on from there. You don't have to bend her over one knee and tell her she's a naughty girl and that Daddy's going to punish her; save that for the fifth date. Women are less delicate than you think, so don't worry about breaking her hip.
5. It's OK for you to make noise. Otherwise, we feel like we are fucking a ninja. Unless you actually are a ninja, and have sneaked into our rooms with vibrating nanuchaku and zippered black pajamas, please, please make some noise. If you're banging a woman, and she's crying out and saying your name and moaning, and you can't even manage a grunt, she's going to feel like an idiot. You don't have to make the sounds she is making, but do SOMETHING. You know how when you are watching porn, and the girl does something great to the guy and the guy kind of goes "Ah!", half grunt, half yell? That's HOT. Do that. Whisper our name (assuming you know it) gruffly. Groan against her neck when you're in missionary position. You don't have to grunt like a mountain gorilla, but if you are totally mute, she's going to get worried.
6. Most women like dirty talk, in addition to the grunting. If you'd like to get some dirty talk going, ask her if she likes the way you fuck her. If she responds well, continue with something like, "I love fucking you. God, you look so fucking hot." Is she still moaning in response? "Your tits are so beautiful." Does that work? If she doesn't respond well to the term "tits", you might have to stop there. If she keep moaning or responding, pass Go and collect $200. Try the following:
"Oh, god. Your pussy is SO tight."
"You're so wet - are you wet because you like the feel of my cock ramming you?"
"I think I'm going to come inside you. I'm going to fill up your little cunt." It doesn't matter that you're wearing a condom; we LOVE hearing this.
If all of those work, you can then progress to things like "sexy little bitch" and "dirty whore". Tread carefully, but please, tread. Do not tiptoe. Do not sit down. Charge.
6. You're not obligated to eat a woman out. In return, she's not obligated to choke on your dick. Don't skip one and expect the other. If you do eat a woman out, the only comment you should make about her pussy is how nice it is. The length of her labia minora, the color of her interior, her waxing job or full bush - you are not John Madden. No time for color commentary.
7. Do not bitch about condoms. Oh, we hate them. Trust us. They hurt us more than they hurt you. But we don't want to be preggers, and you don't want to catch anything, right? Don't whine about condom sex. Do not explain that you can't come with one on. LEARN to come with one on, or if not, help us figure out what to do with you once we're satisfied and it's time for you to let loose your load.
8. We really like it when you come. It's called a money shot for a reason. Watching semen shoot out of you is one of the most gratifying things EVER. However, do not assume that she wants you to jack it off onto her face. She might, but don't assume. Seeing and/or feeling you come is rewarding for us, so there's no need to deprive us of it, but please do consult us before unleashing. "I think I'm going to come - how do you like it?" is a fair question that shouldn't rob you of your testicles.
In recent memory, I've been fucked by a very aggressive, manly guy, and I've been... well, fucked is the wrong term here. I've been penetrated by a total and utter wuss. Who am I going to run back to when I'm ready for my fill? Manly McHardon, that's who. ----------------------------------------------------
*New point of clarification - some people have brought up some really great issues in response to this post, so let me say this: I don't mean to imply that all women like to be treated like whores. I do mean to say that most women I know have told me that they like sex rougher than most men give it to them. Rough does NOT equal chains and bondage. And this applies to the bedroom only, and does not mean that she wants you to choose her dinner for her, or treat her like less of a person. **Some women have said that they don't like it rough and what the hell am I thinking? Well, girls, you're in the minority. HOWEVER, all women need to remember that, in addition to be straight forward about your sexual desires, you need to be straight forward about your sexual limits. Don't be afraid to ask for more, but when something feels wrong, say so. Don't ever do something you don't want to do in silence and then blame the guy. Silence is dangerous.
--
Dear Men of Craigslist,
Look, I know you men have it difficult. Women are just about impossible to understand, much less please. In a post-feminist society, you never know exactly what you should be doing. Women are bloody picky, I know we are. It can be scary, too, when women freak out about what appear to be benign issues. And men who do their best to be respectful, female-positive humans, I salute you, I do.
But please, please just fuck me already. Honestly, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I like that you want to take things slow. I can totally get behind the idea of emotional connection, but dearjesusinheaven, FUCK ME. We've done dinner and drinks. We've gone dancing. We've cuddled and watched a movie. I'm wearing a low cut shirt and you've been staring at my breasts all night. Goodgodalmighty, get to it and fuck me.
When we get hot and heavy, please take charge. Please, please fuck me. Trust me, I'm not going to just lie still - I'll get involved. But don't make me force your hand into my panties. That makes me feel like a rapist. We've been kissing for a half hour and your hand keeps grazing my ass. That's nice, but it's time to move forward. Get on top of me. Don't make me get on top right out of the gate and start bobbing up and down on your cock like I'm practicing some crazy new aerobic yoga because YOU won't go down on me. Roll on top and start dry humping like a good boy should. Don't gently suck my nipples and then pull back when I moan with pleasure. You being coy is totally not what I want. It's not what WE want.
OK, I know it's scary. There are lots of women out there who make fucking really difficult. So, I have compiled some handy tips. Don't think of this as complaining, or as schadenfreude for the Andrea Dworkins of the world. Just some simple tips, for timid men who have forgotten what it means to fuck like men:
1. Taking charge is not bad. Oh, there will be some women who feel that you are pushy. If you are making out with a woman, and she starts to push back, ask nicely if things are moving too fast. If she says yes, say something like "I'm sorry - you just look so fucking delicious. I'll go slower." Otherwise, skillfully move forward. If you start kissing a woman, and she responds well, and before long, you're both on the floor with her skirt pushed up, and you on top of her, it's not the time to roll onto your back and start awkwardly stroking the top of her head. Seriously, grow a goddamn pair. YOU'RE the man. Act like one.
2. Ohmyfuckinggod, please learn to respect the clit. It's different for every woman, so ask what she likes. Do not, I repeat, do not just wiggle your fingers around her pussy like you're trying to tickle her. Do not drum your fingertips against her vulva like you are impatiently waiting at the Sears Tire Center for your receipt. Do not push the clit like it is a doorbell at some house that you need to get inside of. Start by using all four fingers with firm yet gentle pressure against the outside of her pussy. Do not charge in with a single finger and start jabbing at things. And if you really don't know what to do, ask her. Just ask. "How do you like it?". It's a simple question, and most women will answer straight out. If she's being all coy, ask "Do you like pressure? Is it sensitive?" The clitoris is a varied item, indeed. Treat each one as though you have never encountered one before. Forget everything that your last partner liked.
3. Most women like to be fucked, and fucked well. Yes, there are women out there who want to "make love" every time - sweet, gentle, rocking love with lots of eye contact and loving kisses. Those women are not the majority. The majority like to be pounded. The majority like to have their hair pulled. The majority like a good, solid jackhammering. When a woman is bucking wildly against you, it's not because she wants you to pull back and slowly swirl your cock around her vagina like you're mixing a cake batter up there. It's because she wants you to hold down her arms, or grab her hips, or push her legs above her head, and fuck her harder. Don't be too afraid of what this means as far as gender equality goes - I am a raging feminist bitch, but I still want to be penetrated like you are planning on fucking my throat from the inside out.
4. A little roughness is nice. Do not pretend that you had no idea that some women like their hair pulled. Do not act shocked if she wants you to spank her ("Really? Spanking? Won't it hurt?" - yes, it does. That's the fucking point). We know you've read Stuff and Maxim, and that's all those laddie mags talk about in their "How to Please Her" sections. Start with light, full handed smacks to the area of her ass that she sits on. Judge her response and continue on from there. You don't have to bend her over one knee and tell her she's a naughty girl and that Daddy's going to punish her; save that for the fifth date. Women are less delicate than you think, so don't worry about breaking her hip.
5. It's OK for you to make noise. Otherwise, we feel like we are fucking a ninja. Unless you actually are a ninja, and have sneaked into our rooms with vibrating nanuchaku and zippered black pajamas, please, please make some noise. If you're banging a woman, and she's crying out and saying your name and moaning, and you can't even manage a grunt, she's going to feel like an idiot. You don't have to make the sounds she is making, but do SOMETHING. You know how when you are watching porn, and the girl does something great to the guy and the guy kind of goes "Ah!", half grunt, half yell? That's HOT. Do that. Whisper our name (assuming you know it) gruffly. Groan against her neck when you're in missionary position. You don't have to grunt like a mountain gorilla, but if you are totally mute, she's going to get worried.
6. Most women like dirty talk, in addition to the grunting. If you'd like to get some dirty talk going, ask her if she likes the way you fuck her. If she responds well, continue with something like, "I love fucking you. God, you look so fucking hot." Is she still moaning in response? "Your tits are so beautiful." Does that work? If she doesn't respond well to the term "tits", you might have to stop there. If she keep moaning or responding, pass Go and collect $200. Try the following:
"Oh, god. Your pussy is SO tight."
"You're so wet - are you wet because you like the feel of my cock ramming you?"
"I think I'm going to come inside you. I'm going to fill up your little cunt." It doesn't matter that you're wearing a condom; we LOVE hearing this.
If all of those work, you can then progress to things like "sexy little bitch" and "dirty whore". Tread carefully, but please, tread. Do not tiptoe. Do not sit down. Charge.
6. You're not obligated to eat a woman out. In return, she's not obligated to choke on your dick. Don't skip one and expect the other. If you do eat a woman out, the only comment you should make about her pussy is how nice it is. The length of her labia minora, the color of her interior, her waxing job or full bush - you are not John Madden. No time for color commentary.
7. Do not bitch about condoms. Oh, we hate them. Trust us. They hurt us more than they hurt you. But we don't want to be preggers, and you don't want to catch anything, right? Don't whine about condom sex. Do not explain that you can't come with one on. LEARN to come with one on, or if not, help us figure out what to do with you once we're satisfied and it's time for you to let loose your load.
8. We really like it when you come. It's called a money shot for a reason. Watching semen shoot out of you is one of the most gratifying things EVER. However, do not assume that she wants you to jack it off onto her face. She might, but don't assume. Seeing and/or feeling you come is rewarding for us, so there's no need to deprive us of it, but please do consult us before unleashing. "I think I'm going to come - how do you like it?" is a fair question that shouldn't rob you of your testicles.
In recent memory, I've been fucked by a very aggressive, manly guy, and I've been... well, fucked is the wrong term here. I've been penetrated by a total and utter wuss. Who am I going to run back to when I'm ready for my fill? Manly McHardon, that's who. ----------------------------------------------------
*New point of clarification - some people have brought up some really great issues in response to this post, so let me say this: I don't mean to imply that all women like to be treated like whores. I do mean to say that most women I know have told me that they like sex rougher than most men give it to them. Rough does NOT equal chains and bondage. And this applies to the bedroom only, and does not mean that she wants you to choose her dinner for her, or treat her like less of a person. **Some women have said that they don't like it rough and what the hell am I thinking? Well, girls, you're in the minority. HOWEVER, all women need to remember that, in addition to be straight forward about your sexual desires, you need to be straight forward about your sexual limits. Don't be afraid to ask for more, but when something feels wrong, say so. Don't ever do something you don't want to do in silence and then blame the guy. Silence is dangerous.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Ugh, what now?
I've been watching Californication. I guess you could say that THAT, more than anything else, is what seriously prompted my inception of this oh so mediocre blog. I see a lot of myself in the broken down shell of Hank Moody. Minus the talent, of course.
"Rome is burning, and I'm up to my knees in pussy and strong liquor."
I was asked about my last post, told that it was definitely not some of my best work, and I'd have to be lying to say that I don't agree. Yes, my thoughts and feelings on a myriad of topics are my own to spread and seed the world with, but that really is only a sideline to what my intentions are with this thing. I strive, always, dear reader, to show you the inner workings of my wretched little mind, but without the connection of the actual deeds that have prompted them, it's whistling in the dark. In order for you to connect with me, to understand my thought processes, you must feel the things I've felt, be in my shoes.
I am a terrible lover. I am a godlike lover. I am just like anyone else who puts the time and effort into being interesting in the sack.
V---- was terrible sex because I didn't know what I was doing. Sure, I'd read the literature, I'd watched the movies, I intellectually knew which part went where, but when it came down to it? I was an inexperienced little boy with a turgid cock and trembling hands. I can't use that same excuse anymore. I cannot give excuses for when I'm inattentive, when I don't watch and learn and love and fuck and breathe my partner. Now, the only excuse I have is that, frankly, you bore me.
N--- was bad sex. She wasn't boring, she wasn't even inexperienced. It was bad because I didn't really work at it. I seduced her with my words, my wit, my charming self. I fucked her, slept with her, and in the morning she left and I was completely happy with it. I don't think that I want to get into the criticism game. Of course, I'm not really using names, so what does it matter?
It matters because that also isn't the point of this blog.
N--- was attractive, older, and way too skinny for my usual tastes. We'd been friends for a bit, we talked at the club, hung out at parties, laughed at stupid jokes and made fun of people for telling the stupid jokes. She was fun to chat with, even if she was a bit odd. We didn't really have much of a sexual vibe until one night we sat talking in my room and I decided to share with her some of the erotica I'd written. I read to her from my secret stash, and she reacted with exactly the response I expected.
I am a seductive fucker. I know what to say, how to say it, and how to play on the strings of people's libido. It's gotten me in trouble more than once, and it got me into trouble with her.
She was sitting on my bed, and I was sitting at my desk. I turned to her after I'd read to her, and I went to bed with ardor. I was into it, focused, driven. Right up until the time I realized I was tired, she wasn't what I wanted, and I lost interest. My mind went elsewhere, and I felt I had gone to far to just tell her I wasn't interested and to get the fuck out of my bed.
I've done that before, but usually not once my cock was buried to its root inside the person's ass.
So I finished. I have no idea if she enjoyed it or not, and I tend to think it became a bit obvious that I was no longer interested, for the sex probably wasn't nearly as good as it had been. I felt I went through the motions well enough, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. I just never bothered to talk to her much afterwards, so I never really got any feedback one way or another. She's with someone else now, and I have no desire to hunt her down and relive the jolly old days. The thought is actually quite repulsive.
We fucked, I think she came, I know I did, and I rolled over and went to sleep. She wasn't there in the morning, and I didn't really care.
Eh, that's not a very good way to put it. I've always cared about that sort of thing. As emotionless as I often am, it's merely the byproduct of a decent level of control. I am very intense in my emotions, and I try always to let them flow through me unimpeded. I do, however, attempt to always show as little of it on the surface as I can. I look at the emotion that I'm feeling, I revel in the experience, I thrive on them, and then when they pass through and are gone, I wonder at the emptiness.
Not question it, mind you, but I am in wonder at the void left by the departure of something so intense, and like an addict, I go in search of something else. I guess that's why I am a failure at relationships. I don't know when to let go, I have no idea what it means to fall OUT of love with someone. Even now, I can turn my inner eye into my self and I see the intense love I have there, still burning, still pointless. I carry three torches in my heart, tucked away into a back corner where I rarely let anyone visit.
L----, I remember how she smells, how she laughed, how she held me so desperately. A-----, I remember how she tasted with her body coated in sex sweat, the way her hand would rest lingeringly on my hip. S---, I remember how gentle she was, how fragile, how she would curl up into me when we slept.
It hurts a lot to remember these things, but it also makes me feel so amazingly lucky to have had such love from such people. Each one of them looked at me with an unbelievable love and devotion. I see it in their faces, in my mind. I remember every single nuance of how they looked. And I love it.
So, when I say that I didn't care she was there in the morning, it really was only because it was HER. I want someone that I can fall asleep with and know they'll still be there in the morning.
"Rome is burning, and I'm up to my knees in pussy and strong liquor."
I was asked about my last post, told that it was definitely not some of my best work, and I'd have to be lying to say that I don't agree. Yes, my thoughts and feelings on a myriad of topics are my own to spread and seed the world with, but that really is only a sideline to what my intentions are with this thing. I strive, always, dear reader, to show you the inner workings of my wretched little mind, but without the connection of the actual deeds that have prompted them, it's whistling in the dark. In order for you to connect with me, to understand my thought processes, you must feel the things I've felt, be in my shoes.
I am a terrible lover. I am a godlike lover. I am just like anyone else who puts the time and effort into being interesting in the sack.
V---- was terrible sex because I didn't know what I was doing. Sure, I'd read the literature, I'd watched the movies, I intellectually knew which part went where, but when it came down to it? I was an inexperienced little boy with a turgid cock and trembling hands. I can't use that same excuse anymore. I cannot give excuses for when I'm inattentive, when I don't watch and learn and love and fuck and breathe my partner. Now, the only excuse I have is that, frankly, you bore me.
N--- was bad sex. She wasn't boring, she wasn't even inexperienced. It was bad because I didn't really work at it. I seduced her with my words, my wit, my charming self. I fucked her, slept with her, and in the morning she left and I was completely happy with it. I don't think that I want to get into the criticism game. Of course, I'm not really using names, so what does it matter?
It matters because that also isn't the point of this blog.
N--- was attractive, older, and way too skinny for my usual tastes. We'd been friends for a bit, we talked at the club, hung out at parties, laughed at stupid jokes and made fun of people for telling the stupid jokes. She was fun to chat with, even if she was a bit odd. We didn't really have much of a sexual vibe until one night we sat talking in my room and I decided to share with her some of the erotica I'd written. I read to her from my secret stash, and she reacted with exactly the response I expected.
I am a seductive fucker. I know what to say, how to say it, and how to play on the strings of people's libido. It's gotten me in trouble more than once, and it got me into trouble with her.
She was sitting on my bed, and I was sitting at my desk. I turned to her after I'd read to her, and I went to bed with ardor. I was into it, focused, driven. Right up until the time I realized I was tired, she wasn't what I wanted, and I lost interest. My mind went elsewhere, and I felt I had gone to far to just tell her I wasn't interested and to get the fuck out of my bed.
I've done that before, but usually not once my cock was buried to its root inside the person's ass.
So I finished. I have no idea if she enjoyed it or not, and I tend to think it became a bit obvious that I was no longer interested, for the sex probably wasn't nearly as good as it had been. I felt I went through the motions well enough, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. I just never bothered to talk to her much afterwards, so I never really got any feedback one way or another. She's with someone else now, and I have no desire to hunt her down and relive the jolly old days. The thought is actually quite repulsive.
We fucked, I think she came, I know I did, and I rolled over and went to sleep. She wasn't there in the morning, and I didn't really care.
Eh, that's not a very good way to put it. I've always cared about that sort of thing. As emotionless as I often am, it's merely the byproduct of a decent level of control. I am very intense in my emotions, and I try always to let them flow through me unimpeded. I do, however, attempt to always show as little of it on the surface as I can. I look at the emotion that I'm feeling, I revel in the experience, I thrive on them, and then when they pass through and are gone, I wonder at the emptiness.
Not question it, mind you, but I am in wonder at the void left by the departure of something so intense, and like an addict, I go in search of something else. I guess that's why I am a failure at relationships. I don't know when to let go, I have no idea what it means to fall OUT of love with someone. Even now, I can turn my inner eye into my self and I see the intense love I have there, still burning, still pointless. I carry three torches in my heart, tucked away into a back corner where I rarely let anyone visit.
L----, I remember how she smells, how she laughed, how she held me so desperately. A-----, I remember how she tasted with her body coated in sex sweat, the way her hand would rest lingeringly on my hip. S---, I remember how gentle she was, how fragile, how she would curl up into me when we slept.
It hurts a lot to remember these things, but it also makes me feel so amazingly lucky to have had such love from such people. Each one of them looked at me with an unbelievable love and devotion. I see it in their faces, in my mind. I remember every single nuance of how they looked. And I love it.
So, when I say that I didn't care she was there in the morning, it really was only because it was HER. I want someone that I can fall asleep with and know they'll still be there in the morning.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Reality at it's finest.
Ok, so several things I want to touch on tonight. First, I usually write best when I am listening to music. I know, big shock. I feel, however, that I should share with you lovely readers my taste. All of these blogs so far have been written whilst listening to Tiesto.
I don't normally listen to a lot of trance/techno/electrorave stuff, but I find it to be very conducive to the types of things I've been revealing these past few nights.
I also have come to the realization that I simply can't talk about each and every one of the people I've slept with in sequence. I remember most of them very well, but there are a few that I cannot put into a timeline, purely from the fact that our coupling simply wasn't memorable enough. I have had a fair amount of bad sex, much to my dismay. Not necessarily because I wasn't willing to put the effort forth to make it good sex, but simply because I lacked the desire to make it better than it was. It takes a good bit of effort sometimes to make good sex happen, especially when the people that you happen to be sharing a bed with are so damn closed about their sexuality.
It is frustrating to no end to find out that the person you spent the time and energy into getting in bed simply haven't the wherewithal to do anything more than lay there and moan, regardless of what is done. Of course, this could be am indicator of how poorly my amorous skills were at the time, but I somehow doubt it. I have done far too much in the intervening years for me to try and hide behind poor skill. No, it generally was a dirth of laziness, and that is all.
Hell, that is somehow WORSE than simply being a bad lay. It's being a bad and uninterested lay that just makes me cringe. How was I being any better than them when I did this? How can I justify my own reaction if I was simply going through the motions?
This is a realization that I came to several years ago, and one that I have sincerely put into real practice since. It absolutely explains how not only have I had more partners, but how I haven't received any complaints lately. Of course, any shitty frat boy on the street will say they haven't gotten any complaints, regardless of however many they have or have not received, so take it as you will.
The next one I am going to speak about is J----. She was one of the few models I've had that I actually slept with. I have made it a practice in my long and sordid love affair with the camera to NOT sleep with the people that I only really know from shooting them. It is totally unprofessional, and it often times leads to a reputation as a creeper and a shark and a sickness that makes most models unwilling to work for you. I have violated this rule only twice, and I feel that both times were justified with the relationship that developed between us after.
J---- was so intensely aroused by the act of my photographing her nudity that the moment I put the camera down, she fairly jumped me. I remember her comment very very well. "So, are are you just going to stand there with that camera, or are you going to come over here and actually fuck me?" I didn't really know what to say or do, so I just did it.
Holy fuck, I am so glad that I did. You see, K---- first really got me into the kinky side of sex, but ours was still mostly vanilla. J---- on the other hand was a totally kinky bitch, and I fucking loved it. She was my first masochist, my first real foray into sadism and it's intimate relationship with fuck. She liked it all, she liked to be spanked, slapped, bit, burned, cut, poked, and prodded. She liked it when I tied her to the bed with her ass in the air and /used/. It was great, and I loved every twisted fucking minute of it.
Up until this point, my experience with kink had come mostly from conversations with my Mentor and a few exciting cyber experiences. It was a total thrill to be able to translate things that I had only read about into reality. I loved fucking her and making her bleed. I loved the power of it, the intoxicating thrill of her submission. I was hooked like a fish and I've never really looked back.
Now, I realize that talking about this takes on a substantial risk, but I believe that honesty is a trait to be admired, and even though the filter that should fall into place over something like this has been rigged to not work in this instance, I feel that revealing this sort of thing to you, my dear reader, can somehow be educational in a way. It is my hope that someone reading this will take from my experiences and not make some of the mistakes I did.
You see, at the time, I was very hung up on the whole monogamy issue. My logic brain told me that monogamy is a bit foolish in this day and age, but at the time I was so brainwashed into thinking that monogamy was the One True Way (tm), that I realized that I was letting go of a chance that comes so rarely in our lives. I won't say that pluralism is for everyone, or even that it doesn't bring along it's own set of problems, but I can say that it has opened up my eyes to some of the most amazing and intense experiences of my life.
She was a first of many things for me, including my first threesome.
It was awesome, fun, exciting, and left me so fucking jealous I couldn't see straight. I fucked up a beautiful relationship because I couldn't handle the fact that I was so amazingly turned on by watching her fuck someone else and it conflicted so harshly with everything I had been taught since birth.
Again with the whole brilliant opportunity to spread my Antichristian propaganda. I will not succumb! Not this time anyway.
It is a rabbit hole I will get into, I promise, but not tonight.
Speaking of, today has been something of an oddity. I woke up early, worked like a crazy man at my incredibly badass job, had a conversation about particle physics with my mum, spent some time at the creek with my beloved daughter, spoke with a man I have rapidly grown to respect and admire, and ended up at a nightclub listening to tunes I haven't heard since the mid nineties. Now, I am sitting on the porch, listening to the cars drive by, a steaming cup of tea beside me, a cigarette burning in the ash tray, and wonderful tunes coursing through my head.
This was a fucking good day. I spent the day with people I love, and the evening with a girl I want to make mine. Yes, I know you're probably going to read this, and yes, I am talking to you. Surprise, I know, this is a wonderful way of tactfully going about this, right? Fuck tact. I spend my professional life being nothing but proper and tactful. Hell, I have spent most of my life being tactful and respectful and polite and oh so miserably reserved. I've had fun, don't get me wrong, but I know that I have missed out on so much because I was unwilling to let the chips fall as they may.
Yes, I am a strict and protocol driving Dominant, but kink is not at all about being tactful in private, and even as public a forum as this is, it's my private mind expressing itself. If I can't be honest and drop the tact when writing this ridiculous blog, then where the fuck else? I am mastering myself, as odd as this is, it is my way.
It is late, and I am going to have another long day tomorrow, so now I leave you with a final thought, a way of once more reaching out and attempting to touch your minds.
We are always so afraid of what others think of us. This can be healthy when learning to keep your professional and private lives separate, but it can be incredibly damaging to us as we reach out and begin to interact socially with those around us. This entire blog has but one purpose, and it is for me to reveal myself to you, to brush away the carefully crafted and utterly useless image I have made for myself. This is who I am, and all that I ask, is that you be real with me.
I don't normally listen to a lot of trance/techno/electrorave stuff, but I find it to be very conducive to the types of things I've been revealing these past few nights.
I also have come to the realization that I simply can't talk about each and every one of the people I've slept with in sequence. I remember most of them very well, but there are a few that I cannot put into a timeline, purely from the fact that our coupling simply wasn't memorable enough. I have had a fair amount of bad sex, much to my dismay. Not necessarily because I wasn't willing to put the effort forth to make it good sex, but simply because I lacked the desire to make it better than it was. It takes a good bit of effort sometimes to make good sex happen, especially when the people that you happen to be sharing a bed with are so damn closed about their sexuality.
It is frustrating to no end to find out that the person you spent the time and energy into getting in bed simply haven't the wherewithal to do anything more than lay there and moan, regardless of what is done. Of course, this could be am indicator of how poorly my amorous skills were at the time, but I somehow doubt it. I have done far too much in the intervening years for me to try and hide behind poor skill. No, it generally was a dirth of laziness, and that is all.
Hell, that is somehow WORSE than simply being a bad lay. It's being a bad and uninterested lay that just makes me cringe. How was I being any better than them when I did this? How can I justify my own reaction if I was simply going through the motions?
This is a realization that I came to several years ago, and one that I have sincerely put into real practice since. It absolutely explains how not only have I had more partners, but how I haven't received any complaints lately. Of course, any shitty frat boy on the street will say they haven't gotten any complaints, regardless of however many they have or have not received, so take it as you will.
The next one I am going to speak about is J----. She was one of the few models I've had that I actually slept with. I have made it a practice in my long and sordid love affair with the camera to NOT sleep with the people that I only really know from shooting them. It is totally unprofessional, and it often times leads to a reputation as a creeper and a shark and a sickness that makes most models unwilling to work for you. I have violated this rule only twice, and I feel that both times were justified with the relationship that developed between us after.
J---- was so intensely aroused by the act of my photographing her nudity that the moment I put the camera down, she fairly jumped me. I remember her comment very very well. "So, are are you just going to stand there with that camera, or are you going to come over here and actually fuck me?" I didn't really know what to say or do, so I just did it.
Holy fuck, I am so glad that I did. You see, K---- first really got me into the kinky side of sex, but ours was still mostly vanilla. J---- on the other hand was a totally kinky bitch, and I fucking loved it. She was my first masochist, my first real foray into sadism and it's intimate relationship with fuck. She liked it all, she liked to be spanked, slapped, bit, burned, cut, poked, and prodded. She liked it when I tied her to the bed with her ass in the air and /used/. It was great, and I loved every twisted fucking minute of it.
Up until this point, my experience with kink had come mostly from conversations with my Mentor and a few exciting cyber experiences. It was a total thrill to be able to translate things that I had only read about into reality. I loved fucking her and making her bleed. I loved the power of it, the intoxicating thrill of her submission. I was hooked like a fish and I've never really looked back.
Now, I realize that talking about this takes on a substantial risk, but I believe that honesty is a trait to be admired, and even though the filter that should fall into place over something like this has been rigged to not work in this instance, I feel that revealing this sort of thing to you, my dear reader, can somehow be educational in a way. It is my hope that someone reading this will take from my experiences and not make some of the mistakes I did.
You see, at the time, I was very hung up on the whole monogamy issue. My logic brain told me that monogamy is a bit foolish in this day and age, but at the time I was so brainwashed into thinking that monogamy was the One True Way (tm), that I realized that I was letting go of a chance that comes so rarely in our lives. I won't say that pluralism is for everyone, or even that it doesn't bring along it's own set of problems, but I can say that it has opened up my eyes to some of the most amazing and intense experiences of my life.
She was a first of many things for me, including my first threesome.
It was awesome, fun, exciting, and left me so fucking jealous I couldn't see straight. I fucked up a beautiful relationship because I couldn't handle the fact that I was so amazingly turned on by watching her fuck someone else and it conflicted so harshly with everything I had been taught since birth.
Again with the whole brilliant opportunity to spread my Antichristian propaganda. I will not succumb! Not this time anyway.
It is a rabbit hole I will get into, I promise, but not tonight.
Speaking of, today has been something of an oddity. I woke up early, worked like a crazy man at my incredibly badass job, had a conversation about particle physics with my mum, spent some time at the creek with my beloved daughter, spoke with a man I have rapidly grown to respect and admire, and ended up at a nightclub listening to tunes I haven't heard since the mid nineties. Now, I am sitting on the porch, listening to the cars drive by, a steaming cup of tea beside me, a cigarette burning in the ash tray, and wonderful tunes coursing through my head.
This was a fucking good day. I spent the day with people I love, and the evening with a girl I want to make mine. Yes, I know you're probably going to read this, and yes, I am talking to you. Surprise, I know, this is a wonderful way of tactfully going about this, right? Fuck tact. I spend my professional life being nothing but proper and tactful. Hell, I have spent most of my life being tactful and respectful and polite and oh so miserably reserved. I've had fun, don't get me wrong, but I know that I have missed out on so much because I was unwilling to let the chips fall as they may.
Yes, I am a strict and protocol driving Dominant, but kink is not at all about being tactful in private, and even as public a forum as this is, it's my private mind expressing itself. If I can't be honest and drop the tact when writing this ridiculous blog, then where the fuck else? I am mastering myself, as odd as this is, it is my way.
It is late, and I am going to have another long day tomorrow, so now I leave you with a final thought, a way of once more reaching out and attempting to touch your minds.
We are always so afraid of what others think of us. This can be healthy when learning to keep your professional and private lives separate, but it can be incredibly damaging to us as we reach out and begin to interact socially with those around us. This entire blog has but one purpose, and it is for me to reveal myself to you, to brush away the carefully crafted and utterly useless image I have made for myself. This is who I am, and all that I ask, is that you be real with me.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Oh the inadequacies!
Trying to sit here and writing this one is a bit difficult tonight. Not necessarily because the subject matter won't come, but rather the distractions of this place have constantly prevented me from finishing this thing. It's fun to think of how easily distracted we are these days. There is always SOMETHING out there to occupy our brains, to keep us from thinking, things that keep us from achieving our full potential.
We ask ourselves how the ancients were able to see massive patterns in the stars, to see the movements of the planets, and to carefully observe and make accurate predictions about things so far removed from them as the movements of the planets and stars in their courses.
But then, they didn't have television or the internets or the lifetimes of the rich and famous to constantly pierce the veil of their concentration and prevent them from realizing the value of their thought. The great thinkers of Alexandria, Rome, Athens, Cairo, Peking, Kyoto, Damascus, Constantinople, they all had the same thing in common, their ability to focus entirely upon a single thought and follow it to it's ultimate fruition.
This is why Americans are so fucking stupid these days. We don't like to sit and think of ideas, we want to be force fed them through the IV tubes of the television, blogs, telephones and circuit breakers. Yes, I do recognize and understand the irony of complaining about these things in one of the very same mediums which I so readily lambast for being such a terrible distraction.
Why? Because they don't have to be. They can be incredibly useful tools for the advancement of humanity and our collective consciousness. In fact, there are uncountable amounts of people using them for exactly that purpose every day. Things like the LHC, the Hubble, CERN, the ISS, and so on, they all represent the amalgam of human forward thinking, and the dedication of certain peoples for the advancement of all.
But, I digress, you don't really come here to read about my thoughts on the degradation of human society, but rather to read about the titillating details about my torrid sex life. Unfortunately for you, today's reading is going to be a bit droll, as I only slept with her once. C------- was a girl I met at a party. She was hot, she had huge tatas, and we eyed each other across the room at the party the entire night. We flirted shamelessly with each other, and eventually ended up making out on the couch.
Ultimately we ended up in the spare bedroom, and I didn't have a condom. Normally, I hate condoms, but I recognize their usefulness, and she didn't want to go without. So, I actually left the comforts of our joint boudoir and asked my gracious host. After some searching, we found one, and sparks flew.
Ok, no they didn't. I told her it was because I was so used to having sex with boys that I came so quickly while fucking her. And thus began my long battle with explanations for my problem with premature ejaculation. Yes, I suffer from PE. Yes, it sucks, but no, I no longer make excuses for it. I have found ways to mostly control it, but sometimes... *shrug* such is my life. A lot of buildup to a quick and rather unimpressive bang.
Anyway, she apparently didn't have much experience either, and she apparently didn't have a problem with my peformance. She was the kind to make snide and crappy remarks about shit like that, and she apparently didn't. I couldn't tell you this from personal experience, as I never really talked to her after that. I did entertain the fantasy of someday finding her again and proving to her that I WASN'T a terrible lay, but I never did, and now the dream has faded.
It makes me think of sexual dysfunction. Most people have at least one, and most people won't talk about it if their life depended on it. I think a major reason for it is the same one that saw vocal genesis in my first posting. We, as a society, refuse to talk candidly about sex. War, violence, torture, hate, anger. These are all common discussions around the dinner table, but rarely are they interrupted by healthy and important discussions about sex and healthy sexual conduct. Oh FUCK, little Johnny brought home a BOY! We mustn't talk about it, we mustnt point out his DEVIANCE.
I understand the trail of how sex became such a taboo topic in this country. Ak me sometime, and I will gladly tell you all about it. Unfortunately, I've spent an excessive amount of time in previous blogs ranting about the failures of Christianity, and how poor it ultimately left us in dealing with normal social issues. Now, I don't think i will get into it so much. That doesnt mean I won't ultimately choose to do so,harping about the inadequacies of that disgusting religion is one of my favorite pasttimes. If this offends you, you should probably not ever read this blog again, because it is my intention of offending you as often and as completely as possible.
But that aside, I did and do wrestle constantly with my sexual problems. I've never really had a problem with being unable to perform, my little lad has always been up for whatever I've wanted him for, with those few exceptions when outside chemical stimuli physically prevented such a thing (much to my dismay, I assure you). But an early conclusion has always been an issue for me.
I've tried many different things over the years, things like breath control, changes in mental focus, preplanned masturbation, things like this. Relly, the only thing that has ever really worked is tantric exercises and the simple inevitability that comes with age. I also learned to maintain my erection long after I've achieved satisfaction, and... Other things.
Which brings me to the modern penchant for poor sexual behavior in general. Too many times I've talked to people that had had terrible after terrible experience in bed. Too many women I've spoken to complain about never having had an orgasm with a male, or who complain about how their partner just slaps on some lube and shoves it in.
HOW IS THAT NORMAL OR ACCEPTABLE?
I am shocked and appalled that so many members of my gender never bother with learning simple things like where the fuck the Clitoris is, not to even mention the oh-so-NOT- mythical G-spot. It's simple, fellas. The Clit is the little man in the boat, and the G-spot is that little mound of flesh you feel when you make a come along gesture inside her cunt. Look at a fucking diagram. Read some goddamn literature, or FOR FUCKS SAKE listen to your partner. It's easy, comforting, and it will make you better in the sack.
Oh wait, women don't like talking about their sexuality, so they are probably not giving you any pointers either.
And that's my beef with you, ladies. Learn to fucking express yourself in the bedroom. I don't mean screaming out dirty phrases in the midst of coitus, but calm instruction about what you like your partner to do is SIMPLE SHIT. If you don't tell him, chances are, he won't figure it out on his own, and he will think he's the best lay you've ever had.
Though chances are, he might actually be, which is sad. I'm not a don Juan or a Adonis by any stretch of the imagination, but if you have a partner like that, I promise you I'm better in the sack than he is. Hell, I will even prove it to you, just give me a call.
Oh boy, that's an invitation for an STD. Yep.
So only call me if you're clean. I am, and I certainly can prove that.
We ask ourselves how the ancients were able to see massive patterns in the stars, to see the movements of the planets, and to carefully observe and make accurate predictions about things so far removed from them as the movements of the planets and stars in their courses.
But then, they didn't have television or the internets or the lifetimes of the rich and famous to constantly pierce the veil of their concentration and prevent them from realizing the value of their thought. The great thinkers of Alexandria, Rome, Athens, Cairo, Peking, Kyoto, Damascus, Constantinople, they all had the same thing in common, their ability to focus entirely upon a single thought and follow it to it's ultimate fruition.
This is why Americans are so fucking stupid these days. We don't like to sit and think of ideas, we want to be force fed them through the IV tubes of the television, blogs, telephones and circuit breakers. Yes, I do recognize and understand the irony of complaining about these things in one of the very same mediums which I so readily lambast for being such a terrible distraction.
Why? Because they don't have to be. They can be incredibly useful tools for the advancement of humanity and our collective consciousness. In fact, there are uncountable amounts of people using them for exactly that purpose every day. Things like the LHC, the Hubble, CERN, the ISS, and so on, they all represent the amalgam of human forward thinking, and the dedication of certain peoples for the advancement of all.
But, I digress, you don't really come here to read about my thoughts on the degradation of human society, but rather to read about the titillating details about my torrid sex life. Unfortunately for you, today's reading is going to be a bit droll, as I only slept with her once. C------- was a girl I met at a party. She was hot, she had huge tatas, and we eyed each other across the room at the party the entire night. We flirted shamelessly with each other, and eventually ended up making out on the couch.
Ultimately we ended up in the spare bedroom, and I didn't have a condom. Normally, I hate condoms, but I recognize their usefulness, and she didn't want to go without. So, I actually left the comforts of our joint boudoir and asked my gracious host. After some searching, we found one, and sparks flew.
Ok, no they didn't. I told her it was because I was so used to having sex with boys that I came so quickly while fucking her. And thus began my long battle with explanations for my problem with premature ejaculation. Yes, I suffer from PE. Yes, it sucks, but no, I no longer make excuses for it. I have found ways to mostly control it, but sometimes... *shrug* such is my life. A lot of buildup to a quick and rather unimpressive bang.
Anyway, she apparently didn't have much experience either, and she apparently didn't have a problem with my peformance. She was the kind to make snide and crappy remarks about shit like that, and she apparently didn't. I couldn't tell you this from personal experience, as I never really talked to her after that. I did entertain the fantasy of someday finding her again and proving to her that I WASN'T a terrible lay, but I never did, and now the dream has faded.
It makes me think of sexual dysfunction. Most people have at least one, and most people won't talk about it if their life depended on it. I think a major reason for it is the same one that saw vocal genesis in my first posting. We, as a society, refuse to talk candidly about sex. War, violence, torture, hate, anger. These are all common discussions around the dinner table, but rarely are they interrupted by healthy and important discussions about sex and healthy sexual conduct. Oh FUCK, little Johnny brought home a BOY! We mustn't talk about it, we mustnt point out his DEVIANCE.
I understand the trail of how sex became such a taboo topic in this country. Ak me sometime, and I will gladly tell you all about it. Unfortunately, I've spent an excessive amount of time in previous blogs ranting about the failures of Christianity, and how poor it ultimately left us in dealing with normal social issues. Now, I don't think i will get into it so much. That doesnt mean I won't ultimately choose to do so,harping about the inadequacies of that disgusting religion is one of my favorite pasttimes. If this offends you, you should probably not ever read this blog again, because it is my intention of offending you as often and as completely as possible.
But that aside, I did and do wrestle constantly with my sexual problems. I've never really had a problem with being unable to perform, my little lad has always been up for whatever I've wanted him for, with those few exceptions when outside chemical stimuli physically prevented such a thing (much to my dismay, I assure you). But an early conclusion has always been an issue for me.
I've tried many different things over the years, things like breath control, changes in mental focus, preplanned masturbation, things like this. Relly, the only thing that has ever really worked is tantric exercises and the simple inevitability that comes with age. I also learned to maintain my erection long after I've achieved satisfaction, and... Other things.
Which brings me to the modern penchant for poor sexual behavior in general. Too many times I've talked to people that had had terrible after terrible experience in bed. Too many women I've spoken to complain about never having had an orgasm with a male, or who complain about how their partner just slaps on some lube and shoves it in.
HOW IS THAT NORMAL OR ACCEPTABLE?
I am shocked and appalled that so many members of my gender never bother with learning simple things like where the fuck the Clitoris is, not to even mention the oh-so-NOT- mythical G-spot. It's simple, fellas. The Clit is the little man in the boat, and the G-spot is that little mound of flesh you feel when you make a come along gesture inside her cunt. Look at a fucking diagram. Read some goddamn literature, or FOR FUCKS SAKE listen to your partner. It's easy, comforting, and it will make you better in the sack.
Oh wait, women don't like talking about their sexuality, so they are probably not giving you any pointers either.
And that's my beef with you, ladies. Learn to fucking express yourself in the bedroom. I don't mean screaming out dirty phrases in the midst of coitus, but calm instruction about what you like your partner to do is SIMPLE SHIT. If you don't tell him, chances are, he won't figure it out on his own, and he will think he's the best lay you've ever had.
Though chances are, he might actually be, which is sad. I'm not a don Juan or a Adonis by any stretch of the imagination, but if you have a partner like that, I promise you I'm better in the sack than he is. Hell, I will even prove it to you, just give me a call.
Oh boy, that's an invitation for an STD. Yep.
So only call me if you're clean. I am, and I certainly can prove that.
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