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.  

Whip It Out, Big Boy!

I find that giving fellatio is a turn-on.

Ok.  I lied. 

It use to be a turn-on.  Back when giving them meant power to me.   Having a man’s dick in between my lips, running my tongue around and down him.  Fondling his balls gently in my hands… (Ok, sometimes not so gently.) Licking up and down, around, back down, hollowing my cheeks out.  It was a turn-on. 

To have a man’s pleasure in your hands.  Giving it.  Taking it away.  Prolonging it. It was a crazy thrill for me.  I use to meet guys and just give them blow jobs.  Nothing in return.  I just licked my lips, and walked away, when I was done.

If they had their hands in my hair, all the better.  I especially liked it when they pulled my hair out of my face so they could see better.  I liked looking up at them,  watching their eyes.  Seeing them watching their dick disappear into my mouth.   

The moans,  groans, the quickened breath, words of encouragement, the pleading.  Mmmmmmmmm. . .

It’s almost orgasmic thinking of the way it use to be for me.

People Wonder Why I Am the Way I Am

Responsibility, people! It’s a huge word w/ a huge meaning. It’s one worth taking the time to look up, if the definition eludes you.  I’ll even be nice & define it for you, per Merriam-Webster:

     1.  the quality or state of being responsible:

                                     a.  moral, legal, or mental accountability

                                     b.  reliability, trustworthiness

                           2.  something for which one is responsible:  Burden.

Consideration.  It’s another some thing that has become lost in the world today. Not just w/ youths.  Some elderly have given up being considerate & replaced it w/ entitlement.  Or at least that’s what I’ve noticed.  But I’m not here to talk about the “Entitled Ederly.” 

I was at friend’s Halloween Party.  I rarely go out to begin w/ so this was an occassion.   I even dressed up for it.  But that’s neither here nor there.  At the end of the night, I saw something.  Something that shouldn’t have happened.  Something that was avoided last year at the same friend’s party (I was made aware of the happening the following Monday,)  yet it wasn’t avoided this year, because, well, nobody gave two shits about it.   What happened will always happen. 

What makes me say: responsibility and consideration – well, that’s a matter for the Monday after.   What I saw was called into question by my friend.  I told her exactly what I saw.  I was the only one there Stone. Cold. Sober.    And my eyesight, it did not fail me!  I said my piece and that was that.   About an hour later, I got a nasty-gram from the guilty party.

Seeing as how I work w/ some of the people at the party and it was an after work affair, what occurred should not have been brought into the workplace.  

Ok, I’m not able to put this into words w/out rambling, so I’m just going to out and out type it.   

I got accused of being a rumor monger.  Gossipmonger.  Whatever.   This person that accused me, is the guilty party.  And the reason the  guilty party targeted me is because of those I choose to surround myself w/.   The company I keep is very up-to-date on all the goings-on of those in a position of authority and those not.  I usually listen to all the gossip w/ half an ear, because personally……. I. Don’t. Care.   I’m a very apathetic person.   I don’t give a shit.

Anyways, this nasty-gram pissed me off because I didn’t say a damn thing, except for when my friend asked me about it, and nobody was around.  I didn’t deserve a single word that was typed to me.

In conclusion: do not put yourself in a position you’ll have to defend if you don’t want to defend yourself.  Also, take responsibility for your actions, even if they are/were wrong.  And, be considerate of those you think are going to fuck you over, cuz they just may, and it’ll be because of you.