Realized: Not Submissive

Some guy in a chatroom found me and confessed to being a Dom. I said ok. I thought somewhere in my life I should be submissive, or I felt I had submissive feelings towards men.  So talking to him would entertain me for a bit.

I know when I was w/ my past sexual partners, I was always the aggressive one. I was tired of that. I wanted it to be the other way around. I needed it to be the other way around. 

So this Dom decides to give me a call. And while we’re talking he’s somewhat explaining the nuances of Dom-ism.  Ok, so it goes like this.  He said, “say you really want to suck my cock, I really want you to suck my cock, but I really want you to beg for it, would you beg for it?”  I told him I don’t understand why he would turn me down or make me beg him to do something he really wants.  I don’t understand it at all.  His only answer was, “Because that’s what I want you to do. You begging pleases me.” 

So I’ve taken this to mean that Doms like begging.  Ok, not all Doms – I won’t be general w/ that comment.  But enough of them that I’ve come to the realization that I’m not submissive. I’ve come to the realization that the word I need to use to describe the man I want is aggressive.  No dominance. Just aggression.

Plus, I really suck at begging and no amount of practice will make me better.

Not The Experience, But the Numbers

The number of men I’ve been with since the start of my sexual life is in the double digits.  It’s not something  I readily tell people.  It’s not even something I’ll offer up to a current lover.  For some reason, it shames me to admit it.  Ok, maybe it’s not just some reason, maybe there’s a definitive reason.  There is a definitive reason and it is this:  My mainly Italian controlling ex boyfriend.

At the time I was dating him, the number of men I had had sex with was in the high single digits.  However the amount of men I had given blowjobs to, was a tad higher.  And I made mention of this because I thought total honesty was expected and appreciated.  Plus, oral sex is sex, or a form of it.   I was wrong.

I’m a whore. A slut.  Disgusting.  Worthless.  I am all these things.  I was all these things.  

I helped to egg on the image he had of me as a slut and whore.  When he asked me a question about the men I had been with, I told him the honest answer.  I didn’t hold anything back.   I knew his reaction because he told me from the start that I disgusted him and anything I said after that would disgust him.  I tried to fight his perception of me, but he was right.   There was no way I could make him see differently.

I know I should be proud of who I was . . . there’s nothing to be ashamed of having had a multitude of men. Even tho at my younger age, it wasn’t for the experience, it was for the pleasure of it.  I wasn’t very discriminating.  Anybody that wanted to give me pleasure, I was there. 

Nowadays however, I take a look back and realize that the now-me doesn’t want to do that again. Hearing about a friend’s many partners in one month makes me wonder what the hell she is/was thinking.  The now-me just wants to find that one man I can have many, many experiences with.  Someone I can experiment with and not feel judged or labeled.  However if he were to  call me a whore or slut during the act, I won’t mind.

Virginity Lost . . . Again

As of this past Saturday my non-existant sex life has become null and void.  Altho, I have a feeling it will become quite active again as of the following day.

I had a date.  A date that was suppose to be a mini-golfing extravaganza w/ a friendly wager involved.  However since torrential downpours and poor planning on his part did that activity in, we opted for movie watching.  At my place. 

 No good can come of a man and woman watching a movie where there is a bedroom a few feet away.  Unless you consider awkward getting to know you kisses and even more awkward, “Is he going to fuck me?” questions running thru my head something good.  I suppose in the end, it was good.  Good in the fact that my born-again virgin status has left me for the  time being. 

It started off innocently enough w/ him showing up on my door at about 9:45 in the evening.  He selected a movie of mine to watch since we seemed to have had mixed signals about who was going to be renting a movie.  Popped in the movie and away we went.  It wasn’t like the movie theatres where you yell at a person behind you yacking away about nothing or making those movie going sounds, “oooooh,”  “ahhhhhh,”  “NO! Don’t go in there you fucking idiot!!”  But we only managed to shut up for about 20 minutes of almost 2 hour movie.  The time in between the quiet he spent picking on me.  Or mimmicking me, as he says.  Either way, it was fun and I can’t complain.

After the movie ended the very inevitable, “Are we going to fuck?” resounded thru my head loudly.  Loud enough for me to make the first move and bust out my Bite Me necklace.  I love being bitten, so this helped get his mouth in the right position for kissing me.  We played around w/ that for awhile before I worked our way to my bedroom. 

He had me pushed up against my bed.  My bare breasts in his hands.  His mouth doing torturous things to my neck. My hands stripping him of his shirt. We climbed aboard the bed and he wasted no time in getting my pants off, his fingers up my cunt and his mouth on my clit.  I like a man who goes down on me from the very beginning.  (Altho, I do like a man who’ll eat my pussy like a champ after he’s pumped me till I’m frothing and laps up all the juice he helped to cause.)

After a few raging minutes of me trying unsuccessfully to avoid his mouth and the pleasure he was giving me, he came up for air.  He kissed me.  I do so enjoy tasting myself on a tongue.  I can lick and lap at it all I want w/out fear of feeling like I’m depraved that I want to taste myself.  

I unbuckled his belt.  I freed his cock.  At this time, I learned the man does not own a shaving implement to help control the landscape.  However, I did not let this deter me. I forged on and pushed his pants down his hips.  He then moved to the side and frantically tore his pants and SpongeBob Squarepants boxers off.  I, of course, did the obligatory kissing down his body before I greedily swallowed his cock.  I love the taste of cock.  Especially since I’ve deprived myself of it for so long.  (And have been deprived of it by another.)

I bobbed, I weaved, I swirled.  I sucked, I fucked. I stroked and fondled.  I did everything I remember doing back when I was a blow job giving queen.  I was loving his moans.  His groans of satisfaction.  His, “you’re killing me,” “you’re driving me crazy,” pleasure driven chatter.   I wanted to give it all. I wanted to take it all. 

However my pussy was yelling for attention.  It had been so long feeling that first sure stroke.  And I had minutes to wait.  I don’t know if he needed time to recouperate from the tongue lashing I so richly enjoyed … or if he was as unsure of having sex as I was. 

He spanked my ass. He pulled my hair.  He ran his fingertips down my back.  He bit my neck. He licked my lips.  I turned around and had him spooning me.  I could feel his hard cock trying to search out my pussy.  I arched into him trying to line him up. Hoping upon hope he’d get the picture. 

I turned on my back, placed my leg over his. He thrust his hips and ……… OMG!  He felt so damn good!  I wanted that feeling to stay forever. I love the feeling of having something sliding into me for the first time.  It never gets any better than that.  (Ok, except for that hard driving pounding that only doggy style can give me.) He started fucking me.  And I mean fucking me.  But evidently that wasn’t a good enough position.

He threw my leg over his shoulder and got on his knees.  He fucked me ruthlessly. I was helpless. I loved it.  He laid his weight on top of me. Driving the breath from me as he stroked and ravaged my tight cunt.   I was almost head over heels for this man who was giving what my neglected pussy has been needing for well over a year.   And then he came.

I didn’t want it to stop. I wanted more. I wanted assorted positions. I wanted the thrashing I had been craving for what seems like forever.  I wanted more sweat. I wanted screaming. (Mine, of course.) And pleading, begging.  Some more spanking. A lot more hair pulling. 

But it had been 2 months for him.  I suppose I should cut him a break.  He laid there breathing hard and praising my fellatio skills.  Telling me he’s sorry he didn’t last that long.  I felt way too good.   I’ve heard all this before but coming from him. . . . I’ll take it as it was meant to be: a compliment.

I’ll have to wait to see if this has a to be continued after it.

It’s Off. And Staying Off.

The lightswitch is off.  Completely.  Even thru his hidden innuendos and shameless flirting and touching.  It’s off.  There’s nothing there anymore.  And he just bought me a toy.  I’m assuming it’s a vibrating toy.  He’s suppose to call me later so he can come over and give it to me, but I won’t be home tonight.  I actually have plans. 

Something about the no BJ rule got to me.  I can’t handle not being able to do what I want.  Oh and that not so little no fucking rule.  It frustrates me to not be able to fuck.  Especially since that’s what I like best.  So why should I get all frustrated when I’m not going to get what I want in the end?!  It’s just not worth it.

He’s still attractive to me, but I don’t want to be pampered by his tongue anymore.  . . . . Unless, of course, I get fucked sometime soon…Then maybe I’ll just want it to be about me.   Who am I kidding, fucking is ALL ABOUT ME!

****Update: he never bothered to call this past weekend.  Instead he’s now saying he’ll bring it by or get it to me sometime this week.  I’m seriously thinking of ways I can avoid being home.  That way I won’t be lying to him when I say I’m going to be busy.   He really shouldn’t have bought me the toy.  It’s not something I need.  Or actually want.    Especially if I have to use it first w/ him.****

This Can’t Be Happening!

This just in. . . . OM loves blow jobs.  But………… Yes, my god there’s a fucking but……… damn shame.  Blow jobs are in his “no sex” clause.   Evidently, I can suck and lick on his balls, but placing that nice fucking cock in my mouth is a no go.  

Oh holy fuck.  Ya know, that kind of pisses me off, especially since I was just getting back into wanting to give head….And w/out receiving anything for my attentions.  

I was actually starting to daydream.  Inviting him over.  Getting him thru the door, then either a.) dragging him into my bedroom, get him comfy on the bed, then strip him from the waist down, and go to down on his dick; or b.) tear his pants off at the door and get on my knees and lick, suck till my heart’s content or till he explodes in my mouth. 

But NO…. Fuck NO it ain’t going to happen.   My only hope is that I wear him down.  But there’s no fucking way of that.  Oh it’s just so fucking aggravating. 

The One Pump Wonder

Yes, that guy who is selfish and only thinks of himself and what will get him off is now back in my life and looking for sex.   The only reason he’s back is because he broke up w/ his girlfriend.  And of course, I’m the first girl he comes running back to.  And all because I’m willing to experiment w/ him.  And there’s some level of “respect” between us.  And because I wore my black robe for him. 

It’s downright ridiculous.  Everything in my life is getting downright ridiculous.  I have the OM who only wants to lick my cunt, finger my ass, and jerk off into my mouth.  I have the One I Crave who has just now started to maybe take me seriously.  And now this dumbass motherfucker who thinks his tiny pinky dick is something that gets me off.  

I guilted the latter man into sending me a picture of his dick the other night.  I didn’t bother to tell him I received it.  I was laughing too much because it’s sad.  I’m going to wonder if I’ll start receiving phone calls around 9:30-10:00 on Saturdays from him.  Because, ya know, I had to bring up the infrequency of our last exploits.  Which wasn’t often at all. I don’t even know if often is rightly defined for the lack of frequency we had.   But he said if we should start fucking again, I can possibly count on every Saturday.  During the weeks, meh, not going to happen.  (I am jumping for joy.)

Ok, so he also said that he realizes he should have participated more in our sexcapes instead of just laying back and letting me service him.  Which I did as soon as he walked in the door till he walked back out the door.   He kept saying that he didn’t know what I wanted, that he’d try to do something but I’d always brush his hands away.  Ya know, this is true.  I would do that, but it was a test.  One he failed miserably.  If he would have just taken charge, he would have gotten everything, EVERYTHING, he wanted plus some.

I just thought of this.  I had to explain to him about the last time he was over.   Remember that? He took off his own shirt.  His own shirt!  His! His own shirt!   He didn’t see anything wrong w/ that.   Imagine what I saw wrong w/ that.   Let’s imagine.  If he wanted to fuck me, and he did by what all was pouring from his mouth, he should have taken off my shirt.  My shirt!  Mine!  My shirt!   I had to fucking explain that to him.  This is where I bang my head on the table or any hard metal surface would do, because if you wanna fuck, why not take charge and rip the woman’s clothes off.  That right there would tell her you mean business.  Especially when said woman would probably rock your fucking world for taking charge like that.  (Especially when she told you she would!)  Hell I’d fuck him till his dick fell off if he even showed one iota of dominance.   

Will he ever take a chance? That’s not the question.  The question is: What’s better, his dick or an erotica book?  I’ll leave you guessing. 

Giddy, Wetness Because of a Shirt? A Shirt??

Monday OM came back to work from being off for the better part of the previous week due to sickness.  And upon his return he just happen to be wearing something I find extremely attractive on a man.  Something of the working stiff kind.   A dressy white button down shirt. . . tucked into navy blue dress pants.   The pants can be pretty much anything . . . but it’s the shirt… My god is it the shirt!

Now, I haven’t received an email from him since  early last week, even tho I tried to find out how he was when he was off.  So I was kinda thinking along the, “oh, he’s not interest anymore. . . His wife and him are back on better terms. . . yadda yadda yadda.”  And then I emailed him Monday night to let him know that  I liked what he was wearing during the  day and that there is something extremely sexy about unbuttoned collars (on dress shirts.)   Tuesday he didn’t wear anything but the usual sweater over a polo, so I figured he didn’t get my email.  Now last night, he emailed me about the white dress shirt, but I didn’t get it till today – no idea he read it . . . But I had an inkling when I saw him today wearing another white button down shirt w/ black dress pants.   My face was beaming.  I had a smile from ear to ear.   I couldn’t help but feel completely giddy for the rest of the day; that he possibly wanted me to be happy.  And happy I was.  Altho, when I read the email he sent me last night today, I guess he wanted me to be more than just happy. . . He wanted something else . . . And he got it.  Oh yeah, he got it.

OM: I just got done ironing another white shirt for tomorrow.  Your pussy should be wet all day

He got his wish . . . And I’m getting mine for Friday.  Yes, I made a request of him.  He has this black suede button down shirt that he wears w/ jeans and lets it untucked.   He knows that I’m into textures. I love feeling things.  Like his coat. I didn’t think about it until after I told him I like the feel of it, but the more I do, the more it reminds me of a man’s cock.  Soft and silky.  Minus the hardness, but soft and silky nonetheless.   This is what his black suede shirt reminds me of too.  Kind of.  But I won’t really know until I touch it.  Touch him. While he’s wearing it.  And I think he knows him wearing it is going to make me itchburnyearn to touch it.  I even told him I’ll have to touch him.  I just hope he doesn’t think I need something soft on him to actually touch him.  Because I’m sure I could find something about his body that will satisfy my need for touch. 

**********

On a side note: I’ve been sitting here after reading that email, thinking.  I’ve had dreams about kissing him.  And I would love nothing more than to feel his lips on mine, his tongue delving into my mouth, trading breath for breath.  But, I don’t think I could handle it.  I know if I ever kissed him, I wouldn’t want to stop.  I don’t know if I’m scared he won’t live up to his dream self.  Or if he’ll totally surpass it.  Wow, I wouldn’t be able to handle that.   Because kissing, kissing leads to so many other things.  I don’t feel a Pretty Woman is needed, because I don’t feel that kissing is personal/private, shared between lovers.  

But because I’d want to feel his cock sliding in between my pussy lips, like his tongue sliding in between my other lips.  But he’s already said that sex was out of the question between us.  (However, having him lick my pussy and ass is totally not.  Nor is his dick in my mouth.  Or his come.)  He said sex between us would lead to feelings. His or mine, I’m not sure…And, I tried to make him believe me that I’m not wired that way . . . But, I don’t know.  I don’t want to just settle for his tongue on my clit, in my cunt.  I don’t want to just settle for his dick on my tongue, in my mouth.   I don’t want to just settle for tasting his come w/ out being able to taste my pussy juice on him. 

I know, I’m a pushy, greedy broad.

Why Beg?

It’s like a downward spiral.  And . . . I want to go downdowndown.  Today, I’ve looked at pictures that were taken back in 2003 of OM.  And all I can do is laugh.  Not hilariously.  Just laugh.  It’s so funny to think that I’m crushing, lusting hard after someone who I use to find irritatingly …. just argh!

But last night, I learned I suck at begging. 

He said he wanted to do a few things to me.  And I’m all for. . . ALL FOR . . . what he was getting at, but then I asked him if I could suck his dick.  I asked him if he wanted me to beg for it.   Totally the wrong thing to say.  Men are all for women begging.   Pleading.   I made a sad, pathetic attempt.   I  sent the email off w/ a shake of my head.  I was so ashamed.  Open mouth, insert foot.  Not cock, but foot. 

 . . . I suck at begging.  I’ve got no talent for it.  No real reason to do it.  I don’t find begging for anything. . . anything at all. . . worth it.  If a person won’t tell me something they don’t want to tell me, why would I beg?  If I won’t harass a person to tell me what they got me for Christmas, why should I beg?   Nothing is worth begging for.  Not even to suck a guy’s dick.

If I want to do that. . . . I will. 

For a Smile, A Cuddle

So back in the day I found this guy online because his profile said that he lived in California. . . . and Kansas.  I was giving it some serious late teenage thought that I should go to college at SDSU.  And the whole reasoning behind that is because a guy I thought was gorgeous was going to school there.   (Yeah, not so logical now that I think about it.)  But anyways, I wanted to  find some “friends” out there, see what it’s like and what not.   So I found him.   I started talking to him.  Pretty much saying anything and everything to get him to stay interested in me.  I’m 5’4″,  125lbs, hazel eyes, long dark brown hair.  I am bi.   I can deepthroat.  Etc. Etc. Etc.   Half of which is/were lies.  But it kept him interested.  And it kept him talking to me for 3 years.  On the phone and internet.  One New Year’s he actually spent on the phone w/ me.  We watched the ball drop together.  It was really nice.  We’d talk for hours.  This man became my best friend.  And he was a great best friend.

Anyways, we finally decided that we should meet face to face.  A now or never kind of deal.   So he drove all the way to me from Kansas.  I think it was something like an 18 hour drive.  So, I was going to go to work, leave early, and arrive home sometime after he got there.  I told him to call me when he got in.  Which he did.  I told him to make himself at home.  Take a nap or something.  Which he did.  I came home. Opened my door, walked in, looked to my right.  Low and behold there is the man, sleeping.  Peacefully.  In my bed.  I was kind of afraid to get any closer to him than I was.  Almost afraid it was a dream. Almost afraid of what he was going to think of me.  Maybe I should have just let him sleep forever, which is what I thought for a long time after he left.  

I walk over to my bedroom.  Kneel on the floor by my bed.  And I just stare at him.  Taking in his short dark brown hair.  His long dark eye lashes.  The tone of his skin.  Enjoying the way his shoulders were shaped.  Wondering if I should pull down the blanket and sheet some.  He didn’t have a shirt on.  (I just happened to mention that I love black boxer briefs, and I’d love to just see him in those.)   So I sat there.  I stared some more at him.  I got up.  I sat on the couch wondering if I should wake him up.  I went back to the bedside.  I stared.  I went and smoke a cigarette outside.  I went and stared some more.  Then, I think, I rubbed my fingers along his face.  Down his shoulder and arm.  Gently nudged him.  He woke up.  His eyes were and probably still are breathtaking.  The palest blue eyes you’ve ever seen.  Looking back at me! Oh geez.  I was, of course, in heaven.  Those dark/light contrasts are irresistible.

He said hi sleepily.  I said hi.  He leaned forward.  He gave me a hug.  (He said he’d hug me when he saw me.)  He also gave me a kiss.   And that kiss got a little out of control.  3 years of holding in our lust for each other.  Or at least definitely on my part.  I was actually a little bit in love w/ him.  (Almost thought he was soulmate material. And it was earthshattering when I found out, it just wasn’t meant to be.)   After the hug and kiss it’s all kind of a blur to me, I don’t really remember what all happened after that.  (Ok, other than 1 very memorable fuck.  Quite a few blowjobs.  And a trip to the brewery.)

But I do know for 5 days, 4 nights I had him in my bed, in my life, and in my broken heart.  I couldn’t have been happier, even though I was sad as can be.   It was, of course, all my fault.  Because I lied to him.  I should never have told him that I was model thin.  That was my only downfall.  He forgave me for not being able to deepthroat.  And well, I am sorta kind of bi in the sense that I enjoy looking at women and would love to find out first hand what they taste like, but well. . . . I’ve just never gotten up the nerve to try it.   (I still have time.)

So in the end we parted friends.  Only to talk for a few weeks after.  Then we lost track of each other for a little while.  But I had his work email.  And occassionally we did that.  Then we lost track for even longer.  And just recently I decided I wanted to see how he was doing.  Just to make sure he was still alive.   He’s alive.  And doing well.  Third new job since he graduated college.  Divorced after a 6 month(?) marriage.  No kids, at least none living.  And doing very well w/ his big boy toys.   And I think he said he has some Columbian chick after him, but he doesn’t know if it’s valid interest or greencard motivated. 

Just today he messaged me . . . and keep in mind, this is coming from a guy who couldn’t be w/ me in a relationship because I was not a “fat happy go lucky kind of girl:”

 “O”:  I meant to tell you I love the pics of you in the blue shirt with your hair long and the blonde streaks.  You should smile more often.  Makes me wanna cuddle.

Yeah. . . I don’t know if it’s age or if it’s experience.  Or hell, maybe he just thinks it’s what I want to hear.  But, it made me smile.  And I’m still smiling.  

Controlled, But Too Much. Part II

 . . . continued . . .

I don’t really know how to write the 2nd part of this.  It feels kind of weird.   He was so damn controlling, and I let him control me because, and I’m reiterating this: I thought I deserved it.    If I didn’t think I deserved all the things he did to me, I wouldn’t have went along w/ it.  And nowadays if someone even remotely suggests telling me what to do, I tend to go off on them.  Or just completely cut them out of my life.  I have no time in my life for someone who wants to change me to fit their mold.   Accept me for who I am.

So not only was he controlling my emotional well being and my financial stability, he was controlling my sexuality.  He made me do some things that I wouldn’t have thought of ever really doing just because I would have been too shy to ask.  And he made me do some things, looking back, it kind of grosses me out. 

But I guess that’s okay since I disgusted and repulsed him w/ my past sexual experiences that he made me tell him about.  Enough so that he took to calling me a slut and a whore, because well —- when I’ve been w/ more men than he’s been w/ women, what else am I suppose to be but a slut and a whore?  (I am being facetious and rhetorical there!)

One of the things I liked sexually that he made me do was lick his asshole.  I was embarrassed by it at first.  I thought it was something that shouldn’t be done.  I thought it was just wrong.  Why would you want to stick your tongue where someone shits?   Ah, this is where taking a shower before comes in handy.  And it’s appreciated.  (Boy is it appreciated!)  The first time I did that to him, I was inanimate.  I just used my tongue.  That’s it.  I didn’t really like it because he was straddling my chest.  And it still felt wrong. 

But he made me do it again.  And this time he was laying down on his belly.  And he told me to do it and have fun doing it.  Well, I got animated this time.  Licking, kissing, using my hands, rubbing my breasts across his ass, up and down his back.  I ran my hands up and down his legs, fondled his balls.  Licked them, too!!   I actually had fun!  And I completely enjoyed it if the wetness of my pussy was any indication.

Altho, what happened after I had my fun, was of no fun to me.  He decided that he wasn’t going to fuck me.  At least not w/ his dick.  He was going to fuck me w/ his big toe, on his right foot.  (It’s amazing what I remember.)  He made me lick and suck on his toe like it was his cock.  And then he made me part my nether lips so he could insert his toe.  I felt humiliated.  I felt embarrassed.  I felt dirty.  All I kept thinking was, “Please take your toe out of me.  This is so wrong.  Please stop!”  But I didn’t say anything to him, because I knew he would just stop giving me anything altogether. 

I took what he wanted to give to me.  And like I think I’ve said before.  It wasn’t all that much.  All he would ever do was kiss me, lick/suck on my nipples, and fuck me.  My ass or my pussy.  He would never go down on me.  He wouldn’t bother to think about licking my asshole!  Or kissing my toes.

But I had to suck his dick at least twice a day.  Oh . . . no, I mean I had to let him skull fuck me.  In essence that’s exactly what it was.  He was in control, he was the one holding my head and moving his hips.   He just told me to stay put and place my hand on his dick where he wanted it to stop so I wouldn’t gag.  (Sorry, no deep throating for me, but I make up for it in enthusiasm.)   The thing is when a dick gets nice and lubed up from spit, a hand will not be a deterrent from keeping part of it out.  So in reality, I didn’t have any control over how much of his dick I sucked.  But gee, I thank him for letting me think that.   

This right there, was what made me lose my love of sucking cock.  Doing it and getting nothing in return.  His pleasure was not enough for me.  So . . . he is the reason other guys have not gotten the opportunity and experience of having my lips around their dick.   And having to give nothing in return.

***

My whole outlook on life, or relationships, has changed since him.   I will never again be in that kind of controlling relationship.  I would like a relationship that is 50/50.   If you won’t give it, you won’t receive it! 

The one and only good thing that came out of this is I found that licking a man’s asshole is a huge turn on for me.  And, I guess I can grudgingly give him the controlling aspect of sex.  Altho, the way I see it and want it: It’s got to be non-humiliating for me.  And I have to be able to do to you what you do to me.  

50/50.